#all my pencils were destroyed that I had on tables

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

I liked the amount of money I received from working at a school but thinking about going back gives me the hives and makes me want to vomit

[bruhstories]

Muse II

p.1 && p.3

summary: a knock on your door, an envelope and a dress pairing: viktor x painter!reader && jayce x mel warnings: swearing, angst, descriptions of anxiety and depression, quite a lot of dialogue, veeeery slow burn, jayce being a good friend, canon divergent w/c: 3.7k

a/n: this part is a little more reader-centric, but i will fix that in the third (and potentially the last) part. liking and reblogging is encouraged and appreciated!

"May I leave now?" The bright lights of the infirmary forced Viktor to squeeze his eyes shut.

The doctor nodded, but the nurse gasped, then shook her head. She seemed to want to see him all the time, always finding a reason to stall, to buy time. Viktor never understood why, but then again, he never understood why you wanted him to be your model. 

"I think it would be prudent to run a few more tests." The nurse suggested.

Her name was Sky, and she had been nothing but kind to him. But weren't all nurses supposed to be humane? To care for the sick? Unfortunately for her, the doctor was adamant on dismissing Viktor.

"I'm afraid not, Sky. Viktor's condition isn't improving, but it isn't advancing either. It's as though his condition simply stopped. You're free to go, but please come back if you notice any changes, positive or otherwise."

"Thank you, doctor." Viktor gripped the handle of his cane and left the infirmary, strolling down the streets of Piltover. 

He had been thinking about you, about how the rune you inscribed in his portrait changed him, but his ego brought out the worst in him, and he refused to search for you, to apologise for misjudging you. Besides, you were probably busy with commissions anyway. You wouldn't make time for him after he stupidly, arrogantly tore down your pride.

You weren't busy. 

It had been days since you left your apartment, weeks since you last touched a paintbrush, months since you saw Viktor. Not having a muse incapacitated you, turned off your creativity, destroyed your imagination. You stared at the blank canvas in front of you — empty, just like your mind and your heart.

Abandoning the attempt to paint, you tried to draw instead. Fiddling with the pencil in your hand, you took a look at your previous sketches, desperate to do something, anything. But nothing came out of you. Not a single line, or dot, or sliver of hope. The sudden knock on your door had you recoil and drop your pencil. Expecting your landlord, you swung open the door. 

Jayce stared at you, at your dishevelled hair and the state of your clothes, before he peeked behind your shoulder to see the mess in your apartment. Papers tossed on the floor, clothes piled up on your bed, spoiled food on your table. He hadn't seen anyone so... pitiful. 

"Can I help you?" Your monotonous voice sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.

"I just wanted to check on you. Y/N, what happened?"

"Ask your partner." Venom dripped down your tongue as you closed the door, only for Jayce to stop it with his foot.

"Please, let's just talk."

"Why?" 

"That's what friends do!" His warm smile was supposed to offer you comfort, but it only offered you hate.

"We're not friends, Mr. Talis." You tried to close the door again, catching his fingers in the doorframe. The sudden shriek of pain made you violently open it, eyes wide at Jayce who was on the verge of tears. "I am so sorry, I didn't think you'd put your bloody fingers in the way!"

Ushering him inside your apartment, you kicked away the piles of clothes from the chair and sat him down. He winced, watching his fingers slowly turn purple and swollen.

"It's alright, it's nothing." His voice cracked like some prepubescent teenager, and you ran a handkerchief under cold water then gave it to him.

"I'm really sorry, Jayce."

"Aha! You used my name! Ow, shit."

You tried to stifle the chuckle that erupted from your throat, but to no avail. He managed to make you laugh, but the sweetness turned sour.

"Why are you really here?" You asked, avoiding his gaze.

"I told you, I wanted to check on you. And to ask you something."

There it was, the true reason.

"How did you do it?"

"Dunno what you're talking about." You shrugged. 

"That portrait, it somehow stopped Viktor's affliction from advancing. It's not regressing by any means, but it's keeping him in a stable condition, and I can't explain why. No one can." His forehead creased, unable to find a scientific reason.

"Maybe he got lucky." You simply said.

"Don't be modest, he told me you put some kind of magical rune in it." Jayce scoffed. 

"He spoke about me?" Was all you could think about.

"Yes, but you need to tell me how you did it."

You sighed. His scientific brain could never comprehend the intricacies of magic, the elegant enchantments, or the intuitive spellwork, but you tried your best.

"The Academy of Arts in Ionia trains artists to incorporate spells, runes and sigils into their work. Some can bring their paintings to life, others can use them to deal damage." You looked behind Jayce at the blank canvas. "I can heal. Sort of."

"That's fascinating!" He beamed at you like a child who just got a new toy. "So why didn't you fully heal Viktor?

"Ah, but what would life be if all our problems disappeared? We're all the product of our experiences, aren't we?" You mused. "I can't heal illnesses if people were born with them, I can merely hinder them, stop them from advancing, because even ailments serve a purpose. Would Viktor had become the scientist that he is without his condition?" You quirked a brow, and Jayce frowned, not in anger but in contemplation. 

"So, you could heal my fingers, then, yes?" He nodded, but you sighed again. It was something you found yourself doing quite often.

"I haven't touched a pencil in weeks. I'm useless, as you can probably tell from the state of my apartment."

"Why? Because you don't have a muse?" Jayce asked, and you nodded. "That's bullshit."

"Excuse you?" Your words came out a lot more condescending than you wanted.

"I said it's bullshit. You're a damn artist, you find beauty where others don't. You don't need a muse for that." He scoffed.

"It's not that simple-"

"It is! Science and art are not that different, Y/N! They're both attempts to comprehend the world around us. They require research, analytical processes, resilience. Not a muse." Jayce picked up a sheet of paper and a piece of coal and slammed them on the table. "Draw my hand."

You stared at him, dumbfounded by the sheer willpower that this man had. No wonder he was an innovator. You could've kicked him out of your house, shut the door and never look back, but you didn't. Picking up the coal, you studied his hand first — the length of his fingers, width of his palm, the swirls of his fingerprints. Then, you let the coal glide down the paper, tracing lines, smudging them with your index finger and thumb. Your own fingers were sore from the lack of practice, but you sketched his hand nonetheless, and just as you did with Viktor's portrait, you scribbled a rune in the corner of the paper.

Showing Jayce the sketch, he could feel his numb fingers return to their normal size, the black and blue disappearing by the minute. He knew you could do it, you just needed a little push.

"See, that wasn't so hard." Jayce grinned, but you stared daggers at him. "Oh, before I go, Mel wanted you to have this." He reached into the inner pocket of his cream jacket and handed you an envelope. 

"What's this?"

"An invitation. I hope to see you soon." 

You locked the door after he was gone and studied the wax sigil on the envelope. Red and golden, with the head of a wolf embedded in it. It was too beautiful to tear it open, but curiosity got the better of you, and you used a knife to cut open the envelope, not wanting to ruin the sigil.

Just as Jayce said, it was an invitation to a fundraiser. All of Piltover's finest would be there, and you were asked to attend as a guest of honour, to be appointed the Master of Arts, the head of Piltover's Guild of Artists. Disbelief settled in your mind, despite rereading the same words, over and over again. Every councillor agreed to that, you could tell from their signatures. But you haven't painted in weeks, so how could you represent all the artists in the city? You were a hypocrite at best, a failure at worst. 

And yet, you were chosen for that. Not your colleagues, not someone from the Academy — you. Did you need to prepare a speech? Bloody hell, you did. No one went up that stage without delivering one. But there was time, the fundraiser was only in a few weeks, right? Wrong. Your eyes scanned the words once more — it was three days away. Panic seeped into your veins. You had no dress, no shoes, no speech, no muse.

No, fuck the muse. Fuck Viktor. 

You were still bitter about the last conversation you exchanged with him, but you couldn't throw away such an opportunity, such an honour, for some guy. A very handsome, very clever guy, but still a guy nonetheless. No, Jayce was right — you didn't need a muse. You didn't have one in Ionia, didn't have one when you taught yourself how to draw and paint. You were your own muse. And you needed a damn good dress to impress. 

Forcing yourself to clean the mess in your apartment was easy. But showering and going out wasn't, not when the probability of bumping into Viktor was there. A slim chance, but not impossible, and you couldn’t afford to get distracted. You wrecked your brain trying to remember his schedule, because he never deviated from it. Thursday — he would have a doctor's appointment in the morning, then he would have lunch, and go to the lab. Or was it the other way around?

"Ugh!" You kicked the foot of your bed in anger and disgust. You were disgusted with yourself for even sparing him a single thought — the man who insulted you and your work.

So what if you bumped into him? He wasn't going to talk you, anyway, he made that quite clear when he didn't even say goodbye to you. Ungrateful fucking prick. No more. No more wallowing in self-pity, no more victimisation, no more emotion. How foolish of you to even think he'd see you as more than some dumb painter, that you were his equal in any way, shape or form. It was a facade, a mask, playing the innocent sick man when behind that mask was a god complex.

You found a dress, purple and golden. It reminded you of Viktor, but how else were you supposed to get over him if not by proudly wearing the colours of the enemy? Were you overreacting? Perhaps. Too dramatic? Definitely, but it helped process the pain attached to those stupid colours. Spending time to write a speech also helped take your mind off of him. It gave you a purpose, something you thought was lost.

There was one thing you didn't like about the dress — it was too modest. And while it wasn't a gathering of prudes, you wanted to find the perfect mix of elegance and vulgarity. Studying the dress that was hanging on an iron hook on the back of your bathroom door, you grabbed a pair of scissors and cut a slit up its side. You wanted to stop at knee's length, but something possessed you to cut higher, stopping well above the knee. Was it too much? Maybe, but you were about to become leader of an entire guild, and you needed to look your best. Besides, the thought of hooking up with someone at the fundraiser didn't sound so bad. You had needs after all, and you were going to satisfy them.

"There she is!" Jayce spotted you through the crowd of people, with Mel's arm looped around his.

You were glad that they were officially together. Too long they played pretend. You greeted them, deciding to be their third wheel since you didn't know that many people there. The life of an artist was quite lonely.

"I'm so glad you accepted my invitation." Councillor Medarda smiled. She seemed happier, and you wondered what it was like to have someone who made you laugh, who supported you and your work.

"It's an honour, Councillor. An unexpected one, I'll be honest." You quickly snatched a glass of champagne from a waiter. "But I've had something on my mind since I received your invitation. What exactly is the fundraiser about? The letter didn't mention anything."

"Ah, I must have forgotten to write that down." She scoffed. "The University of Piltover has decided to create a new department of arts and science combined."

"Oh, that is intriguing." You pondered the innovative idea. "How will that work?"

"Well, Jayce has been inspired by your talent. He believes that there are plenty of future students with the potential of incorporating both arts and science in their work." Mel said. "He'll explain more in the following days, but for now, enjoy the event."

"Thank you, Councillor." You nodded with a smile. "Are you alright, Jayce? You look impatient."

"Yeah, I'm just keeping an eye on the entrance. Viktor should be here soon." He nonchalantly said.

"Sorry? Viktor?" The smile disappeared from your lips as quickly as it appeared. 

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" Jayce avoided looking into your eyes, fearing for his life. He could feel you seething at the mere mention of Viktor's name.

"No. No, you didn't fucking tell me." You whispered the obscene word, not wanting to draw any attention. "What else haven't you told me?"

"Well, um-" He fumbled for words, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. 

"Spit it out, Talis."

"You'll be working together."

"What? We'll be what?" You couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth. And it didn't help that you heard his familiar voice and thick accent creeping behind your back.

"Good evening, Jayce. Councillor." Viktor greeted them, but you couldn't turn around. You couldn't face him.

So much for being tough. Your heart was beating against your ribcage, desperately trying to crawl out of your chest and run away from him. The pit in your stomach made you sick — you could actually taste bile on your tongue, and the champagne glass slowly slipped from your fingers as your palms became clammy with sweat. Not even the exams in Ionia made you feel as panicked as he did. But you were a grown woman. You couldn't let him put you down like that.

"Viktor." You articulated his name without an ounce of anxiety in your voice, then turned around to look at him.

You were pleased to see he was just as shocked to see you there as you were to see him — even more shocked to see you dressed so differently than how he remembered. Good. The bastard needed a reminder that you weren't a coward, nor a prude. And it made you consider that he also didn't know you two would be working together. How convenient for you.

"Miss Painter." Venom dripped down his tongue. How dare he be affected by your presence? "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He didn't know. You thanked your stars for that. A shit-eating grin crept on your lips, and just as Jayce was about to open his mouth, you said it.

"Oh, you didn't know? We'll be working together. I'm absolutely thrilled!" You lied through your teeth and Jayce slowly turned his head to glare at you. A minute ago, you looked like you were about to have a heart attack, now you were thrilled to work with him?

"How utterly... terrific." Viktor forced a smile. "No, I didn't know. Jayce, a word?"

"No need, I'll leave you to it. Gentlemen, Councillor." You nodded and stepped away, blending with the crowd, eyes set on some poor man who was about to be your distraction for the night.

His name was Alfred, or Arthur. Something with an A. It didn't matter. He was good looking, with broad shoulders and much taller than you. But he talked. A lot. You politely nodded at everything he said, trying to keep up with the conversation, but anything he said fell on deaf ears. You weren't interested in him, not after seeing Viktor, who looked much better than last time, healthier. He went so far as to adjust his cane to look similar to the one in your portrait — the fucking hypocrite. And even the suit he was wearing was purple. You matched, and your stomach churned at that epiphany. What if people thought you were together?

You rolled your eyes when Arthur, or Alfred, spoke about how ridiculous the idea of combining science and arts was. The desire to pour your champagne in his lap was great, but your self-restraint was greater. Somehow. Paying him no mind, you dissociated, daydreaming of being in your atelier and working on a new painting, of buying new materials, new canvases. Yes, that was much better than listening to Alfred, or Arthur, yap about something his small brain couldn't comprehend. 

Even amongst hundreds of people, Viktor only saw you, and the thousand-yard stare on your face. You were quite obviously bored, and there was an impulse, an instinct to go and save you from the dull conversation that you weren't even a part of. But he couldn't. Deep down, Viktor knew he might have overreacted when he last saw you, but you made it quite clear that you wanted nothing to do with him, and he respected that. It pained him, because he grew used to your presence in the lab, but what could he do? 

He found it comforting that you wore the colours of his suit — of his portrait. It gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a minuscule possibility that you weren't upset with him anymore. But Viktor wasn't an idiot. He knew all too well that the wrath of a woman scorned wasn't something that passed so easily. And he felt the spite in your voice when you blatantly lied about being thrilled to work with him. Oh, right, he forgot about that when he got lost in your eyes, even from across the ballroom. 

How were you going to work together when neither of you wanted that? Surely you could set aside any grudges, he thought. But could he? While the portrait did hinder his illness, Viktor still assumed that you weren't serious about him being your model. Your muse, even. How could someone like him be the object of your artistic desire? No, that was improbable. Impossible. 

"And that's when I said what do you call a woman who has lost 95% of her intelligence? Divorced!" Arthur, or Alfred, slapped his knee, laughing at his own sexist joke, and that was enough for you to regret your decision of approaching him.

