#so you did. and oh. it was so much worse to think you could have it. that you had it together. and then finding he knew it was never a

[call-me-lemon]

Fuck it ill answer all of them in order

01: hah, no.

02: my cat

03: yup

04: Oh, very

05: Single

06: Im not picky

07: One single buttery round cracker

08: hah, no.

09: not anymore

10: hmm.. has to be several years ago now

11: yup.

12: Longer, even, just to prove that I could.

13: I hate several people.

14: I miss everyone.

15: Several!

16: My stomach hurts but my spirits are high. Im being very brave.

17: nope

18: Not as much as I used to be, but yes.

19: Nah, im good how I am. Things happened how they happened and theyre going to keep happening, so theres no point in meddling.

20: never snogged a day in my life

21: Exist and find joy in the moment. I never plan anything.

22: Nope

23: Nope, I only wear clipons.

24: uhhhh being gay.

25: A few, yes. My friends from elementary school (Primary for the brits)

26: Im not craving anything at the moment

27: I cant imagine so, im not desirable.

28: I can imagine so. My first bf was always flirtimg with anoother guy in front of me and when I told him it made me uncomfortable he just said "Dont worry about it" and we never spoke of it again. I think that counts.

29: Cannot confirm or deny, but its likely.

30: My feet kind of hurt.

31: I hope so.

32: Yellow. Pastel yellow, specifically.

33: Who can say for sure. I cant self-diagnose that kind of thing.

34: Trying to kill my mom in a fit of rage, but nothing I did had any effect on her and she talked down to me the entire time which only made the fit worse.

35: I dont remember.

36: Maybe. I dont like holding grudges, too much effort on my end.

37: for me, forget.

38: Who knows, its barely started.

39: probably either teen or preteen.

40: No.

51: (Fuck it ig we doing 50s now) Fetucinni alfredo

52: Probably not any reason higher than just the way the world is. There is no divine purpose and life is what you make of it.

53: I took my cat to the bathroom and gave her a piggy-back ride back into my room as was her will.

54: Nothing is black and white, but you'd better have a damn good reason or you get put into the pit.

55: Oh, very.

56: Like one or two at most and I did not do well.

57: Nope. In fact, I dislike the idea of having this one true love tied to you by fate. It takes all the choice out of the relationship. Either be with someone the strings of time have chosen for you, or be alone forever. Thats horrifying.

58: Snow and rain. Makes me sleepy

59: Love it.

60: I dont really care either way

61: Nope. I dislike that pet name even tho I use it personally for my cats, but it feels a little bit to demeaning to be used for a lover since in my experience its always been used from a position of power.

62: Living and being free to live.

63: I dont really like my name but I dont have anything I actually do like to change it to. I guess I just dont like being percieved.

64: I would rather kill myself actually.

65: God, I wish.

66: yes. Mostly. For the most part.

67: hermm... The owner of a warrior cats long term rp server.

68: I dont remember, I tend to say extremely deep sounding things at random. Im the stupidest bitch alive but it lets me spout sage wisdom once in a while.

69: No. Love is what you make of it.

70: I would die or kill for anyone I actually care about no questions asked.

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[cjlouwho]

Death at the Farmer's Market

You guys all decided on this poll that Tommy should get stabbed at the farmer's market, so here you go! *no major character death, a murder/suicide plot is briefly discussed*

He supposed the farmer's market wasn't the worst place to die. He'd prefer to be elsewhere, but it could be worse than the farmer's market.

He hoped his dad never found out he died right by the fruitcake stand. He could hear the jokes now.

Actually, his dad probably wouldn't come to the funeral, but he'd have to tell his buddies at the bar at some point.

He'd either completely ignore the whole “he was right by the fruitcakes” part, or he's use it as a silly little anecdote to lighten the mood.

Either way, Tommy wished he would've been stabbed literally anywhere other than by the fruitcakes. The soap booth would've been nice. Or by the bracelet lady. Hell, even the woman trying to get rid of the clothes she purchased at the height of some MLM scheme would've been preferred.

In fact, the MLM woman was super helpful at the moment as she used one of her checkered shirts to apply pressure to one of his wounds.

Tommy had managed to get the man on the ground before the stabbing happened. He just wished he'd known the guy had two knives instead of one.

He hadn't been the target. Had seen this man storming toward a woman and her daughter. She must've known him; she shouted his name when Tommy tackled him to the ground.

Tommy didn't let go of the man- Charlie, he thinks- until he stopped moving. The pain didn't register until the little girl screamed, pointing at him. He looked down to see blood soaking his shirt, and a knife sticking out of his chest.

He collapsed to the ground soon after that.

Right by the damn fruitcakes.

Thankfully, someone had the brains to yell out and make sure no one removed the knife.

Miss MLM dropped down beside him and pressed her clothing onto the wound that was bleeding the worst.

In his slightly dazed state, he tried to reach into his back pocket for his wallet. Felt the need to pay this lady for destroying her product.

Beside him, some man took his hand. Reassured him over and over that it'd be okay, help was on the way.

Tommy had heard that line before. Hell, he'd told people that line before. Not that help was coming, because he was the help. But he'd often tell people they'd be okay. Especially when he knew they wouldn't be. It's easier to die when you think you won't.

Tommy coughed. Ignored the taste of copper in his mouth. “T- The wo... woman?”

“She's okay,” another woman said. Tommy couldn't see where that voice was coming from. “You saved her.”

Well, at least he had that.

Then, there was another voice. A very familiar voice.

“Maddie?” Tommy mumbled.

Someone had called 9-1-1. They'd put her on speaker.

“M- Maddie, no... no one- eight-” he was cut off by another coughing fit.

The phone must've been near his head, because he was fairly certain she heard him.

“Tommy?! Tommy, is that you?”

The man holding his hand patted it, getting his attention. “Tommy? Is- Is that your name?”

“Mmmhm,” Tommy managed to hum.

“Yeah, his name is Tommy.”

Tommy was sure he heard an, “Oh God,” on the other end of the line. If he wasn't in the middle of dying he'd tell her she needed to work on her subtleties. Then she was off the line. Whether it was brief, or for a while, he wasn't sure.

“Hey, hey!” Hand-man exclaimed, hitting Tommy's hand harder now. “Keep your eyes open, Tommy! Come on, hang in there!”

Tommy glared at the man. He didn't need to be told what to do. If he wanted to close his eyes, he'd close his damn eyes! What the hell did it matter anyway?

Suddenly, people were yelling, and sirens could be heard in the distance. A path was being cleared seconds later, and familiar people with actual names dropped beside Tommy.

“Well look at this,” Chimney said, and Tommy made a note that he hid his panic much better than his wife did, “here to save your ass, yet again.”

“I ha- have... I have s- saved your ass a- a bunch,” Tommy deadpanned.

“Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in.”

“He's not wrong though,” Hen agreed, cutting Tommy's shirt open.

Tommy was about to attempt a joke about how he wouldn't have skipped his workout had he known he'd be exposed like this, but he was stopped before he could start.

“Tommy! Tommy!”

Tommy's eyes drifted up as Chimney and Hen continued working on him. “Ev- Evan, I didn't-”

“Shh,” Buck soothed, running his fingers through Tommy's hair. “Don't try and talk, just- just relax, okay?”

And oh, it ran in the family, because Evan was not doing a good job at keeping his tears in his eyes.

“S'okay,” Tommy said. His arm flailed up limply beside him until Buck took it. “S'okay. I- I'm okay, E-” He was cut off by another round of coughing, followed by severe pain, and ten suddenly, everything went black.

*****

Tommy wasn't exactly sure how death worked, but he was fairly certain it didn't involve waking up in a hospital bed.

He groaned as he blinked his eyes open, his body feeling stiffer than it ever had in his life.

“Tommy?”

He looked over to see Evan sitting in the chair beside him, eyes wide and wet. Their hands were tangled together, Evan's knuckles white from the tight grip.

“M- Morning,” Tommy muttered, voice gravelly.

He managed to get a little smile out of Evan with that. “It's actually ten at night.”

“Oh. Sorry for, um, sleeping all day.”

Buck rolled his eyes, letting go of Tommy's hand to grab a cup of water off the tray table.

“Sip,” he instructed, and Tommy obeyed.

“So... not dead, then?” Tommy asked once he was finished with his drink.

Buck sat and took his hand again. “Nope,” he confirmed. “Couldn't let you die by the table of fruitcakes.”

Tommy laughed, wincing when a flash of pain came over him. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Of course.”

“What... What about the other guy?”

“He... He didn't make it,” Buck replied. “I guess you two were, um, st- stabbing each other at the same time?”

“Didn't know he had the second knife,” Tommy said. “I'm not upset h- he's dead though.”

“You shouldn't be. He had a note with him. He was there to kill his ex-wife. Daughter too, then himself.”

“They'll... They'll be okay, won't they?”

Buck smiled. “They've already contacted the hospital. They'd like to visit, when you're up for it.”

Tommy looked down at their hands, giving Buck's a squeeze. “A day or two.”

Buck nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment, Buck rubbing his thumb over Tommy's. “I have a question.”

Tommy shook his head. “Here we go.”

“Why were you at the farmer's market? Alone? On a work day?”

“Are you sure I'm not dead? Positive th- this isn't purgatory?”

“Tommy.”

“I may have told a little, tiny fib about whether or not I could get off work early.”

“Thomas Buckley-Kinard!”

“I wanted to get you some flowers!” Tommy defended. “And I- I was gonna get the house all ready. Make you a special dinner, dessert, th- the whole nine yards.”

“See, this is what happens when we lie.”

“We get stabbed on our second wedding anniversary?”

“Exactly.”

Tommy sighed, pouting out his bottom lip at Buck.

“Don't do that!” Buck whined. “I can't deny your pout!”

“It's because I rarely bring it out. Forgive me, Evan?”

“I can't not forgive you after you got stabbed.”

“It would be very unfair,” Tommy agreed.

Another eye roll and Buck stood, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to Tommy's lips. “I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you too.”

“Don't ever get stabbed again, okay?”

“I'll try,” Tommy promised. “Especially not by the damn fruitcakes.”

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 13 - Five of Swords

summary : your first day spent in Demacia doesn't bring out the best of you.

content warnings : angst. like pull out the tissues angst. no comfort. also some flirting shit? oh and tension. a good meal overall i hope

word count : 8,2k

author's note : okay so i'm trying to survive classes and i tried writing this baby during the week while on the metro. it's quite a pain in the heart but hey dw it'll get better i promise.

NOT proofread for now

masterlist．．discord ．．playlist．．my ko-fi

The short journey to your place of residence prepared for the students had been deeply unbearable.

Demacians seemed to have a majority of water-related transport. You weren't really surprised, given that Demacia was known for its beaches and its inextricable links with the water that surrounded it for trade and tourism.

However, after that rather short night in a bed that wasn't very pleasant, you would have liked to have had a moment to settle down and enjoy a brief trip in a transport to observe the landscapes.

But walking was unavoidable. A horde of suitcase rollers were catching up on the white flagstones of the streets of the great city of Demacia. 

It was almost impossible to imagine the city as anything other than sunny. Its great white walls seemed incorruptibly pure, the sun bathing the sides of the citadel in resplendent light, while its blue slate domes gleamed in the sunlight like fish scales. 

You expected the city to have a cold atmosphere, an overly wise and tense staticity brought about by the strictness for which it was famous. But the markets were full of colour, crates full of exotic goods with colour combinations you only thought possible on paintings, rich fabrics and tourist attractions of all kinds bundling up in certain streets.

It was a city that combined the marine fluidity of its airs and waters with the formidable stability of its rocks and swords. It was almost impossible not to find a guard at every turn, to the point where it was almost more oppressive than reassuring. The sight of so many passers-by crossing the streets and their safety, however, softened the sensation.

And although you couldn't wait to take a shower and relax, the desire to wander the streets of this new place grew with every step you took. What a thrill it is to explore.

All this could have been superb, of course, if it hadn't been for a single factor that splashed mud all over this first immersion: Fiora.

