#oh my god my last name is THREE LETTERS and ive literally said those 3 letters to someone and have them repeat it back to me wrong

[shaekingshitup]

Grindin

A/N: EEEPP. This is my first attempt at a reader insert. Reader is always gonna be black. I missed a many of days. Here is the day 3 prompt because I liked this idea! Kind of based off my favorite coffee shop. Maybe I’ll do more for this lil story? 💁🏿 The chime for the door is literally from this song here. 

Summary: Reader goes back home to open a coffee shop and meets a man that stirs some things in her. 

“I love the concept,” you commented, “ I know we were only interested in black and blue originally. But can you do a mock up with gold lettering as well?”

“YAS! THAT! I like THAT! exclaimed Ray

“Already done,” Lulu noted and pulled out a secondary growler mock up from behind the print that you were assessing.

“You know me so well,” you smiled.

“Yeah, your ass is kinda predictable” she smiled back which earned her a tongue out.

This was your first meeting of the month and so far everything was going great. You loved that you could live out your dreams with the two people you trusted more than anyone in the world. Lulu had been by your side since you both realized you were the only two Spelman freshmen who were both from Cali in your class.  By your second semester y’all were so inseparable that everyone thought you were sisters. And by year 2 you were already living together. Thank God y’all had separate interests which kept your friendship and now your business in a healthy and ever growing state. You were engrossed in the world of science. You had been a bio major who often volunteered at the local greenhouse. That helped you establish your small but busy coffee shop a year and a half ago. Lulu was a graphic artist whom also was in charge of all Grindin social media and the unofficial pastry taste tester. Ray had come along when the ladies were rooming together off campus. He was a community college to 4- year transplant at Clark Atlanta but the boy was born and raised in Macon, Georgia and he’d never let you forget it. It was evident that once he met the girls at a mixer in his first week, the friendship was a wrap. That spawned regular visits back to his parents’ homes on the weekends and even some holidays spent in the south. After graduation, the bond never broke. You and Lulu returned to Cali with Ray in tow so that he could use his business degree to help birth Grindin.

You glanced over to Sherell. The Brewista Lead for the morning shift. You knew that Sherell had been strugglin to keep up a healthy sleeping schedule with finals right around the corner and the nerves of her impending graduation from Lincoln. She was a sweet girl and you couldn’t stand to see her bare any more stress. You were so caught up in your thoughts about Sherell that you had missed the very clear topic change amongst your friends.

“Okay, but that nigga’s arms? They biggg. You know what that mean!” sad Ray pointedly at Lulu

“HA” she cackled, “ that don’t mean nothin’. My guy has really soft eyes and you know Y/N loves a guy who is easy on the eyes,” Lu quips

“Bitch, you see the caterpillar above those eyes? We don’t nee her birthin the next Helga Pataki in these streets”

“Ugh” you groaned as you rubbed your temple. “I don’t know how many times we have to have to do this but I do not under any circumstances want you two meddling in my love life,”

“But” they chorused.

“BUT NOTHING! Every human with an assumed penis and who looks like they got more than $150 in the bank becomes a contestant for your little game of ‘Win a Date with Y/N’! I run a coffee shop! Not a dating service. I’m done explaining shit to y’all. Stop harassing my customers and let my ass worry about who I am with! I mean that shit.”

“I told you we should have started addin females to the list,” whispers Ray as you walk over to the counter.

“Raymond Johnson the IV and Eyeluta Nicole Hathaway, if I hear one more word from either of y’all you both gone be banned from any pastries for the rest  of the month” you spat feeling like the unofficial mother of your group yet again. You took a deep breath and continued toward the counter. 

“Sherell, how’s it going?” you asked a you approached the register.

She sighed heavily.

“You know what? You need a break. Go in the back and relax your eyes a bit. I’ll man the front”

“Oh no. It’s really-“

You cut her off. “Get back there and relax a little. I think I know how to run a register,” you winked.

You were on the register and Antwon was pouring at the bar. You two were in a good rhythm. It was either bustling or there was one customer to tend to today. There didn’t seem to be any in between this morning. 

