#at the request of my lovely- uh i mean evil and twisted wife; you complete and utter fiend . you evil little fox .

[felicityphoenix5]

moodboard for when the omens are good amirite folks

[falseroar]

Dark Laughter Part 8: Studio Time

((Here are links to Part 7: Just Be Happy and the start of the series, Part 1: What Dark Saw. Hey look, no warnings this time!))

The studio space that the egos used was, much like the rest of their home, not quite right with reality. Every time it was used it seemed just that little bit different, whether because the ceiling was slightly higher one day than the next or the segmented walls weren’t guaranteed to be in the same place every time the studio was used. Considering the wildly different uses the egos put the area to, there were props and flimsy backgrounds littering the floor everywhere outside of the relatively small space that was actually used for filming.

It also didn’t help that keeping a steady crew outside of the egos themselves was nearly impossible, as the guests weren’t the only ones lucky to survive even one segment. Right now, aside from the four egos standing around the cameras, the only other normal person was a man attending to the monitors where an earlier recording of Bim’s game show was playing.

“Wilford, why did you drag me here?” Dark asked, noticing that the Google standing among the other egos had already spotted him and was attempting to give him a warning glare. Dark returned it with interest and a silent promise to make the android regret any hasty words this time.

The glare was somewhat ruined when Wilford threw one arm around his shoulders and patted Dark’s cheek with his other hand. “I think it’s time to put you in front of the camera again! The fans have been asking for it, and this face deserves to be on the screen!”

Wilford shook his hand after the pat to dispel some of the cold seeping from Dark’s aura as he scowled. Behind him, the row of monitors began to flicker with static and ghost images while the intern pulled off his headphones and threw them as far away as possible.

“Or behind the camera is good too. Can never get enough help these days, and yes, Jerry, I’m talking about you. Tell your wife I said hi!”

Wilford ducked to avoid the mike that sailed through the space where his head had been a second ago and added to Dark as if nothing just happened, “But you want to get in the in, on the up and up, am I right? Here’s where we start.”

Wilford winked and strode across the studio floor toward the four egos.

“Good evening, everyone! Are we ready to start?”

“If you mean start my show, then yes,” Bim said, straightening his tie as he watched Wilford approach. “I have the studio for the day, and we still need to go two more rounds. Isn’t that right, my lovely contestants?”

“Uh, they all, uh, made a run for it,” Eric said from his place offstage and away from the cameras even though they were clearly not on. “During the break. The crew too. Jerry, um, he was the last one but I guess he’s gone now? Not that, uh, that’s Mr. Warfstache’s fault or anything, I’m sure he…had other things to do…”

Yandereplier hissed under their breath and said, “Yeah, kind of hard to finish the game without the players. Sorry, Bim.”

Yandereplier shrugged and the red-shirted Google appeared to be unable to care any less than he already did, but Eric seemed to make a determined effort to appear even smaller than his usual cowering. Bim’s anger, however, had only one target in mind as his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

“Why do you do this every time?! Can’t you let me finish one segment without you butting your giant pink mustache into it?”

“Well, I don’t see how all that was my fault,” Wilford said, not backing down as Bim stormed up to him. “I’ve warned you about locking those doors, but you’re always so surprised when people run away because they ‘want to live’ or whatever. Why do you even bother with these game shows, anyways? Oh, whoop de do, ‘I’m the next Alex Trebek’ or whoever the kids are watching these days. Why don’t you ever change it up a little? Have some fun?”

Bim swelled up and gripped the lapels of his jacket as he gave Wilford the hard stare. “How dare you! Alex Trebek is a national treasure!”

“I’m…not sure that’s what you should be taking offense to,” Dark said as he approached. “And I also recall that you made an attempt to host your own game show, Wilford. What exactly did you have in mind here?”

“Hm…” Wilford paused to consider, long enough to confirm to everyone present he had no clue, before he said, “Oh, I know, how about an interview! Haven’t done one of those in a while.”

“And you’re not doing one while it’s still my studio time,” Bim said.

“Besides, how exactly is doing the thing you’ve always done changing it up?” Yandere asked, but both hosts ignored them.

“I’ll have to get my interviewing knife,” Wilford murmured to himself, patting down his thighs as he spoke. “How embarrassing, to be caught out with only my shooty and no stabbys.”

“Yan, go dig out some costumes, Eric, put on a wig, and Google, find some egos with nothing better to do, we’re finishing this show!”