Clinging to Viktor like a mussel to its rock, she had never stopped monopolising him and imposing her continuity. She pulled Viktor's suitcase like she was pulling a bin bag, pressing herself against him and laughing much more than necessary at every little interjection he made, often punctuating it with "What an interesting thing to say" or "Vikkie you're so funny!"

Vikkie, the nickname made your skin crawl with embarrassment. But what probably bothered you most was the fact that Viktor didn't do anything in particular to stop it. Was he just being polite? Or did he genuinely enjoy her company?

"Yes, she's always like that," Garen finally added with a sigh, his eyes visibly attentive to where yours were resting.

You sighed. "How long have you been handling her?"

He chuckled. "I think we're about to hit the second year in a row of a dreadfully thorny situation."

"Two years," you huffed, imagining what it would have been like if you and Viktor had carried on with that litter of stupid nemeses for so long.

"Yes ma'am," Garen nodded, himself seeming slightly surprised by this realisation.

"And has it always been like this?" 

"It gets worse when new things arrive and she wants said new things," he informed. "She needs to have her hands on the new, shiny toy."

"Is she a princess?" you questioned.

"Akin," Garen's gaze rested tiredly on Fiora's figure, raising his eyebrows, "she is the heir to one of the biggest families of Demacia."

"Damn," you whispered. "And she bites, I take it?"

"She is a fierce duellist, best one around here," grimaced Garen. "I wouldn't advise making any waves or tormenting her, she has a tendency to start useless gossip behind your back."

You nodded, taking in the information Garen had so graciously given you. "Crowns have strange effects on the heads they adorn."

He nodded, obviously finding your words accurate.

It didn't take you long to arrive at a building of at least six storeys, seemingly the same length as the point separating Zaun from Piltover and as wide as the length of The Young Prince. 

What had struck you so far was the geometry of the city. All the architecture of its streets was millimetre-perfect, everything mirroring each other almost impossibly perfectly like a surface on clear water. Arches of white stone criss-crossed in the air, no pillar was odd, and even the clothes of the residents were surgically symmetrical. It was almost disconcerting.

"The Hôtel Félixérie has graciously approved your accommodation as part of your stay," informed Madame Diane, turning to the group of students. "We'll leave you to drop off your belongings and take a moment to relax and get to know your room-mates a little better."

You'd imagined that the dormitories would be paired up again, and you'd probably expected the Piltover students to be with each other once more. However, Diane interrupted this train of thought.

"For fairly obvious reasons, the rooms will not be mixed. If your duos involve sex and gender differences, we will assign you to different rooms."

Their restrictions were totally acceptable, however, if the little gears in your brain weren't wrong, a terrible revelation took over.

You would have to share your room with Fiora.

You turned towards her, the latter already looking at you like a vermin to be eradicated, or the most useless thing this earth could have borne.

"Come forward, so we can allocate your rooms and take it into consideration."

So the group of students moved towards the teachers, your quartet staying back, Garen following to collect your room numbers. You reached Fiora, who was about your height, if perhaps a little shorter - which didn't stop her looking down on you for anything in the world.

So you watched her stature, her arm still firmly wrapped around Viktor.

You chuckled, observing the situation. "Are you going to sleep with him like he's your teddy bear? Or are you big enough to sleep without one."

Viktor turned to you, half surprised and half grateful. She arched an eyebrow at you, blowing out a laugh from her nose. "Scared of a child?"

"I'm not as spoiled of a kid as you," you replied.

"What is the ugly little thing saying?" she questioned.

"She's saying that you've got looks, and money," you remarked, "one of them is bound to run out."

She gave you a petty little smile. "Guess I'm rich in all cases. I still have twice more than you own."

"And twice more to lose," you pointed out, frowning, "and I don't lose."

She giggled, her upper lip rising in frustration. "So confident."

Your eyes looked her up and down, two thin slits under your eyebrows. "So ignorant."

"Viktor?" inquired Garen to cut short this obviously mindless discussion once he'd come back. "We're sharing the same room, do you need help with your belongings?"

The Zaunite's suitcase was still in Fiora's hand. She said nothing, ignoring you as she straightened her chin and let go of Viktor's arm as well as his luggage, exchanging a glance with Garen who seemed impassive to her attitude.

Viktor exchanged glances with you and then Garen. "No need," he confirmed politely.

"Alright," smiled Garen, turning to your little group, "we're all on the ground floor. Room 020 for Viktor and me, room 021 for you two,’ he explained as he handed you your keys, Fiora not even unlocking her arms from her chest to take the ones Garen was handing her.

"As if I was to share my room with someone like you," Fiora almost choked out.

"At least something we agree on," you breathed before pulling your suitcase towards the building.

You had only one thing on your mind: taking a shower and putting on clean clothes. Demacia had a warmer climate than Piltover, and although the sun wasn't high in the sky, the air was already hot, and your walk to the hotel didn't help the feeling.

The interior of the hotel was charming, managing to bring warmth to its ambience despite its cold bluish tones. It didn't take you long to find your room, shoving the key into the lock more hastily than you would have liked.

You pulled your suitcase onto a tiled floor with hexagonal stones alternating royal blue and creamy white, two thick beds next to each other already making you regret coming here just from the perspective of who would take the second one. You placed your suitcase on the side of the bed you'd settled on taking, removing your coat, which was already far too warm for your back and shoulders.

There was a knock at the door, and you turned to see Garen, his stature taking up almost all the light in the corridor in the silhouette of the door.

"Got the word from Madame Lolanthe," he began, "the Piltover students get a one hour break in their rooms before we come back to get you ready for the Academy visit."

"Okay," you nodded, getting rid of your scarf, "thank you for telling me."

"No problem," he smiled, leaning against the doorway, "You hold up to her well."

"Hold up to her?" you repeated, almost confused.

"That talk about the looks, and the money," he noted, "I know who's words I'll repeat whenever she gets on my nerves again."

You smiled. "One will buy you sympathy, the other will buy you the rest. Unfortunate that with her great wealth she can't buy me," you sighed, folding your scarf to lay it on the corner of your bed. "She doesn't seem to like it very much."

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's because she's never had someone come on her territory and impose themselves so easily."

You arched an eyebrow, a small sneer tugging at the corner of your lips. "I'm imposing?"

He chuckled. "To her? She won't ever admit it, but you're terrifying."

"And to you?" you questioned, "Am I any threat to the sublime of a Demacian student like you?"

He considered you for a moment. "That remains to be seen."

You smiled at him one more time, placing your suitcase on your bed to open it. 

"Don't worry, I'm not going to engage in verbal fencing with you. So far at least you've given me no reason to do so," you explained as you took out your toiletries.

"I shall do everything in my power for it to remain as such," he confirmed, placing his hand on his chest solemnly and bowing his head slightly. "I'll leave you to your rest, see you in an hour."

"See you in an hour," you repeated simply as he disappeared from the doorway. 

He reminded you of Jayce, but wiser, more chivalrous than naive, more observant than questioning.

So you finally grabbed some new clothes and headed for the second room in your bedroom, which was undoubtedly the bathroom. Were you all so stinky that the Demacians urged you to shower at all costs? It would have been funny, an unnecessary rivalry in a programme that encouraged the exact opposite.

The bathroom was an elegant composition of blue, white and pearly grey mosaics. Two wash basins carved from rough white stone stood next to each other in front of a large oval horizontal mirror. In the corner to your left was the toilet, and in the corner to your right was the ivory-white bathtub.

You were almost tempted to pick up your suitcase and put it in the bathroom with you while you showered, just to make sure that the bratty Fiora didn't come poking around in it or doing anything stupid.

After all, in your belongings was an object that could potentially get you into a lot of trouble here if it were found: your tarot deck.

Demacia's little worry in this instance was a deep-seated aversion to magic and all that surrounds it. Who wouldn't be when the history of its people was rooted in magical wars and the terror that ensued? Petricite, the material from which their protection came from the trees of their forests, was undoubtedly in abundance in the walls surrounding you. It was almost oppressive, as if the air were less breathable, more contained than ever in a box.

You stripped off your clothes and slipped under the water, which must also have been filtered specifically for petricite. It seemed almost dry, leaving an unpleasantly light sensation on your skin as you soaped yourself up almost furiously.

Your thoughts returned to your Tarot deck. You just hoped that the energies wouldn't affect it, and that you wouldn't be caught red-handed. You would have to be discreet about this activity, however naive, to avoid any lightning strikes.

You took your time to prepare yourself. You put on some simple clothes for the rest of the day, something comfortable enough to move around in and not suffer from the heat, and rearranged your suitcase, making sure you looked perfectly presentable.

You left your room after slipping your suitcase under your bed, knocking on the door of your comrade to whom you hadn't been able to speak since you set foot on Demacian soil.

"Come in," answered the familiar accent behind the door.

You turned the handle, opening the door to find Viktor sitting on one of the two beds. He seemed to be busy placing a particular mechanism on his bad leg, a strap running from his lower thigh to the sole of his shoe. He was bent over, arranging a sort of screw-on part on the side of his knee.

The system seemed to be complex, an orthopaedic support made of metal and leather for better stability, no doubt, in the same way that corsets were worn for scoliosis.

You'd never seen him wear it before.

"Is it in preparation for the walk we're about to go on?" you questioned.

He sighed heavily, rearranging a belt against his thigh and trying to smooth the creases in his trousers under the pressure. "Mademoiselle Laurent's brisk walk doesn't seem to have been very kind," he raised his amber gaze to yours, "I fear the upcoming days might be more difficult than what I expected."

You sighed, taking a step forward into the bedroom. "Yeah," you nodded, "not sure how I will handle the whole Fiora thing... At least Garen's nice so far."

His eyes moved from yours to his thigh again, tightening another bolt. "Mhm."

"You guys got cool rooms!" Jayce's voice made you turn towards him, coming from the other end of the corridor, poking his head through the doorways. "Ours is all..." he grimaced, his eyes crinkling as his upper lip lifted to the side, "green."

"Got something against the green of nature, Talis?" you remarked, arching an eyebrow.

"Absolutely not!" he snapped, raising his hands in the air to clear his throat. "It's just that ours is... ugly."

"Do you miss the gold of Piltover already?"

"A bit."

"Have the Kirammans changed you so much? Unless... has Mel got you used to luxury?"

"I-" he almost choked, but before he could pull himself together and resume his sentence, he frowned, mouth open. His eyes flicked to a point in the void before turning to Viktor, with whom he exchanged a glance. "Do you think what she thinks?"

Viktor breathed in, holding his breath for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and sighing in agreement. Jayce looked like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Am I... a high-class hooker?"

You grinned, putting your hand on his shoulder and patting it. "I think there are worse realisations in life than this."

"True, but... how do you know for sure."

"It's not a wildly complex diagnosis," Viktor remarked as he grabbed his cane and straightened up. "First the bottles of champagne with more than one zero."

"Then the petits fours," you pointed out.

"And the new shirts piling up in the dressing room..." Viktor continued.

"Fine!" stopped Jayce. ‘Fine, I see your point,’ he straightened up, trying to puff out his chest as he pretended to deconstruct the image you'd given him, sighing in vain as he watched you with plaintive eyes, "this is so bad isn't it?"

"It's the end of the world," you grinned.

Viktor shook his head, playing disappointment. "What happened to my work partner?"

"Hey!" squeaked Jayce.

Viktor turned to you. "Did you know he leaves the apartments three nights out of four to go see Mel?"

"What?" Your mouth opened in a terrible mock shock as you put your hand to your chest comically, "that's heartbreaking."

"I know," sighed Viktor dramatically, "I end up starring at the pile of his new shirts in the corner while I kill myself on work."

"Jayce," you huffed, "how could you?"

"Stop this! You two!" begged Jayce.

You finally smiled and gave up the act. "Relax, gold suits you anyway."

"You guys are the worst," grumbled Jayce as you and Viktor exchanged playful glances.

You headed out of the hotel, meeting up with Sky who instantly came over to you.

"That Fiora's already got you in her sights," she muttered.