GRINDIN rang out as the next patron entered.

“Welcome!” Antwon called out as you were assessing the stock supply up in the floor.

When you turned around you were met with... Well, you weren’t quite sure how to describe him. Fine was an understatement. Standing six feet tall was a milk chocolate wonder with a physique that his dark turtleneck and three piece suit couldn’t hide.

Keep it professional y/n

Before you could even get a breath out he growled “Y’all really got Clipse playin every time the damn door open?” He said this with his eyes glued to his screen as if looking up was such a difficult feat to conquer at 7:32 a.m.

“Yeah. It’s a signature touch,” you responded to the stranger. At your voice, he looked up and offered a smirk that probably made most women collapse at first sight. You still hadn’t made up your mind though.

“I’m feelin it.”

“Is this your first time here? I’m more than welcome to answer any questions you have about the menu or the store in general” you offered.

“Nah. I’ve been in a time or two before. Never seen you before,” he very openly eyed you up and down, “I normally let my assistant handle this shit though, you know Miss… “

“Y/N. Well, since you’ve been here before then you’re familiar with our unique take on the menu.” you supplied.

“Yeah, y’all rotate teas and coffees quarterly. You seem to keep a few staples- which I ‘preciate and y’all got some corny ass names for these drinks too.”

You bristled a bit at that last part. “There’s nothing wrong with a little creativity.”

“Never said there was, Y/N” At this point you couldn’t tell if you wanted to serve this man or show him the door. You chose the professional route.

“So, what does your assistant normally bring you Mr…?” you trailed off

“Just Erik is fine. My favorite is the single origin. Black.  It’s always the best way to start my day.”

“Mine too.” you smiled. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all

“If you’re into the single origin and you love that bold, black, taste something similar with just a little more sweetness is Brew Thang.”

He chuckled. “See what I be saying about these names? How you expect a grown ass man to order a drink called ‘Brew Thang’?”

“It’s good. Once you have a taste, you won’t have a hard time getting it to roll of your tongue.” you sassed.

Oh fuck . I didn’t mean it like that. I gotta keep this professional. I don’t need a bad review from this guy.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Oh really? Then lemme get a taste,” he said licking his lips. Your eyes widened slightly but he caught it. 

“Size?” you asked looking down at the tablet screen. 

“Large” he said with a bld and dark stare, “How much I owe you?”

“This one will be on the house. I want to make sure you’re satisfied.”

OH MY GAWD GIRL? WHO ARE YOU? WHAT IS COMING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH. PLEASE LEAD WITH YOUR HEAD AND LESS OF THE PUSSY

“Antwon, let’s switch. I’ll take the bar. You take the register!” You yelled out and quckly you two transitioned so that he could help the growing line of customer and you could bang out the drinks. Erik followed as you moved to the bar where he watched you work your magic. Once you were done pouring his drink you gave it to him. You got started not the next orders not the board but made sure to keep an eye on him as he took the first sip.  

“Fuck ma. This shit good” It was your turn to smirk. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you. So now you’re hooked on the Brew Thang?”

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely satisfied.” You failed to hide your giggle as you called out that Ricky’s order was ready. Erik stuck around for a little after that inquiring about other menu items that you told him not be too quick to judge based on their names. The initial tension had dissolved and you two were in a comfortable rhythm of commenting on both the menu and the changes you’d seen in Oakland during the last few years. Thankfully there wasn’t a rush at the moment and it was fine for your to be off to the side of the bar answering any questions he could put forth. He was attentive to your passion regarding the menu and all that went into the shop as a whole.

“Hol up. You ain’t a barista. This is yo shit?”

“I prefer Brewista and yes. I do co-own this shop with my best friend Ray and we have a great Graphic Artist, Lulu, on deck too” The more he learned about you. The more he wanted to know.

“Okay Miss Entrepreneur. I see you. Damn, does that mean that you tha one that come up with these corny ass names then?”

You scowled playfully. “You keep talkin on my name and you gone catch these hands. I’m a professional. But I grew up on these streets. I can throw blows Erik,”

“My bad baby girl. I respect your grind.”