"Excuse me, I'm going for some fresh air." You walked away from him as fast as you could.

Stepping out on the balcony, you shivered when the cool air kissed your skin. A coat would've been smarter than a slit in your dress, but freezing to death was better than hearing one more fucking joke about women. You just hoped Alfred, or Arthur, or whatever the fuck his name was, wasn't going to come looking for you. Leaning on the handrail, you sighed. What were you going to do? How were you going to work with Viktor for an indefinite amount of time? There was so much uncertainty about the future, and it scared you. The responsibilities of leading a guild scared you. The changes in your routine scared you. The idea of working with someone who hated you scared you.

The speech! You forgot about the blasted speech, and you ran back inside at the right time. Councillor Shoola invited you on the stage just as you entered the ballroom, and with a fake smile and complaisant nods, you walked up the few steps, blinded by the lights directed on you. Shoola shook your hand, and awarded you with a silver pin — a symbol of your new status as Guild Leader. The amount of people staring at you was overwhelming, but you took a deep breath in and adjusted microphone on the stand. When you looked down at your hands, you were surprised to find them empty. Where were the cards you had prepared? Where was your speech?

Then you remembered the balcony. You had forgotten the cards outside. Shit. Fuck. No matter, you could improvise. Even if your throat was dry, and your legs were numb, you could improvise. You did that before, plenty of times. But the hundreds of eyes that stared into your soul made it impossible to think, to breathe, to exist.

Um, good evening, everyone." You started, eyes narrowed down on Mel, who nodded in encouragement. Licking your chapped lips, you continued. "It brings me great honour to stand here in front of you..." Cringing at the crack in your voice, you found Jayce, who beamed at you, like he always did. That gave you a bit more hope. "...as the new Master of Arts."

You couldn't do this. 

They weren't looking at you, they were looking inside of you. They could see every fibre of your body, every imperfection, every weakness. You tried closing your eyes and pretending they weren't there, but when you opened them, it was worse. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tried to steady your breathing, to stop yourself from hyperventilating. 

A pair of soft amber eyes found yours, and you couldn’t believe how calming they were. Even after the fiasco that was your meeting with Viktor, you still found inspiration in him, and that offended you. 

"We are here to celebrate a marriage." You spoke with newfound confidence stemming from sheer anger. "A marriage between science and art. A sacred union that some find ridiculous, others impossible. I find it a splendid symbiosis of reason and emotion. Too long art and science have mutually excluded each other, and while they both individually progressed immeasurably, their union has the potential to break boundaries, to make new discoveries, to bring people together. I will proudly represent the Guild of Artists in this new and fascinating adventure. Thank you, Councillors, for the distinction bestowed upon me. Thank you to Professor Heimerdinger for allowing this journey to happen. And thank you to everyone who believes in this pursuit of knowledge."

[hp-hcs]

• smut • aurora boy-realis (stop talking) — soft! tom riddle x gn! artist! reader

warnings: SMUT MDNI, no assigned sex-specific identifiers or anatomical terms, short and not really detailed smut but wtv, hella ooc tom for my delulu readers, like i cannot stress this enough he is ooc, i took canon and just chucked it into the garbage okay

i have had this sitting in my drafts, finished and ready to publish, for the last week now bc the imposter syndrome lowkey convinced me that i’m a terrible writer so anywhore enjoy this train wreck

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Don’t move.”

Tom froze.

Your charcoal stick moved in broad strokes against the page, your eyes darting between Tom and your sketchbook.

“…Can I move yet?”

“No. Stop talking.”

You were probably the only person who could actually get away with telling Tom Riddle to shut up.

(He’d never admit it, but that boy knew damn well that he was whipped.)

~~~

Your charcoal-stained hands left dusty black marks on Tom’s skin.

His chest heaved under you. “Damn tease.”

“Stop talking.” Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, a spare pencil held between your teeth as you used his torso as a makeshift table for your sketchbook.

He wiggled impatiently as his fingers tightened on your hips. “Baby, please–”

You grunted, taking in a shaky breath as you tried to collect yourself from his sudden movement.

He grinned slyly at your reaction, jerking his hips up experimentally. His cock pressed in deeper.

You bit your bottom lip hard enough to bleed as you desperately tried to stifle your moans and keep yourself steady. “You’re an ass.”

“Maybe.” Tom gently pulled your sketchbook and pencil from your fingers, leaning over to carefully set them on the nightstand. “But you don’t really mind, do you, love?”

You grumble at the loss of your art supplies, pouting down at him. “Sometimes.”

He cupped the back of your head, gently rolling the pair of you over so that he was on top. “I’ll make it up to you.”

~~~

“Tom!”

“That’s it, there you go, honey. So good for me,” the boy in question murmured against the skin of your neck as his fingers slipped down to help you out.

His thrusts were slow and deep, driving you absolutely crazy. You couldn’t help but cup his face in your hands, stroking his cheekbones with your thumbs in utter devotion.

“Oh, Tom—”

“I’m here, darling. Let go.”

You came with another cry of his name.

~~~

Your paintbrush ran over the thin, raised pink lines that traveled across Tom’s back and shoulders—caused by your own fingernails just last night—and covered them with a thick coat of purple.

You were in your element here, circling around your boyfriend and chewing on your bottom lip as you worked on your masterpiece. You paused in front of him to survey your chef-d’oeuvre, smudging the lines of green and white that ran along his ribs and up between his pecs with your thumb a bit more until you were satisfied.

Tom stood shirtless in front of you, his entire torso—from the top of his neck all the way down to the waistband of his trousers—covered in a beautiful artistic rendition of the Aurora Borealis flickering across a starry sky.

You picked up your enchanted camera, lining up the shot before snapping a magical moving photograph of your boyfriend patiently allowing himself to be used as a canvas.

You set the camera back down, screwing on the lids of your paint jars and humming cheerily.

“Right. Well, you can go wash up now. Thank you, love.” You kissed his cheek, unperturbed.

Tom was baffled. Wash off this masterpiece? Destroy it like it was nothing?

“At least join me?” he asked with that damn pout of his that could make you melt on the spot.

Tom could always do that. He was your sun, your moon, and your stars; you’d gladly move the heavens just to see him smile.

(Plus, showers with Tom always ended in sex. Win-win.)

~~~

Blues and purples swirled in the water that pooled at your feet.

Pinks and greens stained your hips, your thighs, your throat.

Tom’s lips were pressed firmly against yours, moving slowly as the steady flow of water pouring down on the pair of you slowly grew cold. Tom pulled back solely so that he could look at you, taking you in.

Tom looked at you as if you were his sun, the very thing his entire world revolved around.

Like a deity, deserving of the entire galaxy’s devotion.

So, without another thought, Tom did what any sane mortal man would. He dropped down to his knees and began to pray.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

comments are always appreciated!!

[lastoneout]

It's also like super fucking infuriating to see people continue to argue that generative AI is the best way for disabled and/or poor people to make art because like, you know what helps make art more accessible? Giving poor and disabled people money.

Like take me for instance, I'm disabled. I get severe migraines and intense leg/back pain if I sit at my computer for too long, my hEDS makes holding pens and pencils hard, my ADHD makes it hard for me to start certain tasks and/or stop them before I potentially hurt myself, my neck also hurts if I look down too much, my dyslexia AND my ADHD both make it difficult to keep track of a story as I write and use correct spelling and grammar, plus, I need to prioritize taking care of myself and going to appointments and keeping my house clean and that takes up a lot of my free time. All of these things make creating the kind of art I want to create difficult if not occasionally impossible.

So what do you think would solve my problems better? Giving me money so that I can have a drawing tablet and desk chair that won't hurt my neck or back, another tablet + pen and a lap table and comfortable body pillows for drawing in bed, easier transportation to my doctors appointments, effective treatment for my chronic pain and migraines, the ability hire someone to help me keep my house clean, a spelling/grammar checker that isn't complete ass, and a therapist and psychatrist who can help me manage my ADHD better?

Or an AI program that takes my input and spits out a drawing or story made of stolen content glued together that, in the case of the art, I cannot meaningfully edit without starting over, which also destroys the environment in the process?

Seems pretty obvious to me. I don't need AI, I need help to manage the things that are actually stopping me from being able to write and draw.

Or take my mom. She's had severe rhumatoid arthritis since she was a small child, her hands are deformed and she relies on her wheelchair to get around. She doesn't need AI to help her paint, she needs special paint brushes she can actually hold, a table her wheelchair will fit at, and someone to help her with personal hygiene/keep her house clean/take her to doctors appointments so she actually has free time to paint.

Does that poor kid growing up in public housing with parents who are too poor to afford art classes or supplies or to send them to college really need a computer program to draw for them, or do they need support to help them take those classes, buy drawing supplies, and money so they can go to college.

Blind people can paint, deaf musicians exist, people with missing limbs find all sorts of ways to make art, people with parkinson's paint with typewriters, my mother can't hold a normal paintbrush and she makes some of the most beautiful watercolor paintings I've ever seen, Van Gogh had bipolar disorder and only sold like one painting when he was alive, I mean for real how many different artists have you heard of who's biographies start with them being born into poverty?

This is not meant to be inspiration porn, these people are just ones who were able to find ways to make art despite their struggles. They shouldn't have had to struggle at all, but god imagine how many more artisrs and writers we could have had if none of them had to overcome those struggles. It breaks my heart to think of all the wonderful art that never got to exist because no one helped the people who could have made it actually have the time, money, support, and safety they needed to make it. AI would not have saved them because making art isn't the problem, being disadvantaged is the problem. Living in a world that refuses to make room for you is the problem. Being fucking poor is the problem. Humans have always found ways to make art despite huge barriers, the solution isn't a computer that makes art for them, it's SUPPORT AND MONEY SO THEY CAN OVERCOME THOSE BARRIERS AND MAKE THEIR OWN ART.

As a last example: I love watching dancing and I would love to be able to dance, but I'm terrible at it(I got kicked off a dance team for not being able to learn the dance at all despite spending weeks on it, idk my brain wasn't made for dancing) and my disabled body makes it more pain than pleasure if not actively dangerous, anyway. Having a robot dressed to look like me dance next to me while I get to watch would not make me feel like I'm getting to dance. It would actually be extremely fucking demoralizing and frustrating. I would hate that!!

Having an AI spit out a painting or book would not make me feel like I got to paint or write a book. It's a fucking anamatronic doll running on stolen ideas and it will never be the same as getting to actually expirience the joy of creating art first hand. AI is not the solution. Helping people who need it is the solution. And I am CONSTANTLY pissed to think about all the time and money that goes into these fucking AI programs that would be better spent helping disabled and poor people get the help they need so they can make art themselves, all while the people running the nightmare plagiarism pollution machines pretend that their horrible inventions exist to help people like me.

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part four

summary: all the stars aligned, and it was you.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is your reminder to reblog and comment on fics you like!! it helps us writers out a TON the girlies who get it get it. thanks!!

series masterlist // playlist

"I just have to ask you a few questions... is that okay?" Coriolanus asks, sitting across from you at the small table you find yourself chained to.

"Please." You nod, grinning at him. You were so tired, the bags under your eyes were evidence enough of that. Screw getting you food- Coryo is worried if you don't sleep you'll be all but useless in the games, even if all he needs you to do is run and hide.

"It's just so people can get to know you a bit better. Okay, so..." He looks down at the sheet in front of him, tapping the pencil against the table as he tries to focus on reading. "First, nice and easy, what is your full name?"

"Y/N M/N L/N."

"Great... Okay, and where are you from?"

"District Twelve, born and raised."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen next week." You smile.

"Oh, really?" He asks, pausing mid-sentence as he starts writing it down.

"Yeah." You smile. "Hopefully I'll live to see the day."

"You will." He tries to be reassuring as he scribbles the finished answer on his sheet. God, you got unlucky. Not that his eighteenth was a big celebration like some of his classmates, but Tigris made him a cake with ingredients she'd been saving up for and she refit his school uniform for him. You wouldn't even have that- you would be spending the day fighting for your life, if you even made it that long.

"And who is in your family unit?" He reads directly from the slip as he forces himself to move on.

"Well, there's me, my brother, he's fifteen, and then my ma and pa." You nod. "Well, my pa isn't home much. Lots of work in the mines; usually has sixteen-hour days. I hardly ever see him." You admit, sadness laced into your tone. "Saw him, I mean."

"My father died in Twelve." Coryo says, catching you off guard. He doesn't even fully understand why he felt the need to tell you this. "About ten years ago, it was rebels."

"I remember that." You reply quietly, recalling the lockdown placed on the District after the murder of a peacekeeper general. "He was the general. Crassus Snow, I assume?"

"Yes."

Everyone was forced into their homes at gunpoint, and in search of the responsible parties everyone you knew had their home destroyed by peacekeepers. Yourself included. Your bed was torn apart, and your mattress shredded for any hidden weapons or plans. Since then, you have shared a bed with your brother. A new mattress was hard to make, and your ma never got the free time or materials again.

Up until this week, that was the scariest day of your life. Just before the peacekeepers kicked in your door, your mother had grabbed the two of you and shoved you into an opening under the floorboards- a crawlspace made from a faulty foundation. You were in there for what felt like hours, listening to shouting and your home being ruined as you held onto each other with a hand pressed over your brother's mouth to keep him from crying too loud. Your mother's cries that day never seemed to end.

"It's a small world." You say after a solid few moments of silence, and Coryo can see it in the way you're staring at his paper that you're not reading it. You're zoned out completely. "I'm sorry that happened to you. It must have been scary."

"The war was hard on all of us." He responds. "What... what do you remember?" He had never heard anything about it besides the bare bones of what happened, he had never considered that the people of Twelve would remember it as well. And judging by the look on your face, it wasn't a good memory.

"I was about six, maybe seven, and I was playing with my brother, and I didn't hear anything but my ma must have because she grabbed us and hid us under the floorboards so fast I could have got whiplash. Peacekeepers came into our home, tore the whole thing to shreds, hurt my ma, then took off. Onto the next house. I didn't find out until a while later that rebels killed the peacekeeper general, they were looking for any evidence of conspiracy, I guess. The people who did it."

"Sounds like it was scarier for you than for me."

"But I want you to know," You speak so quickly you almost cut him off. "My parents had nothing to do with it. My pa is an honest, good man. All he ever wanted was to keep us safe. We're not rebels, I promise you that."

Coriolanus almost wishes you were, so he wouldn't be so hurt by what his people were putting you through. "I know. I wouldn't blame you for that."

"Thank you." You whisper, picking at your nails now as you look down at your shaky hands.

Coryo clears his throat, forcing himself to look away from you. "Uh..." He chuckles at the next question, making you look up at him again. "Are you married?"

"No." You reply, having almost completely forgotten about the worksheet in front of him. "I'm not."

"It's just... I just, I have to ask." He says, clearing his throat as he writes it down.

"Of course." You nod in understanding.

"Boyfriend?" He asks, and as you squint at the sheet you can see it's not there, and he quickly covers the next lines with his palm, cheeks flushing pink.

"Yes." You giggle as he snaps his head up to look at you.

"You do?" He asks, voice catching as his curls fall back onto his forehead from the sudden movement.

"Yes, what is so wrong in that?" You raise an eyebrow at him, trying not to laugh.