You sighed, looking around as if to see if she was spying on you, but if she was, she wasn't within earshot. "I know, it's like I'm attracting them all like a magnet. Let's hope it doesn't last any longer than that, otherwise this trip may quickly be robbed of its holiday quality."

When the rest hour came to an end, Madame Diane finally showed up again an exact hour as the time she had left you. Their organisation was finely measured, timed and unforgivable.

Fiora couldn't help but regain her position as the cling-on next to Viktor.

"Pulled out your fanciest shoes for me?" she giggled as her eyes roamed Viktor's aid.

He sighed, "If I have to keep up with you, this is more than needed."

She gave you a dark look, though it was different from the one she'd previously thrown at you so far. There was a sort of flash of malice, an unpleasant aspect of that of a chess player with a sick and evil strategy.

You took no further notice as the walk to the Demacian Academy began.

You passed various buildings, Diane telling you a few little facts about the history of the streets and specific places. Jayce made comments here and there.

"How do they build such edifices?" he asked, amazed by the city's architecture and its intricacies.

"By piling stones on top of each other," you replied, Garen smiling beside you, your eyes witnessing Viktor's cheekbones rising at your remark from your view of his back.

You finally reached the Demacia Academy. Its campus formed a pile of wings of buildings of varying sizes and architecture. 

"Each study environment," as Madame Diane pointed out as you walked through the Academy's gardens, "is separated into its own buildings. We are privileged and proud to be able to welcome all kinds of cultures and knowledge within our walls. Humanities, Engineering, Art, all forms of wisdom are welcomed without any hierarchy."

Your eyes roamed over the bluish domed roofs, wondering if from the inside these same tiles covered all the light or if their material was transparent like sunglasses.

"A single point joins the students who wish it," she raised her long index finger in the air, pointing to the sky as if the almighty sky bequeathed to her every truth about the globe.

Garen pressed his palm against your shoulder, your eyes resting on it as he whispered into your ear.

"See over there?" the index finger of his hand on your shoulder, seemingly engulfing you by its size, pointed in a direction you followed.

"Mhm?" you hummed, observing a flat area that wasn't concreted over and seemed to be covered in a long, black, loose carpet.

"That's the training area," his warm breath brushed against your ear, "me and Fiora meet there every morning."

"We want our students to stay healthy and to help each other," Diane recited aloud.

Garen huffed, continuing to murmur. "If you'd like to see her lose eventually, this is where the show's at."

"Lose?" you repeated in a whisper, your eyes drifting to Fiora next to Viktor, who just seemed to have turned his head away.

"Mhm," said Garen before straightening up and letting go of your shoulder, "I've heard that it's something you don't do."

You smiled, a little laughy breath escaping from your lungs. 

"Thus, we have a training area dedicated to this," Diane continued, "our students can go there whenever they like, it's a free field. Now, if you don't mind, we're going to continue..."

But you could barely register another sentence at the moment, your eyebrows furrowing as you began to move forward with the rest of the group. 

One thought remained in your mind, however. Something that had struck you suddenly, something that surprised you more than you would have thought: not a shiver had been born under Garen's breath on your skin.

It was strange, not a single hair standing on end, no heat rising to your cheeks. Nothing. 

It was only when the memory of Viktor's breath hit the back of your neck that it began to heat up.

You tried to pull yourself together, to ignore this information, and to ignore the warm sensation in your stomach as your eyes found Viktor's combed brown locks.

It's probably nothing,’ you tried to convince yourself.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly, exploring the library and some of the historic sites on campus. You had eaten in a charming restaurant near the hotel, while the Demacian students returned to their cafeterias and afternoon classes and Heimerdinger gave you a lesson on Demacia. He had preferred to postpone his lessons on Demacia to save them for the trip, for a better immersion and to truly submerge you in his lessons.

Fiora was glued to Viktor like a leech, as if when he let go of her arm he was going to fall face first onto the pavement. She kept sending you these petty little smiles, and you kept giving her a deeply neutral expression.

The night came earlier than expected, and you dreaded the idea of having to share this room, which was supposed to be so pure and perfect, with an oddball like her.

You were already strangely regretting the night you'd spent with Viktor. Admittedly, you hadn't always had the best of times when you were forced into close proximity, but that didn't detract from the fact that you had common ground and mutual respect.

Up until now, Fiora hadn't earned your respect.

And to your surprise, as the hours passed and you read in bed, she never came.

Many thoughts raced through your mind, tirelessly changing subjects and possibilities.

Was she with Viktor? you wondered.

No, Garen and Viktor went to bed together.

So where is the viper? Perhaps it's in its burrow, at home in who knows which grand Demacian mansion, in a bed with silk sheets and canopied curtains. Madame's sleep must not be damaged or altered in any way.

And that breath on your skin, that hadn't done anything to you? Why did it?

Sleep overtook you quickly though, overpowering your fiery spirit, Demacia's jet lag catching up with you faster than you thought possible.

When you awoke, it was early enough in the morning that the horizon was still a gradation of night leading towards the bright pearl of the sun. Your eyes found Fiora's bed empty and perfectly tucked in just as you had found it.

You took advantage of the fact that the city was still a little asleep to get out your tarot deck. You knocked on both sides, hoping to release whatever energy the petricite could have brought.

You performed your usual little ritual, and the card of the day turned out to be the five of swords. The little booklet provided you with the following information: 

Cruelty. Think about your actions and words. False accusations. Cowardice. Inflated ego at the expense of others. Taking advantage of others.

This is a warning card that reminds you of the power of your words and actions. An argument has ended and there is a winner, a loser, and a mediator. Who do you identify with on this card? Which character represents you at this precise moment? If you don't recognise yourself in this card, who or what does it remind you of? What lessons can you learn from this image?

You were sighing, an argument? It was probably because of yesterday with Fiora, because of what you had to learn from it.

So you got ready for the day, looking forward to meeting Garen on that famous training area. You had discussed the time at which him and the pretentious one would meet, deciding to join them a little later to let them do their training but above all to go there with a small group of students who intended to visit more of the university with their Demacian duos.

The days were to be split in two. In the morning, the Demacian students would be in class, while the Piltovian students would have their history lessons with Heimerdinger. The afternoons would be devoted to visiting Demacia, its monuments, museums and so on.

So you went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. There you met Viktor and Jayce, sharing their table. You helped yourself to the buffet in this luxury self-service restaurant before coming over to them.

"Good morning," greeted Viktor, sipping his coffee as his eyes were riveted on what appeared to be the local newspaper.

"Morning," you replied as you sat down at their table.

"You know," Jayce began with his mouth full, "I'm not usually a fan of switching foods but," he twitched his nose as he chewed energetically, "I gotta hand it to them, it's really good."

"You would eat flowers if they were edible," you remarked before bringing your own breakfast to your lips, nodding at the taste, though.

"Ah ha! See?" Jayce remarked at your expression.

You shrugged. "Not bad."

Actually, what you were chewing was delicious, but it wasn't hard to reach that level given your diet of mostly simple pasta and stir-fry in your flat.

"Come on," Jayce tried, turning to Viktor, "their coffee's good too."

The questioned man abandoned his reading of the newspaper, taking in hand a pastry covered in icing sugar. "I'll admit that it's not bad."

"Not bad?" you remarked, arching an eyebrow. "Better than mine?"

He chuckled. "Not possible."

You nodded. "Huh, I guess I'll just have to check for myself," you remarked, pressing your palm against the table as you prepared to get up and help yourself to the drink area.

"You can just drink from mine," suggested Viktor.

The pressure of your weight on your palm eased, turning your head towards him. "From yours?"

He watched you for a moment, then picked up his cup and placed it in front of you. "I don't know if I'll be able to finish it in one go," his back found the back of the seat, "so, we can share."

You considered the mug for a moment, observing the ring of foam that had dried and marked the inside of the cup, waiting to be drunk. It seemed sweet, like what Viktor used to drink.

You curled your fingers around its handle, the round, slightly flattened cup feeling pleasantly heavy in your hand. You brought it to your lips, blowing gently on its contents and noticing the previous mark of the sip Viktor had taken.

Your glance met his, moving from your mouth to your eyes, your lips resting where his had been moments before, before you took a sip without your gaze ever leaving each other's. 

His jaw seemed to tense for a moment as your tongue passed over your lower lip to catch the last few drops of coffee before placing the cup back on the table.

You nodded, raising your eyebrows. "Not bad."

Viktor's amber eyes had a strange blackness in them, pierced by a dark glint you couldn't make out that brought more warmth to your cheeks and neck than the coffee.

"I told you!" Jayce exclaimed, bringing you back to reality almost brutally.

What was going on? Why was the air suddenly so thick and tense?

Your eyes lowered to your breakfast, taking a small bite as you returned to Viktor gently through your eyelashes. His gaze was still on you, his long, slender fingers wrapping around the waist of the cup and bringing it to his mouth.

His eyes lit up with a strange satisfaction as your lips parted and his came to rest where yours had been only seconds ago. 

Your heart leapt in your chest as you engulfed your entire meal in one mouthful, preferring to find an excuse like this to the suffocation you were beginning to feel from the pounding of your heart against your ribs, which were suddenly too narrow to contain it.

Viktor looked at you, as surprised as he was amused by the suddenness of this behaviour.

"You look nervous," Jayce pointed out, "are you alright?"

You met his gaze, your eyes drifting over Viktor's for a moment as you swallowed your mouthful with difficulty. Quick, an excuse, or something.

"I'm going to try and train with the Demacian students," you explained.

Jayce's eyebrows rose, Viktor's frowned.

"You're about to try and train with them?" the taller one repeated, wiping the crumbs from his sweet tooth with the back of his hand, "the same students that have a training area and some of the best fighters in all Runeterra?"

You stuffed your mouth with another part of your breakfast, trying to take some strength for what would await. "Yes."

Breakfast continued simply until you finally decided to go to the Academy campus. The sun was higher in the sky, already warm as you made your way to the training ground.

A group of students were occupying various parts of the large area, a variety of wooden weapons clashing against each other in a waltz of energetic movements and grunts.

The small group of Piltovian students approached this area, some coming to meet up with their duet mates, others standing back to observe the scene.

You finally caught sight of Garen, busy at the moment against a mannequin, his stature seeming even more imposing that way. Dressed in a navy blue t-shirt with sweat stains on the collar and back, baggy black trousers and combat boots, he looked perfectly military.

When he met your eyes, he smiled at you, indicating with his fingers that you should come closer. You pointed your index finger at yourself, exchanging glances with Jayce and then Viktor.

"Don't look at me," the latter pointed out, "if I've got any place on this field it's as a training dummy."

You shrugged. "I'm sure you'd make an amazing fencer with your cane," you said before stepping forward when Garen came your way.

You reached him on the pitch, the feel of the ground softer and smoother than you would have thought. No doubt to reduce the damage of falls, which were bound to be numerous around here.

"Good morning," Garen greeted you when you reached him.

"Good morning," you pressed your lips into a thin line. "I think by coming here I've voluntarily signed my death warrant."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," he confirmed in a soft laugh, starting to move forward.

"Fiora isn't here?" you questioned, anxiously.

"She went ahead to get herself some water, she'll be back soon," he explained.

"Hope she takes her time," you sighed, "I'd like to... try training."

He turned to you in surprise. "Try training?"

"Mhm," you confirmed, "gotta get the full experience of this trip, I guess?"

He chuckled, nodding finally. "Alright, what would you like to try?"

"What's on the menu for bruises and sore muscles today?" 

"Hmm," he glanced at the few remaining wooden weapons, "let us try with a staff."

Your eyes followed his gaze, settling on one of the weapon bearers. A row of quarterstaffs was there, waiting to be retrieved. 

Fighting with wands, the joke was almost ridiculously simple if you thought back to the five of wands.

He picked one up, throwing it at you as you caught it in the air.

"Good reflexes," he remarked as he took one in turn, "it's going to be needed." He twirled the staff in his hand with ease, positioning himself in front of you. "Show me what you know."