“Okay. So who really is the corny one here?”

“Whatever,” he smiled. A genuine smile with teeth and this made you want to melt right there. “Anyways, speaking of Brew Thangs, you got  a ni-“

His phone rang and he glanced down cursing. He put up his index finger and gestured that he just need one moment. You nodded your consent.

“What up T?”

In that time that he took his call, you looked up and saw that you had a line out the door. Sherrell came back out to the floor and your two were in a great rhythm getting through the 16 drink orders that had come up. When you looked up again, Erik was no where to be found. Now that the shop was stable you let Sherell do her thang and went into the back to re-convene with Lu & Ray.

“Y/N we need to get you an award for best employer. You really be out here goin the extra mile for your staff,” Lu said. You lifted the corner of your mouth in a weak attempt at a smile.

“Uh uh. Hoe what’s wrong?” Ray said noting your dejected spirt.

“Now? Now you listen to me?!” you yelled. “ALLL the time, I tell yo asses not to intervene in my love life and the one time it may have actually been beneficial y’all were no where to be seen!”

“I know she didn’t” Ray said.

“Yeah. She did” Lu, retorted. “I’m gonna ignore your funky attitude because I can see you’re going through something sis. What’s the deal?”

“I was talking to this guy. This man. And y’all he was so charming and sexy as hell and he wasn’t afraid to talk about shit that matters and I just turned away to make some drinks and he disappeared! I really thought he was gonna make a move. Or at the very least that you two would move in on him and make me sit through another awkward date. But nooooooo, you two finally decided to respect my wishes for once and now Imma die alone!” you monologued.

“You done?” Lu asked.

“Yes” you pouted.

“Aww come here baby,” Ray said with his arms outstretched, “I’m sure he’ll be back.” He hugged your frame tightly and rubbed some circles into your back. “Especially if you turned around when you were in front of him, cuz BABY GOT BACK!!” He yelled.

You and Lu laughed as he started smackin your ass and shakin his own. Soon enough you were all in the back twerkin like it was the first night y’all meet all over again. Hopefully he’d be back.

I’m sorry I forgot who to tag! Soooo if you got tagged and didn’t wanna be I’m sorry. The inverse is the same 😁

@twistedcharismaaa @raysunshine78

@ghostfacekill-monger @yoursoulstea 

@shewrites02 @sarcastic-sunshines

@thadelightfulone

[jsteneil]

Neil Josten’s Birthday Bash

in which the foxes don’t get anything done, ever

 *

Nicky added Dan, Kevin, Aaron and three others to “Neil Josten's Birthday Bash Organization Committee”.

Nicky: can't add Andrew because he still owns a FLIP PHONE but here we go

Dan: hell yeah B-)

Nicky: kevin can fill him in with the details anyway

Kevin: why me?

Allison: because you live with him?

Matt: you're practically attached at the hip

Dan: omg ur roomm8s

Matt: ^^^ what allison said

Dan: yeah

Nicky: OR aaron can do it on wednesdays so that there's no chance of neil finding out :D

Aaron: no.

Aaron left the chat.

Nicky: what

Nicky: the

Kevin: just add him back

Nicky: fuck

Kevin: ffs

Kevin: some ppl are in class

Nicky added Aaron to the chat.

Aaron: im muting you all

Allison: just embrace the fact that you've lived in SC for years and say y'all

Nicky: y'all!!!

Nicky: yeah

Matt: dude don't how are u gonna know when to buy your coordinated outfit and rehearse the choreography if you mute us

Dan: Aaron?

Renee: I do think he muted us

Allison: fuck a crybaby

Nicky: hey

Allison: what's he gonna do? Unmute us?

Dan: asdhskfjdl ALLI

Matt: lmfao

Nicky: moving ON

Nicky: the important thing here is my boy neil's birthday

Kevin: and you wonder why Aaron left

Nicky: what?

Kevin: maybe Neil doesn't want to celebrate his bday

Nicky: no that's too sad

Nicky: next person?

