#i called her painter to make sure this was right and he was like ‘yes and never question me again’

[nedsseveredhead]

Being in retail really rewires your brain in the weirdest fucking way someone insisted i sell them highgloss enamel paint for their ceiling and im reeling. flabbergasted. and normal people dont understand why im so horrified by this homeowner.

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 3 - The Figure Painter

Chapter Summary - Y/N visits a childhood friend to go over Seonghwa's odd invitation.

Series Masterlist

"And then he gave you a contract... Like from Fifty Shades of Gray?"

"I told you it's not a contract, he said it was an invitation."

"Honey, it literally gives you a place to sign at the bottom."

After Seonghwa had given me the envelope and left, I wasted no time in rushing over to my friend, Mia's, house to tell her everything. Mia and I had known each other since we were seven years old, hanging off of each other like leeches since. Her family was rich too, but unlike mine, they supported her artistic endeavors.

She was a painter, specializing in figure paintings and realism, and was also my voice of reason.

"I seriously don't know what to do," I whine, my head resting on her kitchen countertop.

"Well, what does it say? Like what does he want you to do?" She asks, her fingers twirling a teaspoon around her tea cup.

I glance down at the papers in front of me. So many rules were listed I struggled to even wrap my head around it.

"He wants me to move into their home," I say.

"Their home?" Mia clarifies. "As in other people?"

"I guess so?" I clear my throat as I continue. "I can remain as a dancer for the society as long as I don't practice for any longer than I need to be."

"Well, at least they're offering you some freedom." She mumbles sarcastically, taking a sip of her tea.

"Mia come on!" I cry out rather dramatically.

"I feel like there isn't much up for discussion here? Yes, it's weird and borderline controlling but when was the last time something exciting like this happened in your life?" She argues.

"I don't want to be controlled, Mia. This whole thing, it's just way above my pay grade. I had enough of it living with my parents, I don't need it in a romantic relationship too!" I point out. She lets out a sigh, nodding in understanding.

"You're right, I'm sorry." Mia runs a hand through her hair. "Okay, let's try a different approach. What things in there benefit you?"

"Uhm, I get to live in a big ass mansion free of charge," I say, my finger hovering over the bullet point. It sure would be better than the cheap studio apartment I live in now.

"You can never go wrong with a big ass mansion." She quips before I continue.

"It says... I have to be willing to, share myself?" I tilt my head with furrowed eyebrows.

"Oh, don't tell me they're the type to want a girl to homey hop." She seethes, leaning over the counter to read the paper. "Oh god, they are!" She exclaims.

"Just because you're monogamous doesn't mean you can judge!" I scold.

"I'm not judging, I'm cringing 'cause it's not for me." She says defensively. "If you're into that, I won't judge."

"Sure you won't."

"I might make fun of you a little, but you know I'll get over it!" She laughs. "Besides it's a bonus if they're all cute. I looked up Seonghwa and that Hongjoong guy and woo!" She whistles.

"Poor Mark." I tease, she gasps. "Listen, I don't know if I'm up for that either. I mean I don't even know who the others are, for all I know there could be a serial killer among them."

"Then call him." She states. "Call him and demand him to rewrite it on your terms."

"Would that work?" I ask, placing the papers back into a neat pile.

"He's a businessman, right? Of course, it would! Hell, you might even get to meet the others if you play your cards right." She says confidently. "You like this guy right?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Then fight for your own morals and boundaries, and if he doesn't accept that then move on." She says, moving over slightly to place her mug in the sink. "And if they try something, Mark and I will come over and beat them up for you."

"You and I both know Mark Lee is not going to beat anyone up." I laugh causing her to let out a snort.

"You're right, he could yap their ears off and give us time to escape the country though." She jokes, a wide grin spreading across her face.

I glance back down at the documents, genuinely contemplating for a moment. I hated the idea of being controlled by anyone again, let alone a bunch of men who, aside from 1, I have never had a conversation with in my life. But on top of that, it would be really nice to stay somewhere that didn't charge me almost my entire weekly pay for rent.

Plus Seonghwa was really good-looking, but was I really going to risk my freedom just because a cute guy gave me a second of his time? Mia was right, I needed to call him and set up some kind of meeting and get this document altered to my liking also, not just theirs.

"You're doing that thing again." Mia's voice cuts me out of my thoughts. "You know it's creepy when you stare off into space like that."

"Sorry, was just thinking about everything," I say softly, stuffing the document back into the envelope it came in.

"It's a lot, I know, but once you put your foot down like I know you can it'll all even out. You'll see." Mia was often right about these things, then again she was always the one to come up with the ideas that would get us into trouble growing up. I trusted her with things like this because I knew it would never leave the two of us, but trusting her to convince me to do something that could lead to me signing my life away? I was going to be a little more cautious of that.

"I should probably go, I got another show tonight," I say, hopping off of the seat I was perched on.

"Oh! I'm coming to the show next Monday! Don't mess up for me okay?" She says, skipping around the counter to give me a quick hug before I leave.

"Of course I won't, you're my lucky charm." I joke, pulling away and waving. She waves back, knowing I could find my way out.

I contemplated calling Seonghwa as I walked through the city streets. I let out an annoyed huff at the constant tug-of-war going on in my head. My finger hovered over the call button as I stared down at his contact. He'd probably show up tonight, but did I really want to decline his initial offer in person?

Without thinking I pressed call, holding my phone up to my ear as I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. I felt a sick feeling of nerves in my stomach, the same feeling I felt before I went out on stage.

It rings 4 times before he picks up.

"I thought you'd think about it a while longer." He states, his voice rough. I take a deep breath before I speak.

"I'm declining your 'invitation'," I stated, making sure my voice sounded defiant.

"What?" He asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"You heard me. This... Contract is far too controlling for my liking and I refuse to subject myself to signing my life away for a man who only graced me with his presence last night." I say, earning some looks from passersby.

"Doll-"

"I'm not done! Look, I like you. But the only way this is happening is if we rewrite this to include my own terms. And I want whoever the hell you expect me to share myself with to be there also. No way in hell am I agreeing to something like that without even knowing what they look like." I say, rather rushed. Silence follows, and I look at my phone screen for a moment to make sure the phone call didn't end. As I placed the phone back to my ear I heard laughter.

"My, I really underestimated you didn't I?" Seonghwa chuckles. "A real firecracker you are, so unassuming up until now." I could feel his grin through the screen, and it made my blood boil.

"If you're going to waste my time-"

"Hold on a second, Doll." He says, his voice still laced with amusement. "I'll organize a dinner, how does that sound? You, me, and the others who helped write the original contract. That way you can meet everyone and get your boundaries heard."

I blinked in surprise at his offer. Was it really that easy? "You're serious?"

"Of course I am! Honestly, it's refreshing to talk to someone as pretty as you about business exchanges." He chuckles. "You have a show tonight, yes? Are you free Saturday night?"

I clear my throat. "Uhm, yeah?"

"Excellent, I'll send you the details tonight with your Gardenias." He says, hanging up before I can get another word in.

I gape at the phone, staring at it as I stand frozen in the middle of the street. I look around for a moment before continuing on my way.

I had a sinking feeling that this dinner was not going to be as easy as he made it seem. The others were most definitely businessmen also, co-owners of ATZ Corp. Me, a broke ballerina versus 8 businessmen on their own turf.

Pray for me.

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Zayne x Lemurian! Fem! Reader: Ebb Day ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣 ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 040 ✦ ┆・

[ Reader is Related to Rafayel because I said so<3]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ My Ocean Belongs To You ] ¡! ❞

"Zayne, do you like art galleries?" "Yes. How come you're asking?" "My big brother is hosting an art gallery<33. Wanna come with me:0?" "When is it?" "Saturday in the afternoon!" "Sure."

And that was how Zayne found himself in this situation, while you sported a pretty little frilly long dress— He was simply wearing his typical black dress shirt and trousers. Of course, he was secretly staring at you the whole time, he's always been interested in you but never had once vocalized it nor has he ever openly made it obvious or even drop hints.

Besides, he had been a little stressed from work as of late. He had to deal with a lot of troublesome patients during the weekdays and there were too many close calls on his surgeries as of late so he badly needed to take his mind off of the hospital even just for a bit.

And you are his favourite kind of cure.

Zayne followed behind you as you pranced in your steps, guiding him to the location of the art gallery. it didn't take the both of you too long to arrive to the place.

Fine and extremely detailed canvases were attached to the walls, each one unique on their own.

Zayne wasn't much of a painter, he could only sketch since he had to draw a lot of anatomical diagrams back when he was still in medical school.

"Your brother is very skilled" Zayne says as his gaze landed on the different pieces.

"Right?" You beam, hopping in your steps even more happily as you admire your cousin's works. "He's always working hard on his paintings."

He follows behind you, admiring the image of you more than he does admiring the pretty paintings around the both of you.

"Ah, there he is!" You spring into happy little skips as you made your way towards a man with deep purple hair boredly leaning on the wall and fiddling with a pen in his fingers. "Oppa!"

"Geez, pipe down, I can hear you just fine" He says in a sarcastic but gentle voice as his bluish-pink eyes similar to yours land on you. "I thought you were joking when you said you'll visit"

"Oppa will be disappointed if I didn't" You grin, making him roll his eyes.

"Who is this?" His gaze falls on Zayne, pushing himself off of the wall.

"I'm Zayne" He introduces himself.

"Zayne..." The name rolls off of the painter's tongue, pondering as he tries to remember where he has heard it before. "Ah yes, you're my sister's doctor, right? She wont stop yapping about you I almost went deaf from it. I'm Rafayel"

"Oppa!" You protest, smacking his arm.

"Hey, ow!" Rafayel fake winces, a dramatic expression on his face as he gasped. "Guppy, that is not how you treat your older brother! Isn't family supposed to love eachother?"

"As if!" You stick your tongue out at Rafayel and Zayne stood awkwardly in between this little banter.

"Pfft," He scoffs, rubbing the spot you had hit. "Still as feisty as ever like a sea urchin."

"You're as round and ridiculous as a puffer fish" You bite back.

"...." Zayne felt like he really shouldn't be here at this moment.

"Anyway, I'm gonna go off there and greet Thomas" You say in a childish, high pitched voice as you point at a direction and storm off.

Zayne shook his head, wanting to follow you but found it rude if he left your brother all alone without a proper conversation. Besides, he could see you in his peripheral vision.

"I meant it though." Rafayel starts, humming as continued playing with the pen absentmindedly. "She speaks very highly of you like a little baby dolphin learning how to jump off of water for the first time."

"...I'm glad she thinks so, but I'm only doing my job as her doctor" Zayne answers, pushing his eyeglasses back.

"Isn't that what every doctor says?" Rafayel scoffs, crossing his arms as both men overlooked you who is happily chatting with Thomas and asking about some paintings. "My little sister is a handful, isn't she?"