You had distant memories of using a staff, of parrying, of attacking, even if you weren't an expert and wasn’t sure about your capacity on bringing them back to life.

You had to get it into your head that you weren't there to win, but to learn, to take in new information and rediscover what it meant to learn through interest rather than obligation.

You described a swing in the air, the wood hissing as Garen easily parried the blow, coming into your game. All he had to do was push a little harder against you so that the pressure made you tilt your balance and he took advantage of it to try a blow that you still managed to parry before stepping back and almost losing your balance.

"You're smaller than me, and probably faster," commented Garen, "use it to your advantage."

"How am I supposed to do that?" you questioned, tightening your grip around your staff in the hope that your muscle memory would do the job.

Garen repositioned himself, smiling slightly. "Surprise me."

You chuckled, tapping the tip of your stick on the ground twice before repositioning yourself, bending your knees and tensing your shoulders.

You trotted towards him a little, raising your staff in the air before deviating and giving a kick with your foot on his at the last moment to shift the balance. His grip was firmer on it than you thought, but the blow was enough to divert his attention to the gesture and you drove your stick into his foot, causing him to grunt as you tried to go around him to hit the back of his knees.

Realising your trick though, he changed his stance, pivoting towards you and swinging an arc through the air that you stepped back from in time, dodging his next blow by placing your palm on his staff to squeeze it and pull it towards you to bring him down.

But his weight of muscle won out over yours, so he used your initial idea to his advantage by pulling you towards him until your back was against his chest and he was holding his staff under your chin.

You felt his warm chest under the fabric of his T-shirt, his chest expanding and sinking against you as you felt the wood of his staff push your chin up until your eyes met his. He huffed, cracking a smile.

"You did good," he breathed, cracking a smile before the grip on your chin eased and he released you.

You took a step forward, turning to face him. "Just good?"

"Not satisfied with good?" he pointed out.

"No," you chuckled as you grabbed your staff with both hands, ready to attack again.

He smiled, changing position again. "Then do better, Piltie girl."

"Would you look at that?"

Your eyes rolled heavenward as you recognised this insufferable voice and turned to Fiora.

She was wearing a uniform similar to that of Garen. A dark plum turtleneck t-shirt with short sleeves, trousers less wide than Garen's, and perfectly polished boots.

She was equipped with her most mocking smile. "How did you end up here?"

You shrugged, letting one hand fall away from the staff before your arm dropped to your side. "I thought I'd come here for a holiday camp, but too bad the activities and organisers aren't great."

She giggled, her eyebrows arching as she turned to the remaining staff to pick one up. Some students stopped practising, observing the scene. Fiora undoubtedly had her own little reputation which she maintained proudly, and to see someone standing up to her must have been a novelty for many.

"Let's see what you're made of," she said, putting herself on guard against you.

You sighed. "I don't want to fight you," you remarked as you moved towards the receptacle to lay down your weapon.

But she prevented you from doing so by sending it flying further away from a single hit. You glared at her.

Her smile was evil, her eyebrows low over vicious eyes. "You're gonna have to pick it up if you want to put it back there."

"Fiora," Garen warned, "stop."

"It's fine," you assured him, watching Fiora's face change between satisfaction and impatience.

You knew she was trying to push you, to build up your frustration to get a reaction out of you. You didn't want to give her the pleasure.

You breathed a sigh, walking over to the staff on the ground before picking it up. But as you turned, you barely had time to reflexively place the staff in front of your face as a parry.

Fiora had just tried to attack you, and violently at that.

"Fight," she insisted as you took a step backwards. "Don't they teach you how to fight in Piltover?"

You huffed, trying to get round her as she circled after you like a predator around its prey. "Guess we swapped war for intellect," you pointed out, feeling more in the mood for a verbal joust than a physical one, "I can see how the lack of it is visibly affecting you."

Fiora frowned, pointing the end of her staff at you. "What did you just say?"

You smiled, getting caught up in the game. "Do I have to repeat it for you? Or break it down into digestible pieces for your little brain?"

She grunted before drawing rapid attacks in the air that you managed to parry and avoid until you crossed the wood and found yourselves close. 

"You are so lacking in intelligence that neither education nor experience has helped you to fill this gap in your nature," you taught her.

She punched you in the stomach before hitting you in the thigh with her staff, forcing you to your knees. You felt the tip of her staff under your chin, firm and raw as she looked down at you.

"Look at who's kneeling before me," she sneered as she exchanged smiles with the surrounding students.

You didn't let her get to you though. "Simply tying my shoes, your majesty."

The nickname seemed to irritate her in a less visible way than the others, but you could still make out the little muscle near her eye tense up.

She offered a simple blow of her nose in laughter, leaving you on the ground as her stick dislodged itself from your chin.

She then turned to her audience, rounding on you. ‘What a fierce little thing she is, isn't she?’ she quizzed.

You turned towards her, straightening up as you frowned.

"By your words I believe you called me ignorant, so I did a bit of digging." She wore a smile that was about to cause some serious errors. "You will be surprised to learn that," she turned to you with a wicked smile, "she's an orphan."

Your lips parted as your chest began to tighten in anger, the other students around you all glaring at you like a freak show.

"No one ever wanted her," Fiora went on as if she were presenting a tragic two-bit story, "until she got taken in by pity."

You wanted to rip her tongue out. How could she know? How dare she put it out there for everyone to see?

She hovered around you, addressing her audience to paint a pitiful picture. 

"Got a failure? Get another for half the price!" She sneered as she described dramatic gestures of demonstration, calming down on the theatrical though as she turned back to you, eyes half-closed with pretense and pointing at you with her staff. "So now," she resumed, tone condescending, "she tries to remove that tag off herself by being first everywhere!" She turned to the other pupils as if they were little children learning a lesson. 

Your knuckles had turned white from squeezing your fists so tight, your breathing quickening as your anger built.

She turned to face you. "As if that was going to change her nature."

"That's enough!" Garen growled as he approached her.

"What's wrong? I am simply stating facts," Fiora pointed out falsely, innocently.

Their conversation faded from your mind, however, as your frustration rose inside you. 

Who was it? Who was it that could have given her this information?

There were only three people who knew about this matter. Only three. Jayce, Sky...

And Viktor.

Viktor, who had spent his time in Fiora's company, who was always glued to his arm, who had had to give in to the fatigue and frustration of her questions by answering her about you while she was scheming against you.

There was only him.

Your body seemed to you like a suit of armour in a garden of white statues of purity, where the ruby-red roses of anger were allowed to overtake the metal covering your rage.

Clad in armour. 

Ready.

"You said you wanted to fight?" 

Your voice echoed through the air louder than you could have imagined, but loud enough that all heads turned towards you. Fiora smiled, having finally achieved her goal.

"You've changed your mind?"

"Yes." Your tone was firm, rigid.

"That is most delightful to hear," Fiora smiled, turning to her audience and raising her arms before regaining your gaze, "I'll even do you the honour of choosing your weapon."

"No weapons."

Your whole body tensed, your fingers twitching as your muscles seemed to prepare themselves for what was about to happen.

Fiora raised her eyebrows. "Fists? How barbaric.’

"Scared your fancy manicure can't handle it?"

It was asking everything in your power not to let your voice explode in the air, to remain calm and articulate.

All the same, Fiora seemed fascinated by your determination to continue to stand up to her, to refuse to give up, to abandon in the face of her.

"Careful Fiora," shouted one of the students, "I've heard she's a witch."

Had she finally infiltrated your room? Looked through your things while you were asleep? Or had she managed to hear about Selene and had already started to do her viper's work of spreading rumours? Either way, she was already on to you.

"Glad to know we're on the right territory to get rid of this kind of waste," smiled Fiora.

"You can't beat me," you put the staff back in its receptacle, moving away again to get ready, "only one person gets to have that honour."

Your eyes landed on Viktor, who was watching the scene with furrowed brows.

You readied your breath, stopping your heart from getting too big in your chest as your legs prepared to hold your balance.

"So eager," Fiora sighed with a stupid grin, stepping forward to place her staff, "I didn't know you would-"

But as soon as the staff was placed, your knuckles made hard contact with her cheek, sending her to the ground.

A wave of shocked murmurs took over the crowd as you stood, eyes lowered on Fiora as she leaned back to straighten herself on the floor, her perfectly smooth fringes slightly dishevelled revealing her wide eyes as she brought her palm to her cheek still warm from the blow.

"Get up," your voice was cold, trying to remain unwavering while your fist trembled. "You said you wanted a fight, so," your lips were full of rage, "fight."

Fiora snarled, springing to her feet and running at you with the breath of a bull seeing red. She tried to land a blow on your face to return the favour, but you dodged it and punched her in the stomach, her curling up as you grabbed her hair and she started screaming.

"You fucking bitch!" she cried.

She slapped you on the shoulder and you let go, throat rocky with wrath. "Yell at me again and I'll give you a proper reason to scream."

There was a dangerous growl in your voice, a grinding of a gear powering an old machine that was starting up again.

She came back at you, landing a blow on your leg in the hope of making you kneel again, but she was only marginally successful. She hit you in the jaw, causing you to back away slightly, before delivering a second blow to the cheekbone.

You didn't give her the honour of adding a third strike, offering her a violent punch in the throat that took her backwards as you took a slight leap and slammed your hand hard into her face, her grabbing your clothes and dragging you backwards as she fell.

Sitting on her abdomen, your two knees blocked her arms as you gained free reign over her guard.

You hit her once, twice, thrice, her cheek beginning to swell. Your blows increased in intensity, the tension in your fist not stopping you even if the bones in your hand broke.

"Stop this!" 

Two thick arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you out with difficulty as you struggled in vain.

Garen pulled you away from the body of Fiora, who had turned to spit a cloud of bloody spray onto the floor. Your eyes never let go of her, as if you were obsessed with your real aim of seeing her admit defeat.

"You," you snapped at her, regaining some calmness though, "you're the one that started spreading gossip about me behind my back aren't you?"

Fiora turned to you, breathless. "What?" Her voice was hoarse from your blow.

"Don't make me repeat myself," you threatened, fully aware that you hadn't hit any of her eardrums and that she could understand you perfectly well.

She breathed heavily. "Why does it matter?"

You approached slightly, fists still clenched as you watched her on the floor, pathetic.

"Just wanted to make sure you knew your place."

Fiora shook off the hands of the students who had just tried to help her off ofto the floor, her furious eyes finding you as she struggled to get to her feet.

You realised the extent of the damage your fury, your uncontrollable anger, had done. Fiora's face was red, one of her eyelids bulging as blood poured from her nose, joining the red on her lips and gums.

You could have gone on, made things worse. Who knows how far you could have gone? What irreversible damage you could have caused? What life you could have taken in your own anger?

The realisation hit you like an anvil.

Your eyes roamed the crowd, the faces of the frightened students.

I... I did this? you thought.

I made them look at me with... fear?

Your eyes found Fiora still on the ground, grunting in pain and coughing.

Monster.

That's all you were. A being incapable of overcoming the violence that had nourished her, of abandoning the bosom of this bitter mother who had cuddled her so much and made her grow.

Your gaze wandered over the rest of the pupils, until it met his.

Viktor's face was shocked.

No, please...

His lips were parted and his eyes wide as you felt your hands impossibly sticky with the hot blood they had spilled.

Please, don't look at me like that... Your heart was trembling. 

Not you.

You had to get out of here.

Hands clasped to your sides, you strode across the pitch, the few students even two metres away from you moving away as you passed.

I made them like this. Although this thought might have given some people a feeling of pride and power, you couldn't help but feel covered in a terrible shame.

You couldn't meet anyone's eyes as you made your way to the nearest water source, away from any eyes.

You turned the crank on a fountain to turn it on, your breath quickening with anxiety.

I have to get this off me.

You ran your hands frantically under the water, rubbing the reddened skin of your knuckles and trying to get rid of the blood that was already starting to dry.

You returned to the handle as the water subsided, your hand coming into contact with the blood you'd left behind when you turned it the first time.