Allison: not to be that bitch

Matt: oh?

Allison: but do we even know when his birthday is?

Allison: fuck you matthew donovan boyd

Matt: sorry i love you

Dan: it was easy

Dan: matt ur easy

Matt: ily babe

Dan: <3

Kevin: jan 19th

Renee: March 31st?

Allison: wait

Dan: uhhhh

Matt: Neil Josten deserves 2 bdayz

Kevin: no jan 19th

Renee: oh i thought we were using the one he chose for himself

Matt: Renee add a smiley face

Renee: :)

Renee: ?

Dan: babe ur mind,,,, im crying

Matt: ikr

Allison: stop using mygf so

Kevin: is it me or does it sound really passive aggressive bitchy with a smiley face

Dan: ye that's the point

Renee: I really wasn't trying to be

Matt: oh no we know, sorry

Matt: i feel bad now

Matt: it was just funny

Matt: sorry

Dan: :(

Renee: It's okay, don’t worry

Renee: :)

Dan: renee STOP i feel like ur going 2 murder me in my sleep

Renee: I could, but I won't

Nicky: im shaking and im not even in your dorm

Allison: and we daily thank god for that

Nicky: hey im an excellent roommate

Nicky: i always leave so cap and matt can have sexy times

Dan: yeah but then u call it sexy time

Allison: ive seen the bathroom nicky

Nicky: that's aaron

Matt: l o l

Kevin: aaron's a neat freak

Allison: exposed

Nicky: erik come get me the people here are mean

Renee: So when's Neil's actual birthday?

Kevin: jan 19th

Nicky: who's gonna ask andrew?

Kevin: HE HAS REAL PAPERS NOW

Kevin: JUST GO CHECK AND LET ME BE IN CLASS IN PEACE

Allison: well okay drama queen

Dan: kevin: *is on the chat as much as us*

Dan: also kevin: guys why r u dragging me here

Matt: it's okay kevin we can talk about it during practice

Renee: Don't goad him, Matt

Dan: lmfao babe u thought

Matt: uh oh

Allison: lol

Dan: we need 2 trounce the ravens nxt wk

Nicky: do we have to

Dan: y'all r hauling ass @ practice or god help me

Nicky: id settle for a close victory

Matt: nicky if you don't help us close the goal next friday im telling neil about his surprise

Nicky: noooooo :'(

Allison: ye renee has enough to do without having to face stuff y'all should have blocked

Renee: Andrew is also a goalkeeper

Allison: yeah but he doesn't give a fuck

Renee: That's neither true nor fair

Dan: i want bragging rights over this vctry, end of the question

Matt: are we just gonna ignore the fact that the fbi chose neil's old bday

Matt: even tho they made him a new identity

Allison: wonder how this conversation went

Nicky: are we ignoring the fact that neil is a goddamn CAPRICORN

Allison: "in my left hand is your birthday date. In my right hand is your other birthday" *shuffles behind his back*

Matt: idk about astrology but I checked and he tried to pass for an aries so what does that tell us?

Dan: shut up adfhskdjs

Nicky: im dying

Kevin: [attached picture]

Matt: did u steal neil's ID

Allison: i thought you were in class

Kevin: he sent it to me

Nicky: his phone can take pics??

Dan: RLY crappy 1s but yeah

Nicky: so all those times andrew refused to send me pics of his Eden’s Twilight's outfits so i could coordinate neil's…

Matt: :/

Kevin: he just doesn't like you

Allison: i would have laughed but you two have been fighting the good fight since last year, dressing neil up

Nicky: hey

Renee: Kevin, that was mean

Nicky: but thanx allison, I think so too

Kevin: sorry

Kevin: he's just difficult?

Nicky: yeah :(

Dan: omg u guys rmr when neil was on k ferdinand's show n he looked like a bite-sized snack in that shirt

Kevin: not exactly what I remember from this interview

Dan: u were pretty 2 <3

Kevin: oh my god

Renee: Didn't Neil keep the clothes?

