#rewrote it like 5 times

[marikodraws]

You're the one person I refuse to lose to! You're the one person I refuse to lose.

🧤 Ta-da! Here's the comic I did for @rivalszine

[tabieeee]

Chief Engineer Parallax

he/they/it (masc but not really)

Titan TVman's source of ego, Parallax often showers his titan in compliments and pretends very hard that he wasn't just doing that whenever someone else pops by

At work he is stoic and professional but that facade breaks easily into a goofy ass motherfucker

Opposite of an average TV, he is far more emotive and emotional, it weirds them out.

Acts professional, prefers to be goofy

Nervous & heartfelt

Knows how to fight, but is a coward

Creative, loves crafting figurines and other knick-knacks

Has a titty window for his chest screen. and his titties.

Emojis are always either sideways or upside down

Can walk up walls and defy gravity

Parallax is an expert in melee weapons and classified TV-tech, very knowledgeable but gets overwhelmed easily. He has no visible gear that allows him to fuck with gravity, but he does anyways. Goddamn secretive TVs.

[paintsplash1712]

I think the reason I love Agatha All Along is because it feels like a comic series I'd read in my comics nerd phase like Loki: Agent of Asguard.

Maybe it's the vibes? Maybe it's because I'm a Billy Stan so I'm always going to see him as his comic self? Or maybe something else?

But if Marvel released a comic adaption of this series I think it'd fit right in!

[googleeyes]

I would have been soo invested in Ezri and Julian's relationship if Ezri just liked him and they didn't try to convince us it was Jadzia all along. Dax joins Ezri and is so excited to see their good friend Julian again and Oh God No he's Hot

[majimasleftasscheek]

congrats on finishing your neighbour!au comic! I really enjoyed seeing each update, and the ending was just PERFECT 👌

THANK YOU

it was super fun making all those lil parts, I wouldn't mind doing something like that again 👀 and seeing people be excited for the next bits was so

[catboy-jupiter]

i'll be like "i'm a god of writing" and then an hour passes after i post or submit something and i'll be like "i'm so dumb there's so much i could've done better if only i'd waited a bit and looked at it with fresh eyes i would've noticed how much it sucks & what i could've improved that looks so much like first draft material there's so many revisions i could make why i am i so impulsive and overconfident" and then i'll start writing something else and be like "i'm a god of writing" again

[theallianceofcelestials]

Surprise Watchful Nightmare update! Bet you weren't expecting that!

Little interlude between the capters "Explore the world" and "Change is okay", so if you were expecting finally seeing certain individuals interact with the kids and their nightmarish dad, sorry, not yet.

But! This chapter is short and sweet! Perfect to read before bed!

[agerefandomrambles]

Title: Drive

Word count:

Little! Reader

Cg! Boone

Warnings: nausea, chronic illness, swearing (the s word)

Plot: part 2 to nauseous

Dedicated to @aew-regression-cove

"I'm so sorry kiddo. Something happened with Kate and I've gotta go help. I promise I won't be long and Boone is gonna stay with you for a bit" Tyler shouts as he runs around the house, gathering all the things he might need.

Kate's appendix had to be removed and Tyler is going to New York for a week to help her recover. The only problem? You've been hit with one of the worst flareups you've ever had the day he's supposed to leave.

You've been hovering over the toilet on and off for almost an hour now. The chronic nausea isn't anything new but you're so miserable that you almost wish you could throw up so at least it'd go away.

"I love you sweetheart. You know that right?" Tyler says, crouching in front of you with worry in his eyes. He's caught between his 2 sick littles and as much as it's killing him, he has to go help Kate.

You nod weakly, letting out a soft sob. "Don't leave Dada. Stay. Kate come here and you help both" You beg. You already know what the answer is going to be but you have to try anyway.

"Come on kid. That's not fair and you know it. Boone is going to come and help you while I'm away." He consoles, pulling you into his chest for a tight hug.

After a few minutes, you separate and he rushes out the door to catch his plane.

Time seems to melt away from you as you sit in the bathroom, the cool tiles at least taking away the hot flushes.

After a while, the bathroom door creaks open. You look up hopefully, hoping that Tyler had magically changed his mind and came back.

Boone crosses the bathroom and crouches in front of you, frowning when your face hardens and you turn away from him.

"Oh come on little one. I'm not that mean, am I?" He tries to joke, frowning when you don't turn around.

"Alright. Come on. We're not throwing a pity party" he says after a moment of continued silence. He sits down, scooping you up in on fluid motion.

On his way out of the house he has the foresight to grab your bucket and some cold water that Tyler had thankfully left by the front door.

Boone carries you out to his pick up. He gently places you in the passenger seat, settling the bucket between your legs on the floor, before buckling you in and placing your water in the centre console.