You make everything dirty. Everywhere you go there will be blood if you go on.

You swallowed a sob as you tried to clean the crank and your hands again.

But nothing would wash the feeling away. Nothing could extinguish the fire still burning in your fingertips. Nothing could make you forget the warm, slimy sensation of the pain you'd committed, of the violence at the edge of your skin.

It's what you're made of.

You sat against the wall, banging both wet fists against your skull as if that would stop those thoughts from ruling your mind.

And he'd seen you. He saw you like this. Your violence coming to life before his eyes, reflected in an indecipherable Iris.

You put your head between your knees, tried to take a deep breath before you got up, your legs weak and trembling as you made your way back to the hotel.

Stupid, stupid crown.

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[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Thinking about Arthur Morgan not being able to handle seeing you in a pretty dress <3

Aside from the fact that you looked absolutely ethereal, the dress was very intricate and fragile that it took everything in him not to tear it apart :(

Arthur didn’t even register that Dutch was talking to him when you walked out of your tent.

He’s doubted Dutch’s plans countless times before but he’s really questioning the man right now. As if working with you wasn’t distracting enough. Add a dress to the mix why don’t you?

His hand stayed on the small of your back the entire evening because that’s the most he’s allowed. He definitely exploited it every chance he got, scaring away any man that even dared to look in your direction.

You asked for a dance. So sweetly that it made him realize he isn’t capable of denying you anything. He moved so gingerly despite his size, avoiding the hem of your dress at all times and going against his desire to be closer to you.

Oh how he wanted to keep holding your hand.. Calloused fingers gently lingering on your soft ones when both of you reached the end of the stairs.

He felt like he had his very own princess. Like the ones in stories Hosea used to read him.

You were more than a little tipsy when the night ended, asking him to help with removing your dress. Everyone was asleep and you made him promise to not help that far.

He happily reluctantly obliged, his big hands cautious with the fabric because he knows how much the dress means to you.

All the while, his heart was beating so hard against his chest, he swears it could leap out at any second. Though he was more worried about you hearing it.

You slipped off the complicated garment, revealing more than you promised and stumbling all over. Even in your drunken state, you know Arthur would always catch you. Had you been sober, you’d also know how much he’d stare.

And he did catch you. Making sure to gather the dress before you got to step on it too. Even so, he’d much rather be attending to you and you alone.

Your hushed giggles made him smile, his cheeks growing redder by the second. How are you acting like you aren’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes (and his hands) on?

His pants have been tight all night. Worse when you stopped swaying to stand between his legs and looked into his eyes.

Like you’re about to kiss him.

But you fell asleep in his arms. Like an angel fell right onto his lap; hair disheveled, soft skin all flushed, and sighing steady delicate breaths.

He just chuckled. Taken for a fool yet he’d allow it any day so long as it’s by you.

As stealthy as he could, he took off his dinner jacket and placed it over your exposed form. Held you close afterwards, hands wrapped around the small of your back because that’s the most he’s allowed.

From all the riches he’s stolen, this stolen moment with you is his favorite.

The sky’s colors started changing and he knows he’s overstayed his welcome. A nice dream is still just a dream no matter how long he chose to sleep.

This time, he really is reluctant when he lays you down on your cot. He covered you with your blanket up to your chin. But he knows that regardless of it, it’ll take him a long time to forget how you looked tonight.

And perhaps the outlaw could steal another thing from you while he can. A kiss that he tries to keep chaste on the top of your head.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me darlin’?”

my masterlist

thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼

[doodledrawsthings]

you. Oh my god, you. (Positive)

listen. Before I had internet access, all I had was 1 hour of allotted browser time, bing image search, and a single dantdm play through of a hat in time that never got finished. I googled fanart and got pretty much nothing, I googled fancomics and got pretty much nothing, but you know what I did end up finding?

your art.

from ages 11-14, my goal in life, in art, was your art. I can’t tell you how much I loved finding random screenshots of your posts, because I was always just so impressed by how clean and consistent your sketches are, how the characters always stay on model, the shape language, how you could somehow sketch a character in like 20 lines when it took me 50 to draw sans in my little spiral notebook— like! Holy shit! For years I have looked up to your art! There’s still a photos folder on my dads old huge-ass 12 inch work iPad labeled “holy crap” and filled with your art. Because it inspired me so much. It’s become an undeniable part of my artstyle, now — I still have fanart I drew way back in the day of Hattie and the rest, I didn’t even know anyone’s names because I couldn’t play the game, but you’re the reason I eventually did play the game. Your coffee shop au and different versions of the prince— one of those ieterations inspired the main character of my novel! Well, novel that I tried to write, I was 13 so it was eh, but I tried!!

I’m submitting this on-anon because I don’t want to out my age on the wide internet (I like my privacy) but. Your art has really meant a lot to me. It’s the reason I played hollow knight, and it’s the reason I kept trying to develop an art style I was happy with. You’re the reason I started scribbling comics in my notebooks. Being 13-14 was pretty much the worst two years of my life, but I had Bing image search and the occasional glimpse of your signature, and I’d be so happy every time I found a new (if crusty) three-times screenshotted jpg. You literally introduced me to the concept of polyamory and nonbinary-ness with the coffee shop au. I had no other access to that in my household, and. Yeah. It meant a lot to me.

Anyway. I’m so glad I’ve finally tracked you down (in the most non-ominous way possible) and I’m so glad you’re still active— Please never stop making art. Your art is incredible, and amazing, and also you never know who’s out there on Bing image search. Thank you for creating for as long as you have. You’re pretty much the reason I’m shooting for an art degree (Wish me luck!) so just…Thank you.

(Also I had no idea you were a professional storyboarder, which is insane because that’s what I want to be when I’m through college. Hey, maybe I’ll end up storyboarding a remake of something you’ve storyboarded! hehehe)

Hi anon!

So right off the bat, I gotta tell you that this message made me start bawling when I woke up and saw it. Like I had a full-on cry session while reading your message and lying in bed for almost an hour. I am crying as I am typing this response, on my phone, still in bed. It’s 11am and i woke up at 9. So I hope it turns out coherent.

The last two years have been. weird. I say that a lot because I wanna say “rough” but that still doesn’t feel quite right. I’m almost hyper-aware that there are so many people that have it worse than me rn, so it feels hard to even acknowledge when I’m going through anything, myself, sometimes- REGARDLESS, it’s been kind of an all-time low for my mental health. There was a point within in the last year where I just HATED drawing. I struggled to bring myself to work, I struggled to bring myself to even draw for fun. It felt like I was posting just to post, trying to keep people aware of my existence and it almost felt physically painful to force myself to sit down and do it, sometimes.

I’m getting better now, I think, but. Yknow.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the “oh I can make money off this,” “oh I can get attention off this,” “oh I can prove myself a functional person in society with this,” of it all. I forget why I actually do this, sometimes, or if I even enjoy it. And then I get messages like yours, about the kid with limited internet access looking for A Hat in Time fan art on Bing image search, and I get taken back to when I was a kid scrolling Google images and deviantart for the same thing.

I don’t mean to like. Foster some kind of parasocial thing with you or any one of my followers. There’s a reason I’m saying all this, I hope it ties up in the end.

We don’t know each other. I’m not some mysterious legendary artist, or whatever. I’m a person who gets burnt out, and jealous, and insecure. I need inspiration to function, just like you, and when I don’t have it, I get art block. But I also really like to draw fictional characters kissing and hanging out. I like coming up with comics and stories and playing out dramatic and funny scenarios in my head like I’m mashing Barbies together. And when other people tell me they enjoy the stuff I put out when I do this, it makes me really, really, really happy.

I think I needed to read your message, probably. With the state of… Everything… Right now, especially recently, I feel like a lot of artists are also struggling with a sense of purpose, pride, and reason as the world makes it harder and harder to even BE an artist, these days. And when I read this message it was like Anton Ego at the end of Ratatouille, I got taken back to when I was a kid looking at my favorite artists and studying their style and striving to be better and better at it over years of my life. Not just because I wanted a job for it or cuz I wanted to be a famous Disney animator or whatever, but because it was fun and I just liked doing it.

Thank you, SO much. I say this in the most genuine and earnest way I possibly can possibly express. I wish you luck on your own path in art and art school. And if you decide that animation industry is your thing, then I wish you the best in that endeavor, as well. I think I will keep making art for a long time.

Peace and love on the planet earth ✌️✌️✌️

[imsofreakingtired]

anorexia comfort w sevika??

thanks for your request anon; this is definitely a painful topic and as a survivor myself i tried to render it with as much sensitivity and honesty as i could. that being said, if this content is triggering to anyone, please scroll away and take care of yourselves 💙💙💙

francis forever

CONTENT WARNINGS: depictions of an eating disorder, body dysmorphia, self-harm, heavy angst

“i don’t need the world to see that i’ve been the best i can be but i don’t think i can stand to be where you don’t see me.”

**set in a modern au**

~~~

At first, Sevika says nothing. She notices everything, she sees how tired you look nowadays, the sudden bouts of irritation, your tendency to dress in layers even in the warm indoors. She sees you breathless after climbing a single flight of stairs, the way your chapped lips bleed from picking at them. But she doesn’t want to bring it up and put you on the spot. She tries to be there. Tries to indicate that if you want to talk, she’ll listen. But it’s difficult, when you barely have time to see each other during the day, both of you have a job or classes. By the time she gets back to the apartment you’re asleep, and more often than not she leaves in the morning before you’re awake. 

And you dread showing something, betraying something, even a hint at the downward spiral. You don’t want her to know about the nights you stay awake curled into yourself, feeling like a crumpled forgotten thing, feeling like you don’t even know yourself anymore. You’re terrified she’ll leave you if she finds out. You cover every inch of your body not only because you can no longer stand seeing skin in the mirror without breaking down, but because you don’t want Sevika to see the changes, the sudden drop in weight. You still want to be the girl she fell in love with. You need to believe you can still be that girl. 

You try to keep up a front of relative calm. It’s hard. It’s so fucking hard. It gets worse every day, and some days even the mere mention of eating feels like a blade in your chest. An innocent question from Sevika. Do you want a sandwich? I’m making some. You don’t show the panic rising in your throat. You don’t let it into your voice. No, thanks. I’m not hungry. 

Food becomes a commodity, a currency, a prize, a bargain, something to be earned, exchanged, punished, shunned, craved, tortured. Anything but a right. You allow yourself a small snack if you work out for an hour afterwards. Nutrition labels on food products become lines of code, to be analyzed, judged, rejected or accepted. Sevika begins to ask you, in a gentle voice, things like baby, did you eat today? You evade the questions or lie to her outright. Sevika does not remember the last time she saw you eat something, something substantial, something that wasn’t unseasoned egg whites or a couple of green grapes. When you start returning from the gym late in the evening, nearly stumbling from exhaustion, she begins to seriously worry.

When she accidentally drops one of your notebooks and sees the flood of post-it notes covered in tiny letters and numbers, dates and calories, she feels nearly sick with dread. 

When she finds you on the bathroom floor, razor in hand and thin ribbons of blood lacing your forearm, she thinks she can feel the world crack open and crumble around her. 

Oh, God. She keeps saying. She drops to the floor next to you and gathers you in her arms. It’s okay. You’re okay.

And you’re thinking, this is it. I’ve fucked it all over. And then you’re not thinking at all, because the feeling of her warm body against yours breaks something inside of you. You’re crying so hard you can barely draw breath enough to say, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.

Sevika pulls back and cradles your face, and you don’t notice it at the time but looking back you can remember her eyes were red with tears as well. Baby, don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who’s sorry. 

Sevika can remember a similar period of her life in high school, when she limited herself to half an apple and half a glass of milk a day, ran three miles every day in a sweatsuit, lifted weights in her father’s basement until her arms physically could not move anymore. She remembers the desperate need for something, even as her body eroded, even as her head spun every time she stood up. A need to prove herself—prove herself worthy of something, to someone—but what? She doesn’t even remember what it was all for. All she can recall now is the endless loneliness, a bottomless void. She had pulled herself out of it. But she couldn’t even save you. 

I should have said something, done something, Sevika says. 

You watch her bandage your arm, and her tenderness feels like murder. I don’t deserve you, you say. I’m giving you so much trouble.

Sevika doesn’t say anything for a moment. She holds your arm in both her hands as if you are something fragile and precious. Then, gently, she kisses the top of your head. 

You are not trouble to me, she says. You’re everything but that. 

Things don’t magically get better after Sevika finds out. It takes a long time to undo the knots of obsession and self-loathing that you’ve wound around your neck. It takes an even longer time to admit to yourself that you are worth your own love, your own acceptance. Step by step, Sevika tells you. Everything takes time. Building things takes time. Undoing things takes time too. No matter what, she says, I’m proud of you. 

Sevika walks you to therapy every week, whether or not she has an overlapping commitment. She doesn’t say much on the walks there, not unless you feel like talking. She knows you just need her there, walking next to you, holding your hand tightly. She picks you up afterwards. Keeps her arm around you as you walk home. She knows that what you need, all you really need, is just to know she’s there, that you aren’t alone. And Sevika shows this to you in every way she can.