Nicky: i've never seen him wear them again

Nicky: maybe he STUFFED THEM DOWN THE TOILET

Matt: uh okay

Allison: weird emphasis

Kevin: are you still stuck on that

Dan: what

Kevin: it's what happened with the clothes he wore the first time we went to columbia

Nicky: do you know how expensive that plumber was?

Matt: just a thought but maybe that wouldn't have happened if you didn't force him to come with you and drugged him against his will

Allison: don't tell me someone actually peed on them and tried to flush

Nicky: take it up with andrew

Matt: you literally drove the car

Kevin: what happened in columbia stays in columbia

Allison: omg oh my god

Dan: IM SCREAMING

Nicky: what was i supposed to do, get knifed?

Nicky: also ^^^^ yeah.

Nicky: ANYWAY

Nicky: now that Kevin got us proof that the FBI officially made neil a capricorn again,,

Dan: the fbi be like "oh u thought u could escape ur traumatic past? That's nice buddy

Matt: yeah I don't think beating last year's party is gonna be hard

Dan: here's ur bday n trauma back"

Nicky: HAPPY THOUGHTS

Nicky: :(

Nicky: anyway it's the big 21st, so the first thing in order is BOOZE

Kevin: uh nicky

Renee: He's turning 20?

Matt: what???

Kevin: yeah he aged himself up on his fake papers

Matt: oh my god

Dan: lmfao only neil

Nicky: he is baby

Matt: does. Does he know though. Like did he check when they made him the papers.

Kevin: I'm guessing so

Matt: imagine filling a form or smth and you get the day right but not the year

Renee: Wait Kevin, how did you get neil to send you the pic without telling him about the surprise party?

Nicky: DON'T YOU DARE HAVE TOLD HIM ABOUT THE NJBB

Allison: njbb?

Dan: neil josten's bday bash, im guessing

Nicky: Neil Josten's

Nicky: BIRTHDAY BASH

Nicky: yes

Allison: it doesn’t sound right

Allison: like, something’s missing in the name

Matt: alli we play a sport named after what you get when you take the s from sexy

Dan: 10 bux kevin wishes he didn't have such a stick up his butt so he could reply with exy is sexy

Allison: im not taking that

Kevin: i actually don't know why she named it that

Kevin: she never told the press and she didn't write it anywhere so

Nicky: :(

Allison: oh

Dan: sorry :(

Renee: Maybe coach knows?

Matt: maybe each letter has a meaning

Kevin: how?

Allison: endangering xylophones yearly?

Matt: EXceptional daY

Matt: and then, boom, it's about your name

Renee: Matt, I like that idea!

Dan: allison, no

Kevin: I'll have to ask coach, renee

Kevin: anyway it was always going to be her name, she invented it

Nicky: someone bring neil in so he can say something super serious about how kevin is a legendary striker whose name is already associated with exy and make us choke with emotion

Kevin: nicky….

Nicky: look it's working and he's not even there

Allison: it's the josten effect

Dan: changing your entire life's beliefs one extremely tragic remark at a time

Matt:...

Matt: someone change the subject im sad

Nicky: BIRTHDAY BASH

Kevin: oh yeah nicky asked me how i got neil's ID

Allison: and?

Kevin: i told him i signed him up for his own exynews account so he could stop hogging mine for streaming

Kevin: so i needed his name and birthday

Kevin: and then we got into an argument about date formats

Nicky: dd/mm/yy 4ever

Allison: eww

Kevin: so he sent me a pic instead of writing the date

Dan: it's the european propaganda getting to him

Kevin: i guess i really have to get him an account now

Dan: kevin i know you're entirely serious but that's so funny

Nicky: THE REST OF THE WORLD USES IT

Matt: admit it, you can't wait to go back to Germany because you secretly like the metric system

Nicky: yeah dicks sound bigger if you use centimeters

Dan: didn't need 2 know that

Nicky: not that erik needs that :)

Dan: I DON'T WANNA KNOW

Renee: ….