"No, no, I mean, of course you do, you're beautiful, I just, you never mentioned-"

"Relax, Coriolanus. I'm kidding." You smile at the panic in his tone. "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh, right. Thanks, it's just for, yeah..." He mumbles, pretending to write something down behind his cupped hand so you couldn't see.

You shake your head at him while he's not paying attention, smiling to yourself.

"So, uh, do you have a job?"

"Not formally, but my ma is a seamstress. I help her lots with that. Fixing people's work clothes, stuff like that." You answer, getting back on topic.

"Did you make your dress?" He asks.

"Now I know that question's not on that form of yours." You laugh. "But yes, my ma made it for me when I was five. It's been my favourite ever since."

He looked the parts of it over that he could see above the table. It was well worn down, but well cared for. Similar to a lot of his own clothing.

"It used to be this big, flowing thing. Too big for a five year old- I would step on the bottom of it, just tore it right up." You recall. "So we trimmed the bottom, and as I grew, it grew right with me. I stitched up the bottom when I was old enough to enter the reaping, so now it's got shorts instead. But I still love it, lots of good memories held in the pockets of this old thing."

Shorts instead. So it's easier to run in. The thought haunts Coryo for a moment. The idea that you, at twelve years old, decided this is what you would want to run in, to die in, and took the liberty of sewing up the crotch in it yourself. Every stitch possibly sealing your fate.

"It's nice. I like it." He responds.

"Thank you." You smile, nodding proudly to yourself as you look down at the fabric. "It's real comfy, too."

"It looks it. Not very... restricting." He chooses his words wisely. No wonder you had kept it so many years. It still fit, so why not? Especially when it looked so good on you. The typically plain, neutral tone of the fabric complimented your skin tone so well. Even in bad lighting, it seemed as though you were glowing where the cloth met your skin. Glowing everywhere, now that he thought about it. Maybe you just lit up every room you walked into. Maybe it wasn't the clothing that was made just for you and hugged your form so flawlessly, maybe it was just you.

"Yes, it is not." You agree. "Now, our time is limited. Next question." You interrupt his thoughts, gesturing to the sheet of paper in between you.

"Yes, sorry." Coryo chuckles, shaking the distraction from his head. "Any hobbies?

"Reading."

"I did know that." He smiles to himself. "Anything else?"

"Well..." You think about it for a moment, chewing your lip. "I have a cat, and I like to play with him and take care of him, does that count?"

"I'll count it." He nods, quickly jotting it down. "What's your cat's name?" He asks, purely out of curiosity.

"Tybalt." You giggle.

"Tybalt?" Coryo tilts his head at you and you nod, bottom lip drawn between your teeth.

He nods slightly, prompting you to explain. "He's named after a character from Romeo and Juliet."

"That's your favourite, I remember."

"Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives." You quote. "Mercutio calls Tybalt the king of the cats, so I named him after that."

"That's clever. Very funny."

"Thank you. I thought so." You smile proudly, watching him write down your cats name in his notes. "What is this for, if I can ask?"

"Uh, there's going to be an interview you'll have to do the night before the games. It'll be aired live on Capitol television, and people will be able to send in donations so I can send you things in the arena. Just like I told you." Coryo explains.

"An interview?" You ask. "What does that entail?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet." He answers honestly. "But we'll pass this sheet onto the host, Lucky, if you remember him, and he can ask you questions about your family, your life, any of this stuff. I think really whatever we want, though, so if there's anything in particular you want to say or talk about I can write that down for you."

"Oh, I'm really not sure." You reply. "Nothing in particular, but if you need me to talk I can talk about books for hours on end." You smile.

"Could you do a monologue?" He suggests. He had discussed this with Tigris before, and he was hoping you would, but knowing you, you would be dropping quotes in your interview anyway so you might as well commit to it and display how smart you are with something well-planned.

"Maybe, if you could find me a copy of Romeo and Juliet." You smile. "I think I know it, but it would be nice to have a refresher. Just to make sure I get it right. Would be awfully embarrassing if I made a mistake."

Coryo nods, quickly writing that down in the margins of the page. Considering he had never even heard of this book, it may be hard, but he would certainly try for you. "That would be great. Your goodbye was very moving, although quite confusing for most, but it had people talking about you and that's what we want."

"Okay. I'll practice."

"Thank you." Coryo smiles. "And I just have one more question on here to fill out... Do you have any special skills that you think will be helpful in the games?"

Your smile fades slightly and you just shake your head.

"That's okay. We'll figure it out."

That night, Coryo came to see you again. You were curled up with his blanket, draped half over yourself and half over Jessup as he lay next to you. It was a small blanket, obviously meant for a child, but it helped anyway. Maybe it was just a placebo, but for you, that was more than enough.

As you got up, hearing him call your name in a familiar tone, you draped the blanket more fully over Jessup before making your way over to the bars of the enclosure. "Good evening, Coryo. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I brought you some things." He whispers, digging in his bag.

"How kind." You smile, watching as he pulls things out, handing you a napkin with some bread wrapped inside and tucking whatever else he brought under his arm to give to you after you've eaten. "Can you sit for a few minutes?"

"Of course." He nods, sitting down with you as you cross your legs and unfold the fabric carefully as not to drop what's inside. "I was hoping to talk to you anyway."

"Let's talk; it is not day." You smile, leaning toward him more.

"Should I be asking what that's from?" He jokes, but is surprised when you shrug.

"You could, but I wouldn't want to bore you." You giggle, shaking your head. "Take a guess, though. I believe you'd know it."

He smiles, watching as you take a bite out of the bread. "Romeo and Juliet?"

"Yes." You nod in confirmation, covering your mouth while you speak. "You're a real fan, now, aren't you?"

"I guess so." He chuckles. "The fact that I've never read it is unimportant."

"Completely irrelevant." You agree with a quiet laugh. His smile fades as his eyes land on something behind you, and you turn to follow his gaze over your shoulder. "What are you looking at?" You whisper, looking back at him again.

"Are you sharing everything I bring you with Jessup?" He asks, voice stern as his brow furrows at the question.

"I try to." You nod, taking another bite. "He's not well. I think something bit him the first night we were here."

"You can't." Coryo insists. Of course, he wants you to win, and you handing over every bit of sustenance or help you receive is only lessening your odds. Making Jessup stronger and you only weaker. "I know you're a good person, but once you get in that arena you won't have any friends. Not even him." Coryo explains, strategically skipping over the part where it makes him ill to see you sleeping with your head on the boy's shoulder and sharing the blanket that he gifted to you.

"Oh..." You say, so quietly he can hardly hear. "But-"

"Y/N." He cuts you off, a serious look on his face. "If you keep feeding him, keep helping him, and it comes down to you and him in the end, who do you think will win in that fight? If you had all the same nutrients and sleep, who do you think will win?"

"I- well..." You stutter, looking back at your friend. "It won't come to that. I think we both know that."

"We have to assume it will." He pleads, eyes now locked on yours. "Don't make it easier for him."

"Coryo, he's got a family, siblings, his ma to get home to. They need him." You protest, leaning closer so no one else could properly hear.

"So do you." He reminds you. The look of guilt that crosses your face indicates to him that even though you had your own family, something about Jessup makes you willing to give that up for him to get home. "What about Tybalt? He'll never know what happened to his own mother. Or your brother losing his sister. Y/N, please..."

Your eyes widen at the mention of your cat and your brother in particular. Clearly, Coryo is so desperate for you to listen that he's pulling strings he shouldn't. To make you hurt. To make you pay attention.

Tears fill your eyes as you speak. "I know." Your voice cracks, and the pit in Coryo's stomach tells him he's gone too far. "I'm sorry, I just- I don't want to be afraid anymore. It's selfish of me, I know, but I won't last long and I know that so I just want to get it over with." You cry quietly, reaching up to wipe your eyes on your wrist. You hadn't been so candid with him before, he almost doesn't recognize you without a smile on your face.

"Hey, no, don't be sorry. It's not selfish." He whispers, without hesitation reaching through the bars and resting his hand on your knee. Your skin is cold to the touch, even for him after he had just walked all the way here in the same air. "But it'll be over soon, and I'll get you home. I'll do everything I can."

You sniff and nod, hesitating before placing your hand over his. "I promise I'll do my best in the interview. I want you to win your prize."

Coryo's mouth gets dry at the insinuation. You didn't think you could win, you won't even consider it even with all the encouragement he tries to feed you every day, but you want him to win. "That's not important." He says, shocking himself with the sentiment. The Plinth Prize is his only hope at a viable future, at saving his family. But right now, he doesn't even care.

You don't respond right away, just sliding your hand under his to hold it. His skin on yours feels warm, comforting, the same way it did when he held it when you were first dumped in the zoo. You don't know if it's more comforting to you or him.

"I'm sorry to cry at you, I just sometimes realize what's going to happen to me and spiral over the possibilities and no matter how hard I try to accept it..." You shake your head, looking down at your hands. "I'm still fearful." Your voice drops below a whisper.

"Then don't accept it." Coryo grasps your hand tighter, leaning closer to you and looking at you through the bars. "Fight. Try to win."

taglist: @soulessjourney, @keziahcore, @that-veela-girl, @motorsport, @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @Lanadelrey3, @rawrmameh, @3zae-zae3, @babyspice6, @pastel0rchid, @maysileeewrites, @articxari, @Urfavpouge, @Multivitaminfy, @baybieruth, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @drewsandsebastianswife, @niicole-87, @queenofshinigamis, @innercreationflower, @nallasstuff, @spring-goddess1, @baybieruth, @lovelyxtom, @throughgoeshxmilton, @enwonie, @scorpiolystoned, @iovemoonyy, @kodzuvk, @soupasoup, @eedwardss, @thatmarvelchick19, @wearemadeofstardust0, @regulusblackcore, @kbakery , @qardasngan, @omgsuperstarg, @kuroosbby001, @puredreamagination,

if your user has a strikethrough i wasn't able to tag you! i'm so sorry!

[pwblant]

OOPS! — l.ant ★

★ pairing : l.ant x f!reader

★ wc. : 555

★ warnings : none!!! mainly fluff hehe

★ a/n : i miss memories era take me back!!

it was a sunny day out—you were in a good mood especially because you had a lot of free time. vacant days felt like miracles because art school life has been so busy lately. since you wanted to take this time to relax and enjoy your weekend, you took your sketchbook and pencil and made your way to your go-to cafe that was conveniently a 5 minute walk away from your apartment. 

as you walked through the doors of the cafe, you were greeted by the staff and met with the rich aroma of coffee. once you placed your order for an iced americano, you plopped down on your favorite vacant spot near the counter, which was also a cozy spot perfect for drawing. you sketched away until you finally heard the waiter call your name.

“order for y/n?” 

hearing your name, you immediately got up, carrying the tray back to your table and sitting back down. this was the life. a good drawing day along with the perfect seat and the perfect cup of coffe—

“oh my goodness.” a tall boy around your age says as he looks down at you in shock right after tripping on air and spilling his drink all over your sketchbook. 

“oh no, oh no, oh no,” the guy responsible for the mess says as he scrambles to look for a napkin, his panicked expression made him look mortified but also adorable. 

“honestly, it’s fine.” you say, trying to calm him down as you eyed your ruined piece.

“no no no i have an idea.” instead of calming down, he takes a pen from his pocket and starts “fixing” what he’s destroyed.

“i can fix it. i’m good at drawing, i swear!” he said in a worried but soft spoken tone. spoiler alert, he didn’t fix it. you laughed at the disaster of a drawing he created and his cheeks turned bright pink. 

“oh my gosh, what is this? a frog? that used to be a tree!” you said, genuinely finding all of this hilarious without a single trace of anger. it was a lucky day for him that you were in a good mood today. 

you looked up at him, “my name’s y/n and what’s yours, clumsy boy?” you joked. 

“um, my name’s anton. i’m really, really sorry about what happened. how can i make up for it?” he asked, looking worried.

“i told you, it’s fine. you’re cute anyways.” you say, half joking about what you just said—it wasn’t a lie that he was undeniably cute especially after witnessing what had just gone down.

you could see his ears turn red behind his brown, fluffy hair. “well, maybe i could make up for it over lunch? if you’re free.” he offered.

“deal.”

he invited himself over to your table and sat on the chair opposite to you. this didn’t bother you anyway. you ended up chatting with him for almost an hour, realizing the amount of similarities between the two of you. maybe it was like fate had known of your loneliness, so it gave you a little gift for all the stress you’ve endured. 

despite the unexpected way of meeting, you really enjoyed his company and quickly exchanged contacts before packing up and walking to the restaurant you’ll be having lunch in together.

[shinysparklesapphires]

showtime precure!

chapter 13: wait where's Reel's hometown? The secret of the wishing well!

🎀: @baileypie-writes @harufallinwonderland @h2llish

"Haaaa...." Reel sighed as he aimlessly pushed around a pencil on his desk. Class had started an hour ago and he hadn't even said anything.

"Uh Reel?" Amber went and tapped his shoulder, starling him.

"Huh-oh! Sorry girls! We're gonna be moving to the auditorium today since I need to move some props there." He stood up, picked up yhe wishing well and silently walked out of the room.

"Yo, is Reel ok? He's been down in the dumps ever since parents day happened." Amber whispered to the others.

"Yeah he's been way gloomier than usual, and he hasn't taken a nap at ALL during class!" Lyna replied.

"Maybe he's finally decided to do his job?" Lucia pondered.

The girls froze.

Then they burst out into laughter.

"Yeah right, Reel wanting to do his job!" Amber wiped a tear from her eye, "He's been keeping a closer eye on the wishing well lately too. Maybe it has something to do with his hometown.."

Just as they entered the backstage area, Violet was standing there with the dance coach talking about something.

"Ok I'll be the- oh hey girls!" Violet waved.

"Yo." Amber high fived her.

"Hi Professor Rilu..." the dance coach waved at Reel.

"Uh." He just grunted in response and put the well on a table in the orchestra pit.

Violet ran up to huddle with the others.

"Is something wrong with Reel?! He looked at the dance coach and didn't even look disgusted!"

"That's what we're trying to figure out!"

"Oh Violet I have to take care of something, you can hang out with the theater girls for the rest of the day if you want, we're not really doing anything in dance today either."

"Got it coach!" Violet waved to her as she exited through the backstage doors.

An awkward silence followed, Reel just pacing around the stage looking like all the light had been drained from him.

"Reel, are you ok?" Lyna was the first to break the silence. Reel stopped dead in his tracks.

"Huh? Oh yeah I'm fine.." he kept pacing around.

"Are you sure? Because you seem really out of it today," Amber tilted her head in confusion.

"Yeah I'm fine." He sounded annoyed.

"Reel I wish you'd just tell us what's going on with you!" Lucia stomped her foot, causing Reel to stop pacing.

"I'm fine! Will you just-" Reel turned to look at the wishing well, now glowing with a bright light, blinding everyone in the room.

"What the hell is it doing?!"

"I don't know I've never seen a wishing well glow before!"

The light dispersed, and the girls and Reel had disappeared.

"Ugh...what the hell happened..." Lucia looked up at the sky, what should've been the ceiling to a grand fancy auditorium was now a violent shade of crimson with a dark cloud spiraling above her. She looked around. There were destroyed buildings and torn up fields everywhere.