"Well," Zayne hums, deciding to play along with Rafayel. "She often doesn't listen to her doctor's orders and is somehow scared of staying in the hospital at night believing ghosts might swallow her."

"...Did she actually say that?" Rafayel cocks up an eyebrow.

"She did." Zayne simply confirms while watching you prance back to them and tug at Rafayel's arm.

"Oppa, oppa, I want the pretty puzzle piece music box, get it for me!" You say childishly, pulling at Rafayel's hand.

"Hey, I'm not a wallet" Rafayel groans but allows himself to be dragged over to the gift store area.

Zayne followed you both, watching as the two of you bantered on and on. He could tell that Rafayel spoiled you a lot, watching as he keep saying sarcastic remarks and marine related insults while letting you pull him around.

"You're a grown woman now and a hunter, why exactly do you need a music box puzzle?" Rafayel rolls his eyes.

"Because it helps!" You reason out, shooting a hopeful look at Zayne. "Right doctor Zayne? Right?"

"Puzzle making and achieving to finish it can certainly boost dopamine production," Zayne replies, sighing as he realizes what you are using him for. "As for sleep, well, music boxes can certainly help lull you to sleep."

"Ugh, using your doctor card on me, really?" Rafayel groans, but pays for the puzzle piece anyway. "Now shoo, there's an ice cream store at the front. Your brother is buisy doing grown-up stuff so children should behave."

"I'm not a 2 year old!" You say as you hold the now packaged puzzle piece before storming off.

"...." Zayne was about to follow behind you until he heard Rafayel's voice again.

"Do you know about Lemuria? There's a secret rumour amongst their merpeople" he says, "Every year there's a day when the tide is low, and it flows in the opposite direction. It's on that day that Lemurians are at their weakest hence why they keep it a secret. Even the weakest humans can end them if they so please."

"Then how come you know of this?" Zayne inquires.

"Well, it's a fairy tale" Rafayel dismisses his question. "She's waiting for you"

Zayne nods his head politely before going towards your direction.

Throughout the whole time on the ice cream shop, he keeps thinking of what Rafayel said. And for some reason, he can;t take it off his mind.

Despite that, he chooses to just focus on the you who is busily munching on the ice cream he had bought for you earlier.

"Slow down, it's not going anywhere" He says, picking up a napkin and wiping the cream off of your cheek.

"But it's just so yummy!" You protest.

"I know," Zayne nods his head, "But still, eat a little more slowly.

"...Okay" You pout.

Zayne shakes his head, smiling faintly as he found the whole situation a little ridiculous. He could tell Rafayel thought that he spoils you too. After all, he's putting up with your childish antiques and scolds you as if you were a small child.

Overall, this litle... Outing turned out well since he met your older brother.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

For the past two weeks, Rafayel's words bothered Zayne over and over. It kept repeating in his mind and it even echoes in his ears whenever he woke up. It's a miracle he didn't have any surgeries these days and managed to keep a proffesional act despite it high bothering him.

To add to that, you havent texted or called him a single time.

Sure, you're not required to talk to him all the time but today seemed particularly different as it nagged him.

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration as he finished up the last of his reports.

He then reached for his phone and instantly dialed your number.

Thankfully enough, you picked up.

"Hello?" You voice was horrible, making Zayne immediately alarmed.

"Are you alright? your voice is a little rough" He inquires, taking his doctor's coat off. and grabbing his keys.

"No... Fever"

"A fever?" He sighs, storming out the hallways and into the parking lot. "You're home, aren't you? Have you taken your temperature and drank medicine?"

"Cant..." You breathe heavily. "Too weak."

"Stay in bed." Zayne said as he hopped into his car and brought life to the engine. "I'll come."

He then dropped the phone call as he drived out of the hospital and towards your apartment.

Zayne knew deep inside it was probably just as a normal fever, but there's a surge of panic in him as he hurried over. The moment Zayne parked, he hurriedly went upstairs. He was irrational with the way his mind is overthinking things.

Surely it's just a fever.

A fever.

Zayne opened the door to your apartment and quietly locked it behind him then going to your bedroom where he found you curled up in your bed.

"I'm here" Zayne says with a gentle voice, his tone a little lower than usual as he gently pries off the blanket off of your face and placed a palm on your forehead.

"Ngh... Zayne" You whine a little.

"Ssh," He said, removing his palm and reaching for the bedside drawer and pulled out the thermometer.

Zayne took your temperature and cocked up an eyebrow at the results.

You're burning up and yet you have a normal temperature. He aimed it at himself and gave back a good result too, meaning it's not broken or playing tricks.

"???" Zayne looks at you, wanting an explanation.

"Water... Please." You whisper.

He rescinds in demanding an explanation, your voice isn't fake and neither is that glazed over look on your face.

"Stay here, don't pull the blanket over your head" Zayne said, getting up from his seat.

He was running a number of possible explanations on why you're feeling the way you do. Maybe it's stress induced, or something. Perhaps a better option now is not to ponder but take you to the hospital because it might be a dangerous situation.

He walks back into the bedroom and sat paused,

"...." Zayne places the glass down, crouching down towards you and observes the glittering blue things on your face.

'That wasn't there earlier' He thought, his forehead knitting as he reached to brush a finger on your cheek where the crystal like things glimmered.

The touch caused you to whimper a little and he pulled his hand back immediately.

"Every year there's a day when the tide is low, and it flows in the opposite direction. It's on that day that Lemurians are at their weakest hence why they keep it a secret. Even the weakest humans can end them if they so please."

Rafayel's words repeat in his mind.

"Zayne..." You mumble, curling over to him before trying to get up.

"Your face,..." He inquires, helping you sit up while another hand reached to place pillows against the headboard and laying you against it. "Lemuria?"

He hesitated at the question, watching your expression droop.

"...Sorry." You apologize.

"There's nothing to be sorry for" He said, reaching up to fix the blanket on your lap. "Are you feeling like this because of ebb day? The tides being low and the water flowing backwards?"

"..." You look up at him, alarmed. "How? Who? Y-you're not supposed to know those."

'Ah..' Zayne mentally curses at himself for being too brash on his approach.

"Your brother, Rafayel, he told me" He said, and felt relieved as you calm down.

"...That's funny" You mumbles. "He told me to never tell anyone and yet he told you. Big brother trusted you with a secret depsite just meeting."

Zayne didn't answer, wondering too why the painter would do that but froze as he felt you nuzzle his shoulder.

"..."

"You're not mad... Or weirded out?" You ask.

Zayne shakes his head, reaching up and gently stroked your head. "Why would I? Just because you're not... Human?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not" He shakes his head, gently pulling you over to his lap so he can hold you more properly and you can rest more comfortably on his shoulder. "There's no reason to. It just makes me a little concerned that maybe my treatment plans on you dont work or worst, it could be detrimental to you."

"We're the same as humans" you explains. "Just... Different in a lot of waya. I get hungry and get sick like humans. So it's fine."

"I see." He hums, stroking your head.

He almost wanted to nuzzle his nose on your head but stopped himself.

"You won't hurt me, right?" You ask, fidgeting. "Brother said that humans would abuse a creature's weakness once they find out."

"Never" He said, pausing in his ministrations on your strands. "I would never hurt the person I like. If anything, I wish to protect you"

He brings your hand up to his lips, and kisses the inside of your palm.

"I would never, ever hurt you." He shakes his head, those intense amber-green eyes. "Not now, not in the future, never in my lifetime nor in the next ones. No matter who or what you are, I will never hurt you"

꒰ A/N: I'm just so weak against Zayne pls sniffsniff. I love him sm I just want to hold this silly man. I wanna cuddle this precious man qwq!!! My precious Zayne TT. This man is fr one of my biggest comfort character. I can't wait for his birthday event in september. Also I'm srry if u cringe at the feesh insults its my kind of humor xDD!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[deliciousangelfestival]

My Problematic Girl - 12

Character: College!Steve Rogers x Rich!Female Reader

Summary:  Steve's mundane life in university, focused on graduating and funding his mother's surgery, is shaken by a mysterious new student who brings danger and surprises.

Author's Note: I decided to stop using "Y/N." Starting from this chapter, I will use the second-person point of view instead.

My Problematic Girl - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Your heart was beating fast as you approached Maximus, the patriarch of the Solomon family and the man who held the key to uncovering the truth about your mother's death.

Maximus, sitting in his wheelchair like a king on his throne, smiled at you. But you knew there was a hidden meaning behind that smile.

“You’ve made your way back. I’m impressed,” he said.

You bowed deeply. “I will do anything to impress the king.”

“Hahaha.” His laughter echoed through the grand hall, drawing the attention of the guests. Even those who had worked with Maximus for years rarely heard him laugh.

But you, the outsider who was thrown out for staining the Solomon name, were welcomed back.

Your father, Brian, stood nearby. His expression was neutral, but you could tell he was impressed that you had managed to gain Maximus's favor. He just hoped you wouldn't mess up this chance again.

Shara, your step-sister with no blood relation to you, stood between her grandfather and your father. To outsiders, she looked like your father's daughter. She had successfully stolen your father's affection, and you had willingly let her. She smiled at you. “Our house felt empty without you.”

You returned her smile with a fake one. “Hmph.”

This was the first time Steve had seen your step-sister. The difference between the two of you was like fire and water.

“It’s exciting, right? I heard the battle of succession will happen soon.” Steve nearly jumped when someone suddenly spoke to him.

“Why do you act like you’ve seen a ghost?” The stranger laughed. “My name is Derick. I saw you talking to Sophia. Does your company work with her?”

Steve quickly tried to remember the guest information you had given him. Derick was an elite from a wealthy family who owned an oil company.

“She’s interested in my painting,” Steve replied.

Derick gasped and covered his mouth with his hand in mock surprise. “Oh shit. You’re that painter.” He tilted his head, a mocking smile on his face. “So you’re just extra baggage, huh?” Then he walked away.

Steve didn’t know whether to feel offended or not. He wasn’t entirely sure what 'extra baggage' meant in this context.

'Ding.'

A small ring from the butler's bell silenced the room, drawing everyone's attention. “The dining room is ready for the guests,” he announced.

The guests began to make their way slowly toward the dining room. Steve hesitated, unsure if there was a seat prepared for him.

“Steve,” you called, nodding your head for him to follow you.

The dining room was immense, decorated with the opulence of a five-star French hotel. The elegant table settings and luxurious interior reminded Steve of scenes from the magazines he used for drawing references. It felt like a feast fit for a king.

Now, he regretted following you. He was seated beside you, directly in the circle of the Solomon family. He felt terrified, especially under the scrutinizing gaze of Maximus. The intensity of it made him want to crawl under the table.

“So you’re the new rising artist?” Maximus asked, his voice cutting through the chatter.