Matt: honestly im glad i don't understand german or i would never live down all the skyping

Dan: renee's like "can't relate" lmfao

Renee: No indeed

Allison: hell yeah that's my girlfriend

Renee: <3

Allison: hey minyard if you're secretly lurking now is the time to leave

Allison: …

Renee: No, he truly muted us earlier

Dan: are we surprised?

Renee: we'll catch him up on what we decide to do later

Renee: Nicky?

Nicky: oh, yeah!!!

Nicky: BIRTHDAY BASH

Matt: here we go again

Dan: mamma mia

[imnotcameraready]

Enjambment (chivalry au)

A/N: it’s the first not-main-story story!!!! wrote this while tryna figure out how to get from point a to point b, and it doesn’t really fit in with the story’s Flow, so it’s gonna be its own lil part! it’s also got a little bit more character building for the Playwright and the Artist, if anyone wanted that lm a o — they’re good bois, they’re just. really bad at being good bois. 

also i kNOW chapter 11 came out like, last night, but  ,. ., ., .. . ive had this sitting ready for literally a week ., ,. ,..  sorry for bombarding y’all with this au :’’D

WARNINGS: self-deprecation, self-hate, touch starved, threats, cursing/swearing, destruction of property, destruction of art (ewe)

Words: 2085

AO3 link to this story; AO3 link to chivalry’s main plot

MASTERPOST! <-- i dont think this story is understandable without reading the other parts, hence im plugging it so much  ; v; i’m sorry y’all ilu <3 

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil​ @forrestwyrm​ @daflangstlairde​ @marshmallow-the-panda​ @askthesnake​ @k9cat​ @patromlogil​

general tag: @jemthebookworm​

hope you enjoy!! <3 <3 <3 

The Playwright didn’t like admitting he was wrong. He often wasn’t. Having the position of an omniscient narrator meant he got to be right a lot, which was one of Roman’s favorite things.

But his argument with the Artist may not have been one of those “right” things. The Playwright leaned on the table, twirling a pencil absentmindedly as he contemplated. He wasn’t entirely wrong, no. The Artist had to keep in mind the safety of the other Sides. If anything happened to any of them, Thomas would be hurt, and Roman would riot. Every bit of him, except for…. The Playwright winced. On the other hand, this in-fighting was exactly what they should be countering. Sure, everyone disagreed and that was the purpose of this dismantling, but the Playwright was above these squabbles. Should be above them, figuratively, because in physical space, he very much was above them.

Apologizing would be the logical thing to do.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t enjoy entering the medieval town, didn’t like going deeper into the Imagination, but it seemed he would traverse there more often.

The sound of a paper flipping caught his attention. His eyes shot open as he looked around the room. No one was there.

But he’d definitely heard movement. The Playwright swallowed down his fear. “Hello?” he called out.

Nothing. None of the costumes had moved, none of the shoes or benches or any of his paperwork.

Wait, no, there was something. The Playwright moved a few scraps to the side and picked up an envelope. This hadn’t been there before.

Cordial invitation of Roman ‘Playwright’ Sanders to the Entry Gala — in celebration of Morality, Logic, Anxiety, and Deceit’s welcome to the Imagination.

The Playwright’s eyes widened. Oh, fuck.

He tore the envelope open and read its contents.

The Artist wept.

He ran his hand along the ruined canvas — ruined by his hand, torn open with his own knife and dirtied with his tears — and pressed it fast to his chest.

Why was he so mean? Why did it hurt so much, for his creations to be picked at like vultures and a carcass? Wasn’t that the point, wasn’t that how artists improved?

Ah, who was he kidding. He wasn’t a real artist at all. Just a name he’d selected when they first started this game.

The Artist was so wrapped up in his lamentations that he didn’t hear the soft sound of paper falling onto the floor beside him.

He shouted again, cradling the broken mess of canvas and wooden frames. All good artists got second opinions. No one was safe from criticism, and there was always room for improvement! He should know this, he DID know that, it was reasonable. But hearing it from the others always made him so anxious—

He sniffed, wiping his face with the paw of his sweatshirt. If he was falling apart this bad, it must mean he was losing this challenge thing. But thinking of anxiety and then, well, Anxiety, Virgil…. the Artist wished he’d gotten to meet the two, too. Like every other bit, he did love them.