"I know you're feeling a bit shitty right now but sitting in your bathroom for hours is only going to make you feel more miserable. We're gonna go on a drive with the windows down and music playing" He explains, starting the truck up.

He wordlessly hands you the aux and you put on your favourite country play list, something with a beat and a good guitar. Within 10 minutes your nausea has died down enough that you're singing along with Boone.

Boone drives you around with the windows down and music blaring until you've finally fallen asleep.

He quietly turns off the music and silently drives back to the house. Once you're there, he unbuckles your seatbelt and carries you into the house. He tucks you into bed, making sure to keep the water and bucket within arms reach, before settling down in the armchair in your room, content to play games on his phone til you wake up.

[suddencolds]

almost done... 🙏

[kittykatninja321]

Adventure Time stakes changed me forever because now I will forever see asking a loved one to help you die as the ultimate sign of trust and agreeing to help a loved one die as the ultimate act of love and devotion. PB turned to Marceline and tenderly said “Your natural lifespan is going to be richer and fuller than you can imagine, and someday, when you die, I’ll be the one who puts you in the ground”. Like Marceline has left her life in Bubblegum’s hands and PB has promised to treat it gently. Oughhh

[thebusylilbee]

welp, the reviews were right : Trap (2024) mixes what Shyamalan does best and what he does worst !

it's very frustrating because for the most part this is a genuinely well shot film and the setting of a killer being trapped in a stadium during a concert has the merit of being pretty original, you can truly feel the tension rising all throughout the story. but as usual when Shyamalan meets an obstacle in his story, instead of coming up with a smart way to get around it, he just decides that he'll do no such thing and the audience will simply have to politely ignore the blatant problem :/

so the result is that 80% of the movie is like legit really good but then you got 20% of absolutely pivotal moments that are just pure unadulterated bullshit... like just stupid-plot after unnecessary-plot-twist after completely-implausible-nonsense... it's still not a fully unpleasant viewing experience tbh, but man what a shame that they didn't feel the need to fix those bad parts !

[blu3cl0v3rs]

Summary: Morro's night routine.

Warnings: None

Prompt: Day 3 - Sleep

Extra: Generic "Morro gets revived and lives with the Ninja" AU. Inspired by my own nightly habits.

Everyone was asleep. Everyone except Morro. He was in the living room, a single light glowed above the ex-ghost. He aimlessly scrolled on his phone, given to him by Jay so he could "connect to the modern world", Jay's words.

The tiny digital clock in the corner read '22:57'. He mechanically rose from his spot on the worn couch and went over to the light switch to turn it off. The wind elemental methodically went room to room, cleaned up any unneeded messes, turned off forgotten lights, shut and locked windows, until the only unentered rooms were the bedrooms.

He spread his hand out in front of him and felt around in the air. His reach stretched down the hall and into each door, looking for the slow cadence of breathing from each resident, or whirring of fans in Zane's case. They all slept soundly.

Morro slunk to the bathroom with silent footfalls. He went through the usual process of preparing for sleep: brushing teeth, braiding hair back, and heading back to his own room to set out what to wear the next day.

He settled onto his bed, mattress compressing under his weight. He peeled back his covers and curled up underneath them. Morro softly hummed a lullaby Wu taught him until his mind drifted off.

Everyone was asleep.

[feetoffire]

horses of RA: Ranger Horses (or ponies, as it were)

the Kicker post was simple. the ranger horses are....less so :)))

Tug, Abelard, Cropper Bumper Blaze

quick glossary:

withers: where the shoulderblades meet, positioned at the base of the neck

hands/hh: horses are measured in ‘hands’, which are the equivalent of four inches, from the ground to the top of the withers. abbreviated as ‘hh’ (hands high). if a horse’s height falls between two full hands (i.e. between 15 and 16hh), the number of inches over the lower hand measurement is added as a decimal - 15hh and two inches becomes 15.2hh (~157cm), etc

pony: anything standing taller than 14.2hh (~147cm) is a horse. anything standing lower than 14.2hh is a pony

draft: think Budweiser Clydesdales - the big solid workhorses, often but not always with hair (referred to as ‘feathers’) on their lower legs

lots of musing below, most of which is essentially speculative evolution of the ranger horse:

first and foremost, the average riding horse in the middle ages was, well. a pony. Big Tall riding horses didn’t exist yet (and wouldn’t for another several centuries), and even the drafts of the time topped out around 16 hands, which is on the smaller side for a draft today. couple that with the heights of the foundation breeds flanagan mentions (temujai, hibernian, gallican), and ranger horses are decidedly pony-esque. probably large-pony-to-small-horse sized, since they're supposed to be carrying grown (albeit short) men, but still roughly pony sized.

also the sass. ponies are sass incarnate. (and often ‘shaggy and barrel-shaped’).   