“Yes… sir,” Steve replied, his voice trembling. His nervousness almost made Sophia and Shara chuckle.

“You found an obedient pet,” Maximus remarked to you. You sipped your champagne before responding, “I need something to rid me of my boredom.”

Steve rolled his eyes. The conversation between you and Maximus sounded almost familial. Despite the initial fear, he started to see Maximus not as a terrifying patriarch but as an old man with a sharp tongue and a certain charm.

But Steve spoke too soon. He soon saw the true nature of Maximus—a sadistic man.

When the food arrived, everyone began eating except for Maximus. He never moved his hands from the armrests of his wheelchair. Three servants attended to him: one cutting his food, one feeding him, and one providing water whenever he asked for it.

“Water,” Maximus demanded. If the servant was too slow, he would slap the glass from their hand and say, “Too late.”

'What the fuck? This old man can use his hands. Why is he acting disabled?' Steve thought, trying to hide his shock. But Maximus could read him easily. His old age had taught him to read people like a book.

“You wonder why?” Maximus asked, his piercing eyes locking onto Steve's.

Steve stiffened, unsure how to respond. He glanced at you for some guidance, but you were calmly sipping your champagne, seemingly unbothered by the tension.

Maximus leaned forward slightly, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Power, young man. It’s all about power. I don’t need to lift a finger because I’ve trained everyone around me to cater to my every whim. It’s a demonstration of control.”

Steve swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “I see, sir.” The answer is the same as you. Turned out you learned from him. No wonder why you mind fucked up some time.

Maximus chuckled, the sound sending a chill down Steve’s spine. “Do you? It’s not something you see, it’s something you feel. The weight of authority, the expectation of obedience.”

Sophia leaned in, her gaze fixed on Steve. “You must understand, in our world, appearances are everything. Power is maintained not just through actions, but through the perception of those actions.”

Steve nodded again, his mind racing. He could feel the eyes of the entire table on him, judging his every move.

“Eat, Steve,” you said softly, breaking the tension slightly. “Enjoy the food.”

Steve picked up his fork and began to eat, his hands still shaking slightly. The food was exquisite, but he could barely taste it over the anxiety roiling in his stomach.

‘Ding. Ding.’

One of the guests stood up from his seat. Steve recognized him as the country's economic minister. Silently, he marveled that someone of such importance was among the guests. The minister raised his champagne glass, and everyone followed suit. “We’re here to celebrate a genius businessman who has made us all rich.” His remark made the guests laugh. “We wish you a long life, Mr. Solomon.”

Maximus nodded his head and made a hand motion for everyone to sit. He didn’t say a word, yet everyone obeyed him. He was right; money and power could command such respect.

“I did. I made everyone in this room fucking rich,” he said, his voice filled with authority.

Everyone laughed and agreed with him.

“I’m grateful that all of you are here, wishing me a long life. But I have decided to retire,” Maximus announced.

‘Clink.’

A fork fell to the ground, the sound echoing in the room. Silence followed as everyone processed the announcement. Even Sophia, Brian, Shara, and you were shocked; Maximus had never mentioned retiring.

“Father…” Sophia tried to intervene.

“Be quiet, Sophia. I’m trying to talk here.” Maximus slapped her hand away, embarrassing her but remaining unfazed.

“Everything changes as I grow older. My generation is slowly dying, and the new generation must take over,” he continued.

The guests started murmuring. ‘What does it mean?’

‘Is he going to give the company to Sophia or Shara?’

“There are two people I see as my future heir. Shara, my granddaughter.” Maximus looked at Shara, who turned pale, anticipating the next words her grandfather would say.

“And my step-granddaughter, Y/N,” he declared.

The room erupted in noise. Everyone began talking at once. He skipped his daughter Sophia from the list and chose his granddaughter instead. Sophia turned pale as snow, her father not even considering her worth it.

“Sir, you’re going to give the company to someone not related to you?” one of the guests asked.

“It’s my fucking company. I can do whatever I want,” Maximus screamed, punching the table.

Steve flinched, realizing just how terrifying the old man could be.

“Besides… she has my blood,” Maximus revealed, dropping a bombshell.

You looked at him, confusion and questions etched on your face. What was he talking about?

Maximus smiled at you. “Eight years ago, when you needed a blood transfusion, I gave you my blood. So my blood is running through your veins right now.” He said it like he gave you a wonderful gift.

You were shocked, looking down at your arms. You had no idea. Confusion and disgust washed over you at the thought of having Solomon's blood.

Brian glared at his father-in-law. “You’re a prick.”

Maximus smirked. He slowly stood up from his wheelchair and opened his arms wide. “Like a king in the old days, he would choose a successor from his descendants. He would pick the best.”

Shara gasped, unable to believe her grandfather was serious. She looked at you, who was smiling at her like a joker. You were excited for this. You couldn’t wait to bring down this kingdom.

“Let the battle for succession begin!” Maximus proclaimed.

The tension in the room was palpable. Guests whispered among themselves, their faces a mix of shock and intrigue. Maximus’s declaration had set the stage for a fierce and ruthless competition.

You could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins. The prospect of this battle excited you, the chance to prove yourself and to upend the established order.

Steve, still reeling from the announcement, tried to maintain his composure. He glanced at you, noticing the fire in your eyes. You were ready for this challenge, ready to face whatever came your way.

Maximus returned to his wheelchair, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “This will be a test of strength, intelligence, and loyalty. Only the best will inherit my empire.”

Sophia and Brian exchanged worried glances while Shara’s face twisted in fear. The room buzzed with anticipation, the air thick with unspoken rivalries and ambitions.

The murmurs of the guests could be heard, expressing a preference for you instead because you already have experience and started from the bottom, while Shara is still learning to become a doctor.

The guests couldn’t stop discussing the impending battle as the evening continued. You and Steve found yourselves at the center of attention, every move scrutinized, every word analyzed.

Maximus watched from his wheelchair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He had set the stage for a power struggle that would test the limits of everyone involved.

The night ended with a sense of foreboding and excitement. The real game was about to begin, and in the world of the Solomons, only the strongest would survive.

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⌗ ROMANTICISM ₊ ˖ ་. rin itoshi x fem reader (4k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ there are so many words he wishes he could take back, and he realizes now that he loves you. he loves your colorful laugh, beauty, and passion - all he needs now, is to tell you...and say those three little words. (part two of rationalism - must must read first!!!)

contains; colorblind!rin, painter!reader, rin’s mom is reader’s art mentor, rin hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, swearing, immense fluff, , kissing, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness, happy ending!!! author's note; this was originally supposed to end with reader getting into a car accident and d-wording the day of her art gallery...but i changed my mind :D

He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does. 

The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Rin wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers. 

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Sae’s call is distant from the turning gears within Rin’s brain. He’s sure that his brother has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Rin feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk. 

“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The dim-eyed boy beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Rin had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

“Oh, you know,” Sae continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”

Rin hates him.

“You’re an asshole.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Rin care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful asshole who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being said ‘unhelpful asshole’.”

Sae scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just fucking talk to her and put me out of my misery.”

“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Rin stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Sae holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”

“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his older brother chuckles, causing Rin to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Sae continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”

Rin takes his brother’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him. 

It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Rin’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other. 

Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears. 

You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth. 

When did you begin to mean so much to him? Rin doesn’t even know. 

It could’ve been when you showed up to his game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Rin!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of Isagi - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rival from that day. Rin was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good. 

Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things. 

Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Rin’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Rin, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard. 

The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Rin! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Rin’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?

Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?

Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?

What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?

“I need to text her.” Rin feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Sae to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Rin on the back. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!” 

His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Sae eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Rin knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along. 

��

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?

He’s trembling. Rin’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. 

Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Rin knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you. 

‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, ______, and I’m sorry.’

He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.

An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?

He’s counting.

The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Rin can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago. 

Rin has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you. 

Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back. 

Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Rin hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him. 

He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before. 

“Rin?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Rin, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?” 

This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?

You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Rin Itoshi.”

“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”

The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Rin fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you. 

He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Rin relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Rin’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right. 

“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that, ______.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Rin can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”

“You love your art, and I love you.”

He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.

You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…

…and then a tear falls. 

One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Rin almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful. 

Rin brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it. 

“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”

You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay. 

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”

Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased. 

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it. 

Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they're a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own  - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him. 

His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel. 

“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!

“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”

“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”

The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Rin cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.

As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…

…a kiss. 

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

read the final part here. THANK UUUU

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[elvestoneanzelote1]

A:n- 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘰...

𝘌𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦.

𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 from 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘴

(Slight yan) Sherlock Holmes x male reader

.

.

.

.

It wasn't the fact you were too quiet. No, he is fine with people been quiet.

And there are many artist.

Illustration, architect, and... Good in chemistry and painters.

Nor he should bother himself to name all of them.

But something was different about you.

You have knowledge he knows but you pretend you aren't compatible in intellect.

He doesn't get you at all.

Not even one bit.

He doesn't.

Perhaps he was annoying you often.

Perhaps...

But you don't seem to bother much so it's fine right?

Confining yourself in the room he had to unlock it because you make Miss Husson worry perhaps... Even him.

Friends... Were you even his friends can you both call each other that? He wonders.

People will lose interest in silent people who barely talks but he couldn't.

He never understands you or perhaps he does but never really takes into consideration that he may over bothering you.

Right...?

You were so unbothered... So blank with poker face of sort.

Not even a smile.

And the fact he gets annoyed that you can't even draw him unlike how you drew the others.

He wonders why you often hang out with Madeline either.

Yes she is pretty but isn't she overbearing sometimes? Like often hog your attentions?

Hugging you as if you both are couples.

Trying to swoon you with her smile and.. And.. He doesn't know why.

He felt irritated that you never told her to keep distance but to him.

Hey both of you were boys either way it wouldn't bother you to hug you... Will it?

Even John and you hang out quiet well.

you spoke more with John than... Him.

And whatever he does it never... Get your attention.

Like... He never caught your attention.

He doesn't know why he is feeling this way.

Frustrated he was and annoyed.

But... He just want to hug you is it... Weird?

Or will it bother you if lean closer to you more?

I mean... Okay you are irritated by the cigarette smell... Which he try not to smoke often around you.

He doesn't understand you at all.

He felt his mind been consume constantly... By either the case he should do as a detective or... Try to...

Why were you so... Difficult.

His brother said women's are hard to tell but for him it was you.

He... Just want to see... Your smile.

Once.

That's all he ask.

And perhaps... He will crack you open more.

He doesn't understand why you talk to William well too.

Like you both knew each other well.

He knows Liam also is interested on you.

He is too he admit.

You were strange.

But perhaps that's the strange thing he find himself lured to you.

.

.

.

.

But he isn't going to ignore some who try to break your boundaries.