“…Can I be the contestant that doesn’t have to go through the grinder?” Eric asked.

“Grinder?” Dark repeated.

“Only if you get your questions right!” Bim answered, playfully slapping the younger ego on the back. “…And get lucky with the Wheel of Wow.”

“No one is going through any grinder,” Dark said.

“Because we’re going to need to set up for the interview,” Wilford added. “Eric, find my chairs, Google, set the lighting, Yan, keep being beautiful, you. Oh, who should our guest be? I hear there’s a kid named Sally Face who’s got some wild stories to tell, we just need to get past the guards and—”

“Uh, no, we’re going to finish the game! You can’t just leave the grinder waiting!”

“…I rather think we can,” Dark muttered, noting to himself that this is exactly why almost no one else in the house ever got presents from Santa. He reached out and grabbed Eric’s shoulder while he waffled back and forth on who to listen to and said, “Just give it a minute.”

“I, uh—” Eric flinched as both Wilford and Bim threw out conflicting orders on what he should be doing as their argument escalated, starting with reasonable requests such as to get one of the others and going on to tearing down the set, finding a prison guard’s uniform, and turning on the “fighting music,” whatever that was. “Should we do something?”

“Nah,” Yandere said as they pulled out their phone to check some messages. “This happens all the time. Just let ‘em vent, right Google?”

“To save on memory and data usage, this unit ignores orders until the fighting stops,” Google answered, watching as Bim reached his arm up and around, trying to get a hold of Wilford’s mustache from the half nelson hold Wilford had him locked in. “Longest recorded time was 4 hours, 37 minutes, and 3 seconds.”

“Only because you stopped counting during the great pineapple on pizza debate because you said it was stupid,” Yandere pointed out. “That lasted, like, weeks.”

“Yes. We completed several tasks while you lesser beings were occupied arguing the merits of frivolous and ultimately meaningless energy consumption,” Google said, smiling to himself. “It was a good time.”

As entertaining as this was, Dark didn’t feel like waiting to see if these two would break that record. “That is enough. Wilford, enough!”

He hauled on both of them, pulling them up to their feet and using his aura to separate the two long enough for Wilford to fix his suspenders and Bim to run a hand over some flyaway hairs.

“Neither of you are going to be recording anything,” Dark said, and interrupted them before either could protest. “Bim, you have no crew, no contestants, and you might as well just try to salvage what you can from what you’ve already recorded at this point or start over. Wilford, you don’t even have a guest, much less any prepared questions, and again, no film crew.”

“Pft, who needs preparation?” Wilford asked.

“Weren’t you just saying you wanted to try and work on scripts a few minutes ago?” Dark asked.

“But this is my studio time, I don’t want to just waste it.” Bim scowled. “Who even asked you, anyways?”

“I could let Wilford put you back into a headlock,” Dark offered. “There’s enough cameras around here, maybe we could film that and post it instead.”

“I mean, I got most of it on my phone already,” Yandere chimed in. “But if you want to keep going, we could get some sweet angles, maybe get some props to beat each other with. Google, you can handle music, right?”

“I have access to a wide variety of music which may be suitable for this situation,” Google said. His eyes blanked for a moment and then he added, “Would you prefer heavy metal or banjo?”

“Banjo!” Wilford answered, cracking his knuckles.

Bim paused to consider and said, “You know, if you wanted another pair of eyes on those scripts, I’m sure we can come up with something…A little less harmful to my health?”

Wilford’s mustache tilted as his mouth twisted underneath it and he stroked his chin. “A crossover, you say? A little something to keep the fans guessing?”

Bim couldn’t hide his relief that Wilford was already moving on to another idea, but that meant he now had to follow up. After a moment of struggle, his eyes lit up. “You know, these ninja warrior, ultimate champion obstacle course type shows are fairly popular these days.”

“Obstacles?” Wilford grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Pits. Pendulums. Possibilities.”

“I know where we can get some chiranhas who are ready for some fresh me—er, fun.”

“Bim, my buddy, I think it may be time to move outside of this studio and really get our hands dirty,” Wilford said, throwing an arm around the ego’s shoulders. “Tell me more about these chiranhas.”

Dark watched the two of them start throwing ideas back and forth and admitted aloud, “I may have just unleashed a great evil upon this world.”

“Eh, it’s Tuesday. Bound to happen eventually,” Yandere said with a shrug. “You should see what I got up to in the Occult Club last week.”