ANYWAY we all know that the temujai are a barely-veiled reference to the Mongols under Chinggis Khaan, so it makes sense that their horses are the equivalent of the irl Mongolian horse. with their insane endurance, hardiness, and deceptive strength, it’s no wonder that they’re the basis of the ranger ponies. only problem is, they’re a little too small. 

Mongolian horses average 12-14 hands, but i sincerely doubt ranger ponies stand less than 13.2hh, for comfort as much as welfare. generally, horses and ponies shouldn’t carry more than 20% of their weight, and as a rider in the height range of a short man, the ponies i’m most comfortable on are ~13.2+; the majority of Mongolian horses are smaller than that, which is....less than ideal.

this is where i think the other horses flanagan mentions come in: for height and added versatility. the horse Halt brings with him from Hibernia is probably a Connemara, and we know Abelard comes from Gallican lines, which suggests the Camargue. given their proximity to Araluen/England, i wouldn't be surprised if the Welsh cob (section D), Highland pony, and moorland types like the Dartmoor were in the mix as well. as a bonus, all of these breeds tend to throw solid color coats, which i’m assuming are preferred, considering the ‘lay on the ground and pretend to be a bush/rock’ trick Will and Tug pull in book 9. hard to do that if the horse is speckled or splotched (sorry Bumper). 

so where does that leave us? a taller, somewhat lighter, probably scope-ier, solid-colored Mongolian horse that stands ~13.2-14.3. endurance, attitude, brains, and height all at once. perfect.

sounds amazing, honestly. i wanna ride one

[dhmis-autism]

SORRY. JUST REALIZED I ORIGINALLY SKETCHED THE STUFF FROM THAT LAST WIP POST IN. MARCH.

GODDDD...

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Ok I lied, I also desperately want more about VLTD because I'm FERAL for it... *please*?? I'll take any little snippets you're willing to offer <3 - @fieldsofview

@fieldsofview god okay so Violet is coming a bit slow. I got 6k into it and realized I was already bored with the story. It just wasn't doing it for me, so I put it back in the percolator to stew some more and NOW I think I have the right setting for it. Originally I wanted to send them to Alaska bc of Nash's little throwaway thought about being brother of the year by buying Jo a plane ticket, but that's just not working for me creatively. Tennessee is where it's at, you know?

SO INSTEAD, he's going to buy her the ticket not knowing the reason she's been down in the dumps lately is because she misses when it was just the two of them. She's going to have a bit of a breakdown bc she's feeling all that and now he's trying to send her away?? But she still doesn't want to say it's him and Teddy that are the problem bc he's literally never been this happy before and she won't be the one to ruin it. So instead she confesses she misses her friends, which she does but also there's drama between her and Bella because of her moving away so it's a bit of a nasty surprise when she finds out that instead of Alaska Nash has arranged for her friends to stay with them for a week.

So now she has to deal with even less one-on-one time with her brother and also all the drama she thought was safely sequestered in Buford Hills.

So I'm going to have to cut most of what I have written (*sob*) but the intro is good enough to keep so here you go!

Here there be spoilers for Blue, like don't forget about me!

There’s an art to picking a hotel cheap enough that living out of it for three weeks won’t bankrupt you, but nice enough you won’t need to worry about bugs. In Jo’s opinion, it all comes down to the desk.

Hotel rooms follow a basic formula: bed (obviously), mini fridge (to store stress pudding), shitty single-brew coffee maker (always the same), a microwave (always different), an armchair in the corner (to sit in whilst eating pudding), and a desk. A good look at the desk and you’ll know whether you’ve made a mistake.

Too squat or wobbly—clearly not intended to be used—you’re in a cheap hotel meant for a single night stay and expected to be gone by breakfast. But a nice desk with a matching chair in a room that doesn’t make you feel like a dirty street urchin means you have successfully walked the line between frugality and indulgence.

Careful not to topple the precarious stack of client notes, Jo scoots the hard four-legged chair closer to the desk that’s too low to fit her thighs under despite being all of 5’4” in her derby skates. She sticks her plastic pudding spoon between her teeth and moves the stack away from the edge while creamy chocolate warms on her tongue. The sleeve of her favorite sweater, an ancient thing with a brown stain over her left breast that looks like a fatal stab wound (pudding incident of 2022), catches on the sharp corner but tears free without trouble thanks to the tattered state of the hems.

“When’re you gonna be home?”

She picks up her phone to see the familiar worry line between her brother’s eyebrows. Nash’s hair is overgrown again—beachy curls inching over his ears and peeping around the sides of his neck. He looks tired, but he always looks tired. More important is the aura of peace that he’s carried like a favorite blankie since they moved to their little mountain.