Clients or not if they make you uncomfortable to even approach him he will make sure they won't come again.

No no he won't resort to anything threatening yet. if the person knows and backs away.

Is it wrong to get know something that perk your interest no right?

After all... You and him are not far of to get to know each other more and more.

And perhaps... Something more.

After all... He can let himself be slight greedy can he?

He doesn't know... And he will try to know.

Whatever is it about you that make him feel so connected and lured he will... Find it.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A:n- that's all take care good day/night to all

[wanderingaldecaldo]

Tagged by @gloryride, @gamerkitten, @chevvy-yates, and @aggravateddurian to share something I'm working on. Thanks, chooms! Still leaning into the ADHD, so there's several things I'm working on simultaneously. Most recently it's been...

Modding

The cutoff vests are 95% done, just need a few touches before I can make them live on Nexus, so what better time to start a new modding project? 🙃 A friend mentioned wanting Vik's pants and I'm always looking for more butch clothes for Val especially ones that ride low on those hips but also the belt & tools seem like a fun project.

Unedited. Not bad for an hour's work ☺️

Both the pants and belt are simple replacers to start while I test. I have some clipping to deal with on the pants, but so far the weights look okay. 🤞

As for the belt, I lost the tools somewhere between Blender and Wkit lol. I wanted to take a go at texturing them in Substance Painter so I split them off into their own submesh. Not sure where I lost them but I'm sure they'll turn up again.

Writing

It's fitting that Durian tag me because my latest writing was incited by a scene in his fic "The President's Lady" in which Myers invites Sol and V to lunch at the White House. I'm going for a more, uh, traditional take on The Tower ending than he is, using my fave angst, combined with some good ol' longing and probably some flashback smut. I've been canoodling on this in my notebook since Durian's chapter came out, writing a bit each night before falling asleep. I started transcribing it just for this post, so here are 315 of 338 words, hot off the Google Docs.

Some backstory: The second time I played Phantom Liberty I beelined to Dogtown, and skipped meeting the Aldecaldos and doing pretty much anything past finishing the VDBs quests. Vik was the only one who called, and she decided to take Sol up on his offer of a job at Langley. Soon after she's back in DC, she gets an invite to lunch from President Myers.

“Thank you, Madam President.” “V, please. No need to be so formal. I believe we’re well past that now.” “Heh, just a few weeks ago, told you—” “Yes, V,” she cries out, breath hot against her neck— Stopping, Rosalind turns to look at her, eyebrows and lines of her forehead drawing to a point, as if finally she recognizes V for who she still is. “I suppose that really was like yesterday for you.” The lines soften and she leads V to a sofa across the room, gesturing for her to sit first, then sits close and takes her hand. Long, graceful fingers teasing her skin— V stares down at her hand in Rosalind’s, her arms blank of cyberware still a disconcerting sight, but she doesn’t pull away. “How are you feeling? I can’t imagine the news was easy to hear.” “No, wasn’t,” she says with a shake of her head. “Thought I was gonna die a merc but now....” “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to tell you myself. Solomon suggested it would lead to too many questions among the staff. He’s right of course, but I still feel I let you down.” V frowns. “Ma’am?” “You weren’t my agent for long, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t important. What you did...” Rosalind trails off, eyes dipping to her mouth before she drops her gaze to their hands on her lap. Her nails are still perfectly polished, buffed to a shine. She looks up and says, “I’ll never be able to repay you for all that you did for me.” V down looks at their linked hands then, heart pounding, she leans forward to kiss her, as if she’s just any other woman, not the most powerful in the world, and Rosalind tilts her head and parts her lips and— She swallows and shakes her head. “You did, though. Least as far as I’m concerned.”

Tagging with the usual no pressure disclaimer: @medtech-mara @breezypunk @streetkid-named-desire @peaches-n-screem @rosapexa @luvwich @merge-conflict @steelscorner @ghostoffuturespast @byberbunk2069 and YOU!

Take this as an invitation to share something you're working on and tag me! Doesn't have to be Cyberpunk, or anything fandom-related!

[randomgentlefolk]

CPC CHAPTER 167

YO PROPS TO WITCH!!!

Hm, I wonder how Leelathae writes in her diary? I mean, does she write them in just dialogue, or narrative, or what? Either she is writes in dialogue, or she described the witch pretty well for Gwen to recognize who the witch is.

I mean, I didn't expect these ingredients, but sure. Does this imply there's a cemetery near The Pastel Kingdom? Cause Leelathae isn't allowed to be far from home, right? And I doubt she would ask someone to get dirt from cemetery for her...

I wonder what Leelathae plan was? Cause she didn't get the chance to execute it since her portrait was stolen by Leland. Or maybe she did execute it while in the Plaid Kingdom?

I agree with the witch so much. The painters fr did Leelathae dirty 💀

THE WITCH WASN'T LYING. SHE DOES LOOK COOL AF. LIKE. BRO?? HOW AM I NOT SUPPOSED TO FALL IN LOVE.

Huh. How does the ingredient turn into a paint-like liquid?? None of the ingredients are liquid based. Maybe the dirt?

This whole spell thing is sick man. It's so dang cool!! I wonder if anyone notices Leelathae sparkling?? I mean, one of the maids has got to notice right?

Also I've never knew there's tea inside snickerdoodles (chai is tea, right?). Well, it's not like I've ever tried snickerdoodles, but last time I read the recipe, I don't remember tea being in the recipe. But that was years ago so it might just be my memory.

Well, the mystery of the portrait is finally solved! And yet there's another mystery.. what writing did Leelathae put behind her portrait? Yes, the diary is one of them, but there are other things too. Like those brown and green papers. I'm guessing it's a message toward her kids?

Ohh, that's why!! Leelathae was glowy because of the spell!

BRUH SO WAS IT LIKE, A MISUNDERSTANDING THIS WHOLE TIME?? I did kinda predict it in my really old post, but I was joking T_T

Something's kinda bothering me about what Leelathae said in her 3rd wish. Why is she only talking about her daughters? What about Jamie? Or is there a hidden meaning that I am not getting here? If someone would enlighten me, that would be nice.

Aw. It's actually pretty sweet when you think about how they didn't even know how to speak to each other at first, but they still fell in love with each other <3

Oh. Oohhh....okay. This doesn't justify what Leland is doing right now, but it sure give a big reason for it. Yikes. Damn. That must've hurt.

Okay okay, let me just remember the past episodes to realize all the causes here.

Leland's parents died due to tragic carriage accident (didn't a carriage accident happen more than once? Tho I can't remember to who besides Leland's parents)

His best friend, Jack, didn't arrive to Leland's parents' funeral, which is the moment he needed him the most (not Jack's fault though, since he was literally stranded in an island)

Leland obviously has a little crush on Jack, which is why it hurts him when he found out Jack brought Leelathae to Pastel Kingdom (again, not Jack's fault). I think this is where he jealousy starts, the point where Leland thinks he has to be better at every love things than Jack.

He overheard Jack saying he didn't need him, which is probably the nail in the coffin for Leland. I mean that monologue Leland has? That's kinda internal mental breakdown right there. (I gotta say, this scenario is kindaaa similar to Gwen overhearing Frederick calls her ugly. I wouldn't say it's the exact same thing of course. It's just the overhearing that makes it similar)

So! Looking at these 4 reasons, it is highly likely that Leland has some problems (no shit sherlock). HEAR ME OUT. I don't know what it is yet. I was thinking of abandonment issues, but I have yet to read much about it, so i'm not sure yet.

HAH! Glad Leelathae decided to haunt his dreams tho!

OH SHIT OH SHIT. NAH LELAND NAHHHH. HE BETTER NOT. ....well at the time i'm writing this the next episode is already out so.. guess we're gonna find out...IN THE NEXT REVIEW!!

Yeah I haven't read the episode yet lol. I bet it's gonna be chaotic though.

That's it for now, until next time.

Mono out! (But still in to hear your thoughts)

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [25]

chapter twenty-five, act three: so far (it's alright)

masterlist

March 3rd 2015

“No, no, no, no. No.”

Tommie groans rolling her eyes a she yawns loudly, “Rod-”

“No, please don’t lecture me right now, just- just let me rant.”

She doesn’t argue, just falls back onto the cushions behind her as he turns to Adam, “I need more… more emotion.”

“More emotion?” Adam asks, rubbing his hand from how long he’s been holding his guitar. This is the eighth time in the last three hours (yes, he has been sitting in the booth for three hours with no break) that Matty has interrupted his guitar solo in their new song they’re recording.

Adam runs his tongue across his teeth, “I have some emotion for you, Matty-”

“If you say anger-”

“It’s anger, that’s the emotion I have right now.”

Matty sighs, hands clasped in front of him, lips pursed as they rest on top of his fingertips like some sort of painter studying their muse.

His hair is tied up and his glasses are on his face, “Okay, yes, channel the anger, it’s a song about the patriarchy-”

“Pretty sure it's a song about your narcissism.” Tommie pipes up from the floor and he kicks at her foot as he passes, slapping an asleep George on the shoulder causing him to jump awake.

Tommie rolls over, head propped up on her hand to look over at Ross who's lounging on the only settee in their little makeshift studio in London.

“You relaxed over there?”

He grins, “Very, might just have a nap.”

“Yeah, have one for me.” She groans getting up and grabbing the guitar from Adam to take his place, “What if I do the solo?”

Everyone looks at her slowly and she shrugs, “What?”

“You never want to do solos.”

“I believe you said, ‘why would I solo when I don’t feel yolo?’.”

“That’s such nonsense, why would I say that?”

She did say it. Yesterday. After Adam begged her to do it since Matty had already been on his arse about it.

Matty sighs, pushing his glasses up on his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, “Fine, whatever, I don't care, just someone do it.”

She shoos him out of the studio and puts the headphones on, they push her hair up awkwardly and when she catches sight of her reflection in the window she pats down the little Elvis styled quiff. She listens to the drum beat they’ve been working on the past week through the headphones, her head bobbing along to the beat.

Her fingers make quick work, instead of playing what Adam had been doing she lets her mind wander, moving with the beat of the drum line instead of the bass where she thinks is maybe what Adam was struggling with.

Matty swings open the door running over to her, she barely has time to put the guitar down before they’re on the floor and he's peppering kisses all over her cheeks and forehead, “You are my favourite person in the studio right now. That’s exactly what I imagined.”

She pushes him off of her and lifts herself up, smiling at Adam who mimes, ‘thank you’ through the glass.

She checks her phone for the time, 3:33 am, sighing as she stretches until her back pops, Ross distantly yelling his annoyance at her habit, “Call it a night?”

“No, wait, we have to finish-”

“Matty,” She says, turning to him and taking his hands in her own, “Everyones exhausted, it’s only been three days and we’ve almost finished the first song on the list, we’re on track, we’re not going to fall behind. And if we don’t all have a good night's sleep, in an actual bed, then we’re not gonna go much further than that.”