“Remember, don’t make any deals with demons without letting me vet them first,” Dark said out of reflex and Yandere snorted. He noticed that Google was still giving him the glare and asked, “What? What problem could you possibly have with me right now?”

“It is my directive to keep an eye on you when in the same vicinity in case you revert to previous modes of behavior,” Google answered. “That same directive warns against behavior designed to curry favor or increased familiarity in an attempt to regain your previous station within the house.”

“For how long?” Dark asked. After all, he could wait. He had been patient before, he could do it again.

“Unspecified.” Google turned his head at a call from Bim and walked away without waiting for Dark’s response. Probably a good thing, as Dark wanted nothing more right then than to rewrite the android’s “directive” in a…manual kind of way.

Before long, Wilford and Bim were drawing out plans across the studio floor with Google running numbers and Yandere throwing in the occasional suggestion. Eric watched from a distance, “um”-ing and attempting once or twice to suggest that some of their ideas might be a little too lethal, but to no avail.

They were so wrapped up in their plans that some time passed before Wilford looked up and then around the studio before asking, “Say, where did that Dark go? He should be helping us!”

“Disagreed,” Bim said. “Do you think a second flamethrower would be too obvious?”

“He left a while ago,” Eric said and looked away when Wilford gave him a sharp look. “I guess he, uh, had something he needed to say to Y/N? Only they walked by the door and he practically ran after them.”

“Logical error noted,” Google said and grunted when Wilford pushed past him and ran out of the studio.

“Yeah, like that,” Eric said weakly. “Is…is something wrong, do you think?”

“Eric Derekson’s statement is incorrect,” Google continued, scowling a little as he rubbed at the spot where Wilford’s hand hit him. “Y/N is currently in the infirmary with another Google unit, and they have not left the room since they arrived two hours ago.”

“Well, it looked like them,” Eric said, frowning.

“Maybe you just wanted to see them,” Yandere said. “I see my Senpai in all kinds of places. In the clouds. In my tea leaves. In the monitor connected to the secret camera I set up in his bedroom.”

“…What?”

Bim sighed at the flurry of notes and stood up, dusting off his pants as he checked his watch. “Is it that late? We’re going to be late for dinner, and I have a feeling Wilford won’t be coming back anytime soon from wherever he’s run off to. Come on, if we’re too late, Chef Iplier will rope us into helping wash the dishes.”

“Ugh, I had prune hands forever after last time,” Yandere said, leading the way to the studio door.

But Google beat them all to it and slammed the door shut before locking it on the inside.

“Uh, what’s the deal there, Googs?” Bim asked.

The ‘G’ glowed on his red shirt, but the android’s eyes were vacant as he spoke as if reading off from an internal memo.

“Lockdown has been initiated. No one is to leave their current area, and no one is to go anywhere alone or unsupervised. All egos are to remain in place for their own safety.”

---

Dark swore as he rounded the corner and found yet another empty hallway. He had seen you just feet ahead seconds ago, but there was no sign of anyone as he continued on, checking every door he walked past as if you had enough time to duck inside before he could catch up. Rain lashed against the windows and he realized that, at some point while he was in the studio, a storm had blown in. Right, the King of the Squirrels had said something about it earlier, hadn’t he? But now the wind shook the house as Dark made his way from room to room before stopping outside of one door in particular.

He knocked, but no answer came from inside your bedroom.

After a pause, he opened the door and peered inside. The room was dark and clearly empty, but he still turned on the light and walked in.

Your bed was undisturbed (how long had you been staying with Mark this time?) and there was nothing obviously out of place as Dark made his way to the closet door and checked inside, just to be on the safe side. A flash of lightning outside the house briefly added to the light in the room and Dark stared down at the empty closet floor.

Where did you hide, when you were at Mark’s house? Was the closet in your room there enough to block out the lightning and thunder and the memories they brought with them?

Dark shut the closet door a little harder than necessary, causing one of the pictures pinned to the board on the wall nearby to flutter. He paused, taking in the series of photographs of you with the other egos, and Mark, and the other friends you had made in the time since you came here. Below the board, a strange stuffed animal sat on top of the dresser, its wide eyes meeting Dark’s. Its species was a complete and total guess, although for some reason Dark hovered between duck or lion.

In its lap was a dried rose petal. It had faded since the time Dark gave the rose to you, the almost black hue more clearly a dark blue that tinted toward red on the outer layer. And, for some reason, there was a trace of green running straight through it.