The sound of debris being scattered, then a surprised yelp. The Artist sighed, curling up tighter. God fucking damnit.

“What—I’ve—Artist?!” the Playwright asked.

The Artist was sat against the wall, cradling a bundle of broken paintings to his chest, previously white sweater dirtied with layers upon layers of paint. All around him, every painting that has previously been neatly stacked in the room was torn to shreds. Broken pieces of wood and canvases halved were strewn around the room in piles, or one thick pile, with only a small circle of ground around the Artist. Sketchbooks were torn, even the drawing tablet was — okay, the Playwright wasn’t going to look at that and think of the physical monetary price, because none of this was real. Holy shit, the Artist had put a hole into the wall of his house. There was a hole? He’d punched a hole into the wall? Good heavens.

The Playwright, in an effort to not damage any of his art, accidentally appeared on top of one of the piles. He fell over, landing on his butt amongst the shreds, and looked around wildly.

“What happened?” he asked once he caught sight of the Artist’s frozen figure in the corner, still since he arrived, “Did Dragon—”

“They weren’t good enough, so I tore them up,” the Artist whispered into his own folded arms.

The Playwright’s brow pinched in worry. That had happened only a few times before, where a single work had been so terrible that the Artist ripped it to shreds in anger, but he’d never done….this. And he especially wouldn’t have done this, since he had numerous pieces he wanted to show the other Sides.

He drew in a breath as his mind filled in the gap.

“Oh, Artist, what did they say?” the Playwright whispered, pushing himself up and slowly making his way closer.

“Nothing. Get away.”

He grit his teeth. The Artist was going to be difficult, wasn’t he? Now, now, it wasn’t a good time to lose his temper. He came with a job to do, and he wasn’t cruel enough to leave the Artist to be upset alone. And he needed his help. This was purely logical.

He wanted to laugh. Being logical was so taxing; how did Logan do it all the time?

“Artist. I’m not leaving,” the Playwright sat in front of him, “I take it that Logic and Morality didn’t take well to your paintings?”

He glanced up at the Playwright, quick enough to now show an expression but slow enough that the Playwright caught a glimpse of his tearstained eyes.

“They–They said my art’s unfinished. Logic did.”

The Playwright frowned. “Wait. That’s it?”

The Artist curled up more, and the Playwright gently put a hand on his forearm. “Wait, wait, I didn’t mean it  judgy. I just….that’s something you’ve complained about, too.”

To that, the Artist shot him a small glare. When the Playwright put it like that, then the Artist’s reaction seemed childish. “Yeah, but,” he sighed, “I didn’t want them to say anything about it.”

“Then why didn’t you warn them about it?” the Playwright asked, confused.

“Look, I don’t–I don’t know!” the Artist tossed the painting he was cradling aside and ran his hands through his hair, “It all happened so fast, and Padre was getting mad at me for not letting Child stay here. It—they both got upset at me, and they interrupted my painting, and Padre kept hugging me and it felt weird.”

The Playwright exhaled. He put a mental pin on the hugging thing — a similar thing had happened to him the other day, and he would have to talk to the others about what may be occurring — and then scooted closer again, sitting beside the Artist.

“Seeing as I wasn’t there, I cannot speak to what your argument may have been about. But I know that Logic and Morality wouldn’t have wanted to intentionally harm us.”

“How do you know, Pencil pusher?” the Artist hissed, though his words held an emptiness that betrayed his disbelief.

“Because they wouldn’t. They’re calloused, but they wouldn’t hurt us. Maybe Prince.”

The Artist snorted. “You really hate that guy.”

The Playwright smiled. Good. He cleared his throat and threw up his hands in the Prince’s signature style. “Hoo hoo, look at me, I’m a Disney Prince and I like singing songs and being an idiot!” he said, mockingly emphasizing a mispronunciation of “Disney.”