~~~

a/n: if you have ever or are currently going through something like this, please know you are so very very very worth every step of recovery. you're strong and loved and perfect as you are, so please take care of yourself!! 💙🙏

also, if there are any specific tags i should add to more distressing posts, please let me know! still new to tumblr and its language lol

[midnite-c6]

I also wpuld like to be thanos' and nam-gyu's dog ngl! idk nam-gyu just seems like a regular to pet shop and the cashier asks how's your precious girl how's your puppy!! as he's buying some treats and he's muttering yeah real lovely we've been doing some obedience training because she's been troublesome lately.. nam-gyu getting you a dusty pink collar and leash save me..

WOOOF PURRR HISSS BARKK YOURE SO RIGHT its actually so filthy the things id let these two do huhuhuhuhuhu . feral rn.

nam-gyu x puppy!reader | thanos x puppy!reader warnings: 18+, DARK content, degradation, sex, READER HAS EARS AND A TAIL!!

nsfw below already -> !!

nam-gyu ʕ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ

he sighs, "she's been making more messes lately." the pet supplies owner would just laugh at the statement, "oh, sir, you should get used to it by now. but, i thought you've already trained her?" she asks, considering he was a regular, afterall. "i did, but she's been acting a bit more stubborn recently, maybe she just needs a collar now, it's been long overdue." the shop owner would only nod and smile. "ah yes, you should've bought her one when you first got her! a collar helps the dog know who it belongs to, and who is its owner." he chuckles, seemingly lost in thought as he grabs the plastic bag with the pretty pink collar and the matching leash he generously bought you, he bows his head. "well, miss, i'll get going now, thank you." as he heads out the door, the woman could only think how much of a sweet boy he is, taking in the responsibility in taking care of a cute puppy..

except, the puppy was you! like it always has. you'd see him come back, opening the door as you immediately cling onto him, "on your knees, go." he orders, and you immediately comply! you love him so much! and when he puts the pretty collar he bought for you, seeing how his name was engraved on the pendant, you'd truly know who you belong to. now he's easily gotten you into a doggy (ironically) position, he wasn't even moving, the only thing he was doing is tugging on your leash to get you to push in and out of him. you'd obviously choke, but he knows he's trained you at taking a lil' bit more. "ah.. fuck, move will you? my hands are getting tired from tugging you around." but it takes all your energy to move, you were too sensitive down there.

"you don't want me to donate you to the doggy pound, would you now?" "n-no, sir .!" you didn't want that!! you loved nam-gyu as your owner :< "then, do as i say, dog."

nam-gyu was a bit cruel on you, yes, but he wouldn't go as far as be careless with you... he's kept you to be a home dog, only meant to be sheltered.

thanos ʕ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ

thanos- on the other hand, oh this man is careless with you:< he'd literally treat you like a puppy on the street! he's too busy with clubbing, partying, smoking weed, and being a famous rapper, he forgets his time with you. the nicest thing he does though is he'd buy you pretty clothes, pretty lingerie, but sadly you barely catch glimpse of him when he's sober. he's always high and thankfully happy, but when he's high and not-so-happy... well...

when he comes back from clubbing all night, you'd hear the door finally open, it was your beloved su-bong!! you'd immediately pepper kisses all over his cheeks but he'd push you to the ground. it seems he might've gotten into a fight at the club, or worse, he'd meet the person that scammed him, and you could only whimper, knowing that the best stress reliever is you. and whenever you wag your tail in excitement for anything, it just makes him hard as hell.

he'd have you face down, ass up, so he'd have full view of the wagging tail that was wagging just for him! he doesn't need a leash, he could just painfully tug on your tail! now his hand was pressing a vape past his lips, whilst the other was pressing your head down to the pillows, he loves hearing your muffled moans because you're still so loud even with them! volume down, will you? his dick wet with your slick, his thrusts going from fast and rough to slow and still rough, "are you in heat?" you'd try your best to shake your head. "jeez, you bitch like one" he complains, a particularly harder thrust than the last. even leaning in to take a painful bite onto your puppy ears. "i should definitely train you more, right, princess?" wasn't having his cum dripping out of both your holes enough?? D:

bonus:

you'd obviously only be loyal to one, but if they raised you together, then.. they've trained you to be loyal for the two of them, you can't have one without the other, and when you're too impatient, already humping su-bong before nam-gyu gets home, he'd punish you for that !

HEHEHE I REALIZED I HAVE SM HEOMWORKS THAT I have NOT DONE BYEE.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap leading a team into a known structurally unsound building, but they have to check it because of orders from brass, and while he didn't have to go on the OP, he is the most qualified to lead it, and he could never just not go when his skills could potentially save lives.

Ghost had tried to go in his stead because he had tweaked his knee the day prior, and it still ached. But soap could do this kind of work in his sleeps... omay probably not, but Ghost doesn't know how to tell which hairline fractures cut all the way through, and which don't, and which could if given too much weight. There are calculations and variables to estimate how much a floor can hold, but none of those matter to spotting and weakspots.

It's been a while since Soap has had to lead a team, being on a specialized task force, but he falls back into it like riding a bike.

Now the problem lies, not with non-load bearing supports but, with the overconfident grunts. They think just because this step, that one, and the one before were safe, that the next will be too.

And not to say that Soap always knows when or if the wall or floor or ceiling will or won't hold, just that he knows how to test a floor or a wall, he knows where to hold his weight, he knows that one collapse can lead to so many others. And that's all just based on in-field experience. Not to even bring up the weeks of training and education he had to work through to be able to identify external weak points when dealing with structural damage; one of the first things you're taught when you specialize in demolitions is how to do it safely.

But no no ignore the officer, that maybe, a little bit knows what he was doing. Yeah go on ahead of him. Oh hey, yeah, that's a good idea, keep stomping around.

The building, little more than a 3-story house, breaths and groans around them like a wounded animal. It puts him on edge just like every other time. Wounds like to get worse if they aren't babied. And they definitely are not babying this one.

And given all the variables it wasn't all too surprising hear the smallest groan to his left, more feeling than hearing it, that sounded just a little too hollow.

"Stop! Don't move," He barked, like it was a matter of life and death, because it was, "who did that? Who just moved." All the soldiers frozen to the spot as he stared at each one, an intensity in his gaze even he could feel, trying to pinpoint where the weakness was.

Fidgeting and nervous weigh shifting, another whimper. Like yanking on a rope his attention to the boot of a reckless soldier. It was instinct alone that he saw his own hand pushing the grunt off the spot.

But a misstep on his part, a pained cry of wood and plaster.

The drop wasn't the furthest, neither the shortest, 5 maybe 6 meters. He landed on his kit. Debris followed him down, landing on his already aching knee. None too heavy, but none too light, and gravity had it's playtime.

It knocked every bit of air from his lungs, and at first he thought he collapsed a lung. Half a minute later it was clear to be false. But a shit ton of bruising, and maybe a cracked rib or two neither felt good.

He pawed at his radio, still fighting for air.

"Watcher," he wheezed

"Send traffic, 7-1" that was Ghost's voice

He was still gasping for air and it took him longer than he liked to signal for one of the grunts to relay the OP was worthless. Not worth the risk.

"Copy. Soap, how copy?" Ghost sounded calm if only a little lower in worry, hand to tell if nobody was listening. Soap couldn't muster the energy to both hold his head up and respond (he could, but it was a lot of work, so he didn't)

"Need, ice. And new lungs." He said out of breath. His knee throbbed, and no doubt it would be even angrier in the coming hours.

"Your knee?"

"Mh, fucked." He breathed, rallying to pick himself up. "Heading for exfil."

One of the grunts came to help him to his feet. "Copy."

His knee only protested more the way to exfil. And it squeezed like a vice so tight he could barely walk by they time they touched back on base. If he couldn't see, he'd almost think it fell right off with the pressure. And yet there it was still, didn't even look swollen under his loose pantleg.

Ghost was waiting for him when he hobbled his way out, and gear heavy oh his joints, sore to hell and back, but alive.

"We need to get that looked at," Ghost took him under the shoulder to take some of his weight, and he reached for the gear in soap's hand. We. Not you. Like it was his injury too. We. Like it hadn't even crossed his mind for soap to go alone.

"Ice tonight, doc tomorrow." He sighed, too tired and sore and bruised to even think about all the shit that would entail. He was tired, and hurt, and his leg was gonna fall off. And Ghost looked like he wanted to argue, but he just nodded because they both knew what it was like when all you wanted to do was play like the dead and do nothing else for 12 hours.

"Doc tomorrow." He spoke like he was reminding soap while he opened Soap door, with key that soap gave him, like it was his room and not soap's.

"Tomorrow." Soap agreed, sitting gingerly on his bed. Ghost turned, grabbing ice for him. Buttons and clips and velcros undid as soap pulled at them. Dusty, sweaty, dirty shirt and jeans went into a pile too. And he clipped his leg brace around his knee, and pulled the straps tight.

He doesn't even remember laying down, but he was asleep before Ghost even got back with the ice

[snoopyiz]

‘ drown to impress ’ feat. LARA RAJ

─── ﹙🪼﹚ Lara has never even thought about swimming, until she found out you were on the swimming team. Going from just barely waking up to be present in her first period to being up at 6am everyday was a struggle, especially since her body wasn’t used to it. The worst part? She didn’t even know how to swim.

PAIRING(s): lara raj x swimmer!reader, highschool au

WARNING(s): fluff, nearly drowning, mentions of gurgling/spitting, reader does cpr as some point, skin tone mention (nothing derogatory)

A/N: never join a swimming team TRUST me. it’s horrid. also this is lowkey really bad im sorry 💔

None of Lara’s friends understood. I mean why would she suddenly show interest in swimming of all things? Lara Raj was a woman of many talents, but swimming was not one.

None of them even recall ever seeing her actually swim— staying on the shore at the beach does not count. How did the infamous Lara Raj find herself nearly drowning?

Well it’s simple really. One day as she was walking to class she saw this girl— not just any though. Her beauty was enough to turn heads, or at least in Lara’s mind, because according to her friend, the girl was a ‘two out of ten’. Although Lara’s sure she’s higher, that's beside the point.

Lara had her friend— Daniela do a little digging, it turned out that said girl was on a swim team! Which is how Lara found herself in this position, her ears ringing as she found her vision darkening.

The one familiar thing she sees is you. Was she dying? Or worse, dead already? Maybe diving head first on the first day was something not everyone could achieve, the one thing she did achieve was learning she couldn’t swim though!

You on the other hand were panicking, hastily you pulled her out of the water, shaking her— even if you knew it wouldn’t really help much if she had inhaled too much water. You kneeled next to her, placing your hands on her chest and pressed down a few times, until she gurgled up water. As she spit it out, you helped her turn her body upwards so that she wouldn’t choke on it more.