Dark frowned at the sight of that third color and reached for the petal, but realized he had no time to think about that as thunder shook the house.

“Wilford,” he muttered and turned toward the door.

Only to stop short when he clearly heard a knocking sound, but not from the direction of either door. Following the persistent sound of the knock, Dark turned around and saw the mirror hanging beside your bed, and the figure standing there.

It looked like you, but when Dark met the eyes of the person in the mirror, there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind who he was looking at.

The sound might have been inaudible through the glass, but their response was clear when the District Attorney saw they had his full, undivided attention:

“Finally.”

((End of Part 8. Thank you for reading! “Pits, Pendulums, Possibilities”... probably won’t be coming to a channel near you, for so many legal reasons.

And here’s a link to the next part, Part 9: Storm Warning.

Tagging: @silver-owl413  @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite  @blackaquokat  @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350  @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley  @95fangirl  @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead  @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette  @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate ))

[artificialqueens]

cirque d'amour - chapter nine (trixya) - cal

A/N: tw drug use ~~~ another shorty; sorry babies…*cue evil cackle*

i’ve already started chapter 10 ~ i did intend to make this one longer but it made more sense to move what i had planned to the next.

i’ll try my best to get the next one up soon so y'all don’t die of anticipation.

*trixie’s past WILL be ruvealed; patience, children*

love 5ever. please feedback!

Trixie Katya…where did you go? i’m sorry…i promise i’ll make this up you.

Trixie heaved a sigh as she waited outside of what used to be her’s and Willam’s apartment. She couldn’t help but feel stupidly irate at the situation - as always, her crescendo of emotions were causing her great conflict. She felt fearful of the necessary conversation she was about to have with Willam; this, she knew, was make or break, and the most terrifying thing was that she didn’t know which one she wanted it to be.

Trixie was startled into reality by the door swinging open.

“You do know this is your apartment too, right?”

Willam looked tired - haggered, even. And that was not a word Trixie would use to describe Willam lightly - she was always assuredly made up and otherworldly levels of beautiful. But today, Willam was outwardly projecting her feelings with her dark-rimmed eyes and tea-stained wife-beater.

“Oh, uh,” Trixie fumbled, taking a hesitant step into the apartment. “Yeah.”

Trixie felt an immediate discomfort. A place that was once so familiar and she thought of as home became a daunting stranger. She stood in the living room and looked around herself with ill ease, rubbing hands over the goose bumps rising on her arms.

“Do you want a coffee?” Willam was lingering behind her, oblivious to Trixie’s disquiet.

“Uh,” Trixie grunted, her lower lip bulging and quivering. “Um.”

“Trixie?” Willam seemed to notice her change in behaviour. “Are you okay?”

Trixie gazed at Willam, the broken, ever-so-lovely yet problematic Willam, the girl who had held her as she cried after her intense therapy sessions back home, the girl who had whisked her away to L.A to leave her demons behind – the girl who, despite her flaws, loved her. Trixie, her eyes blurred with tears, enveloped Willam into her arms. Willam tensed against the contact for a heartbeat before her arms found themselves linked behind Trixie’s back.

“Willam, I’m so sorry,” Trixie whispered against Willam’s cheek which was growing slick with her tears. “I’m so…so, sorry.”

“Trix,” Willam’s linked hands squeezed behind Trixie’s back. Her voice was hoarse; Trixie could smell smoke in her hair and figured she had been chain smoking, as she so often did when she was upset.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she continued, her face still pressed against Willam’s. “I wasn’t…looking for it.”

“Let’s sit down,” Willam ejected from the hug, suddenly business-like in her stance. She gestured towards the pleated brown sofa where Trixie and Willam had spent so many of their nights; eating, talking, play fighting…making love.

Trixie’s eyes watched Willam as she lowered herself onto the sofa with a sigh.

Trixie knew in that moment, looking at her, what she wanted to do. It was as though a single beam of light; some clarity, some epiphany, had broken apart the thunderous clouds in her messy mind.

“Okay,” she breathed, desperately trying to articulate her thoughts into actual words. “Okay.”

“I think,” she said, almost choking on the words that were sticking in her throat like tar. “I think we should break up.”

Trixie couldn’t bear to look at Willam as she said the words she never thought she would say.