She swallows and slips the spoon from between her lips. “Thursday.” She points her spoon at the mini fridge where three pudding cups remain—one for each remaining day. “Think you can get the place baby sister proofed by then?”

The stress lines framing his mouth flex. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

She sticks her spoon into her pudding and leaves it there as she prepares to dig for whatever he isn’t saying, but, for once, he beats her to it.

He casts a surreptitious look over his shoulder then hunches forward and says, “Teddy’s got napkin swatches all over the front room.”

Ah, and they’re talking about Teddy again. It was a fun novelty for the first two months—she’s never seen her brother fall all over himself like he did for Teddy—but it’s been three years and she’s over it.

“I don’t understand why swatches. Why not just give us one of each napkin? It don’t make sense.”

“Uh, yeah I guess it’s kind of weird. Why napkins?”

His expression turns dour. “He wants me to pick one for the reception.”

“Alright, so pick.”

They were supposed to get married in February (fucked up, unnatural time for a wedding but nobody asked her), but then Teddy freaked out acting like a little backyard shindig wouldn’t be good enough and now they’re shelling out actual cash money to stand around in a swanky lodge for six hours and eat overpriced chicken.

Downright foolish, but again, nobody asked her.

“I tried but he said he could tell I was just trying to get out of it.” Steel gray eyes stare into hers. “Jo, I don’t care about napkins.”

“I don’t think anybody cares about napkins.”

“That’s what I—!” He lowers his voice. “That’s what I said.”

“But Teddy cares about—,”

“That’s the thing,” Nash interrupts, eyes wide, animated in his exasperation. “He doesn’t care either.”

“Then why—,”

“He thinks—,” He wrinkles his nose, then confesses, “He thinks it’s one of those things where maybe I do care, I just haven’t thought about it enough to know.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“They’re napkins.”

“I know.”

It takes another five minutes to talk Nash around into telling Teddy that he’s put in enough due thought to determine he very much doesn’t care what people wipe their hands and face on at their wedding, but he turns down Jo’s suggestion that they stick a paper towel roll on each table so he must care at least a little bit.

When they hang up the pit of missing home hasn’t filled an inch. Even worse, her pudding is room temperature.

[another-clive-blog]

I voted to marry the boy, could you write him being incredibly smitten with one Emmy Altava? (I would take any Clemmy really, but Clive MUST be head over heels for her)

SORRY FOR THE DELAY !! My sincerest apologies, this week has been kicking my ass-

This was hard to write, because I'm bad at shipping and also I don't know the first thing about Emmy ? She works with Layton and is gorgeous, that's it :'D I did ask some friends who told me about a camera ?? So I tried to like. Work from there

ANYWAY !! AU where Emmy works at Clive's newspaper as a part-job on top of her adventures with Layton ! She is a photographer and 20-year-old Clive is a writer. Also this is Unwound Future Canon-compliant (kinda ? It works from Clive's perspective). This is teen, comfort no hurt, fluff, and entirely written from clive's POV

Emmy fans I apologize in advance if I didn't do your girl justice, she is gorgeous and I want to get to know her

Clive remembered that fateful day- not the day it had all started, of course, but the day his whole plan had been thrown off the rails.

It was a day just like the others- or rather, it would have been, had his article not been rejected. He had been working at the newspaper for two years now, ever since he'd graduated at age 18 : two years, and not once had one of his articles been refused. All of his work had always been met with approval at worst, congratulations at best- nothing less.

But not this time. The direction hadn't said much about this outrageous event, simply something about his article needing more work, apparently. This usually wouldn't bother Clive : failure was a part of life, and he forgave those poor souls for failing to perceive the greatness of his work.

And yet- this was a problem. Clive had asked to be granted access to informations about the Incident ever since he started working here, and his request had been denied every time. He had to prove his reliability first, they said, show them that he hadn't taken the job just to get his hands on classified files. It was annoying, truly : of course he had, but proving otherwise was tiresome.

But now, with this failure... Was his progress going to fade away ? Could he still hope to get these documents soon ? Or was this the faux pas that would cost him his prize entirely ?

Clive sighed, putting that traitorous piece of paper back on his desk : he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

What should he do now ?

"Well, that's a sad face if I've ever seen one," a voice commented in an extremely helpful way. He didn't recognize it, mostly because he couldn't be bothered to learn his colleagues' voices or names- mostly because they kept coming to annoy him at the worst possible time. Which was all the time.

"Could you please leave me alone for once or is it really too much to ask ?" Clive knew that he didn't sound very pleasant or respectful, but that was literally the last of his problems. Besides, he had isolated his desk from the rest specifically because he didn't want others to come bother him.