“Are you okay?” You frantically asked, even if Lara wanted to answer— she quite literally couldn’t. Lara wanted to shrivel up and die there as you continued to ask her questions. She just knew her friends would never let her live this up, especially the fact she could’ve died yet all she could think of was your hand rubbing her back.

Ever since that day you’ve personally made it your mission to teach her how to swim, because come on, who joins a swimming team without even knowing how to tread!

“Lara.. you’re doing it wrong, again.” you sighed, moving beside her and placing your hand on her back.

“you have to relax, or else you’ll never be able to float.” you said for the third time, holding her up on her back within the water. Undoubtedly Lara was gorgeous, but you could tell she wasn’t listening. It was little things she would forget, her towel, to be on time, it made you truly wonder why she was even on the team.

Lara on the other hand felt like she was on cloud nine, five days a week spending time alone with this gorgeous girl? Not only that, but was her coach. The problem arose when finals came. Lara genuinely thought swimming was for fun, not tournaments and all.

“you do know they wanna cut you right?” You told Lara, walking into the locker rooms.

“oh, uhm why?” She questioned, even if she knew the answer.

“Well, for one you can barely tread properly. Second, you're late a lot, not to mention the clothes instead of the swimsuit. Third, you're always distracted.” Oh. Was she that bad? Lara hadn’t noticed how much you’d taken note of her.

“I only joined because—” of you. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t bring herself to say them?

“I already know why, I saw your friend come up in my Facebook recommendations and assumed it was because of this.” You admitted, laughing a little at the last part— while you laughed, Lara's face burned, she was sure if she was a different tone you would’ve known.

The only words she could get out were an ‘I’m sorry’, she was beyond embarrassed, I mean hey, at least she could take something away from this she thought— don’t join a club you have absolutely no interest in!

“We should hang out sometime.” You said, looking back at her before grabbing your swimming bag,

“oh also, I left my number on a piece of paper in your bag.” You stated before leaving. Lara was beyond glad nobody was in the locker room with the way she nearly leaped to her bag, searching for the paper— her jaw dropping when she found it, you weren’t lying.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: hi yn it’s lara

yn (aka loml): hi lara !! lmk when ur free and we can link 😁

[average-mako-enjoyer]

I keep thinking about Kaidan's character arc and how important his struggle with survivor's guilt is to it.

The whole trilogy literally begins with him losing his subordinate (Jenkins) for the first time, and it obviously hits him hard.

Kaidan is the head of the Marine detail on the Normandy, which means that every Marine on board, their safety and comfort is his responsibility. Sure, the Normandy is the new ship, but you can't just put a bunch of people on board and sail them off on their first mission. It takes a lot of preparation and team building to make that work, so realistically, before Jenkins' death, Kaidan spent weeks and weeks with these guys, trying to make a connection and get them to trust him (with their lives).

He spent every day of the week with these guys, and he was the one who comforted them after Jenkins' death, both as their officer and as someone who was present when Jenkins was killed and as someone who literally pronounced him dead. The whole brunt of this fell on Kaidan's shoulders because Shepard was unconscious after the contact with the beacon, and that's another reason for Kaidan to feel terrible about the whole event: He not only lost his subordinate during this mission, he almost lost his commanding officer, and now he has to explain it all to Anderson and the crew. It's brutal.

Also, the way he talks about the whole event afterwards is very telling. He says: "I served for years, but never lost a soldier under my command. Not to hostile action, anyway." There's a trauma here. What kind of action did you lose soldiers to, Kaidan?

And after all that, he loses Ashley, who is also a soldier under his command, and also Jenkins' replacement on board.

Kaidan asks, "How could we just leave her down there?" and "Why me? Why not her?" And when Shepard says it was their call, Kaidan says, "If I had done my job, you wouldn’t have had to make that call."

He blames himself for this situation, he feels survivor's guilt, and you can only imagine how much worse it gets when Shepard tells him to evacuate with the crew after the Normandy is attacked by the Collectors. Kaidan follows that order and survives. Shepard does not.

In ME2, that same guilt is absolutely part of why Shepard's betrayal hurts him so much. Not only because Kaidan (or Ashley), unlike every other ME1 squadmate, actively went looking for Shepard and made a lot of personal sacrifices to make that meeting possible (I need to write a separate post about that, don't I?), not only because Kaidan is apparently not worthy enough to be contacted by Shepard, but also because Kaidan did not protect Shepard, and now Shepard is with the enemy.

And then ME3 happens, and Kaidan's students go MIA, and they die, and he has to deal with that same guilt again. I feel very strongly that all these years after Shepard's death, he has tried to do his job well enough so that nobody has to make tough calls, but this war is just one big tough call, and he tries to deal with that fact, and he struggles terribly (especially in the deleted scene).

Kaidan's whole journey through the Reaper War is about trying to deal with the absolute loss of control and the guilt. He didn't save Jenkins, he didn't save Ash, he didn't save Shepard's life, and he didn't save Shepard from Cerberus, and he didn't help Shepard with the Collectors.

And now he can't help his students, and he can't even help his mother, but maybe he can finally help Shepard and be there for Shepard in their last moments, and he comes to terms with that ("We both know this is goodbye."; oh, the way his voice breaks in that moment...). But then Shepard leaves him again, and there's nothing Kaidan can do about it. Absolutely nothing.

Ouch.

[sickofthis666]

Another thing that my mom told me today that I've found pretty depressing (and that is feminism-related): (2)

— When comparing her experience with her current lover vs my dad (25 years of marriage):

"I'm not used to not fighting all the time. It must have been two or three years since I've been in a fight."

With my father, there would always be a fight sooner or later. On average, it was every two or three days. At the best of times, we would get maybe a week of peace. In the worse cases, there would be a fight every day.

I hear you say: "it takes two to tango."

Well, you don't know my dad. He always found reasons to fight. You could be minding your business one minute, and the next he would barge in and makes a list of everything that was wrong with you. No matter what you did. Criticism after criticism after criticism. Even if you started to do the contrary to avoid unpleasant remarks, he'd criticize you for doing to opposite of what he criticized before! On the morning of my 13th birthday, he spent an hour lecturing me on how they couldn’t afford to buy me a mobile phone. (I was a reasonable kid, I gave up on the phone very quickly). Then the same day, the afternoon, he took me to a store to buy said phone.

"Just leave" is what you'd do to avoid conflict, right? You can’t avoid the criticism, you can’t win the argument (I tried so many times, it only make things worse, to the point where you just sit there in silence and take it because at least it's not as bad as it could be). Makes sense, right? Oh, but no. No, you can’t leave. He'll follow you. In the next room, on the other floor, even outside. If you ask to be left alone, he won't listen. (That doesn't apply to him though. He decides when the argument is over.) I once locked myself into the bathroom because it was the only room with a lock (he threatened to remove my bedroom door despite me being a teenage girl at the time), the only way to breathe, and he went to pick up tools and started to unbolt it.

I wanted to cry when my mom told me that. It was so surreal. Of course I knew about her fights with my dad, better than anyone (most of the time the fights would happen in the evenings, in front of my bedroom door because it was the "crossroad" between the kitchen, living room (the two rooms where my dad spent most his time) and my parents bedroom (where my mom was)).

But to hear that she was so used to it, that not fighting felt abnormal to her? It makes me want to cry, to break things, to beat up my dad, to turn back time and make it so they never meet, even if it means I'd never be born.

My mom was a smart, wise, and careful young woman. Every single one of her pregnancies was wanted and planned. She meticulously made the decisions to first finish her studies, then get a stable job, then get married, then have kids. The studies for a stable, well paying job. The job to be independant and not rely on a man. The marriage to have kids in a stable relationship. Everything should have gone smoothly.

But there was one thing she couldn’t have planned— no one could have, and it was that 10 years down the road, my father would become abusive.

First she couldn’t leave because her children were too young. Plus, that's the things with abusers, they're not always awful. They alternate. So you think it was a one time fluke. You think the man calling you crazy and stupid on a daily basis will turn back into the man you fell in love with. You think the man who routinely terrorizes your kids will turn back into the loving father he once was. It's a human thing, to hope. After all, if he changed for the worse, why couldn’t he change for the better?

By the time she realized he was only getting worse, it was too late. He accumulated so much shared debts and loans that she couldn’t leave.

There's a french book about domestic violence, and how the judicial system finishes off battered women rather than save them, whose title I can't forget.

Madame, il fallait partir.

Ma'am, you needed to leave. Or, Ma'am, you should have left.

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

...sighs

looks like i owe my sibling 10 dollars ← betting that the sonic 3 episode would come out

(the following is my live reaction:)

so Costco, eh? and with Meggy, Melony, Mario, and Bob? This will be interesting

as always, you gotta have your conveniently placed "World's Biggest Meat Grinder" there ofc 😌↕️

Bob... PLEASE REPHRASE wtf dude

not in this economy, no (not even eggs are worth it)

new bed? wait what happened to the...oh

"you're not my friends anymore" [*gets war flashbacks*] oh god, there was Mr Puzzles, then Tari, and now Melony got this line

"Ink, they reused old audio before" and yet the pattern is there. Puzzles and Tari feared that they were gonna lose the people they held dear. And if Melony had this as a nightmare, the same can be said. As to why, hmmmm *game theory theme starts playing*

uh anyway here's Melony being cute :)

fun fact for the day: NEVER LEAVE MARIO AND BOB UNSUPERVISED

can we get them in those kid backpacks with leashes?

Meggy, what are you talking about? We HAVE to get the racecar bed!!

also Meggy don't say that word, the fandom's already going insane over the steam and flareglow mystery as it is ← says a theorist who has already gone crazy

y'know I should've suspected a racecar bed to be an actual car (I was close tho)

never thought we would get this Mario and Bob dynamic again and y'know what? I'm all for it! It's a nice different flavor of chaos I could get used to

It IS important, it's to see the mattress's durability and stiffness bc back pain is just awful (there goes your spine). plus, we aren't getting one that was found by the dumpster

can we get a pillow fight in an episode? SLEEPOVER EPISODE?

things would've been worse if we were in IKEA, Meggy

oh... we got Leggy again...

well, a new thing is that she can change at will. BUT I think it kinda defeats the purpose of Leggy "off to a better place" back at WOTFI 2024. I think it could've been done better at a different episode when her past trauma overwhelms her and turns into Leggy, even more if Mr Puzzles escapes and finds her. I know for a fact that no one has gotten therapy and Meggy did say in the New Year's Special that those were traumatic memories.

Basically what I'm saying is: Meggy thinks her trauma (as well as everyone else's) is past them bc Mr Puzzles is in solitary confinement when it's really not, and THAT will eventually reach a certain limit ← this could've been executed better if Leggy wasn't in this episode and let Puzzles marinate some more, hopefully that makes sense

also Leggy's screams kinda give me sensory issues but that's me thing ANYWAY BACK TO THE EPISODE

ofc if you find the perfect bed, you're already dead asleep :)

THERE'S THAT LINE AGAIN, I'm telling you it's foreshadowing

AND AGAIN AUGH

love the Danny Phantom theme add-in

...WAIT NONONO YOU CAN'T JUST LET IT PASS BY WITHOUT ME NOTICING THE SAME BED USED IN WESTERN SPAGHETTI

"...Ink" Just let me me have my moment of exaggeration, I'll come back to sanity in a second

hey, i'm just living proof that a theorist brain can go haywire at the smallest things

"I work everywhere" Shroomy 🤝 Karen

FLASHBACK TIME YESSSS

...oh....can we talk about this for a second?

The fact that Melony's past has been recontextualized again and again, it somehow makes sense. Well, kinda.

All of Melony's memories are through HER point of view. We can take the conversation between her mom and dad as true but we might not know how far this problem is.

Hear me out: in the role of a child, you would view your parents as friends (depending on how much you see them caring for one another) since the concept of romantic relationships/marriage is a bit more complex to know at that age. It's why Melony interprets her mom leaving them as the friendship ending between them, "you aren't my friend anymore". Again, Melony was pretty young when it happened but it truly stuck with her, and this mentality of "friendship ending = losing them forever" as she had it with Axol Jr. in that nightmare (the closest thing to Axol when she lost him) and then to her friends.