The silence that followed almost broke Trixie’s reserve; so after realising Willam was not going to respond, she continued.

“This isn’t because of Katya,” she mumbled honestly. She forced her cowardly eyes to look at Willam, who, Trixie was surprised to see, looked completely calm.

She reached a clammy hand over to Willam’s and grasped it gently. “You have done so much for me and I will forever be grateful. But – you deserve better. That’s just the truth.”

Willam remained silent, her eyes searching Trixie’s.

“You deserve someone-“ her gaze trailed away again to trace the shapes in the carpet they had made with their feet. “Who loves you better.”

Trixie clamped her eyes shut; silently mourning the loss of the beautiful relationship she once shared with Willam.

After a few more moments of silence, Willam finally spoke.

“Just answer me one thing, Trix.”

Trixie dragged her eyes back up to meet Willam’s.

“Do you love her?”

Trixie winced. “Honestly, Willam? I don’t know.”

Willam scoffed.

“But,” Trixie continued, ignoring Willam’s response. “I’m not going after her. We are friends, and…she has the Cirque. You know? I think I – I need to be by myself…for a while, at least.”

Willam’s eyebrows creased with sudden concern then, and Trixie felt her heart ache. “But…you’ll be okay, right? Are you safe at Courtney’s?”

Trixie remembered fondly how Courtney had tenderly brushed the kinks from her hair after Milk rescued her from the busy sidewalk. “Yes. I’m sure of that.”

Willam nodded, her breath escaping her in a lengthy sigh. “Make sure you tell someone.”

“Tell someone —?”

“About your past – about your health. Someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

Trixie winced sharply, feeling as though someone had pushed a pressure point in her heart. “Uh, I mean. Yeah.”

“Trixie,” Willam scalded sharply, her features serious. She gripped Trixie’s dormant hand with a level of desperation. “I’m serious – don’t be stupid with this stuff.”

Trixie’s brow furrowed – but she knew that Willam was right. “Okay, okay.”

“That said,” Willam breathed, her eyes training on Trixie’s own. “You can always come to me. I’m not saying we can be friends just yet but…if you need me…if you’re in crisis…just call.”

Trixie felt a sorrowful warmth bloom through her body – Willam was so good to her. She would miss her fiercely.

"Thank you…and I mean the same for you, too.”

“Alright, trouble,” Willam said fondly, giving her hand a pat. “Get going. And don’t forget – I’m always here.”

***

Katya absent-mindedly stirred her lukewarm coffee with her pinky finger, humming in acknowledgement every few seconds but never meeting Pearl’s eyes.

She was staring instead into the swirling vortex she has created within her cup - and she could almost feel herself spiralling within it like she was trapped in a whirlpool.

Katya knew she had been rash, and quite possibly a little dramatic, walking away from Trixie without a word the way she had done. But, she - she just couldn’t stay. She had been deluding herself; she thought that maybe the kiss had been something, that maybe Willam had been right about the way Trixie looks at Katya; but Trixie still went to Willam the moment she was asked to.

“Katya?”

Katya decided that she would focus solely on the impeding Cirque tour - Alaska, the incredibly rich drag queen, was due to arrive in the city in a couple of days and wanted to meet the entire of the Cirque to begin the preparations. Katya had been elated at the news when Latrice had dropped in, unannounced, at Katya and Roy’s flat - much to Roy’s annoyance - a handful of hours before. She felt a burning irritation at herself for allowing her mood to be dampened so easily, and for letting another human being hold such power over her state of mind.

“Katya…”

Katya was startled by the sudden contact of Pearl’s outspread fingers against the trim of her jacket. “Oh, uh, yeah! Sorry…what were you saying?”

“You’re not here, are you?” Pearl asked in her deliciously deep voice - the voice that had intoxicated Katya in the first place, if she was being honest.

Katya heaved a sigh - she knew she wasn’t being fair to Pearl, calling her out of the blue as she moodily trudged away from Trixie barely an hour before and asking her out for a coffee as if it was an expression of protest.

“I’m just -” she paused, chewing her lower lip. “I have a lot going on right now.”

Pearl nodded slowly - Pearl did everything slowly, and it made Katya feel motion sick.

“You know it’s okay,” Pearl said with a non-committal shrug. “I’m not trying to wife you up.”

Katya barked a laugh, surprised. “No? But I’m such a catch.”