"Pretty sure this is the first time we meet. At least, I don't remember seeing you before. Are you new too ?" She replied, and she really wasn't leaving, was she ? Then again, if she was new here, she probably didn't know that he wasn't here to make friends.

He opened his eyes.

The first thing to catch his gaze was the odd yellow dress, a strange outfit to wear in a place like this : she looked like an adventurer, not a journalist. There wasn't any dress code to meet in order to work here, but still...

Then again, she did have a bow tie.

"I've been here for two years," he deadpanned. She seemed nice and that was good for her, really, but he wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. "Welcome to the team, I suppose."

She smiled. It wasn't bright like a sun or sweet like chocolate, but it was rather something authentic, that she had worked hard to obtain and preserve. This was the kind of smile that would inspire tons of stories and articles- at least to someone really passionate about this job.

Clive wasn't. He wasn't here to change the world or make friends, he was here to get these classified files that would hopefully help him move on.

"Thank you," she said, before putting one hand on his desk and leaning forward : Clive pushed his chair back a little. "Say, since we're a team now, do you mind telling me why I've never seen you hang out with the others ?"

Oh wow. Alright, no little mind games- just straight to the point.

That really was new.

"Well," Clive muttered, looking away, "I have work to do."

She tilted her head slightly, his answer only making her more curious. "And they don't ?"

Was this some kind of test ? Clive couldn't perceive any ill intentions behind this question, but it didn't sound all that mundane either. What was she at ?

"Of course they do," he explained himself, "But this is important to me, and-" Actually- why was he even telling her that ? She probably didn't care, he didn't care, this whole discussion was useless : he had no reason to keep it going. "And my article just got refused, so I have even more work to do." He said abruptly, hoping to end the conversation.

She didn't go away. "Oh really ? That sucks. Want me to take a look ?" She offered, as if she wasn't new here.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not sure you can help much," Clive said coldly. He wasn't in the mood for this. "I mean, you're new, and a photographer, so this may not be your-"

"Nonsense !" She put her hands on her hips, the same smile on her face. She had listened to approximately none of his reasoning. Stubborn, Clive thought. Stubborn and very confident.

"I may not write the articles, but I know how they work," she said. "Also, I have learned a thing or two from Layton."

Clive froze. Layton. The professor Layton ? The one who had saved him as a kid, the man who was his model, his inspiration, his-

"Hey, this article is about him !" Quick as a fox, she had leaned over his desk and grabbed the piece of paper : her eyes were done scanning through the first few paragraphs before Clive could even react.

"Wh- where are your manners ?!" He yelled at her, blushing furiously. Alright, that was it-

Pushing his chair back, he quickly made his way around his desk, reaching for his sorry excuse of an article.

She dodged his poor attempt at taking back his sheet of paper with no effort whatsoever. "This is pretty good," she said, talking about the paper rather than his embarrassing fight.

Clive was a clever man- that's why he decided after yet another vain attempt that he couldn't win. Somewhere in his mind, he noted that she had to truly be an adventurer of some kind : she was surprisingly strong, agile and terribly efficient, unbothered by someone like him.

He reluctantly gave up his useless fight, taking a few steps back and crossing his arms instead. "Not good enough, apparently," he spat, glaring at her. She had no shame, no hesitation, no weakness- who even was she ?!

"Yeah, I can see why," she nodded, and Clive was once again baffled by her ability to say honest things without any hard feelings behind it.

"Your article is good, but you forgot the presentation," she explained, stepping closer to better show him : this proximity made Clive agitated, although he wasn't sure why. "You talk like everyone knows Layton, but that's just not true- especially since you're dealing with his first ever adventure. You have to keep everyone in mind, not just the readers who are as knowledgeable about this subject as you are."

Clive choked. "I-I'm not-"

"Hey, I could give you a good photo of Layton !" She interrupted him with a smile. "That way, everyone would know who we're talking about."

"Yeah, about that- do you actually know the professor ?" He narrowed his eyes at her, looking her up and down. She didn't seem like the kind of person the professor would frequent, bow tie or no bow tie.

"Of course !" She said, before her voice took a challenging intonation, "What, wanna bet ?"

Clive scoffed. She was being ridiculous- this was probably all an elaborate plan to make fun of him. He could absolutely picture his colleagues telling her to prank him as some sort of initiation ritual, actually. She certainly was almost as annoying as they all were.

But she may know the professor. "Sure," he finally said. "If you can take this photo and bring it to me, I'll buy you a coffee tomorrow."

"Wow, hey, don't ruin yourself for me Tiger," she sarcastically said. Tiger ??

"Wha-"

"Alright, I'll come tomorrow by your sad and isolated desk to give you the picture," she decided. "I love proving I'm right, almost as much as I love drinking terrible coffees with rude co-workers."