"Ow! Lucia get off!" Lucia fell something push her.

"Amber! Do you have any idea where we are??"

"Obviously not! But by the look if it, it's an awful neighborhood..."

"Well you know what they say, red sky at night sailors delight, red sky at morning sailors warning!"

Amber got up and brushed off her skirt and checked her phone.

"It's 12:07 pm. And that only applies to the sea."

"Uh...flip a coin?" She shrugged.

Amber facepalmed.

"We should stay on alert. Something tells me if there's anyone else here they probably won't be friendly."

"Right!"

"Lyna! Reel! Wake up!" Violet shook Reel and Lyna's unconscious bodies, jolting them awake.

"Huh what?! Woah..." The others had landed in a flower field. Or what was left of it atleast..all the flowers had long since rotted, it looked almost depressing rather than beautiful.

Reel still had the wishing well in his hands, making sure to be careful with it.

"Reel do you know where we are?!" Violet hugged Lyna's arm tightly, "this place gives me the creeps!"

Reel looked around in shock.

"This is...."

"What? what is it?" Lyna pulled Violet closer to her.

"The Film Kingdom. My home."

"GIRLS!"

The trio jumped from being woken up, Catwalk's silhouette jumping up and down in the water pillar.

"What the hell do you want? You woke Nosferatu up from his nap!" Dominique patted his feathers to soothe him.

"The precure are in the film kingdom! That means I get to play with them today!" He jumped all giddy and excited like a kid who just got a brand new toy for his birthday.

"What?! How did they even manage to get there?!" Lacey knocked over Nicolette trying to get to the pillar.

"I dunno. Buuut I'm gonna need all your wish coins for my little game!" He snapped his fingers, and the pile of wish coins next to Dominique disappeared.

"Hey! I worked hard collecting those!"

Catwalk blew a raspberry at her.

"Finders keepers!" He disappeared and the pillar collapsed.

"Damn brat! When I get my hands on him..."

"HONK!" Nosferatu bumped his head on Dominique's chin.

"I'm sorry sweetie.." She kissed the top of his head.

"Barf." Lacey stuck out her tongue and pointed at it.

"Reel we should try and find Lucia and Amber!"

"I'll call her!" Violet pulled out her phone and froze.

"Violet?! What's wrong?!" Reel panicked.

"There's no cell service here..."

"THATS what you're upset about?!"

"Well now we can't contact the others!"

"I've got a better idea!" Lyna ran off, "LUUUCIIIIAAAAA! AMBERRRR!"

Violet ran off with Lyna, yelling too.

"Girls wait! There might be something dangerous out there! AUGHHHH!" Reel started running.

"I don't see Lyna or Violet anywhere..." Lucia was walking carefully behind Amber.

"And I don't see Reel either. I wo-"

"-CIAAAAA!" they turned to see Violet and Lyna running towards them.

"Girls! We've been looking all over for you!"

"Us too! We're in the Film Kingdom! Reel's home!"

Reel came running up to the girls, completely out of breath.

"How are you that fast?!"

"Maybe you're just slow."

"Reel..the reason you were so out of it...you were just homesick weren't you?" Lucia looked at him worried.

"Yeah. It's fine though. I'll get through it." He looked down.

"I've found you!" The girls looked up to see a small monochromatic boy flying above them.

"Who the hell are you?" Amber scowled.

"I'm Catwalk! I'm here to play with you precure!" He threw a bunch of coins into the air, "Facades! Wreak your havoc!"

"What the-"

"SAWWWWWW!" An army of Facades surrounded them.

"Girls! Let's go!" Lucia clutched her ribbon.

"Right!" They all nodded.

"Precure, Rollback!"

Catwalk took a look at Reel, who was still clutching the well in his hands, and smirked.

"Facade! Take the well to the cathedral!"

"Saw!" One of the monsters swiped the well out of Reel's hands and ran into a nearby building.

"The well!" Reel chased after it.

"Reel!" Showtime yelled, trying to counter one of the other monster's attacks.

"Showtime! Go help Reel! We'll take it from here!" Wright pushed the monster off of her.

"Got it!" She ran off in Reel's direction.

"Reel there you a-" Showtime froze. It was the same place from her dream. The same glass coffin she had seen. Reel was standing over it, a blank expression on his face. The monster had vanished. The wishing well was on the coffin.

Showtime walked up to it. Inside was a woman. She looked almost identical to Reel. Same purple hair, same skin tone, same nose.

"Re-"

"That's my mother. Queen Mnemosyne. She's the one who gave me those ribbons. She-" Lucia could hear his voice breaking up.

He was crying.

"He used the monster to lure me here. To show me what they did to her. Who does that?!" His voice cracked.

"Reel...."

"Showtime I'm begging you. Please save my mother..."

He got onto his knees and cried.

"Oh what a beautiful display of affection! Makes me sick." Reel looked up. A woman stood in a tuxedo, a cigarette hanging out of her mask, smoke blowing throughout the room. Lucia plugged her nose.

"Well then little prince, you've finally come back to your kingdom huh? But I haven't come for you," she turned to Showtime, "I came for her."

With a flick of her wrist, she sent Reel flying out of the cathedral.

"Reel!"

"Now," she grabbed Showtime’s face with her hand, "You're the legendary precure? You look so...weak."

Lucia felt that sharp stinging pain again as realization hit her.

"You're-"

"Tragedy. Bingo." She blew a puff of smoke into her face and threw her onto the ground.

"You're cute little game here is about to come to an end. I don't like people who stand in my way yknow."

Even though her face was hidden, something about her made Showtime freeze up.

Tragedy pulled a coin out of her jacket pocket.

"Facade~"

"SAWWW!" A monster appeared in front of Lucia, but she couldn't move. She felt powerless in front of Tragedy. What was she supposed to do?

"Set...Lasso!" The facade was tied up before it could strike Showtime.

"Everyone!"

"Showtime! Reel told us what was going on!"

Wright swung at the monster.

"We're not gonna let you fight this thing alone!"

Action kicked it from behind.

"We're a team! We'll never abandon you!"

"You guys..." Showtime steadily stood up.

"SAWWW!" The monster stood up without a scratch.

"Our attacks did nothing?!" Wright's jaw dropped.

Tragedy laughed, "this facade isn't like those weaklings my minions create, you'll need a little more than that if you want to defeat it, 'legendary playwrights'!"

"We will defeat it! Ya know why Tragedy?" Showtime brushed off her uniform.

Tragedy cocked her head to the side, "why?" She sneered.

"Because my greatest wish, is to defeat YOU!" The wishing well glowed and light surrounded the girls.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Girls! The wishing well is reacting to your hearts! You need to use it to destroy the Facade!"

They nodded, and the four all joined thier hands in a circle.

"Our hearts desires will destroy your evil! Precure! Roccoco Lovely....Shock!"

The facade was vaporized.

"NOOOOOO!" Tragedy screamed.

"I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF IF I HAVE TO! JUST WATCH!"

she swung at Showtime, but the well covered them all in light, transporting them back to the school.

"AAAAAA-OW!" The girls and Reel landed back on the stage.

"Reel...I'm sorry about your mom. We shouldn't hav-"

"No it's fine. I'm just happy I got to see her again in the end. Plus, I've still got you four as my family too yknow?"

"REEEEL!" They all jumped on Reel to hug him, causing him to stumble and all of them falling into the orchestra pit. They all looked at each other and laughed.

"M-miss Tragedy I *hic* I'm sorry that I couldn't hold them back..." Catwalk was crying into Tragedy's arms.

"It's ok dear, we'll have them gone soon enough. As for you..." She walked towards the queens coffin, "I know you're doing something to help those girls. I don't know what but I promise I'll keep you from it." She scowled and blew a puff of smoke onto the queen's face.

"Cure Showtime....I'll tear you apart with my own bare hands."

[afyrian]

no. 8 - googly eyes masterlist

    glue, glitter, and googly eyes, the three main components of any good craft time. you can supply kids with an array of supplies, but none will ever as integral as those three. which you learn rather quickly when you head down for your scheduled time. 

  the table is already covered in glitter and cut up pieces of paper. popsicle sticks are violated behind belief and little girls are destroying each other's creations. after seeing the sight that sits before you, you breath a sigh of relief knowing that your group will likely be a little more mature. however, you can't help but feel bad for yachi.

  she sits at the corner of the table, right besides the one your group will be sitting at. she has some bags under her eyes and is clearly regretting choosing one of the younger groups of kids. they're going crazy around the table and are occasionally spilling things on her and not caring. "you doing okay?" you sit next to her, pursing your lips. 

  "i'm so tired, please distract me with something that is adult related,” she grabs your shoulder with her hands, resting her forehead on them, sighing out loud. 

  you tap your chin, narrowing your eyes, “ooh yeah, i’m stuck with atsumu all week if you didn’t see the plans. like last night, we had a scary campfire night and like we laughed together.. it was wild.”

  she raises her head up with her mouth wide open and her eyes staring into yours. “oh my gosh, you were flirting with atsumu miya?!”

  the volume of her voice immediately makes you cringe, hands reaching to cover her mouth. the idea of ‘flirting’ with him makes you want to laugh and roll your eyes. “no! we were just laughing, nothing more! besides, for one, he doesn’t even remember me. and two, he was such an.. ass,” you try to whisper the last part, looking down at some modeling clay in front of you.

  “you totally were,” yachi shakes her head, grabbing a pencil and doodling on her paper, “and who cares! he could be this new person, i mean you wouldn’t be laughing with him if he is as he was years ago. like yes, you’re totally valid for how you feel about how he treated you. so talk to him about it or something! especially because i can totally tell you’re freaking out.”

  you shake your head slightly, pulling at the clay and squishing it back into a ball. “it’d just be awkward, i mean i acted like i didn’t know either.. just to save from the embarrassment,” you lean forward, resting your forehead on the table, letting out a short sigh.

  “oh my gosh, y/n, i can’t believe you. you’re so lucky i have to leave soon because i want to be hounding you so bad,” she leans against her hand, elbow resting on the wooden table. 

  you roll your eyes at her words, acting like they didn’t make you feel something. last night, even if it’s your worst nightmare come true, you did have fun. pretending to argue with him, proving him wrong and watching as he tries to hold back a truthful apology. something about it stirred a feeling within, and yachi certainly isn’t help you understand what it may be. 

  “well you’d be hounding about nothing.. we do have archery after this so i will let you know how it goes. but nothing is happening between us,” you lean over and bump her shoulder, trying to ignore that feeling in your gut.

  yachi looks over at you, shaking her head. she’s always known you a little better than you’ve known yourself. she’s intuitive like that, ignoring the activity just to give you advice, “ooh something will definitely happen, trust me. you just watch.”

  she gets up from her spot to bring her group with her to their next activity. looking back at you she points her finger at you, “you’ll see! especially if you tell the truth!”

a/n: this is so short but i wanted to get something out!! it didn’t post last night this is fantastic D: taglist (open): @lemurzsquad, @froyaoya, @localgaytrainwreck, @guitarstringed-scars, @girlkissersco, @hyenagoated

[randoms-fandoms]

Hello! I was wondering if you could perhaps write a calamity trio x reader? More specifically, what would happen if all of the girls had a crush on the same person?

Omg yes this is such a cute idea :0 (sorry the reader won’t really be the focus 😅 it’s an Anne pov, and Marcy and Sash are still very much in it)

Warnings: none

Relationships: they have a crush on you👀

Anne, Sasha, and Marcy had grown more after returning from Amphibia— they had at least another year until Marcy had to move, as her disappearance had prompted her parents to put their plans on hold for a few months, meaning she could stay in California the time being— but even though the three of them were no longer geographically torn apart, conflicting schedules meant that they hardly had time to spend together.

However, now that the trio had begun the new school year, life had been going pretty well. The pestering questions from other students and even teachers were annoying, but easy to get used to. Things felt normal again.

Anne loved her friends a lot, but she also wanted to expand her circle a bit. That was kind of hard when everyone knew her as the superhero girl who defended the city from robots last summer, but her adventures in Amphibia had given her nothing if not tenacity.

Finally, after a month or so of having no one to hang out with during school, she met someone new. Someone who hadn’t seen her destroy a fleet of robots on live television over the summer.

Anne only had two classes with you, and you had separate lunch periods, but that was perfectly fine. You had sat together in class every day since you first started school there, and Anne had quickly made a habit of texting you often. Photos of Domino, memes, random thoughts— she found every excuse to text you. She even took a few cute selfies with you! Overall, your fast friendship was wonderful.

Weeks into this new friendship, however, Anne was beginning to realize something. Her feelings for you were… changing. She didn’t used to struggle with eye contact when you complimented her. She had never before turned into a blushing mess just from a hug. Suddenly, your every action had her overthinking.

“Anne? Are you listening?” An amused voice broke through her thoughts.

Anne looked up to see you staring at her, confused. “Oh, haha— sorry I was just zoning out.” Anne said, face burning. “What did you say?”

“I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the library after school to work on our group project.” You asked.

“Yeah totally!” Anne answered quickly. This is the first time they’ve invited me to hang out outside of school!

“Wait— I mean, I’d love to… but I have plans already. Sorry.” Anne said, frowning. She had forgotten that she and her other two friends were going to be hanging out all afternoon, and even sleeping over at Marcy’s house.

“That’s alright. how about Sunday? It’s due on Monday, you know.” You said with a little laugh.

Anne groaned. “I know, sorry. That sounds good, you can come to my place.”

“I’ll text you, okay?” You smiled as you stood up to put away your notebook and pencil. Anne hid her face; you thought it was funny, but really she was hiding how your sweet smile always made her blush.

Anne needed advice.

Marcy and Sasha were engrossed in conversation (something about a manga they both read; Anne didn’t quite know), but Anne was distracted. She sat on Marcy’s bed, scrolling through her album of selfies with you.

“Anyway, I’m going to get some snacks and change into my pajamas. You guys get comfy too!” Marcy said, plugging her phone into the charger by her bedside table.

Anne waited for Marcy to close the door before she unzipped her backpack and pulled out her overnight stuff.

“So how are you doing? It’s been a while since we’ve hung out.” Sasha made conversation while she walked into the adjoining bathroom to change.

Anne sighed. “Nothing bad,” she started, quickly pulling on her pajamas. It was just a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt, nothing like Sasha’s cute matching sweatsuit. Anne wondered if you would think she looked cute if she dressed up. “…I’m just a little… I don’t know. I feel kind of weird.”

“Well what’s up, girl? Having bad dreams again?” Sasha re-entered the room, taking out her ponytail, and lie down on Marcy’s queen sized bed.

Anne smiled softly to herself, getting lost in thought for a moment. She loved how Sasha was always so worried about her. Back when they had just barely gotten home from Amphibia, Sasha would stay up on the phone with Anne all night while she cried. Sometimes she was missing the Plantars, sometimes she was convinced one of Andrias’s robots was after her again, sometimes she was having a panic attack thinking about her own inevitable death— no matter how long it took, Sasha was always there.

“Anne?”

“No, I’m fine.” Anne said, a little embarrassed. She sat back against the headboard. “Just normal teenager things.”

“Great,” Sasha said, smiling and closing her eyes. “Can’t get enough of that. Lay it on me.” She said, getting comfy.