He sighs, head falling to rest on her shoulder as she moves her hands up and down his arms, tracing over his tattoos, “Yeah?”

His voice is muffled into her top as he repeats the word back to her.

“You tired?” She asks softly.

“No-” His word is broken off by a yawn and he brings a hand up to cover his mouth as he watches the rest of the guys start packing up.

“Come on, I’ll drive us back.”

“I’m okay.”

“If you fall asleep at the wheel and we die, I’ll kill you.”

She snatches the keys from his hand, collecting only her phone and jacket, leaving her bag here for tomorrow as she collects the boys one by one.

She drops Adam off at his place, promising to pick him up later than scheduled so he can have a nice lie in, then she drops Ross off at the end of their street before parking in the car park.

She’s staying with George and Matty for the next couple weeks as they record, it saves for the journey up and down, and she's hoping they’ll finish earlier than planned so she can go home to her own place.

When she gets in, George goes straight to his room, placing a kiss on her head and thanking her for driving before disappearing.

Matty comes up behind her as she's kicking her shoes off to wrap his arms around her and lazily lean himself on her. She pushes him off for long enough to line her shoes up with the skirting boards that are lining their flat walls. As soon as she’s standing upright again, socked feet on the cold floor, Matty’s arms are around her again.

“Go to bed.”

“Okay,” He whispers quietly, letting her go to walk to this room, “Do you-”

“Bed.”

He nods and closes his door making sure not to close it completely like George had as she lies out on their settee.

It probably takes her five minutes after her head hits the pillow to fall asleep, she’s not sure how long it is when her name is whispered and she’s shaken awake from her dreamless slumber.

It's still dark, and she feels groggy. That's how she knows she hasn’t been there long.

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“Watch a film with me?”

“It’s like four in the morning.”

He shrugs, “It’s four thirty.”

“Go back to bed.”

“I can’t sleep.” He whispers, then when she looks up to see him, where he’s sat on the coffee table watching her, she sees the desperation in his eyes, “Please?”

He picks at the skin on his hand and when her eyes drift down to it he notices, pulling the sleeves of his crew neck over his hands to stop himself.

She nods and goes to pull herself up but he shakes his head, “Don’t, don’t get up, it’s okay. I’m sorry, shouldn’t have woken you up-”

He stands and she reaches for his hand, turning onto her side she pats the cushion and he sits there beside her. Her stomach is pressed into his side and she lifts one leg to slide under him.

“It’s fine. What movie?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know.”

She’s still holding his hand, thumb rubbing back and forth over the back of it. She looks up at him, his long curly hair falling over and covering his eyes.

“Okay, you pick one and I’ll-”

“Stay right here, it’s okay, you don't have to move.”

He moves to get the remote, putting the volume right down as George is sometimes a light sleeper.

Then he slides down to sit on the floor but she tugs at his collar, “Come up here.”

“I won’t fit.”

“You will, come on.” She pushes herself back into the cushions and he awkwardly lies in front of her. She wraps her arms around him pulling him back into her chest, her legs fitting in between his.

Button perks up from the armchair she’s been sleeping on and jumps up with them, curling herself up behind their slightly bent knees.

Matty lifts the remote, looking through the channels until he settles on some old American war movie on the history channel.

Tommie yawns, forehead resting against his neck as she plays with his long hair.

“Any reason you can’t-” She breaks herself off with another yawn, “Can’t sleep?”

He shrugs a little, his hands falling to where hers are on his stomach, “I don’t know. My head is going too fast.”

She unlaces one hand from his to lift it up to his forehead, rubbing slow circles into his skin until his eyes are fluttering shut.

“I feel like,” He shrugs a little, trying to find the right words, “Like we’re running out of time. Metaphorically, I mean we’ve completed three songs already last year, this new ones almost done, we have plenty of time. But I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“People. What they’ll think when this new one comes out, I mean they reacted-mostly- good to the first one. What if they’re disappointed. You know, what if their expectations are so high-”

“Are you happy with what we’ve done so far?”

So far they've completed UGH!, Paris, The Sound and are half way through Love Me. A few others songs are written, he also has some he won’t let any of them see yet.

“Very, it’s all gre-”

“So am I. And Ross, George, Adam, we all are. That's all that matters.”

He sighs before awkwardly twirling so they’re face to face, his nose brushes her, and when she yawns, bowing her head a little, his lips brush against her forehead, “Do you have any fears?” He asks, “About the album?”

She gives a playful scoff and nods, “Of course I do. I’m a right Anxious Annie, you know that.”

He lifts his hand, slowly tracing his fingers up her arm until they reach her face leaving goosebumps and a warm trail behind. Then he moves just his pinky finger across her cheek bone, dragging along until he pulls the stray strands of hair behind her ear.

She’s silent, holding her breath as her eyes stay on him, only him, and he whispers, “Show me yours, I'll show you mine.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

March 29th 2015

“Thanks for doing this.” Tommie says as they collect their luggage from the carousel.

Matty lifts his head in acknowledgement, “Yeah, I wanted to record out here anyway.”

She nods, “Still, thank you. It means a lot.”

“Tommie!”

She turns, smiling as they see Caleb through the crowd waiting for her. Matty watches the smile brighten just a little and he takes her suitcase nodding for her to go ahead.

She walks over to Caleb, letting his arms swallowing her into a hug as he sways them back and forth, “We finished it,” He tells her, “The EP, which means that for the next, however long , that you’re here, you and I-”

“Caleb, I’m here for work too, not just pleasure.”

“But, I’m done now, we can spend a little more time together.” He sighs taking her hands, “I know things between us have been… rough lately, but-”

“I know, and I’m happy for you guys, can’t wait to hear it, but I have recording to do too. We have to go straight there right now, you can come if you want.”

He steps back, “Uh,” He glances up at the rest of the band as they approach, eyes meeting Matty’s who's staring right at him, “I’m good, got plans with the guys, see you for dinner tonight?”

She nods, leaning up on her tiptoes, instead of letting her meet his lips he turns his head so she kisses his cheek.

She purses her lips, trying not to allow her annoyance to show and clears her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I get it, we’re in the same industry, remember. I understand.”

“Same industry, different levels.” Matty says as he walks on ahead, sunglasses on ready when he sees the distant flashes outside of the airport.

Tommie pauses for a few seconds as Adam comes up beside her, “Let him go out and distract them, we’ll sneak on past quickly then.”

She nods watching Matty lift his hand to wave at the fans and paparazzi waiting, she goes to turn and grip Caleb’s hand but sees he's walked ahead already, slipping out unnoticed with no attention on him.

She groans and turns to Adam who holds his hand out for her to take, Ross pulls her hood up and covers her face making her giggle as he tightens the strings. “See?”

“No.”

“Exactly,” He grins, “You can’t see them, they can’t see you. Logic.”

George shakes his head, sliding his glasses on, “That is awful logic.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Tommie winces as the door is a little too loud as she closes it, she glances around the dark apartment, her backpack still on her shoulders and aeroplane clothes still being worn.

She yawns, checking the time on her phone, 5:32.

She drops her bag by the table and creeps towards Caleb’s bedroom, only he’s not there, the bed is empty, it’s been made and his bag and phone aren’t in their usual spots.

She blinks, trying to get rid of the jet lag she still feels from their long flight, never mind the added fourteen hours in the studio.

Taking her phone out she sends him a text.

To: Caleb

Where are you? X

Delivered 5:36

She sighs and looks around his room, it’s plain. White walls, three photo frames, one for each of his family members on the wall, a little wardrobe and a bed with a total of two pillows.

A noise in the kitchen startles her and she gets up quickly to go out into the kitchen.

She creeps out quietly, peeking through the little window, suddenly a head pops up and she jumps with a frightened gasp.

“Jesus!”

“Nope, just me.” James grins.

She holds a hand over her heart and shakes her head, “Scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, OJ?”

“No thanks.”

She leans through the opening to look at him, “Uh, where’s Caleb?”

“Oh, he tried calling you, did you get his message?”

She shakes her head slowly, “Friend of ours from back home, well, his childhood best friend is out here visiting, so he’s gone to see them, said something about staying at their hotel with them.”

She nods with a sigh and purses her lips heading for her bag, “You can just stay here, sleep in his room.”

“Gonna go back to the studio, left early anyway.”

James nods, “See you later then.”

“Ta-ra.”

“Who’s Tara?”

She sighs, closing the door behind her and getting her phone out. The line rings three times before he picks up.

“Can you come pick me up? Please.”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?”

“Caleb’s place, he’s not here.”

“On my way.”

She smiles to herself as she heads downstairs, “Thanks, Matt.”

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe

-let me know if you want to be added :)

[mercysimming]

Welcome to the inciting incident the beginning!

Prev / Next.

Transcript:

Candy: It just feels like it’s time. The kids are getting older, we have more free time.

Mikhail: You’re sure? I know we’ve talked about opening a cafe for years, but it’s a huge step.

Candy: We finally have some money set aside. . .

Mikhail: What about college?

Candy: You know the college funds are good. Besides, I hear that Villareal guy is opening up a new scholarship fund.

Mikhail: The guy who offed his wife?

Candy: That’s just a myth.

Mikhail: My mom said the same thing about vampires.

Candy: It’s just something to think about.

Mikhail: . . .You’re not mentioning something.

Candy: Okay, okay. Chaya said that she and Raina would be early investors.

[info: Candy Banks. she/her. adult. very goal-oriented. from Sulani. has 3 kids with Mikhail. relatively well-known painter in Copperdale.]

Mikhail: Candy—

Candy: I know you don’t like relying on people, but they’re family. And you know they won’t miss the money.

Mikhail: Very funny.

[sound: phone vibrating]

Mikhail: [sigh]

[info: Mikhail Banks. they/he. adult. named in honor of their grandmother's Russian heritage. (did not continue that trend.) has two vampire siblings. incredibly human. don't ask them about it.]

Mikhail: Speaking of—it’s Raina.

Candy: Put it on speaker.

Raina: Hi, baby sibling!

Mikhail: Hey, Rain. Is this about the investment I’m just learning about?

Raina: Um. [awkward laugh] No, it’s actually not. I think I’ll let you two discuss that more before we talk about it. I actually was calling because, well, it’s summer break, isn’t it?

[info: Raina Banks. she/her. one of the aforementioned vampire siblings. has two kids. (also didn't continue the naming trend.) world-renowned investor. in other words: rich.]

Candy: Oh yeah, the kids are ecstatic.

Raina: Candy, hi! Well, I had a fun idea. I know you two can’t come visit Mt. Komorebi this summer, but I was wondering if the kids could fly out.

candy: Alone?

Mikhail: Julien is turning 18 this fall, love.