That got the Artist to laugh, shoving the Playwright gently. “Hey, hey, Disney’s cool! I’ll defend Disney to the death,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

The tension returned, but only slightly. The Playwright didn’t want to push him, but he was a little impatient for the Artist to pull himself together. His feet gently tapped against the ground in a small, familiar tune.

After what seemed like ages, the Artist let out a breath.

“....I did….overreact. A little,” he said. “The knife was too much.”

“A lot. Wait, did you say knife?”

“Yeah. I, um, I lost it a little.” He rubbed the back of his head again, looking up at the Playwright. “Thank you for sitting with me.”

The Playwright smiled. Wonderful. He patted the Artist’s arm comfortingly. “If I cannot comfort myself, then what am I doing?”

They both shared a small chuckle at that. It was easy to forget that they were two parts of a much more cohesive whole.

It was also easy to forget that the Playwright had something else he wanted to ask. He clapped, sitting upright and startling the Artist.

“Sorry,” he put his hands up, eyes blazing with new worry, “I actually came to ask something else — did you get invited to the party?”

The Artist’s brow furrowed. “The….party? No?”

“Oh, come, you must have,” the Playwright looked around.

The same envelope he’d received prior was sitting beside the Artist, on top of some of the ruined paintings. He picked it up and found two more envelopes beneath. “Great Ben Jonson, you got Logic and Morality’s invitations, too,” the Playwright flipped through the three cards and handed the one addressed to the Artist, to the Artist. “You must not have noticed it earlier. I got a letter similar, this morning. From Dragon.”

“From Dragon? Fuck, how’d he find us?” the Artist read the front and flipped it over again, tearing it open.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he just sent it to the location of whoever said Logic’s name last night. I also don’t know how he got backstage to deliver mine,” the Playwright read over his shoulder, “I honestly came here hoping to find the other Sides. We need to warn them.”

“We do? About what?” the Artist shot him a frown, but the Playwright just gestured to the paper, so he read the invitation.

His eyes scanned through it once. His body slowly tense as he realized what was being asked, and he flipped it over, checking all around the letter and the envelope that there wasn’t more.

“This,” the Artist reread the letter once more before lowering it and staring, stricken, at the Playwright, “This is a fucked up joke, right? Like, it’s gotta be a joke. Dragon’s Disney pranking us, without friends.”

“I don’t want to hazard that,” the Playwright stood up and motioned for the Artist to get up, “We need to find the others and warn them. If Logic and Morality’s invitations are here, then they must not know, and it’s a safe bet that if they don’t know, then Anxiety and Deceit don’t know, either.”

The Artist pushed himself up, rolling his sleeves up and wiping his face slowly. “He wouldn’t hurt them,” he mumbled. “Why’s he mentioning Prince, too?”

“I don’t know. And after what he did to Damsel?” The Artist rolled his eyes as the Playwright continued, “I don’t think Dragon would hesitate to hurt them, and he’s using the concept of Prince as bait.”

Goddamnit, he was probably right. The Artist rubbed his eyes and fixed his glasses. “Alright. I just,” God, he was hideous. “Should I change?”

The Playwright squinted. “Have you not left your house since this all started?”

“No,” the Artist looked at him like he was stupid, “Why would I?”

Alright. Alright, this was a predicament. The Playwright blew out a lot of air, eyebrows raising as he tried to figure out, in the most concise way, he could tell the Artist that he wanted to throttle him. His attire was absolutely not correct for the setting that they’d established, and he couldn’t fathom WHY the Artist wanted to parade around a medieval town looking like THAT.

No, you know what? It was fine. Sleep was walking around in a leather jacket, it’s FINE. Perhaps the Playwright was the only one who cared about the sanctity of the setting.

Meanwhile, the Artist looked around and waved his hand. The torn paintings all disappeared, leaving the room empty, looking larger than ever. The hole in the wall faded away, establishing itself as a solid wall once more. He looked down at his outfit and simply wiped it, the paint stains all disappearing as his hand passed over them, revealing a creamy-white color once more.

“That’s good enough,” the Playwright snapped, grabbing a fist of his shirt and tugging him forward, “Come on.”