Anne laughed. Marcy walked back in the room, making her jump. Her heart was already in her throat, beating hard from the nerves of talking about her feelings (however roundabout).

“Hey guys! Sorry it took me a minute, I accidentally spilled the first bowl of chips.” Marcy said, shrugging. Sasha stood up and took a bag of candy from her arms, which were full of snack food.

“I’m surprised you didn’t drop more, with how much you’re carrying.” She replied, kicking a pillow out of the way so she could sit down on the plush carpet.

Marcy laughed. “Anyway, what are you guys talking about?” She said, relaxing on the beanbag chair next to the outlet where her phone was charging. She put the arm full of snacks on the ground between her and Sasha.

Sasha looked at Anne, waiting for her to answer.

“Oh, haha, I just wanted some advice.” She blushed. “I think I might… have a crush on someone.” She looked away, laughing awkwardly while Sasha and Marcy freaked out.

“Oh my god, that’s great!” Sasha smiled widely.

“Are you gonna ask them out?” Marcy asked, gasping. “You have to tell us everything!”

Anne grinned self consciously, thinking about you. Asking you out. “Well, we met at school, and I really like them…”

“Is it someone we know?” Sasha asked teasingly.

Anne shrugged. With how new they are to the school, what are the odds that they’ve met my two only friends? “Maybe. Anyway, we’ve been friends for a while, and suddenly I just can’t think straight when I’m around them… I’m worried that if I don’t say something and get it off my chest, they’ll notice, and— I don’t know, it would just be embarrassing.” Anne ranted.

Sasha nodded seriously. “Classic story. Not to worry, though, Marce and I have tons of experience with crushes.”

Marcy laughed nervously. “Sasha, you said you wouldn’t tell!” She lightly punched Sasha, who ignored her.

“Anyway, who is it?” The blonde asked. She took a handful of chips and ate them, casually relaxing against the pillows on the floor.

Anne, still sitting on the bed, leaned down to whisper in Sasha’s ear. She was pretty confident that she wouldn’t even recognize your name, but the other girl gasped as soon as she said it.

“No. Freaking. Way. Marcy you would not believe this— Anne likes the same person you do!”

Anne’s heart dropped. “What?” She distantly registered that Marcy said the exact same thing at the exact same time. She would have laughed if she didn’t feel so… weird.

“We eat lunch together like every day.” Sasha explained to Anne. “Marcy has a huge crush on them.”

“You do too!” Marcy accused, embarrassed, making Sasha blush.

“Whatever, at least I can act normal about it!” Sasha argued.

Anne felt an unfamiliar twist in her stomach. Jealousy. They hang out every day? She frowned. She wondered if Sasha was as confident and flirty with you as she was with her sometimes.

“So we all like the same person?” Marcy clarified, after a moment of tense silence. “I didn’t really think they would be your type,” she said to Anne.

“I didn’t even know I had a type!” Anne said, a little exasperated. She had never felt so strongly about a crush before. She thought about your laugh, how you teased her sometimes, how she had picked out a nickname for her…

Sasha for once didn’t really have any advice. “Well who do they like?”

Marcy shrugged. “They always avoid the question. I’ve tried asking.”

Anne was shocked. “Really? You guys talk about that stuff?”

Sasha giggled. “Yeah, some of us are better at hiding our feelings.“

Anne rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She paused for a moment. “…Are you guys going to ask them out?”

Sasha shrugged. “Maybe. Should I?”

Anne thought about that. Now that the initial surprise had worn off, she found that she wasn’t upset that Marcy and Sasha liked you. She wondered if you would be interested in dating all of them. The trio had shared everything with each other ever since they had first become friends… come to think of it, Anne found that she liked the idea of all of them dating you.

“I think we all should.” Marcy said, smiling. “How should we do it?”

“Let’s FaceTime them,” Sasha suggested. “I want to see how they react.”

Anne shook her head. She knew she was far too shy and awkward about the whole situation for that to end well. “How about just texting? We could create a groupchat.”

The other girls nodded. “Alright, sounds good!”

Marcy inviter you, her, and Sasha to join a groupchat. Anne snorted a laugh when Marcy renamed the chat to an emoji: 🫣

“Who wants to go first?” Asked Sasha, feeling nervous.

Anne just wanted to get it over with, wanted to know what you thought. “I will.” She quickly typed out a simple message and sent it.

You replied quickly, much to Anne’s relief.

I like you.

Me?

Why are you saying it in a gc?

Worrying that this was too weird, that you hated her now, Anne was already typing her apology when Sasha and Marcy replied.

Because I do too :D

Me too

Marcy squealed, dropping her phone and hiding her face. “Ah, this is crazy!”

Sasha laughed. Anne knew she was trying to play it cool, but secretly cared just as much. Anne herself felt sick to her stomach from nerves. Her heart nearly stopped when the notification that you replied came in.

Do you all wanna go on a date tmrw? We can talk abt it over lunch

I didn’t know u were friends :)

Anne sighed in relief, laughing. Friends is an understatement. She grinned, excited, hearing Marcy and Sasha celebrating around her. Her heart swelled with joy, glad that her two best friends would be there with her in this new relationship.

She was so caught up in her own emotions that she didn’t notice Sasha taking a selfie of the room, including all three of the girls in it. It popped up in the groupchat.

Anne clicked on the picture, seeing Sasha in the corner of the screen, Marcy waving with one hand and holding her phone in the other, and herself distracted and staring at her screen. Her face was absolutely glowing with happiness, cheeks darkened with a blush, staring fondly at your messages.

“Sash, that’s such an embarrassing picture of me!” Anne looked up, not really upset.

Sasha stuck her tongue out. “It’s cute. I bet our new lover thinks so too.” She said teasingly. Anne looked down at her phone again, still smiling.

Marcy came in for a hug. “First date tomorrow, Anne! Are you excited?”

Anne laughed, hugging Marcy back. “Heck yeah!”

“We should do a spa night!” Sasha said, standing up. “Marcy, do you still have those face masks I got for you? We���ll be absolutely glowing tomorrow.” She posed, making Anne and Marcy laugh.

“Of course!” Marcy replied excitedly. “I even have some nail polish; our signature colors!”

Anne couldn’t stop smiling as she followed Marcy and Sasha into the bathroom. She felt great. Despite things changing for her after she returned from Amphibia, the love she shared with her friends stayed the same. And now, they could all open their hearts up more, expanding that love, growing exponentially closer.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading about these dorks crushing on you :P have a nice day!

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

For the ask game:

Perspective flip for Cozened Indigo 🙏❤️

Thank you so much Erin <3 I've chose to do Aemond's POV from their first meeting in chapter two:

Aemond folds his tall frame into the hard plastic seat.

Gods, how I loathe this place.

No modicum of respite to be found anywhere. If he had really wanted Lucerys to suffer, he ought to have just sent him here; suffering the wafer thin mattresses and unyielding plastic and steel made dying beneath the wheels of a car seem almost merciful by comparison.

He eyes the woman in front of him carefully. She looks like a deer caught in headlights, a frightened, little slip of a thing. How can anyone take her seriously in her profession when she has no air of authority?

Irritated, he gestures for her to sit, his eyes never leaving her as she jolts to life and moves quickly to sit opposite him. He feels impatient, full of restless energy as he drums his fingers upon the table. The sight of her placing a notepad and pencil upon the table makes his jaw tick. He'd have to remember to call Larys later and give that worthless toad a piece of his mind. For all the money his family were paying him for legal representation, he had the nerve to put this nervous wreck in front of him for an interview, and not even the decency to set it up as a proper media visit. If his lawyer wasn't going to take this seriously, then neither would he.

“You haven’t brought a recording device,” he says.

His gaze drops to her mouth as she wets her lips, his eye following the path of her tongue. It makes his cock stir. "Recording devices aren’t allowed," she replies matter of factly.

“They are on media visits.”

He smirks as she sighs and begins to tap her pencil against her pad. He's getting under her skin, annoying her, he can tell. “The trial is in three weeks, there isn’t time to organise one, there’s too much red tape involved.”

“On a media visit, we would have privacy, our own visitation room. You could record our conversations instead of having to scribble to keep up with what I say.”

He sits back, his spine rigid against the plastic of the chair, and clasps his hands in front of him.

Your move.

There is a thrill in making her chase her own tail, making a game of the conversation. He wonders how long it will be until she gets bored and gives up, or simply snaps at him. He can't imagine the latter, it would be fun to witness.

“We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet,” she tells him. She's trying to change the subject.

Aemond snorts derisively, unimpressed by her tactic. “You know who I am, I know who you are. I don’t feel there’s any need, unless you’d like to exchange pleasantries? Shall we talk about the weather, perhaps?”

He draws in a deep breath through his nose as he watches her nervously chew her lip.

Gods, that mouth.

“You know my name, but you don’t know anything about me. Maybe you’d feel more at ease talking to me if I told you a little about myself?”

He leans forward, delighting in the way she shrinks away from him as her pencil drops loudly onto the tabletop. He was right in his assessment of her as being a deer in the headlights, she is every bit a prey animal, and he knows he'll take enormous pleasure in hunting her.

“I know you destroyed your career by publishing a story that glorified a criminal, without checking to see if your sources were credible. I’d say I know enough.”

There is great satisfaction in taking in her shocked expression. Those pretty doe eyes go wide, and he can see from the rapid rise and fall of her chest that he's rattled her.

He chuckles drily, his posture relaxing as he leans back once more. “You’ve looked into me, dug around in my past, did you not think I’d do a little research of my own? I know all about you.”

“We’re…we’re not here to talk about me,” she stammers, attempting to compose herself as she snatches her pencil back up and sits up straight.

“I’m still deciding if I want to speak to you,” he admits with a shrug.

Her brow furrows in confusion as she narrows her eyes at him. “But you agreed to meet me?”

He gives a slight nod. “I agreed to meet you, yes. I didn’t agree to an interview.”

“Then why agree to see me? You’ve wasted my time.”

Oh. The sweet little doe has bite after all.

“I could say the same of you, waltzing in here, without even the decency to follow the appropriate media procedure, expecting me to spill my guts in front of a room full of rapists and murderers.”

“So you won’t speak to me?”

He pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, as he considers her question. If she had asked him that when she first walked in here, shaking like a leaf, it would have been an easy no. But seeing the briefest spark of fire within her, he feels perhaps he has misjudged her. Perhaps Larys has seen something in her that he hasn't, and as much as she wants to get inside his head, he realises he wouldn't mind picking her apart either.

“You seem…earnest,” he finally says, “get media visitation and you’ll have your interview.”

He slaps the flat of his hand against the top of the table, an indication that the conversation is at its end, and stands, walking slowly back over to the door he had entered through.

As the guard unlocks it, allowing him to leave, he casts one last look at her over his shoulder.

Brave little doe, I'm going to have so much fun with you.

Unusual fic specific asks for authors

[fancyfeathers]

have you watched queen's gambit? if you have, imagine beth harmon! darling as william's student. she is decimating every man in the chess club one day, and the whole department, even university is there to witness or join the challenge. william who happened to "stop by" casually offers to play. the game becomes actually longer and more intense. darling's confident and hungry posture falls as her objective goes from decimating her opponent to literally surviving. when he finally wins, she is humiliated badly(at least thats how she feels, william made sure no boy there insulted her intelligence at all lol) it's fun. i can see her becoming obsessed with taking him down and he is all "miss (name) can we focus on the lesson right now?"

Omg I love this idea especially because my mother insisted I play chess when I was in kindergarten all the way to my senior year and I met a girl when playing at a city championship who just reminded me of her and I played against her and she just destroyed me and then afterwards we exchanged phone numbers and we have been best friends since. Anywho that’s enough of me rambling lol.

But anywho I couldn’t play chess for the life of me anymore

I imagine that William would hear about her when his students were talking in class. When he catches them he asks what they are talking about that is so much more important than his lesson and the boys explain that one of them who is in the chess club had just gotten miserably beat by one of the only women at the university, he was planning on challenging her again after today’s classes. Then the next day comes and William asks his student how his match went, and he gotten beat even worse than before. Then the next day William hears his entire class talking about how she beat every single boy in the club and the professor who runs it. Then he hears how everyone around the university is attempting to beat her but no one has succeeded. So one day after class, William decides to see the rumored lady in action. The chess club has never been more active, people practically pouring out the door to watch. William squeezes his way pass everyone to watch and he recognizes her from passing in the hall…

“Miss (Name), she is one of my philosophy students, taking a minor in linguistic studies as well.”

Another one of the university professors had snuck up behind him, one of philosophy professors and the chaperone of the chess club.

“I think she is in my advanced number theory class next semester-“

“W-What how?!”

William is cut off my her competitor, staring down at the board in pure shock, he had just lost but it had only been a few mere minutes. William watched as she stood up and reached out to shake her opponent’s hand but he merely stood up and walked off in a fit. She just watches him leave and doesn’t notice the footsteps approaching her and she turns her head to see the scarlet eyed professor extending his hand to her.

“Professor William James Moriarty, I teach mathematics, care for a match?”

The two sit down at the table and the game begins. To say it was a long match was and understatement, dragging on hours since there are no use of clocks in the club and it is reaching night hours when Louis gets worried about his brother and shows up to the university to see the two of them playing and she is tugging at her hair in frustration as she stares down at the board. Only a few students and professors are left watching. Then she finally makes her move, and as she is grabbing her pencil to make note of it she hears William move a piece on the board and-

“Checkmate.”

She stares down at the board in pure shock, she actually lost. She stands up and shakes his hand silently before walking off herself with her few friends from the chess club trying to make her feel better about her loss.

William goes home with Louis who immediately asks why her was still here. But all William can think about is the intelligence of this young women. Then the first semester ends and winter break comes and goes and everyone returns to campus and she begins in William’s class but before he has the chance to speak to her at the end of class she runs off, presumably to the chess club. So after finishing a bit of filing William goes as well and sees her sitting playing a game with another one of the students and having a conversation.

“I don’t know why loosing to Professor Moriarty is bothering you so much, you literally won the Nationals over winter break in London, why don’t you focus on that victory-“

“Because I won those matches and I lost miserably to Professor Moriarty, it doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense is the fact that you are still here, you could literally be playing against some of the best in the world if you wanted but instead you are still here of all places, why?”

“Because I want to beat him.”

He begins watching her more closely after overhearing that. He picks up on her little habits, how she shows up thirty seconds before his class starts, she packs up her things forty seconds before the bell and when class is dismissed she is always the first one out the door. As semester moves on he also notices how distracted she is getting, staring off at the ceiling and not writing anything down, the lack of work on her assignments and how she is seemingly growing more and more distant to everything, and her grade in his class is suffering because of it.

“Miss (Name), please stay after class.”

He says mere seconds before the bell rings and she is about to stand up to leave and all of her class mates stare at her as she approaches his desk instead. He scolds her for her behavior in class, telling her that he knows she is intelligent and…

Her eyes were still staring off else where…

“Can I see your bag please?”

She hesitantly hands her bag off to him and he opens it and looks through it and pulls out a bottle of pills.

“I will be talking to administration about this, you will be most likely removed from the chess club and potentially expelled.”

“…I understand.”