"Are you serious-"

"See you!" She cut him off with a provocative grin, again, and left without listening to another word he had to say, again.

Clive watched her go in silence, furious. Who did she think she was ?! She had been here for what, a couple hours, and she just came up to him like that ? He hoped she had annoyed everyone else too : that way, she'd get fired sooner rather than later.

The thought did make him feel better, and he sat back in his chair, enjoying the calm of the small room where stood his isolated desk. If he focused hard enough, he could hear her laugh with others in the next room- but he couldn't, because he didn't care enough to pay attention.

So since he wasn't listening to the sound of her voice, it was silent. And enjoyable. And lonely- which was good, because he hated having to deal with others. Especially her -what was her name again ? Not that it mattered-, because she was so rude and straight-forward and confident. Really confident.

Nevermind.

He picked up the article, looking at it thoughtfully. He needed this article to be accepted, and he needed it to be his best work yet : it was the only way to prove he was worthy of the reputation he had built for himself, and, most importantly- the only way to get what he wanted, the Truth.

...Presentation, uh ?

-_-_-_-

Surely enough, the very next day, Emmy came back to his desk with a brand new picture.

Professor Layton, sitting at a table, enjoying a nice cup of tea. He was smiling serenely, and his face held a bit of warmth, of comfort, of home.

"There you go !" Emmy said with a very satisfied smile, one that Clive wasn't ready to see this early in the morning.

He took the photo she was handing him. It felt recent and authentic : in fact, he could see yesterday's newspaper on the table, next to Layton's hand. It was crazy. There was no way they actually knew each other.

"Are you a paparazzi ?" He asked before he could stop himself. He shouldn't throw accusations her way in case she really was close to the professor, but what else could it be ?

"What ? No !" Emmy didn't seem to get offended- on the contrary, she stood proudly, hands on her hips. "I'm his associate !"

Oh.

Clive fell silent, his gaze wandering back to the picture. The professor was facing whoever had taken the photography : he was fully aware someone was here, taking this very picture. Had she asked him to smile ? Or was he just that happy to help his associate win a stupid bet and make a name for herself at her new job ?

Why would someone like the professor choose her as an associate ?

"That's odd," Emmy said with feigned naivety. "I recall you being a real Layton fan, and yet you didn't recognize the one and only Emmy Altava, associate of the great professor Layton ? Surely someone as knowledgeable as you should know this. I mean, it'd be pretty humiliating if you didn't, right ?"

He looked up, staring at her, and she stared him down with a provocative smirk, waiting for his answer.

Somehow, he... he wasn't mad. He didn't feel like angrily answering or starting a fight, which was relatively rare : maybe this was due to the fact that he knew she could easily destroy him.

Or maybe this was due to the fact that he really wanted to know what Layton had seen in her, now. "I'm not a Layton fan, and I didn't know he had an associate."

Emmy's smirk disappeared quickly at his admission, replaced with something that was almost disappointment. She hummed, looking at him strangely. "...This is really not as satisfying as you had me believe it would be. I was looking forward to crushing your little ego under my boot."

Alright- forget that. Clive scoffed. "Don't forget I have to buy you a disgusting coffee now, so we're stuck together for a few more painful minutes."

"Ah- I had indeed forgotten about that part," She admitted, scratching the top of her head. All of the antagonizing and taunting was gone, just like that, Clive noticed : how did she move on so quickly ? He never ever missed an opportunity to rightfully put people in their places. But she was already over it ??

Emmy -she did say her name was Emmy, right ? Emmy Altava- shrugged, coming to a decision. "Disgusting coffee is better than no coffee. Lead the way, Tiger."

He groaned. "Stop calling me that."

"Wait," she paused, and he stared at her while waiting for whatever nonsense she was about to spit. "...What is your name ?"

...You know what- that was fair. He hadn't told her, after all. "I'm Clive Dove."

She snapped her fingers, that same confident grin on her lips. "Great. Lead the way, Clivey."

Clive groaned before leaving the room without a word. Emmy followed him with a satisfied grin, very proud and amused by his pointless anger.

Clive walked faster, trying to hide the blush that crept on his face.

-_-_-_-

They didn't interact much after the coffee : in fact, they didn't talk at all for the next few days.

Clive would see her sometimes, or hear her. He heard her a lot : she had a booming voice, full of life and passion. Whenever she talked to another one of their colleagues, Clive would hear her contagious laugh, listen to her stories from the loneliness of his small isolated desk.

She was a great storyteller. Managing her effects, adding plenty of details, adapting to her audience- it felt real. Clive could picture her stories, her adventures at the professor's side.

This was exactly what gave him a new idea, bright like always.

He came across her in the corridor, while she was heading to get herself a coffee. "Oh- Clivey ! It's been some time, hasn't it ?"