Raina: We would keep a close eye on them—swear. I just thought they could spent their summer break on a trip out of the country.

Mikhail: You miss them, huh?

Candy: They definitely miss you guys.

Raina: The added benefit is getting to see them. So, how does it sound? It’s fine if you guys want to talk about it first. And make sure the kids actually want to come too, of course.

Candy: Oh, they will. Yeah, let us discuss it some, though. We’ll get back to you.

Candy: Take this as a tentative probably-yes. Right?

Mikhail: Right.

Raina: Great!

Raina: Looks like we'll probably be having some guests, darling!

[info: Chaya Banks. she/her. stylist. Raina's wife. turned by Raina. (Caleb did not approve.) father is from Mt. Komorebi. moved back with Raina after becoming empty nesters.]

Chaya: Really? We've got to start getting ready for them, then!

Raina: They're going to have the best summer of their lives.

[smokinholsters]

The Lucky Horseshoes - A Heartland Season 16 AU - Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Finn stood back and inspected his work. He had just finished the first coat in the kitchen and was checking to make sure he hadn’t missed anything or inadvertently smudged the ceiling where it met the walls as the ceilings were freshly painted in the renovation and were fine as they were.

This was the easiest room he was doing today since there were no encumbrances; cabinets, countertops and kitchen fixtures were being installed new over the next few days. All it would need after that was the table and chair set that Amy had ordered having decided to leave the set she and Ty had bought for the loft. She was taking her loft dishes but Lisa and Jessica had ordered her a new set of pots and pans. She’d fill in counter appliances during the next few weeks as she decided what she wanted.

Finn switched off his small speaker, grabbed one of the five-gallon buckets they were using as seats and moved into the hallway along with his thermos, a small bag and phone and poured himself a hot cup of coffee just as his phone rang.

“Hey you.” He said as he took a sip and noticed the time. It was 7:30.

“Good morning.” Amy said “How’s it going over there?”

“Good morning to you too. It’s going great, just finished the first coat in the kitchen and stopped for coffee and my breakfast bagel.”

“Wow, what time did you start?”

“Not sure exactly, maybe a little before six, I’m an early riser and I’d rather get done before dark, what’s your schedule like today?

“I have a client horse coming here because I need the jumps so I’ll spend some time with him first thing.”

“Hmmm, feel like bringing and having lunch with me?”

“I think that can be arranged, burger and fries OK?”

“And coffee would be perfect.”

“Coffee it is, not sure when though, I’ll text?”

“I’ll be here, hey, uhm, I’m not sure if I mentioned that I love you yesterday.”

Amy smiled to herself “hmmmm, well, do you?”

“I do actually.”

“Excellent then, all is forgiven, I’ll text you later.” She said with a chuckle and cut the line.

“Hey.” Finn said to himself “what am I chopped liver?”

A second later his phone rang again. “Forget something?”

“I love you too Finn.”

She cut the line then and he smiled putting down the phone and bringing the bagel to his mouth.

Later, Amy came up the stairs and followed the music into the master bath where she found Finn standing on a small step ladder just finishing the last wall.

“Nice butt for a painter.” She said which stopped him cold.

“You scared the hell out of me Amy and thanks, I’ve ways thought so.”

“You have huh, I texted and called.”

Finn smiled climbing down his two steps and reached into his back pocket. “I must have left my phone out there somewhere, sorry.”

“No matter, lunch is on the porch, is that Ok, I figured you could use some fresh air.”

“Yup, give me a minute in the other bathroom to wash up.”

“How’s your burger?” Amy asked after they’d settled on one of the porch benches and Finn had taken a bite.

“Still hot, how’d you manage that?”

“Thermal saddle bag, I threw it in the truck before I left.”

“Well, thank you for that, this is great.”

Amy smiled while chewing.

“You staying for the afternoon?” He asked.

“Yes and no. Yes I’m staying but no, not with you, I’m taking the kids out.”

“Trail ride?”

“More like a progress evaluation, see how they’re riding.”

“For whatever reason, a trail ride is a trail ride.”

“True enough, nice day for it too.”

Finn nodded while chewing and looking out at the mountain view from the porch. “Nice view, I guess most porches down here face that view huh?”

Amy smiled “They all seem to, it is a nice view, I love the mountains.”

“Bring dessert?”

“Apple pie.”

Finn smiled “one of my favorites, thanks.”

“Is there pie you don’t like?”

“Honestly, not too fond of the cream pies, doesn’t seem right, like not really pie, y’know?”

“I guess, not too fond of those myself. You uhm, wouldn’t want to skip the afternoon’s painting and come along?”

“Wouldn’t that distract you from your task?”

Now Amy couldn’t help her smile “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Yes, probably Finn Cotter, I’m not wholly enamored by you yet.”

“Yet is good, I’ll take yet.”

“Ready for the pie?”

“Yup.” He answered shoving his garbage into the paper bag they were packed in.

Finn took the time to fill their coffees while Amy packed away the garbage and pulled out the two slices of pie.

“I really think I’d feel more comfortable getting most of this painting done and ready for the next step. You and I both know things can come up that we have to deal with and right now I’m open for the afternoon.”

“No, I get it and you’re right.”

“Besides, we’ll get back and you’ll have to go fetch Lyndy and get her settled and I won’t want to paint after being out riding for a couple of hours, this is better.”

“Later?”

“How about you, me and Lyndy meet up later and grab dinner together?”

“I’d have to check back at Heartland but I can’t imagine Lyndy wouldn’t love the idea.”

“I’ll just need to head home, shower and change out of these coveralls. I’ll let you know when I’m heading out and you let me know when you’re leaving the center later.”

“Sounds like a deal though I may stop up if I have time.”

“That would be a nice surprise.”

Amy smiled as she stood and grabbed the empty bags and Finn followed her inside to the big garbage can in the kitchen. She turned into his arms and he pulled her close as he wrapped them around her waist.

“Hey, do I know you?”

Finn smiled and leaned over catching her lips which turned into a deeper kiss as Amy wrapped her arms around him.

“Are you two necking in my kitchen?” Renata asked coming in through the mud room entrance which let to the door to the back utility porch.

“Sorry Renata.” Amy said shifting to stand sided by side with Finn.

The older woman smiled “Nothing to be sorry about Amy, have you both eaten?”

“Amy brought lunch and we ate on the porch.”

“They all voted on pizza for lunch and Clint obliged them, Chicken and rice for dinner if either of you are interested.”

“We were just discussing dinner out with Lyndy but thanks anyway.” Amy answered.

“Just mind that there will always be enough for you three to join us.”

“One of the many things I’ll be looking forward to Renata, less than a month to go I’d say.”

“I guess you’re off to ride with them.” She said nodding to the outside and meaning the kids.

“I am and Finn here’s getting back to painting.”

“And how’s that all coming Finn?”

“Second coats in the kitchen, and the two bathrooms today, touch ups tomorrow and then the craftsman come in for a few days for cabinets, fixtures and hook ups. Hopefully we can finish painting the rest over the weekend. After that the furniture will trickle in.”

“Well if you need me to look out for something or any help just let me know.”

Amy nodded “We sure will Renata, thanks.”

“No need, I figure my real job is just that, to be where I’m needed.”

“Just like a mom.”

“Lot of kids around here to not have a mom.”

“Then you’re perfect Renata, don’t change.”

“I’m too old to change Amy, now you two get on so I can get my work done.”

Finn walked Amy out onto the porch and turned her to face him one last time before they went their separate ways for the afternoon.

“You be careful.”

“I’m always careful Finn, I’ll see you later. Love you.”

“I love you too Amy.” He said grabbing one last kiss before watching her head down the stairs and catch her backwards wave.

Hours later while rinsing the painting supplies at the tub in the small bathroom he heard Lyndy’s attempt to sneak up the stairs and he smiled.

“Surprise!!”

“Hey Lyndy, I didn’t expect you.”

“Momma was late and was waiting at the bus stop with her truck and I asked. Is my room painted?”

“Sorry sweetheart.” Finn started while standing and grabbing a towel to dry his hands. “Only the kitchen, this bathroom and the one in Momma’s room. Go look.”

Amy came up while Lyndy was scooting from room to room and Finn leaned over for a kiss. “So this was not an option I recall from before.”

Yeah, I ended up running late and once we were in the truck and discussed dinner she wanted to personally make her request. Lyndy come tell Finn where you want to go.”

“The Chinese restaurant.”

He glanced past her for a second where he saw Amy nod yes and without missing a beat “That’s a wonderful idea Lyndy, Chinese it is.”

“Yay!!” She cried out smiling “Is my room still white?”

“White and taped, I’m not sure anyone’s even been in there since we left it. How about you and me painting your room first thing Saturday morning?”

“I’d like that.”

“Then we’ll make it happen.” Then he said looking over to Amy. “Now, plans for tonight?”

“We have to go back to Heartland, Lyndy’s got some homework, I should check the horses and we need to wash and change.”

“How about I just pick you two up at 6:00?”

“That would be great, OK with you Lyndy?”

Lyndy smiled and nodded “Bye Finn.”

“Goodbye sweetheart, I’ll see you later.”

He leaned over and kissed Amy and then watched them head down the stairs before heading back in and finishing his cleanup in the tub.

Just before 6 Finn pulled up and parked next to Jack’s truck. He noted the line of vehicles and realized that it was a full house.

Coming in he found Lisa, Jessica and Lou each getting a different dinner task ready. Lisa at the stove, Jess at the table cutting a salad and Lou clearing out whatever dishes were in the sink.

“Good evening Finn, how’s the apartment coming?”

“On schedule Jessica, the kitchen and both bathrooms are ready for cabinets, appliances and fixtures. By Friday afternoon all those will be ready and we can paint the rest over the weekend.”

“Hey.” Amy said coming into the kitchen and immediately leaning up to kiss Finn. “Salmon for dinner here and Katie’s not the biggest fan, mind if she tags along?”

Finn shrugged “Nope, love to have her, maybe we can arrange another date night if you’re game.”

“Great, Lyndy, Katie lets hit the road. And to you,” She said facing Finn again “I loved our date but I can’t imagine how much that set you back, something local and easy this time, how about Maggie’s and a movie maybe?”

“Something local and simple then, I’ll check around.”

“Ready!!” Lyndy announced having pulled on her boots and grabbed her hat. Katie was already wearing her runners.

Amy smiled “Are we all ready?” She asked prompting the kids to say their goodbyes and head out onto the porch followed by her and Finn.

“My truck?” Amy asked, “it has Lyndy’s booster.”

“I picked one up so we don’t have to bother.”

“You didn’t have to do that but I appreciate it.”

“I saw one at a porch sale, same model as yours and it was pretty cheap.”

Leaving the truck back at Heartland after dinner, having arranged Katie as a babysitter for the following weekend, she also volunteered to get Lyndy ready for bed so that Amy and Finn could have some alone time on the porch, Katie grabbed the doggie bag for the fridge and followed Lyndy inside.