The next day she is sitting in her dorm room, she had not gone to class that day when a secretary from administration came knocking at her door to escort her to the main office. She is taken to the headmaster’s office where William is sitting there as well. She is also reprimanded for her behavior in her mathematics class and use of such substances and she will be removed from the chess club…

“…you would be expelled but Professor Moriarty has offered you an alternative. You will be staying at the Moriarty estate and be under his care where he will monitor your credit recover and lessons at his home since the use of such substances calls for your removal from campus.”

“…I understand.”

Her things are packed up from the dorm and she is moved into the Moriarty estate and is silent for her first few days there until he calls her downstairs to his study and there is a chess board set up on his desk.

“You have a very interesting mind, I will be honest when I say I had my own motivations in letting you stay here. I wish to understand how your mind works, so would you like to play a game?”

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Fifteen

I sit on a kitchen chair sulkily drinking my burned cappuccino, crafted with minimum love and far too much bubbly froth, as Jude rifles around downstairs doing something that I didn’t bother to ask about. I only hear the occasional thump, or opening door, while his Americano gets cold on the table across from me. 

I stare out the window at the blue, sparkling sea under the afternoon sun and resent the fact that I’m finally back by the water, my favourite place to be, and it’s far too cold to swim in it. If I stare long enough and let my vision blur I can almost see myself out there like a ghost, seventeen in a little bikini, paddling out as far as my waist and then gliding forward with my face towards the horizon, early morning, an empty beach when everything was so much easier than it is these days. I thought life was complicated then. I thought that I had it hard, but I didn’t. I didn’t know a thing. 

I don’t know what Jude is doing downstairs. He stopped making sounds a while ago now, and I half expected him to come back up to the kitchen. My cappuccino is down to its final dregs, and his coffee sits full, black and so still that the light from the kitchen window reflects perfectly on the surface. When I reach out and touch the cup it’s still relatively warm, so I take it off the table to bring it to him. 

He’s sitting on the couch with one foot up on the coffee table. His profile is facing me, tilted down to look at the book he has balanced on his lap. One hand is on the page, the other rests on a little pile of rumpled orange neoprene on the cushion. He hardly glances at me as I make my way to him and place his coffee on the table next to his ankle, and holds out the fabric to me. 

“Your bikini.”

“You found it?”

“Yeah I had a look. It was in my sister’s room.”

“Someone must have thought it was hers.”

“Yeah.”

I take it from him, and he looks back at the book in his lap, which, now that I’m nearer to him I see is full of pretty pencil drawings. There’s a drawing of fishermen climbing aboard a little boat. A man teeing up a golf ball. A woman having a cigarette, leaning over wooden railings with a distant look on her face. I sit down next to him and look too. 

“Is this your work?”

“Yeah, this was my sketchbook from a few years ago. I found it when I was looking around, actually, I forgot that I even did some of these.”

“You never showed this to me before.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No, even though you promised.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad I didn’t see these, they would have shattered my confidence.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, evidently you were twice the artist at eighteen than I ever was.”

“Your work was beautiful. And it isn’t a contest anyway, you can’t compare one style with another.”

He clearly underestimates my ability to compare anything and everything in my life in order to make me feel as awful as possible about my own abilities at all times. “Yeah I suppose.” I say benignly. 

He flips a few more pages in silence, and I wonder perhaps if he’s remembering where he was when he drew these things. I wonder where I was at those moments too. When he drew the couple playing tennis, was I lying on the beach with Claire? What about that drawing of Kasper playing Xbox, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration? Maybe I was destroying Kelly in a ruthless game of ping pong in the caravan park community hall. We were doing all of the things that normal teenagers do when left to ourselves,  but I do know that I never really did anything back then without thinking about him, where he was and what he was doing. Not from the moment I clapped eyes on him. 

He turns over to a new page close to the back of the sketchbook and we both tense up. I’ve seen these drawings before. Five heads arranged on a page. One on each corner, and one in the middle. Me. My face. My expressions. Jude says nothing, he doesn’t move. I wondered two years ago, when I found these drawings in the depths of his Instagram page, just as I wonder now; what was he thinking about when he drew these?

“It’s me.” I say, pretending to be surprised. 

“Yes, it’s you.”

“I like the way that you drew me.”

“Thank you.” He’s frowning now. “I liked drawing you.”

“That one in the middle.” I say. “I don’t know what that expression is. You know, I’ve never seen myself look like that.”

“You make that face all the time.”

I try to mimic it a bit, the quirk at the corner of my mouth, the cheeky tilt of the head. “I do?”

“Yeah it’s how you look when you’ve said something that you think is going to make me laugh.”

“Ah, that explains it. I try to make you laugh all of the time with my shit jokes.” And I laugh then, hoping that I’ll set him off too, as I usually can. Just a smile usually has him grinning right back, but not now. He stays perfectly still with that flat, stoic expression on his face, and I let my grin slowly slide away and we lapse into a long silence. 

“I don’t want to be your friend.” He says. 

“What?”

He looks at me and his hands fall limp by his sides. There is a tremble in his voice. “I don’t want to be your friend. I’ve thought about it, and I can’t do it.”

My heart kicks up and I start to feel sick. “What do you mean?”

“You told me, outside the hospital, that you don’t want to ruin our friendship with any other complicated feelings, that it’s all too important to you. Well I’ve thought about it now and I don’t think I know how to be your friend without my feelings for you getting in the way. It’s not fair on me. Or on you. I can’t do it.”

“Are you saying that you don’t want to be in each other’s lives anymore?”

“I’m saying the same thing to you now as you said to me that night in Jen’s flat. I’m not sure that friendship – like, real friendship with no other feelings involved is possible for you and me. I thought that maybe you were wrong at the time, but you weren’t. If we’re not going to be together then this just isn’t fair. So, yeah, I want to be in your life, but apparently it’s not in the same way that you want to be in mine anymore. I can’t put myself through it.”

“Put yourself through-”

“Having to be around you and not ever getting to have more than just friendship. Like, to potentially be around when you decide that you want those things with another guy. That’s too hard, and I just don’t want to do that to myself. This isn’t an ultimatum or anything like that, I’m just stating a fact. You can feel, or not feel, whatever you want, but I need to take care of myself here, and I’d rather if my heart didn’t break every time I look at you.”

I start to feel flustered. “But that’s not what I want.”

“Well, sorry but I-”

“No, I don’t want that.” My voice shakes. “Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”

“This is not all of a sudden. This is what I wanted to say to you at breakfast before our plans got derailed. I’m sorry I put it off, I just find it hard to face things.”

“Jude, no, I want-”

“Yeah, what do you want?” He looks straight into my eyes with an intensity that makes me want to shrink away. It’s the simplest question in the world, and yet so weighted and complex that it hangs heavy in the air. I can’t speak.

“What do you want, Evie?”

“You.” I manage. 

“As a friend, or as more?”

I try to derail. “You’re being different around me. You’re all distant and withdrawn, I don’t like you when you’re like this.”

His mouth is a grim line. “You’re so confusing. I have no idea what you’re thinking, or what you want from me. You really mess with my head.”

“I’m not! You’re the one who’s confusing! You’ve always been confusing and unclear and non-communicative, so I don’t know why-”

“No, don’t do that.”

“Huh?”

“You’re trying to turn this around and throw it back at me. Just face it. Am I being unclear right now? Was I unclear with you in Berlin? The way I remember it I looked you right in the face and I told you what I felt, I broke up with my girlfriend for you. I made moves and I took action, so don’t try and say that to me. Unclear. Please, Evie. You have some nerve.”

I’m stunned. I fully expected him to back down straight away, to sit there and take it, but I realise immediately that I was a fool. He sees right through me, and my stomach starts churning.

“Yeah.” He goes on. “You’re right that I couldn’t talk to you about my feelings four years ago- two years ago, and I had reasons for that, but yeah, I’ll freely admit that I was a bad communicator and I confused you, but to be honest, all of that stuff pales in comparison to the way that you are. You are so much worse at it than I ever was. I don’t know what to do, or what to say to you, because it seems like no matter what I do or say it’s the wrong thing, or it upsets you or freaks you out. Am I allowed to want you or not? Like, which is the right thing? If I tell you I do, you’re frightened, and if I keep my distance and pretend like I don’t you’re devastated, Evie, I’m in limbo here. What do you want?”

Tears spring to my eyes. “I… I don’t know.”

He stops, takes a slow breath, and says more gently. “I thought that you’d want me to kiss you. That’s why I did it. I thought I was sure about it, the things you said to me before about having never gotten over me, the way you acted around me that night I got kicked out of the bar, you looked at me like… like you wanted me. I thought it was a sure shot, I’ve never been that wrong before. I really thought you’d be all in.”

I did too.

“And you kissed me back. You did. You grabbed my face, bit my lip and you, you kissed me back. I was there.” His exhale is a shaky whoosh. “And I don’t understand why you were so enthusiastic about me when you thought I still had a girlfriend, but the minute you found out that I didn’t you were so put off.”

“I… wasn’t.”

“Yeah you were, as though there was something more exciting about having me sneak around with you than having everything out in the open. Why is that?”

“Maybe I’m just awful, then.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a victim, that’s not you. I don’t think you’re awful, I just want to understand.”

“Maybe the things I feel and do don’t make logical sense.”

“No, come on. Stop that.”

I feel trapped like a mouse. All I can do is sit blinking, and wonder what the repercussions of getting up and running away from this might be. Surely I could just hide in the bathroom or something. I feel unsettled in my seat, uncomfortable in my skin, too overwhelmed to meet his eyes. 

“Stop buying into this image of yourself of being somehow defective, irreparable or too complicated to understand. You do things for a reason, I just wish you’d help me understand what those reasons are instead of deflecting and trying to wriggle your way out of talking about things in a normal way.”

“I don’t.”

He whips the book off his lap and drops it onto the coffee table. I look at it. Stare at the yellowed pages and the crease along the damaged corner of the cover because it’s easier than looking at him. “My God, yes you do. Yes you do, and you have to stop doing it, because it’s boring. I don’t know why you do it, but you lean so much on this victim mentality and tell yourself stories about how badly you’ve been hurt, and how nobody wants you or loves you or could ever possibly do so, when it’s all a big lie. Look in the mirror, Evie. You’re a pretty girl, and you know it, you act like you don’t, but you do. Believe me, I’ve heard the way men talk about you, I’ve seen the way they watch you walk across the room, and I know you’ve seen it too. You just prefer to act like the world has cursed you with averageness because it better fits your narrative, just like this insane, teenaged idea about who’s in and out of your league.” 

The hierarchical structure of the dating pool. 

“Do you like living by the idea that I’m somehow too good for you but I want you anyway? Is it an ego thing? You know, I was pretty flattered by it when we were younger, but now I think it’s ridiculous. I’ve told you, I’m sitting here telling you that I like you, I’ve been obsessed with you, I lose sleep over you and you’re ignoring it in favour of your own, comfortable delusions, and your whole ‘poor me’ mentality. What the hell is that?”

“Well you are too good for me.” I manage, with words shrill and wobbly, and I’m not even buying it anymore. 

“Let me decide those things for myself. It’s always been obvious to me that I’d love you, you’re everything that I love. You’re so funny and goofy, ambitious and talented and so beautiful that you make me weak from looking at you sometimes, but sometimes I really wish that I didn’t, you know? I think my life would be easier if I felt nothing for you at all.”

“Well, fine, I feel the same.” I say as stinging tears pour over my cheeks. “Because being around you only reminds me of all the things I don’t like about myself, and you’re the reason I feel like shit.”

His spine stiffens and he shuts his eyes for a beat, like he’s trying to bear the full weight of my ridiculousness upon his shoulders. “That just isn’t true. If I wasn’t around there’d only be some other person to pile this onto. This mentality, this inherent dislike you have for yourself has nothing to do with me, and the way you’re blaming me for all this… You know that it isn’t fair on me, it makes it near impossible for me to communicate with you about how I’m feeling. When I call you out on something that’s hurtful to me and you turn it around and immediately internalise what I’m saying as some confirmation that you’re a bad person it kills any chances we have of talking this out rationally. It means that we can’t work through it together.”

Nobody has ever said things like this to me before. Something inside my head is misfiring, and I realise that everything I want to say is some variation of an expression of my victimhood. But even as I sift through a catalogue of defensive words I could use, things that shift the blame away from me, make me look innocent, but I know it will be useless to say them. They would only push him further away from me and be the final blow in this relationship that I’ve already made gallant inroads in destroying. I can’t, not when he looks at me like that, with this painful mixture of upset and confusion, frustration and vulnerability. But mostly because deep down I know that he’s right. I feel my brain trying to chew on that new thought, almost, almost taking it on before deciding it can’t digest it. It ejects it right out the top of my head. “You’re wrong.” I say with wild eyes that can’t focus on anything in front of me. “You’re just plain wrong.” But he knows he isn’t. He doesn’t look pleased about it, in fact he looks completely drained, but he knows. 

“Evie, I’m not. You have to think about the way that you are, the way that you treat yourself and speak to yourself. You are more horrible to yourself than anybody else could possibly put the time into being.”

“The way that you’re speaking to me is horrible.” I manage, in one last half-hearted attempt at combat in a war that I’ve already lost and he shrugs. “There isn’t anything wrong with conflict. You and I have needed to talk about this for a long time.”

I just give him a jerky shrug and sniffle. “Oh.” I say, thickly into the wrist that’s wiping tears and snot from my lip.

“I want you to see it from my perspective, I’ve hurt you, really badly, and I know that and I’ll never stop being sorry for it, but you’ve hurt me too. I know you don’t mean it, and it’s because of the way that you feel about yourself, but I’m just asking you to step out of your own head for a minute and think about you’re affecting the people around you instead.”

“I really don’t know how to be different, Jude. This is just how I am.”

He takes both of my hands in his, linking our fingers together and looking into my eyes with his steady, unflinching gaze, and if he cares about the snot, he doesn’t show it.  “Look, I’m telling you, I, Jude Turner, am in love with you. I have felt like this since I was eighteen, and it’s not some big joke, or a big, elaborate trick on you. I do not have a psychiatric disease. Do you feel the same?”

He waits, eyebrows raised for what must be a full, agonising minute for me to say something, and then, more gently than anything he’s said in the last ten minutes he says “Evie, do you have feelings for me?”

“Oh of course I do.” I whimper, and new tears pour freely down my face. “How obvious is it? Everyone knows about me and my affliction. I can��t hide it. I’ve hardly ever thought about another guy since I met you.”

“So talk to me.” His eyes are pleading, and his thumbs stroke the soft underside of my wrists. “What is going on in your head?” 

“God, I’m just so afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of change. Of being hurt. Of what people might think. Of you and what you’ll want from me.” 

“What do you think I’m going to want from you?”

I pull one hand out of his grip to swipe my face again and my lip quivers. I’m sobbing now, and Jude is patient, even as I let the silence stretch on and whimper and cough until I feel ready to speak again. “God, I’m so insane.”

“You aren’t.”

“It’s going to sound stupid, but I’m afraid that you’ll want me.”

He hesitates. “Well…”

“Me. My body. Sex. Things I won’t be good at. And that I’ll show you new ways to be disappointed in someone that you couldn’t even conceive of before.” 

“I’m honestly not sure what to say to that.”