He gritted his teeth. This was a bright idea. He only had bright ideas. "Ignoring that first part. I wanted to tell you something."

She didn't seem all that excited, merely eyeing him up and down like they were in a box ring. "What- you want me to prove you wrong again ? Cuz I can do that-"

"No, no," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why was she always so impulsive ? "I wanted to tell you that I submitted my article again, and the direction as well as the audience were really enthusiastic this time."

She seemed to relax, smiling instead. "That's great ! I'm happy for you."

"Also I added your name to it."

She... stopped smiling. In fact, she remained uncharacteristically silent, staring at him as if she was trying to see beyond his calm expression.

It was unsettling- deeply, extremely unsettling. It felt as though she could look at him and see everything he was hiding : his dead parents, his need for answers, his plan to get these files, his... his dead parents. There was nothing else he was hiding.

And yet, he felt his face go red under her scrutinizing gaze. Stupid, embarrassing shame.

"You helped me with the photography and the structure of the article, so it's only fair," he explained in a small voice, crossing his arms. He was not going to look at her. He was not going to meet her gaze and help her find whatever she was looking for. "And that's also why I'm here. I would like to offer you to- to work on a series of articles about the professor."

Clive still refused to watch her reaction, and it took another couple of seconds for Emmy to react : but when she did, she put her hands on her hips, leaning forward with a wide grin. Clive hated when she did that, it made him feel so small compared to her. She was also closer to him, which made him feel really... uncomfortable. And hot. "You want me to work on these ? With you, I suppose ?"

"Obviously," he scoffed, shrugging nonchalantly- or so he tried.

"...Why ?" She sounded concerned- curious too. There was something in her that wasn't sure about this project, and yet there was an even bigger part of her who wanted to get more out of this, to explore all the possibilities.

Clive couldn't care less about possibilities, or colleagues, or success : there was only one success that mattered to him, and it was getting these classified informations.

Which was exactly why he wanted to work with Emmy. Her proximity with Layton and, he'll admit it, her set of skills were perfect to help him reach his own goal. "Because you know a lot about the professor, and your stories are good material. Also, you could provide with pictures and- and presentation advices, I suppose. Probably," he muttered. She was still so close- should he step back ?

No, she would probably get offended. Oh well- he just had to keep standing inches from her, then.

She seemed amused. "I thought you weren't a Layton fan. Why are you asking me to tell you about him ?"

"He's a good inspiration for articles," he said, trying to sound professional- and why was he even trying ? This was professional. It was a professional setting. "Only an idiot would let this opportunity go."

"And you're not an idiot." She thought about it for a minute, before she shrugged : "Why not ! I'm here to create articles, after all. But first I need my coffee." She stretched her back before taking a few steps away, heading for her long-awaited beverage.

Clive felt... almost disappointed to see her leaving, but the unusual joy overcame it easily. She had accepted to work with him, they were gonna be a team- which meant that he was getting closer to achieving his goal. "Wait- want me to buy you a coffee ?"

She chuckled. "Don't ruin yourself for me, Clivey."

He didn't make any comment on the name.

-_-_-_-

Getting to work with Emmy was just delightful. She was as efficient as he was, both straight-forward in their criticism, always looking for ways to improve, listening to the other's suggestions before making up their minds. They made an exceptional team with perfect cohesion and excellent results.

Of course, the direction had noticed it too. Their articles were a hit among the newspaper's audience, even bringing in new customers : everyone was curious about this duo who wrote entertaining articles about some professor. It almost felt like fiction, and people liked to read these improbable stories that stood out from the rest of the usual news coverage.

The audience wanted more, the direction wanted more, and so Emmy and Clive logically decided to make more articles : day after day, week after week, they kept creating more and more stories, to the point that they would spend most of the day together- even the sacred coffee break.

"And that's how we found out that Descole really was behind all of this," Emmy finished her story, taking her cup of coffee in one hand. "I mean, I had my suspicions- but without the professor, I never would have guessed what was truly going on."

Clive nodded, absent-mindedly scribbling a few notes. His own cup had been left completely untouched, his coffee cold by now.

This detail didn't go unnoticed. "Cold coffee won't taste better, you know," Emmy joked.

Clive stopped writing, looking at his cup in silence.

Emmy frowned. "Hey, are you okay ?"

Clive looked at her, then at his notes. They were precise and neatly written at first, like always, before suddenly going... messy. Which was weird, because Clive hated messy.

"I just thought about something," he explained.

"Oh ?" She leaned forward on the table : her curious eyes were scanning Clive's face, waiting for any piece of information. Her coffee was left forgotten- it was disgusting anyway.

Clive brought his own cup to his lips, a poor attempt at hiding the blush on his face- because he was blushing, he knew that.