The couple settled into their normal spots on the porch. On the bench, their hats to their sides, Finn’s arm around Amy and her leaning against him.

“What’s your schedule for tomorrow?”

“Get Lyndy off to school, check the horses and work my new client horse some. That’ll determine whether to bring him to the center or not. I’m not sure I want any really problematic animals there and near the kids. Either way I’ll probably have lunch with the group and spend the afternoon. Lisa and Jessica said they’ll be here for Lyndy when she gets off the bus. You?”

“I have two clients in the morning and then I want to check the apartment, make sure there aren’t any spots to touch up and then it’s teaching at the center. Maybe I’ll join you for lunch. If it’s easier for you, you can ride that horse over and I’ll drop you home after.”

“Works for me, I’ll text to let you know either way, I’d better get in and say goodnight to Lyndy. Kiss?”

Finn leaned forward and they both shifted their bodies to where they could wrap their arms around each other. Their kiss was short but sweet and was followed by Amy laying her head against his chest and getting a last kiss on her head.

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart -

We Had Everything AU

An alternate ending for "The Art in the Heart" where Iris doesn't almost-drown at the end of Chapter 20. Life has different plans in store for both her and Silco…

Written for TAITH!Reader using the name of my OC “Iris”. You can find her character profile here. || WC: 1.66k

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 7.5 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21

taglist (open): @sherwood-forests @deny-the-issue @let-the-monster-out @ariaud @joscelyn02 @quirkykaty @20smith @silcoitus @crunchlite

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

Against all odds, Iris, Sevika, and Leksy make it to Janna’s Hearth almost entirely unscathed. Well, they’re all drenched and suffering from mild skin irritation, but that’s easily remedied. 

Amidst relieved tears and hugs from Nyle, Cuny wants to scold Iris for her recklessness. She’s too tired to care. Too tired to notice Vander, Benzo, and the other Children continuously shepherding people into the orphanage. 

Silco freezes at the sight of an exhausted, miserable, soaking wet Iris, covered in a large blanket. As much as he might want to move towards her, throw his arms around her and hold her tight, brush her dripping hair out of her face, he doesn’t. The lump in his throat is painful and doesn’t go away when he swallows. But he finally gets a move on when Vander calls out to him.

Much to Iris’ annoyance, Silco starts volunteering at the orphanage again. Cuny, Teema, and Kharon all offer to ask him to stay away, but she says it’s fine. As much as she might be hurting, it’s more important that the people at the orphanage get help. For all his other faults, Silco is some of the best help there is. 

He has an ulterior motive, now that he’s no longer with Iris. On top of helping the children of the Undercity, his visits to the orphanage are his way of staying close to her. He doesn’t plan on approaching her again, but he can content himself with seeing that she’s well, at least physically. 

His proximity is too hard for Iris to put up with. She takes on more commissions from Piltie clients and gets a contract position with the Topside Galleria. Sure, it’s hard work and it takes her away for long stretches at a time, but she gives all of her earnings to the orphanage. It’s a sacrifice she’s willing to make. 

At one exhibition unveiling, she’s mingling with lots of different Pilties. Including one young Grayson. 

When Iris ducks outside to catch some fresh air, they bump into each other. Grayson is working security, on patrol when she catches a glimpse of the painter sighing deeply. Both women are tired of socializing but still bound by obligations to stay, both social and professional. 

The two of them make small talk. Grayson admits that she doesn’t know much about the art scene, but is still charming, kind, and beautiful enough to make an impression on Iris. She offers to grab a drink for the guard before apologizing for her mistake. 

“I’m afraid I can’t at the moment. I’m technically on the clock.” “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—” “That’s quite alright… but I hope that means you’d like to grab drinks with me tomorrow?” 

Flustered but pleasantly surprised, Iris says yes. After all, Grayson seems alright for a Piltie… right up until she says she wants to become an Enforcer. 

Grayson is genuine in her compassion for the Undercity and sincere in her belief that she can change the system from the inside. Iris wants to believe her, so badly… but Grayson is just one person. The painter struggles with the cognitive dissonance of getting friendly with a future Enforcer for a little over a month.

But there are one too many kids who come to the orphanage, scraped up and angry after confrontations with law enforcement. All because the Enforcers don’t like the way the “gutter rats” look or loiter around in their own turf. Stopping the romantic entanglement before it starts doesn’t hurt as much as when Iris got dumped by Silco, but she still spends some guilty, sleepless nights for almost “betraying” the Undercity. 

Life goes on, years go by. Iris meets and develops a crush on Scar, and is a little sad to find out that he already has a partner. But she’s more than happy to help with their upcoming baby. 

Viktor, now approaching his mid-20s, asks Iris to visit him. He and his brother-in-science Jayce Talis are on the verge of presenting some new technology to the Council. It’ll be a while before the city fully embraces “Hextech”, but he feels confident enough in his achievements and the man he’s become to confess that he’s nursed a crush on her for years. 

She lets him down gently: she cares about him a lot, but no more than any other child she’s helped take care of at the orphanage. Although she made him feel less lonely during his formative years, he shouldn’t confuse that attachment for romantic feelings. Iris’ own feelings for him are purely platonic and motherly. Privately, with an age gap over 10 years, she thinks that she’s too much of an old woman for him. Over time, Viktor realizes that she’s right. Their relationship stays friendly. 

Conditions in the Undercity improve, thanks to the Children of Zaun gaining clout as a politically-minded organization. More and more of their entreaties to the Council are succeeding at a slow and steady rate. Over the years, Silco’s visits to Janna’s Hearth become fewer, dwindling to three times a year. He doesn’t get as many frequent updates on Iris’ life. But she’s moved on, healed enough by now to smile politely at him and say hello. 

He still loves her. He regrets making her leave. He’d take it all back if he could. He hates that he can’t make her smile or laugh like he used to, that she doesn’t look at him with joy and love anymore. The inconsequential small talk the two of them make is so precious to him, more than she’ll ever know. In his more irrational moments, he feels jealous of the children that she hugs and kisses. 

When those feelings strike him, he throws himself into his work. The Children of Zaun don’t go on mercenary missions anymore, but crafting proposals to the Council and real estate planning for the Lanes are engaging enough for him to forget about her, if only for a few hours. It makes him an extremely productive man. 

A few more years pass. Finally, finally it happens: Topside agrees to formally recognize the Nation of Zaun. Silco is being granted a seat at the table. A Councilorship. On his visit to share the news with the orphanage employees, Iris isn’t there. He tells her colleagues that The Last Drop is having an open bar that night to celebrate. The whole of the Lanes will be there, and he hopes that the staff of Janna’s Hearth can make it too… Iris especially. 

It’s busy and crowded at the pub. Silco is impatient and nervous for Iris to arrive. He’s sitting at the bar, fingers drumming restlessly on the countertop. Barely maintaining a facade of polite gratitude when people come up to congratulate him. When he sees her arrive, it takes everything he has to not bowl over other bargoers to run over to her. Instead, he plays it cool, staying on his stool, waiting an agonizingly long time for her to finish greeting Sevika and Benzo. 

He’s so ready— more than ready— to tell her he did it. He and the other Children have seized independence for the Undercity. There’s more work than ever to be done, but he wants to do it with Iris by his side. 

She finally approaches him, greeting him with a hug. His first one with her in years. He can’t help but get his hopes up. Sevika, Benzo, and Vander gather around the two of them. As much as Silco loves his friends, he resents their presence at this very moment. Invading what should be a private moment. 

Vander offers Iris a drink. Just like all those years ago when she first arrived at The Last Drop, purely by accident.

Maybe it’s fate, Silco thinks. How poetic it would be if the romance was rekindled in the same circumstances that he almost asked to kiss her. All those years ago. 

She refuses the drink, just like she did that first time. All those years ago.

“How far along are you now?” Sevika asks.  “About eight weeks.” 

Silco freezes. Iris looks self-conscious and laughs. Sevika— who clearly already knows something he doesn’t— says that she might as well tell everybody. Iris didn’t want to take the spotlight away from Silco and the other Children… but she’s pregnant and engaged! 

She figures now is a good time as any to invite the Children to her wedding, tentatively scheduled for next year after the baby is due. Silco is too heartbroken to be surprised that she’s inviting him too. 

His speech that he drafted and practiced almost a hundred times over… begging for forgiveness for abandoning her, fervently promising to make up for lost time, vowing to never leave her behind again… none of that matters now.

The tiny, unbroken part of him that is still sincerely happy for Iris manages to speak up. Offering congratulations and wishing for her good fortune, leading a toast for her happiness. Embarrassed at being the center of attention, she’s quick to turn the toast into a celebration of everyone’s accomplishments and the inevitable progress that everyone’s hard work has brought about. 

Less than a year later, Silco visits Iris in the hospital after the birth and meets her partner for the first time. He congratulates them both. He doesn’t know why Iris offers to let him hold the baby— a beautiful little girl. He refuses politely, trying not to imagine what it would be like in another life where he’s the father.

He doesn’t attend the wedding— too busy with Councilor business. It’s only partly true. But the wedding presents he sends (high-end painting supplies for Iris and her spouse, and nontoxic fingerpaints for the baby) has her gushing with gratitude.

Eventually, he moves on. Finding love with a single parent, ecstatic and grateful that he still gets to experience the joys of fatherhood.

Both Iris and Silco find happy endings… just not with each other.

[sherwoodknights]

SP 1999 EPISODE 5 LIVEBLOG

And thus begins the final 2 parter of the series!!!!

Uh oh its 1794 and they're at an orphanage in paris

I'm gonna get my heart ripped out by the Dauphin aren't I goddammit

THE KIDS CALLING HIM YOUR MAJESTY LMAOOO

MY POOR BOY STOP SHOUTING AT HIM

I don't care what version of the story it is, I can and will get emotional over the Dauphin

LEAVE THE CHILD ALONE HES A LITERAL CHILD STOP MAKING HIM INSULT HIS PARENTS FFS

Who is the spooky man in the mask

Richard E Grant are you the spooky man in the mask

HE JUST FULL ON PUNCHED A WOMAN IN THE FACE AND STABBED A MAN IM NOT SO SURE THATS RICHARD E GRANT

Transformers wishes it has explosions like this

Awww percy being nice to the painter what a king

Women in pretty dresses yes please <3333

Marguerite in red dress is GORGEOUSSSS

Suzanne is also gorgeous for the record

PERCY AND MARGOT STOP HAVING FIGHTS IN FRONT OF THE PRINCE

SHES LEAVING HIM?????