“It’s so stupid, I knew it, I shouldn’t have admitted that, God, never-”

“No, I just don’t know what to say that won’t make you feel worse. Do you want me to say that I don’t want that or that I do?”

“Tell me the truth.”

“Well I do. Of course I do. Don’t you?”

I recall my heady, vivid dreams of my hands on his body. “I’ve thought about it.”

“You wouldn’t disappoint me. Never. I’d never expect anything, any kind of wild performance out of you, or whatever you believe I might want. I’ll worship you, you won’t ever regret it.”

“It scares me.” I say, very quietly. “I’ve done it before, plenty of times, but, I don’t know. It’s just that it never… I never…”

“I hated it at first too.” He confesses, tucking my hair behind my ear. “It can be terrible if it’s the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

I blink. I was sure that Jude, who in my head is the master of his own sexuality, would have had nothing but a rich history of total satisfaction. I never imagined a reality where things didn’t always come easy for him in that regard. He reads my questioning expression and shrugs lightly. “I was fourteen the first time.” He explains. “It was in a playground with this girl I used to know. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but I remember all the other details about it, like how I could hear my friends talking and laughing somewhere off in the distance, and the way my mouth tasted too sweet, like the cider we’d stolen from someone’s dad. I hated it so much I really thought I was going to get sick, and then in school, every time someone brought it up again I thought I’d be sick then too.”

“Oh, Jude…”

“We were really big on trying to be adults at the time, but I didn’t want any of it. I wanted to ride my bike around and climb trees, but that kind of thing was too embarrassing to admit, so…” A shrug. “It’s how it was. You can’t really go backwards from there, you know, like, have sex one day and then cycle race down a big hill the next day, you’re just like an adult and you have to live with it.”

“I never would have thought that about you.” 

“Well, it’s pretty much the only topic that you and I never seem to be able to talk about, isn’t it? Sex, I mean.” 

“I suppose so.”

“It gets better.” He tells me. “I swear, and like, I’m not saying this so that you’ll leap into bed with me, but if you ever wanted to try it out with me then I promise I’ll show you it can be good. It’s meant to be fun, and nice, and yeah, obviously it’s a bit vulnerable but it’s gone from being the worst thing I’ve ever done to the best thing, so I think it can be the same for you.”

“And if I’m really shit at it?”

“You couldn’t be.”

“I think you might be shocked at how shit I can be at things.”

“I just don’t believe that. You’ve never been bad at a thing in your life, and I’m a good teacher.” He splits into a grin, but there’s new heat in his eyes as they trace a slow triangle from my eyes to my lips and back. He’s thinking about it now. 

I start thinking about it too, and heat instantly flares in my face, and the sun hits the angle of his cheek, warming his apricot coloured skin. Nobody has ever looked quite as pretty as he does at this moment. I look away quickly. “Those things you said in Berlin, about wanting me to be your girlfriend. That was too much.”

“Okay.”

“That feels too intense too soon, that’s why I was afraid. It felt like you’d done all of this thinking about what you wanted and you’d broken up with Astrid and you’d put all of these things in place and you expected me to just go along with it all without warning me.”

He hesitates. “Yeah, you’re right. I kind of did.”

“I really don’t know how to deal with things like that, when people just come at me head on and expect me to react, I can’t. I panic, and I don’t know what to say, and that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be with you, it’s just that the idea of going all in like that feels like too much change all at once.”

“We can go as slowly as you want. I don’t mean to pressure you.”

“You’re just used to asking for things directly, I get it, but it doesn’t work like that with me.”

“I understand that, I’m sorry.” He looks like he might cry. 

“I’m sorry.” We reach for each other and I slot my head under his chin while he wraps his arms around me, and immediately I notice that I’ve blinked wet mascara onto his shirt. Oops. “I’m sorry that I’ve confused you and hurt you like this. I was so wrapped up with my own stuff that I didn’t think about you. Or maybe I did, maybe I just assumed that you could handle it.”

“I’m just a human man,”

“I know.”

“It’s only painful because of how much I care about you.”

“I’ll try to be better with the whole… victim thing. I didn’t even know I was like that.”

“It’s best to talk to someone about that stuff.”

“Like in therapy?”

“It mightn’t be a bad idea.” 

“I don’t think I’m bad enough for something like that. It feels a bit extreme.”

I feel him sigh. “Alright. It’s up to you.” 

I shut my eyes for a few moments and listen to the sound of his heartbeat beneath his ribs. I’m so tired, my body is weak and drained from the conflict and the emotion of this whole conversation, but I’m finally peaceful, like the worst is over. It doesn’t feel like the times I fought with Dean, I don’t feel beaten down and stripped of dignity and made a fool of, I feel a distinct calm, as though something has been repaired. Yet there is still one thing eating me. 

 “Can we be something between friends and a couple?” I say, and I tilt my head up to watch what my question does to him. 

His eyes do a tour of my face. “What does that entail?”

“It means give me time to get comfortable with you.” 

“Okay, I promise I won’t try to coax you into bed with me before you’re ready.”

“You might find that hard.” I tease, he smiles. “I’ll keep my hands to myself at all times.”

“Not at all times.”

“Okay sometimes. I might need some sort of guidebook for this. I’ve only had girlfriends and friends before, not grey areas.” 

“Have you ever considered being more like a normal boy?”

He laughs for the first time all day and it feels like he’s filling my body with sweet honey. What have I been doing? I’m crazy about him. He doesn’t scare me, not when we’re sitting like this, wrapped up in eachother, basking in the warm spring sun that comes through the windows, and maybe we are meant to be together, because he makes me feel this indescribable way that nobody else ever has before him, and maybe nobody ever will again. 

“Okay, so just to confirm, you want me?”

“Yes, Jude, I do.”

“Then the rest is just noise. We can figure it out.”

We smile at each other, and I say “I bet no other girl has ever made things so hard for you before.”

“You haven’t made it hard.”

“That’s a lie – I’m sure you’re used to women just flinging themselves right at you.”

He looks at me like I’ve said something really weird. “I feel a little concerned about the things you believe about me at times.”

“Please.” I grab his americano from the coffee table and put it into his hands. “Finish this, I spent good money on it.”

“This really is a horrible coffee, isn’t it?”

“Yeah it’s rank.” 

He takes a perfunctory sip and pulls a sour face. “Thanks a lot, Liam.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[kallard]

Old Friends

War buddies don't exist in the meeting room. It's a battle between a lot of different officers. Some continue fighting when they don't realize that they have been shot.

Kallard let loose a mighty yawn as he dropped into the wooden chair. He immediately rocked the chair back onto its hind legs, balancing himself with a single foot. The table in front of him wasn’t dirty, but it was covered in stains and carvings. Some of the carvings were proclamations of love and admiration, while others were simply crude insults.

A server approached Kallard from his right and bowed their head respectfully. She then stood straight and fixed the man with a soft smile, waiting for his order. When it didn’t come the waitress shot him a confused look that asked, “What can I get you?”

“Oh, right, two glasses of whiskey, two fingers each, top shelf,” Kallard said as he offered a small coin purse to the server. “Whatever’s left is yours.”

The girl smiled at him and accepted his coin and slipped it into a pocket on her black apron. She took out a notepad and quickly wrote down his order as she scurried off. Kallard watched her as she left, leaning back in his chair to follow her as she vanished behind the kitchen door. One of the other patrons smirked at the Garlean and called out to him.

“Look all ya want, kid, she ain’t gonna go with a lowlife like you,” the gruffy man said, affixing Kallard with an amused smile.

“Fuck off,” Kallard told the stranger, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Mind your business.”

Before he could offer any kind of retort, Kallard held up his hand and looked away, making it obvious he was done with the drunken fool. He wasn’t here to cause a fight just yet. Instead he kept his eyes on the server as she approached with two whiskey glasses on a small wooden tray. She approached him from the kitchen area with a smile on her lips, setting down one glass in front of Kallard and the other opposite of him.

“Oi,” Kallard said, motioning at the empty chair across from him. “Pop a squat. I got words for you.”

The server looked confused at first but obliged and sat down. She took hold of the glass of whiskey and took a sip, knowing it had been ordered for her and not anyone else. Why was this stranger buying her a drink? He didn’t look like the type of guy to pick up a random girl at work, at least she hoped he wasn’t.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Kallard asked the server before he reached up to his head and pulled back his hair, slicking it back momentarily. “How about now?”

Sky blue eyes went wide as the gears started turning in the woman’s head. She hastily tossed the cup back onto the table, spilling its contents as she shot out of her chair. The server then picked up her chair and smashed it against the ground and broke a leg off. She took hold of the makeshift weapon, holding it like a club and ready to defend herself.

“Whoa, shit,” Kallard said, releasing his hair and leaning forward. “Easy, I’m not here to hurt you or anyone. I just want to talk is all.”

By now several people were staring at the pair, the noise of the chair breaking drawing their eyes towards the two. The server shook her head and kept her defensive pose. She looked at Kallard with fear in her eyes, only to lower her chair leg. Her eyes narrowed as the server squinted at him, the weapon in her hands forgotten for now.

“Decimus,” the server said in a whisper-like tone.

“’Ey, that’s a start,” Kallard said with a cocky smile. “Jeez, you don’t see me for ten years and want to bash my skull in? Damn, thought we had a better relationship than that.”

The server dropped her club and picked a seat closer to Kallard and plopped down into it. She then reached down to her apron and removed the notepad and pencil. After rifling through a series of papers with words already written on them, the server eventually came to a blank page.

“I thought you were dead,” she had written. “The base you were on was destroyed and I assumed you and Seia were dead.”

“Yeah, well, funny story…” Kallard said before looking at the others in the tavern. “How about we move somewhere more private, hmm? Too many prying eyes,” he shouted the last part and whoever was left looking at him turned away, either out of shame or not wanting to piss the man off.

The server got up from her chair and walked over to the main door. She then clapped her hands loudly and waved her arms in the air, getting the attention of everyone inside. Rather than telling them to get out, she simply pointed at the door and stomped a foot, making it clear she wanted everyone out. Several people groaned as they got up, tossing coins onto their tables before sauntering out, hoping to find another watering hole they could waste time at. Once everyone was gone the server smiled, closed and locked the door before walking back over to Kallard’s table and taking her seat once more. She reached out and stole his whiskey and drained the cup of its contents.

“We didn’t die back then,” Kallard said now that the bar was empty. “Obviously.”

“Then what happened?” the server had written on her notepad, showing Kallard when she was finished writing.

“Hold on, why aren’t you talking?” Kallard asked, a little disappointed he didn’t have anything to drink now.

“I’m deaf,” the server simply wrote.

“The fuck? How did that happen? Last I saw you you had no issue hearing things.”

“I got sick and was medically discharged from service,” she had written down.

“Fuck me,” Kallard muttered. “You’re sick too? It’s not cancer, is it?”

“It was,” she had written before shrugging. “But it was a small tumor that I had removed. It just took my hearing with it. Haven’t been able for a while now.”

“I guess that explains why they transferred you out of the unit. Well, shit, I’m sorry you lost your hearing.”

“It’s okay, I’ve learned to live without it. Why are you here, if you’re not here to kill me, Decimus?” she asked with her notepad.

“Well, I came to see if you could help me out. I got a job that needs doing and I can’t do it alone,” Kallard said as he lit a cigarette. The server reached over and stole his pack of cigarettes, like she stole his drink. She took a cigarette out and held it out for Kallard to light, which he did without argument.

“Must be a big job if you came all the way out here to find me,” the server had written down, sliding the pad down to show Kallard. “What’s the job and does it pay well? I’m tired of his job.”

“Hah! Atta girl,” Kallard said with a toothy grin. He opened his mouth to say something else but instead coughed a few times and brought a hand to cover his mouth.

“You’re not contagious are you?”

“Fuck no, it’s cancer and it’s killing me,” he said with a frown and a shake of his head. “And no, there’s nothing I can do about it, not anymore. Doc friend of mine said I got a couple more months left in me, so I’m planning one final mission. I aim to sink a Garlean airship.”

“You want to what?” the server asked Kallard as she shoot him a questioning look. “You want to destroy Garlean property?”

“I’m gonna tell you a story, and I’ll try to keep it brief. Few years ago Seia and I were stationed at some base in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Some cunt, let’s call him Captain Cunt, decided my sister was his property and took things into his own hands, if you catch my drift. Fucked her up real good.

“After that Seia stopped doing everything. She stopped talking, stopped eating and refused to leave her bed. So, I killed the guy. Spread his entrails across the base and mounted his head on a fucking pike. Seeing no other choice but out, Seia and I escaped, destroyed the base and killed everyone on it and left.

“We were on the run for a couple of years before they finally found us. Well, they didn’t find me as I rarely left our apartment. They instead found Seia and stole her from me, whisking her away to a base even I didn’t know about. It took me several months to find her only to have Seia die in my arms.”

The server frowned and reached out to take Kallard’s hand with her own. She mouthed her words of apology, but he had grown tired of other people’s pity. Kallard moved to jerk his hand away but then realized that this was an act of kindness, not pity. This woman had known Seia and had been good friends with both of them before they were transferred away. During their time together Kallard and Seia did their best to impart what they knew about the job onto the server, believing she would make a fine agent.

“Obviously,” Kallard continued after looking away to regain his composure. Talking about Seia’s death always got to him. “I’m angry. And, well, you remember when I broke that dude’s nose for looking at sis wrong? Well, I’m like that except I’m murderin’ everyone even remotely associated with Seia’s death. I’m talking people who ordered folk around, ordered us around, that kinda shit.

“No good people who need putting down. The very same people who drove us to war and made us the enemies of the entire fucking world. So, I’ve been killing them off, one by one. I’ve run out of folk to kill and my path leads me to this, a single Garlean base far north of here housing a single large airship.

“I believe they aim to use this to try and continue the war effort. Too many of us have that hate in our heart still and I want to lower their numbers. Less Garleans causing problems the better.”

“And you want me to help?” the server asked once Kallard was finished telling his tale of woe and revenge.

“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. I need you to fly my ship and ensure my friend does not come to any harm. You’ll have one job, and one job alone: Keep Yuki safe.”

“She must mean a lot to you to come all this way to ask me of all people for help,” the server had written down in her little notebook.

“She does, and it would mean a great deal if you could help me out. Whatever it is you need, I’ll take care of. Place to live? You got it. Clothing, food, other needs? All on me. You were a good friend to me and Seia back in the day and I’m sorry for not keeping in touch after we got transferred. Seia kept asking about you, but we were both busy and obviously fell out of touch. I know I can’t make up for the years apart, but I can try. So, will you help me, Julia?”

“Before I agree, what am I flying?” Julia asked with a soft smile.

“One of the empire’s hyper-sonic assault carriers. I stole one a few months back.”

“Oh fuck yes,” the server wrote with a huge smile. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”

“Hah!” Kallard whooped with an equally big smile. “I knew it wouldn’t take much to get you involved. You were the meanest fuckin’ pilot I ever served with.”

“Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. When do we ship out?”

“Well, the mission isn’t for a few more weeks. I got some stuff to iron out and a few more folk to ask for help. Plus, it’ll give you time to fall in love with Yuki.”

“Love?!” Julia had written with shock on her face.