After all, this was exactly the something he had been thinking about.

It had taken him weeks to realize it. But surely enough, at some point, he had stopped listening to the stories and started listening solely to the voice telling them. He had stopped seeing work as a means to an end and started to look forward to seeing her in the morning, to sharing a coffee with her day after day.

He had even stopped caring about these stupid classified files. He would never stop being curious about the truth, wanting deep down to know what truly went down- but he could also portray his life in a world where he wouldn't get to know. Maybe he could never know, and still be okay, as long as he had another source of motivation.

Emmy. His work with her- scratch that. Just Emmy. He knew it was her and not these pointless articles : even the professor, his childhood hero, seemed to pale in comparison to her, recently.

He had wondered why the professor had made her his associate : now he knew, maybe even more than Layton himself.

"I was just- just thinking," he said, before taking a sip of coffee. It was cold, and bitter, and frankly disgusting : this newspaper should be able to afford better coffees, especially with all the records in sells recently. But this disgusting coffee allowed him to share a moment with Emmy, so maybe it was a bit okay. "About stuff."

"Very specific," Emmy mocked him, "Come on, spit it out !"

Oh, there was no way he was telling her. Admitting it -partly- to himself was already a big enough challenge. "I was- well, I was wondering if the professor was okay with us writing about his life."

Emmy rose an eyebrow, settling back in her chair. It really was just a game of getting closer and away, wasn't it ? "The professor doesn't mind. He is flattered someone is that invested in his adventures. He said he'd like to meet you, one day," Emmy simply answered, looking at him funny. There it was, that scrutinizing gaze that was looking for secrets, trying to uncover everything he wasn't saying- "But really, Clivey, we've been doing that for weeks. You only wonder about that now ?"

"I guess I didn't want this to stop, in case he was bothered," he simply said.

If Emmy noticed the way he passed up the opportunity to meet Layton himself, she didn't say a thing. "Ah, right. You're not an idiot, and you're not passing up any opportunities."

"Exactly," Clive said. He wasn't blushing anymore, so he put his coffee down- it was really too disgusting, anyway.

Emmy nodded. "We have enough for our next article. We should get back to work- you know, so you keep getting opportunities." She said this with a touch of humor, and Clive chuckled at it. It wasn't even that funny, but she had a way of making him happy that only worked with her : another colleague would have him rolling his eyes and spitting a distateful comment.

"Alright- I just need to go back to my desk first," he said, standing up and gathering his stuff.

In a fraction of second, Emmy was next to him. "Go get it, Tiger," she gently punched him in the shoulder. Uh, it'd been some time since she used that one.

"And Clive ?" She added. "I'm glad we took this opportunity. Together." And with that, she winked at him.

Clive stared dumbly at her, her words taking a minute to register : when they did however, he felt his whole face heating up in a way he couldn't possibly hide.

"I- uh- I mean-" He stuttered like an idiot, unable to form any thought. What did she mean by that ? Was this a friendly remark ? Or did she- did she also-

Was she also in love with him ? Because he was in love, madly. And maybe he hoped she was too.

He didn't know what miracle happened, but she left without any comments and he remained alone, his stuff in his hands and his heartbeat racing. He must look pathetic, being so red in the face and trembling because of a single remark. He was weak, weak for her, and what was left to be done ?

Luckily -a second miracle-, he didn't see any colleagues as he rushed back to his desk : if any of them had seen him like this, a trembling blushing mess, he probably would have no choice but to kill them.

Putting his stuff on one side of the desk, he himself dropped onto his chair, palms pressed against his face. Even now, even with his eyes closed, he could still see her beautiful smile, the way she winked at him-

No. No no no- he had to stop imagining stuff. There was no way she saw him as more than a colleague -a friend, maybe, emphasis on the maybe- and he would ruin everything if he couldn't respect her feelings on the matter. He didn't- he didn't actually need to- to date her- dating her, he was thinking about dating her and it sounded so wonderful, everything he could ask for, and-

No ! No, alright ? She wasn't interested, and he respected that. And he didn't need to date her, just getting to talk to her, to see her being so vibrant and passionate and confident, a real force of nature- just that was enough. He didn't need more.

He was happy with just getting to see her.

He dropped his hands, taking a deep breath. His heartbeat was still a bit fast, but it was returning to normal : even the red on his face was gone. It was alright. He would be alright, as long as he could keep things as they were.

And if he wasn't entirely satisfied with the way things were, if he kept longing for more, then it was his problem.

He opened his eyes, only to notice a white envelope on the middle of his desk. It... hadn't been there before. Who had put this here ?

Curious if not wary, he got closer and took the sheet of paper, turning it around in his hand.

On the front, he could read "Access to classified files granted"