Please tell me that was all part of a plan

I do not care if you are the Prince of England sir you will not touch my wife

Oh no

Oh I don't think it was planned at all

Margot you know what happened the last 2 times you were alone in france

Ugh ffs Chauvelin leave her aloneeeeee

"Your English is better than mine" says the British actor to the American actress

God they're so bad at small talk

Yeah Marguerite why have you left Percy we'd all like to know

Stop enjoying this so much Chauvvy damn

GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER SHES SLEEPING

Oh wait he was waking her up my bad

What do the French government want with Marguerite thoooo

OH SHIT MAYBE IT IS A PLAN

GODDAMN THEY HAD ME FOOLED

Robespierre has a model village akdndjeksndnd??????

Robespierre rolling his eyes and looking disgusted while Marguerite talks about falling in love with Percy lmaoooooo

She is a person thank you very much don't call her a piece of propaganda

Omgggg do we get to see margot back on stage lets gooo

"You should be in politics" oh robespierre if only you knew

WHY IS ROBESPIERRE LIKE A SULKING CHILDDDD

Chauvvy with a cigarette is kinda hot????

Andrew in a silly revolutionary beanie is too cute lmao

Who are they looking for

OH SHIT THE GUY THEYRE LOOKING FOR IS HANGING FROM THE CEILING

Yeah you go you funky actress stick your scene partners head into your chest

Oh god margot had to share a carriage with Chauvvy AND Robespierre?? That must have been the world journey in the worlddd

Oh nevermind the actress is a raging bitch

Aksjejskekrkrk she insulted robespierres playwrighting abilities

"It's an honour, Citizen robespierre-" "no, its an intrusion" lmao what a line

PERCY STOP KISSING YOUR WIFE CHAUVELIN IS RIGHT THERE

PERCY AND MARGOT REUNION AGAIN <3333

Uh oh the shaver cut Robespierre he's gonna dieee

He doesn't believe Percy is the Pimpernel despite the fact that he admitted it to Chauvelin??? Trust issues in full throttle I see

You go percy save that woman I believe in you

ROBESPIERRE BALANCING THE GLASSES ON THE WIG AGAIN LMAOOO

SIR THE DAUPHIN IS A CHILD DO NOT DARE BRING HIM TO TRIAL

The only time I will agree with Robespierre in this series is when he refuses to put a 10 year old on trial and execute him

Honestly Andrew looks so fit in his revolutionary disguise

Oh no where's the woman they were gonna save gone

OH FUCKED SHES BEEN DROWNED AND HER NECKS BEEN BROKEN

Stop bullying margot you bitch she's more of an actor than you'll ever be

We get a lot of sassy robespierre this episode and I'm enjoying it honestly

I hope the guy on stage rips his pants

Not out of spite or anything I just think it would be funny

I swear to god if she sabotages Margot ill cry

Girl what the fuck kind of Epilogue is this

DONT CALL MY WIFE A TRAITOR YOU BASTARD

Shoutout that one random man in the audience for starting to sing i guess????

Look he saved Marguerite from looking completely stupid good on him

Two seconds ago they were insulting her and now they're carrying her through the streets on shoulders??

Aww percy looks so proud of her <33

Another episode done!

Only one episode left this season now, I can't wait to see how this goes!!

[teenagedirt]

Kissing in cars (4)

Chapter four- I don't mind

Vic x female reader

Vics pov

I reach down to grab her book,then I notice something. Her drawing, it looks like her in a loose shirt,the shirt looks familiar. Then It clicks it's my shirt. I smile to myself, "you know you could've just asked me darling" I turn back to her,book in hand.

"Oh- I,uh" she stutters and blushes.

"How about instead of you sitting in here dreaming about this,you come with me,and you can pick out a shirt and keep it" she smiles at me, and nods her head.

I grab her hand and gently pull her to her feet. She giggles and follows closely behind me as we walk to the other dude of our apartment to my room. I open the door for her and lead her to my closet. It's a bit of a mess because I've been so busy trying to write songs for the new album. I open it up and step aside so she can pick one. "So I just pick a shirt?" She asks rocking on her feet.

I nod and smile at her. She leans down and picks up one of my old sleep shirts. "Is this okay" she asks holding it up,smiling shyly.

"Yes, but why are you so nervous love,you're acting like you just met me" I ask moving slightly closer to her

"I don't know,I'm a people pleaser I'm trying to make sure it's okay"

she smiles weakly snd I smile before reaching back into my closet and pulling our a pair of gray sweatpants and hand them to her."Here you can have these too" tilts her head slightly before gently grabbing them from me with a smile."I'm going to go put these on" she whispers before leaving my room and going to the bathroom. When she comes out I smile at the sight, the most beautiful girl I've ever met in my clothes. She smiles slightly and walks torward me. I sit with my legs across the couch and motion for her to com over. She laughes under her breath and walks over to me,she sits facing me and wrapps he legs around my torso.

"I love your cuddles" she says snuggled into my neck.

"Belive me I love yours too" I say as a start to play with her hair. I feel her smile I to my neck

"What are you smiling about I ask a smile planted on my face.

"Is it weird to say I love the way your heart beats. Oh who am I kidding I love everything about you." She says looking up at me.

"I love everything about you too" she smiles and moves positions slightly.

"How's the album going pretty boy" she asks before laughing at the new nickname I have.

" first of all if you get to call me pretty boy,I get to call you pretty girl" I pause "and the album is coming along great, honestly I just need to finish sky under the sea and the painter and it will be ready"

"I'm happy for you! What are you doing for the cover?" She asks, when I went on my run earlier me and Jaime had talked about using her concept art. So now we just need to find the right people for it, which our manager is taking care of.

"Your concept art" he smile widens and her face lights up with joy

"Really?" She asks hugging my waist tightly. I nod and she squeals.

"Are you gonna do a tour after the album is out" she ask and I sit to think for a moment. She is allways happy when we do events or go on tour, she's allways happy for us but her anxiety gets really bad when she's alone I always feel bad because we never have enough room on the bus for another person,but maybe I can surprise this time,since our feelings are out maybe she won't mind sharing a bed.

"Me and the guys have talked about it, but it's not set in stone yet" she nods showing she under stands.

"You Make a good cuddle buddy" she says trying to get closet to me as if it were possible

"Well your an even better one" I say wrapping my arms around her waist

"Are you sure you don't mind me wearing your clothes" she asks looking up into my eyes. My heart flutters, the same way it always does when she looks me in the eyes. I love her eyes ,I love her, I'm in love with her.

"I don't mind not at all."

[elejahfanfic]

klena_

_dream of love

klaus x elena_

ft. elijah & tatia

a/n: a very au story. Klaus is not (yet) the big bad wolf. Elijah doesn't know he is a Mikaelson. He is Elijah Smith, as he was taken by a witch as a baby from Esther.

I always turn everything upside down.

This is a Klena love story.

*

_the klena manip below is not mine.

*

New York

Elijah Smith sat down at the table of his lavish penthouse apartment looking at the photo of his bride to be - Tatia Gilbert.

There was not a day that he didn't miss her. Not a day passed that he did not go to sleep with the thought of her or woke up with his heart beating for his loved one.

Though he had all the money in the world and had spent every possible way he could think of to find her, it seemed that some greater power was holding all his efforts back.

"Hey" Elena walked in the lounge, greeting her  her sister's fiance.

"Hello." Elijah said putting the photographs and letters back in a box.

"You didn't sleep." the brunette stated the obvious as Elijah's ragged look, and crinkled shirt were proof enough.

"Everything just - we were supposed to get married two years ago on this day. And - oh I wish she never went on that expedition."

"Yeah - but you know that she had to go. She breathed archeology. And she is such a free spirit." Elena said, her own heart aching for her twin sister.

"Yes. That is one reason I fell in love with her. She was so full of life," Elijah drew a sad breath,"and I don't believe that she is gone."

"And you think that they will help us find her? And that they would not want anything in return - just the amulet"

"I sincerely hope so. Right," Elijah got up and now took the box, "I will get some sleep. And - you can stay here as long as you like."

"Thanks. But I will look for an apartment. It's about time"

"Damon came looking for you, and I told him not to come calling here again. He was drunk and pretty violent."

"Thank you, Elijah. I am really sorry about - the idiot." Elena said apologetically.

"No problem. I am happy that you finally have opened your eyes regarding this guy." Elijah said.

Elena nodded and turned towards the big window, gazing out, her thoughts swayed to another man and the Ball in New Orleans. 

🦋✨

New Orleans

Algiers

"What do you mean, you're packing your bags and going to New York? You don't know anyone there." Rebekah Mikaelson said to her half-brother stunned as he announced to the blonde that he was leaving.

"Marcel is there. I talked to him and he says that I can crash at his place till I got on my feet. If there is a place to make it as an artist it's there. I got to at least try. You are going away soon with your rich fiance and I will be left alone here anyway."

"Yes" Rebekah sighed, "you do. I don't know why you are not letting Stefan help you. He's got connections - he said that your paintings are good."

"You know how I feel about his snobby friends - and I want to make it on my own. Exhibit with a Gallery that finds your work worth the while. Get a proper art dealer." Kol said.

"I get you. You want to do it the hard way. And I respect that. But Stefan is a good guy -"

"Rebekah please - I know that he is - but - this is something I got to do by myself."

"All right," The blonde nodded, giving her brother a semi-hug, "I will definitely come and visit you."

"I am sure you will." Klaus put on a charming smile and now kissed his sister on a cheek as a small bye. 

"Here" Rebekah took out a wad of money from her purse, "please take this."

"Bex, I'm fine." Klaus refused the money.

"I know that you are. But New York is really expensive and - you will need this. You will give me all of it back when you are famous painter - with interest." Rebekah joked shoving the money in her brother's jacket.

"You bet I will. Thanks, sis." Klaus now took his bag hearing the horn of Jackson's car go. 

With tears in her eyes Rebekah motioned to the man to go and he left.

Well I've been out walking

I don't do that much talking these days

These days

These days I seem to think a lot

About the things that I forgot to do

And all the times I had the chance to

...

I had a lover

I don't think I'll risk another these days

These days

And if I seem to be afraid

To live the life I have made in song

It's just that I've been losing so long

In the cab that headed to the airport, Klaus looked out of the window, his thoughts now fast escaping into a daydream.

He traces her lips lightly with the tip of his finger. As she pouts slightly he feels the urge to kiss it, to wrap her up in his arms and listen to her gentle breathing.

This feeling is so strange. Could it be love? No. Though it stretches throughout his whole body. It's overwhelming.  And yet strangely makes him feel complete. It feels like he is in a dangerous fire, yet completely safe at the same time.  It feels as though his heart is dancing around his chest. He feels so light, like he is on top of the world yet his heart is constricting and it feels as if there's no oxygen in his lungs.

It's strange – frightening even – how one can go from someone being a complete stranger, to then being completely infatuated by them and wondering how it ever was that one was able to live without them. 

Will he ever see her again?