“Oh, yeah, I mean it. You’ll love this girl. She’s sweet as candy and not fake about it either. Probably the kindest soul I ever met. We’ve gotten real close since we met and I’d do anything for her,” Kallard said with a warm smile. It was true, he had a lot of feelings for Yuki and saw her as more as a little sister than a friend at this point. “She’s a good kid. You’ll love her cooking if not her.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” Julia retorted, using her notepad to speak. “Coming from a guy who didn’t like anyone.”

“Hey now,” Kallard said with a snort. “I didn’t hate everyone! I liked you, Cass and Seia. Does that count?”

“No,” Julia mouthed, making an X with her arms.

“Aww, come on, you don’t have to do me dirty like that.”

“Too bad, so sad. Cry me a river!” Julia wrote in her notepad, running out of paper by now.

“Alright, as much as I love this lovely bar you found yourself in, I’m getting antsy and want to get the fuck out of dodge.”

“Okay, just let me close up and quit my job,” Julia wrote with a big, shit eating grin.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll meet you outside.”

Kallard got up from his chair and made his way towards the front door. He quickly tossed a look behind him, watching as Julia ran from table to table, giving it a quick wipe down with a stained white rag. With a smile on his face Kallard pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air and took in a deep breath before lighting a fresh cigarette after forgetting about his last one.

“You hear that, Seia,” Kallard said to the sky. “Jules is back in action and she’s ready to kick ass and take names. Don’t worry, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

A hand was then dipped into one of his long coat’s pockets. He dug around for a moment, rifling through wads of paper, cigarette packs and matches. After a moment of fumbling Kallard pulled a small radio out and toggled the on switch. He coughed, cleared his throat and then began the task of ringing up what little friends he had in hope that they would be as willing to help him as Julia was. And so, Kallard set out to assemble his merry band of ne’er-do-wells.

[brynn-lear]

Dear Lee,

I hope that despite your troubles (I heard you weren't looking forward to tomorrow/today) you are taking good care of yourself. In case you forgot to, here is a reminder to drink and eat + an extra reminder of how cool you are because you are so resilient and strong! (I am cheering you on!)

And while I love to send my support, I am also here for the ask game /evil laugh. I had no idea how many I could send, so I hope I didn't choose too many :( If I did end up asking too much, just ignore the ones you don't like /gen /nohardfeeling /youdoyou

So... what about "L", "O", "V", "E" + Dimitri? It seems fitting!!

Or maybe "H" for Gallagher if you're feeling silly / to increase combat the housewife allegations >:D

Sending you hugs and good vibes,

ㅤ

- Shiro.

L - Love when did they realize they were in love?

𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐢: ██ ████ ████ ███████████ ████ ████ ████ ████, ███ ████ ██ ████ ████ ████ █████ ████ ████ ██ ██████ ████. ████ ██ █████ █████ ████████ ███ ██ ███ 30 ██ ██ ████████ ████ █ ████████ ████, █████'█ ████ ██ ██████████████ ████████ ████ ██ ████.

𝐁𝐫𝐲𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐞: She still hasn't realized she's in love. Unfortunately, Brynn views romance as a theme in horror and that reflects on her writing.

O - Object what’s something they have that reminds them of the other?

𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐢: Brynn isn't one to give gifts— she thinks it's a rather daunting task. Her house is poor and she highly doubts whatever material present she could give will not satisfy him deep down. So, she went for a more personal approach... She learned a few skills from her grandfather and made riding boots. As to where she got information on his shoe size, Felix would be happy to rant about how weird it was that she used mud from a rainy day to measure it.

Dimitri was ecstatic to receive them... And incredibly sad when he accepted years later that it no longer fits him. Miraculously, Brynn just asks him for his shoe size this time. She doesn't mind making them. It's one great way to honor her deceased hero.

𝐁𝐫𝐲𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐞: Since she often loses her valuables, especially writing utensils (there's a certain nameless outlander who gave her a pencil but she lost that too), Dimitri gifted her a lifetime supply of quills. He often apologizes that it's an excessive gift, given how it's been 6 years and she has yet to run out of them. Brynn thanks him each time he strings out incoherent sorry-s, saying the supply had helped her a ton. But really. She hasn't lost a single one of his gifts.

V - Vanished what would they do if the other vanished one day?

Answered here ^^

E - Encourage how do they encourage each other?

𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐢:

𝐁𝐫𝐲𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐞: The most in effective cheerleader in the battlefield. Says the most cringeworthy phrases. "Destroy them, my liege!" "Mess em up, Your Highness!", "Slay, king!". She's not exactly aware that she's being loud and obnoxious. Sylvain likes to join in to turn Dimitri's face redder.

"You're dashing, Dimitri! Shows us those biceps! Right, Brynn?!"

"Yeah, what he said!"

"Do you even know what words and implications you're condoning?!"

H - Hungry does one of them cook? What do they do for dinner?

𝙶𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚛 is unfortunately a decent cook, but 𝐁𝐫𝐲𝐧𝐧 will never admit that. During the Alone Together event, Brynn tries her best to avoid him at all costs when in Penacony, but hunger struck. Heartily, he laughed and prepared something for her near-lifeless pleas for food. Since then, Brynn pays with gratitude little by little. The tips she'd leave on the table always amused Gallagher. There's no denying that no matter how much she makes the relationship seem transactional, what their relationship has a clear "wine and dine" label.

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY #7: In which Cameron and Donna plot revenge, once again

[CN: references to sexual assault and harassment in film; death of a minor character and sexual harasser]

[CN: references to use of CBD and THC] . . It was a Friday night, and Cameron and Donna had put on their pajamas, laid out a spread of snacks and beverages, and retreated to their media room for a screening of Promising Young Woman. They were sitting on the couch together, under a large, shared blanket.

Cameron popped a CBD gummy into her mouth and said, “I understand that this movie was triggering for some people, and that a lot of people just didn’t like the end, but, I don’t know. I get it. I feel it. I’d love to ruin a terrible, violent man’s wedding.”

“Same,” Donna said. She took a drag from her vape pen. “We also might be kind of biased though. We’ve ruined a couple men’s careers.” Then, she started to laugh hysterically. “Oh my G0d, Jacob Wheeler had to resign because you ruined that presentation!”

Cameron started to laugh with her. “I forgot about that!”

After a few minutes of watching the movie, Donna said, “Seriously, though. There are guys from when I was in school and from when I first started working who I would find and quietly destroy now if I could.”

Eyes wide, Cameron said, “Hunt Whitmarsh!”

“No,” Donna shook her head, “he didn’t sexually harass me or hurt me, he just, you know, tricked me.” She thought about it, and said, “Okay, maybe Hunt. But there are other guys higher on my list, who definitely deserve to be publicly outed and shamed for their misconduct.”

Cameron narrowed her eyes. “Two words. Harpor Capital.”

Donna sat up and whacked Cameron’s arm with her hand. “YES. Exactly!”

“I should’ve let you tell them off,” Cameron said. “I nearly slapped that guy for what he said about your lipstick.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, angry all over again despite how many years had passed.

“No, you were right to drag me away,” Donna conceded. “It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“I don’t know,” Cameron said. “Embarrassing them in front of a restaurant full of venture capitalists and other tech people having meetings might have made them think twice.”

“Maybe,” Donna shrugged.

Then, Cameron said, “We should have jumped them.”

Donna cackled, “Jumped them? Yeah, I’m sure I would have been an unstoppable powerhouse in my pencil skirt and kitten heels.”

Stubbornly, Cameron insisted, “We could have taken them. One of them was shorter than you and the other one, the bigger creep, was in his forties, drunk, and nowhere close to being in fighting shape. One good ostrich kick and I could have sent him into the next week.”

The image of Cameron as an ostrich, which Donna secretly thought of as Cameron’s totem or power animal, flapping her wings and screeching and kicking, and a man flying through the fabric of time and space into the future, made Donna dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“You’re all loopy now, but I saw the way you went after Hunt at COMDEX,” Cameron said. “You probably could’ve done some real damage. Some kind of facial scar, or something.”

Donna kept laughing, and sank into her seat and further under their blanket. Then, she abruptly stopped, paused the movie, and grabbed Cameron’s arm. “We should look them up now. We should find Mac and Tim from Harpor Capital! And then we can figure out how to put them out of business!”

Cameron’s eye’s widened. “Oh my G0d, Donna. You are so right! We should find them right now!” She reached for Donna’s tablet, which was sitting on the coffee table, and put it in her lap. Donna handed her vape pen to Cameron, opened her browser, and searched for ‘Harpor Capital’ ‘San Francisco.’

There were no results for a Harpor Capital in San Francisco, though there were many results for various Harper Capitals in other cities. “You think maybe they’ve already closed down?” Donna asked.

“It could just be that search doesn’t even work anymore,” Cameron groaned.

Undeterred, Donna searched for ‘mac harpor’ ‘harpor capital.’ An obituary popped up.

Cameron took the tablet from a stunned Donna and said, “Holy shit.” She clicked on the link, and skimmed the obituary. “This says he died in a skiing accident.”

“It does not say that,” Donna scoffed. She snatched the tablet back, and then saw it there for herself: Mac Harpor had skied into a tree, passed out, and died of exposure. Donna stared at the article for a minutes before letting out a snort.

Cameron started to bark with laughter, and Donna joined her. After a minute, Donna insisted, “We shouldn’t laugh!” through tears.

“I’m not laughing because he’s dead even though that’s great, I’m laughing because you started to laugh!”

“Here, let’s look up the shorter creep,” Donna said, taking the tablet back again. She typed ‘Tim Henkel’ ‘Harpor’ into the search bar, hit enter, and watched the results come up. She started to laugh again as soon as she saw them.

“What?!” Cameron grabbed the tablet and looked at it, and started to laugh again, this time doubling over before she could even comment. “Conspiracy to commit wire fraud!” she finally managed to sputter. “He’s doing twenty years in the fed! I love this song!”

When they finally stopped laughing, Cameron frowned. “I guess we can’t ruin them, they beat us to it. Unless we wanna have Tim shanked, which, I’m not really willing to go there.”

“Yeah. Definitely not worth it,” Donna shook her head.

Cameron turned to look at Donna, and smiled. “You wanna watch Gone Girl next, maybe?”

“Yes! I love that idea!” Donna exclaimed. She put the tablet back on the table, reached over and hugged Cameron, and kissed her cheek before grabbing the remote, and hitting play.

[studywgabi]

My Morning Routine with Body Dysmorphic Disorder

From the ages of 12 to 16, I spent 4 hours getting ready for school every weekday morning. First period started at 7:35 A.M., I woke up at 3:40 and usually arrived to class around 7:55 with an apologetic smile and a late pass. I said it was car trouble, or that my alarm hadn't gone off.

I spent the first hour-and-a-half of my day plucking my eyebrows, my temples, and my forehead up to my hairline, sitting side saddle on the sink and twisting around towards the mirror when I got tired of standing. I shaved the rest of the face from the eyes down: my cheeks, my sideburns, mustache, beard, and nose, my neck, and my ears with just water, no shaving cream. Then I spent another hour-and-a-half in the shower, turning the water on to rinse my razor and off again to shave repeatedly to try and stretch the heat as long as possible. I covered my entire body with shaving cream, painting myself white. I started with my stomach, then my breasts, my sternum, my nipples, then my sides, my underarms, my back as far up as I could reach and then my shoulders as far down, though I always missed a strip of skin above my waist. My hairline on the back of my neck, so nothing could stand up, even if I was scared. Then my arms, my hands, my knuckles, I wasn't very careful and I gave myself a few scars. Next my legs, feet, toes and pubic hair. When the water ran ice cold, I would turn it off, get out, and set up my makeup table while I waited for it to warm up again. I got back in, nicked myself a few more times, then washed my hair and body and used my prescription acne cleanser. My parents bought men's razors in bulk because I needed a new one every day. My clean skin only lasted a couple of hours, then turned into 11:00 A.M. shadow.

The next hour was makeup: sunscreen, moisturizer, primer, foundation, concealer, bronzer, contour, setting powder, blush, chapstick, lip liner, lipstick, eyebrow pencil, eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara. I wasn't very good at it; it always came out cakey or racoony. I listened to music, mostly Taylor Swift or Avril Lavigne, sometimes showtunes, while I worked. Then I brushed my hair, adding some brown eyeshadow to the bald spots to make it look fuller, got dressed in my school uniform, and packed up my lunch and books in a rush. No time for breakfast and I had the early lunch period at 10:35 anyway. I'm a girly-girl. I think I would have loved makeup the way I love fashion. I think it would have been fun to experiment with new colors, new styles, new brands, my favorite actresses' recommendations.

If I didn't do this, I couldn't leave my house. So I had the flu a lot. And I never went out on weekends. My one goal in life was beauty, or getting as close to it as someone like me could. It took up everything: my time, my energy, my focus. For the rest of the day, when I wasn't grooming, I was thinking about it.

Two years later, I don't do it anymore, but I miss it. If felt so good. It was so satisfying to destroy all those little parts of myself over and over again every day. I looked forward to it. I enjoyed the routine of it; it was so familiar to me. Mondays were my favorite, when I could free myself of all the evil that had built up over the weekend. I can't stand to touch my skin now and have to remember how smooth it used to be. I've scratched myself bloody trying to find some relief.

There have been setbacks. I snuck my mother's tweezers into the bathroom a couple of times, or she left her razor lying around after she thought I'd gotten over it. If I grow my nails out long enough, I can use them. I've tried other methods- new snake oil miracle razors, every depilatory cream, waxing, threading, bleaching, free consultations for expensive laser and electrolysis.

All the adults in my life were so happy and proud of me when I stopped. I don't feel I've made any "progress" as they define it. I don't perform those behaviors anymore, but I feel even worse. I hate myself even more, I feel trapped inside my own skin. I'm not any more loved or accepted now than I was then, which was all that mattered to me.

They have no idea what it is to be hideous. They could never, ever understand what it's like to have to exist in this world in this body. To have to live with yourself and sleep at night knowing what you are. To never be a woman, to never be young, to be inhuman, your own vile, repulsive species, something completely separate than everyone around you that should be kept locked in a cage away from society. Something that should be put down for it's own good. To be some kind of animal, or beast, to be born a monster. To want to gouge your own eyes out so you never have to see yourself, to want to die because you aren't strong enough to live this way. To know that you'll spend every last moment of your whole life alone.

It was so difficult for me to accept my BDD diagnosis. I guess I still haven't. I don't "fixate on my perceived flaws," other people do. I do my best to correct my very much real flaws so that other people don't have to look at them. I didn't come up with this on my own, I didn't choose to be ill, if that's what I am, and I sure as hell didn't choose this body. I don't want to look like this, I don't want to upset people with my appearance, I don't want it to be necessary for me to do all this to fix myself, but it's just what I have to do. I accepted that, and I couldn't understand why no one else did.

Is there someone who could prove me wrong? Is there someone who could wait for me, not mind that I'm late to everything, that I always cancel plans at the last minute? Is there someone who wouldn't mind that I'm a crybaby, that I'm too particular and too sensitive? Is there someone who wouldn't mind me? There wasn't then and there isn't now and I don't think there's going to be. And as hard as I try, I can't stop needing there to be, and I can't be that person for myself.