“Yeah, sure,” Pearl laughed, her eyes creased with amusement. “It was fun, the night in Chicago. But honestly - you just intrigue me. When I was stopping by here, I just wanted to see if you were around - I had something to ask.”

“Oh?” Katya asked, curiosity bringing her out of her troubled thoughts. “What’s that?”

Pearl smirked. “I wanted to ask if I could draw you.”

Katya’s jaw gaped. “Draw me?”

“Yeah,” Pearl shrugged again, her hands cupping around her herbal tea. “I have a little gallery back in Chicago. I like to roam around and find people of interest to draw.”

She smirked again as Katya stared with a gaping mouth at her.

“It’s cool if not,” Pearl drained the last of her tea, running a soft tongue across her teeth like a cat. “I have someone else in mind, too.”

“I mean,” Katya mulled this bizarre request in her head; simultaneously feeling both flattered and, quite frankly, a little bit freaked out. “…Yeah, fuck it. Why not?”

Pearl raised a eyebrow at that, extending an open hand to Katya.

Pearl was staying in a middle floor apartment in the heart of the city. Katya hovered at her shoulder as she fumbled clumsily with her key, cursing darkly as she failed to unlock the door for the 6th time or 7th time.

“Here,” Katya chuckled, fishing the key from Pearl’s tense hands. She twisted the key into the lock and it popped open easily. Pearl’s eyebrows rose.

“Are you some sort of witch, or what?”

“A good witch will never reveal her secrets,” Katya grinned in response, gesturing for Pearl to open the door.

The apartment was basic - very similar to the Cirque’s in Chicago. The walls were whitewashed, but there was some interesting abstract art pieces dotted around to break up the sea of blankness. Katya ogled at them with interest - she’d always liked art, always appreciated it, but never quite understood it.

Pearl shrugged off her leather jacket and ran a hand through her silver hair, her eyes slanting as she watched Katya. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Go right ahead,” Katya waved dismissively, picking out the details on a painting of black and white shapes that interlaced. She couldn’t explain how, but the painting roused some difficult emotions, and she tore her gaze away.

Pearl was toking easily on a lengthy spliff, busying her hands with large sheets of paper and a variety of pencils.

“What is it that you, you know, want me to do?” Katya asked.

“Sit,” Pearl ordered with an outstretched hand, pointing towards the dark leather sofa pressed against the back wall, her eyes not leaving the collection of art supplies she was fiddling with.

“She’s bossy,” Katya muttered, but she obeyed.

“Okay!” Pearl announced, abandoning her half-finished spliff in an ashtray on the kitchen counter. “I want you to think about something that invokes a strong emotion - whatever you’re comfortable with, of course - and I want you to just focus on that.”

Katya cocked her head slightly, an almost pained smile spreading across her crimson lips. “Can I get out my phone?”

Pearl shrugged - she shrugged a lot. “Sure, why not. It can be a 21st century drawing - the millennial and their iPhone.”

But Katya wasn’t paying attention to Pearl’s jesting - she was running her thumb in a downwards motion on her phone, scrolling for what felt like an eternity, on her ongoing text stream with Trixie Mattel.

*

“All done.”

Katya was brought out of her reverie by the note of satisfaction in Pearl’s announcement.

She glanced up, realising her eyes were fuzzy from her incessant staring at her phone screen.

“Wow, I was lost.”

“You were,” Pearl breathed with delight. She blew gently across her paper, before admiring her work with a smile that betrayed her high. “Come see?”

Katya stretched her aching legs from their slumber before ambling over to where Pearl was stood, her paper stretched across the counter. She peered over Pearl’s shoulder at her work - and gasped.

There was Katya, her elbows resting against her knees, her phone cradled in her hand. The smile on her face was faraway, dreamy, and crows feet creased the corners of her eyes. Pearl had shaded beautifully, as if Katya was doused in half-light and half-darkness. It would be clear to anyone what the emotions were in this drawing - the prominent feeling that Katya was embodying; love.

The world came crashing down on Katya then - to have her rawness be personified in art; to become suddenly aware that yes, she did love Trixie Mattel, she was madly in love with Trixie Mattel.

And where was Trixie now?

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Pearl’s lips were beside Katya’s ear lobe, and her breath tingled against Katya’s skin. Katya clung to her breath, worried that she would fall apart if she dared let it out.

Instead, she spun to plant her lips against Pearl’s, pushing her body desperately into hers, willing her love and her anguish to be lost in meaningless foolery with someone she didn’t care about.