Now, I'm not sure if I should include the memory trip from Revelations (bc of her not remembering having a family at all) but regardless, I think Melony blames herself for her parents separating in the first place. It's normal for children in a scenario like this to believe they are the cause. As said in Revelations, Melony thought she was a "bad daughter". And in the nightmares she had, SHE believes to the cause of losing those friendships as well.

There is still that gap of time between her growing up to when she debuted on the show so the question is: did she leave her dad behind bc of the past guilt she had? And perhaps had even more guilt afterward to leave her dad by himself after everything?

The image of a perfect family in Revelations and her being the "bad daughter that has forgotten about her family", it's pretty sad to think about, and no doubt I feel bad for her :(

EVERYONE NEEDS THERAPY STAT

Mario being the voice of reason, we love to see it

guys, it's not a baby smh /silly

oh good Melony's okay... right?

and the episode ends, we got a bed at least :D y'know, it's just another Saturday

Congrats to alex-dolmatescu2-0 (here on Tumblr) for your art being featured at the end credits! 🎉

we're just not going to think about the implications as to why the Team decided to pick it for this episode, still great fanart tho :)

also this,

i think it was an editing mistake lol (...or IS IT? jkjk)

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Well, chat, this is a good episode. I wouldn't say that it was a life-changing, plot-driven episode but it was okay.

Ofc I did love the Mario and Bob dynamic and some depth on Melony. There were definitely things, like the Leggy part, that could've been executed better/be placed in a better episode.

The year has started so I don't expect much to be absolutely perfect from the Team, they're trying. I still enjoyed it, don't get me wrong.

Then there's stuff whacking at my theorist brain but we don't need to talk about that.

And apparently, we got a new member on the Team, Max Sturz (also known as WizardzWiz)!

They're the writer and storyboard artist for the SMG4 show so hello, welcome! Very excited to see what they're gonna be working on in the future!

(so for future reference, I'm gonna call them Wiz)

That's all from me. I'm just gonna be in my little tent until SOMEBODY responds to the steam + flareglow mystery. Remember: numbers always go first, and I'll see you guys on the next one!

[quibbs126]

So after the last batch of Cyberverse sketches, I tried to do more here with Cyberverse Megatron specifically, since he kind of stuck himself in my brain, at least yesterday

Admittedly I wish I drew more, but by that last corner I just wasn’t sure what to draw. I actually did draw something, yet again trying to draw that one kissing meme thing with him and Optimus, but yet again it didn’t turn out right looking, so you don’t see it

But other than that, while I’m aware my drawings aren’t the best, I do think I’m at least getting the hang of drawing this version of Megatron. I’m aware his face is still off looking, but oh well

My only real thoughts for what to draw with him were “more of body”, “him thinking “oh no that’s hot” at something Optimus is doing”, “season 3 Megs” and “he drink coffee”. And also to attempt lineless

Note on that last thing, at least on the head, it’s not as difficult as I’d thought it’d be. I could probably do it, if I at least knew what I wanted to draw

I don’t really have much to say on the drawings themselves though? There isn’t much going on that I haven’t already said. All I can say is I tried to use screenshots for references more than usual, since I thought it’d help. I did stop at some point, but still

I don’t know how I feel about Cyberverse Megatron. I think he’s really only in my head because I was searching for Cyberverse megop fanfics after finishing the show

But also, he’s sort of your typical Megatron. An asshole, and usually the cause of alliances falling short and me saying “Megatron, you bitch”. Granted he’s not as evil as other Megatrons, at least most of the time, considering he was willing to destroy the AllSpark that one time, but it’s probably also because the Autobots and Decepticons have to team up so often in Seasons 2 and 3

But then there’s Season 3b Megatron, in which he has some adventure across the multiverse and comes back to help his universe, armed with his own Matrix and actually willing to save the day and have peace with Optimus and end the war, even if the planet is split in two. And at least in his initial appearance, he seems like he’s actually become at least a slightly better person

Like on one hand, I like this idea of him becoming better on his own time, and also we can just accept that maybe he’s become actually better since we don’t know what he was up to to cause this. But in the other, I really would have liked to see what he was up to. I guess they didn’t have enough time to show us

But yeah in 3b, he’s still an ass but he isn’t causing too much trouble, and is instead preparing for a worse threat to come, and then dies not as a villain, though he got taken out too quick to be called a hero in this scenario. Kind of disappointed he didn’t really get to do anything when the other Megatron showed up, would have been nice to see

But also I’m told that’s actually what kills him? He actually dies? I guess it is a more powerful version of him, but considering the other things other Megatrons have survived, and also we never really saw him die in the episode itself, considering he made noises of pain after being attacked and we just didn’t see him again after Bee took his Matrix, it feels kind of weak to me

I don’t know, his concepts in 3b are interesting to me

Also random side note, while I wasn’t expecting it, I appreciate his fusion cannon and mace having red lights instead of purple. I’m used to the purple but the red is consistent with the rest of his colors

Also there’s the subject of Cyberverse megop. It doesn’t have TFA’s issue of being strangers, in fact they seem to have known each other for a very long time and there’s no Elita or anything in this universe to be another past option for Optimus. And Megatron does do some bad things in this series, some worse than others, but also it seems like the characters of this show aren’t the most serious about this war, at least not like they are in Prime or something. Apparently every few millennia or so Optimus and Megatron try to have peace talks and negotiate, only for it to inevitably fall apart and things to start up again, and everyone’s just used to this

I think I can ship it, they have divorced energy and both sides are just used to it, including each other. They are in essence, the core values of typical megop I think, except they were actually on decent terms by the end of things, when Megatron dies. Sad that, why’d he have to die? At least make it heroic or something so he can go out with a bang

Yeah I don’t know, thought I should sprinkle in some thoughts on this version of Megatron while I’m here. I don’t have much honestly other than I think he’s fine and neat, and so is this version of the ship

I think I’m done now

[welcometoyunosworld]

It's fine to ask for help, right?

𝐊𝐰𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐢-𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐠 / 𝐆-𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐭. 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠-𝐁𝐚𝐞 / 𝐓𝐚𝐞-𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠

𝙎𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙤 / 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘑𝘪-𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘛𝘢𝘦-𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨; 𝘚𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘑𝘪-𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Alright good work, everyone!!” The choreographer said as she gave you a nod of approval, you did very well today. All smiles and very energized for this rehearsal. The other members of your group was so damn confused because you'd usually get a nasty glare from the choreographer because of your lack of energy and smiles for rehearsals, so they've been wondering their asses off why are you suddenly up for the rehearsals today.

While you could care less, your mind was too full of 𝗞𝘄𝗼𝗻 𝗝𝗶-𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗴, aka 𝗚-𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗚𝗢𝗡. You definitely have been crushing over him, yeah you met him a few times and even became friends with him too, and his childhood best friend Tae-yang. It was the best day of your life alright, your heart was pounding, your face felt a little warm.

“Are you blushing??”

Tae-yang muttered as he smirked at your face, contorting in shock and then embarrassment at the realization you were actually blushing. Oh yeah, BigBang was here too, actually they were supposed to he in the other room but they're here, watching you and your group do it's magic. All your confidence and self-esteem started crumbling away the moment your eyes landed on Ji-yong who was observing the place with a curious look in his eyes.

“Tae-yang?! What are you guys doing here?” You whisper-yelled, making Tae-yang giggle and nudge your shoulder gently. “Come on, this is your chance to impress him.” He whispered to you, oh of course Tae-yang knew you have a crush on Ji-yong. He teased you about it but he didn't tell Ji-yong, but he would give out the most risky hints, but Ji-yong was oblivious about it.. He would brush it off with a chuckle or simply shake his head, worse, ignore it.

“Dong Young-bae don't you dare!—”

Tae-yang gently shoved you back in your respective place and the music starts, because Dae-sung is there who is scooting away like he didn't just turned the music on. You had no other choice but to dance because right now, they were in charge as they claim it to be. With Tae-yang giving you the most annoying smirk, Dae-sung just smiling innocently like he didn't had this planned at all. You sighed and decided it's rehearsal anyway, you're not gonna let your shyness shatter you now. You gotta show them who you are.

“Y/n?” Tae-yang pats your shoulder, everyone else has left. You're still here, just sitting and staring into space for the past fifteen minutes, thinking about how to approach Ji-yong again like you used to, because you know damn well he was oblivious about your feelings and he considered you as a good friend. As nuch as it hurts, it's true. You really wish you'd be able to express yourself more without being judged so much, too bad Knetz won't even spare you. The thought really makes your brain lag and chest ache.

“Come on, you did your best today. So i was thinking of inviting you to our dinner for tonight?” Your eyes widened and looked at him in shock. Seriously? Dinner? With them? Ji-yong is there! “Okay!” You replied instantly, making him bust out laughing. “Really? That's all it takes?” He laughed out and you were already up and running towards the door.

The others were already on theitlr way to the restaurant too, but Tae-yang had to stay behind for a bit because you did ask for his help a few hours ago when Ji-yong and everyone else wasn't around.

On your walk there, you can't help but ask about Hyo-rin too, how they've been. And you're glad and happy for them that they've been doing great. You were also best friends with Hyo-rin, don't even ask how many times you had been invited over for dinner and you see Tae-yang's face covered in those skin care products and wearing a pink headband. You definitely snapped a picture or two, and even Hyo-rin let you be their photographer and take pictures of her and him both in the skincare products.

Sometimes you'd picture it in your mind, you and Ji-yong having a skincare routine together..

“Y/n, you asked me before..”

Tae-yang's voice cut off your heavenly imagination which got you annoyed a bit, but you glanced at Tae-yang, wondering what he's up to now. “You asked for my help, and tonight I'll be helping you. Ji-yong doesn't bite, surely just start off with a simple greeting, greet the others too then I'll make you sit next to him.” You looked at him in disbelief, sit?? Next to Ji-yong? “Then just start talking about stuff, talk about Art, he's getting interested in Art now too.” You nodded, humming softly.

“Thank you.. Tae-yang.”

You muttered softly, just hoping this would actually work and help you rebuild a better connection with Ji-yong. You've been daydreaming for days about it, just thinking about it really made you wish you weren't so damn hesitant and just do it. It was your fear of ruining things that always stopped you from doing anything. You feared the day Ji-yong will fully stop acknowledging you even as a friend. You vented to Tae-yang before that you will just push those feelings aside, because you don't wanna lose Ji-yong, so it'll be fine if he was just your friend, it would be better than not being his friend, right? You weren't the type of person to risk the friendship that is slowly losing its spark.

As you finally made it, Tae-yang led you to the table. There they were, Dae-sung, Seung-hyun and Ji-yong. Tae-yang quickly 'helped' you sit down, even though he literally just made you sit next to Ji-yong. Dae-sung and Seung-hyun looked at each other before they gave you and Ji-yong a suspicious look. “I invited Y/n with us for tonight since i also wanted to make it up for her after she helped me and Hyo-rin with some stuff.” Tae-yang stated calmly as they all nodded.

“Hey, Ji-yong.. Dae-sung and Seung-hyun.” You greeted them with a kind smile which they politely returned. You were nervous, it's been a while since you were this close with Ji-yong again, and you really missed him too.

“Y/n, long time no see. I hope we can catch up.” Ji-yong's gentle voice made you snap out of your mind and look at him softly. Your heart racing and your stomach full of butterflies, this was your chance!! Do it like Tae-yang told you on your way here. “Oh, of course.. We could definitely catch up! It's been a while too, i was.. thinking of maybe sharing some of the new things we learned?” That brought a smile to Ji-yong's face and chuckled.

“Oh my god, Yes! I've been excited to tell you about it!” Ji-yong gently placed a hand on your arm. The sweetness and excitement in his voice, and his actions, it really brought back memories when you first met.

“That sounds like a plan then.” You said softly and he chuckled and suddenly placed a kiss on your cheek and whispered.

“How about a date instead?”

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

How we feelin' Baes? Hope you like this one!!

I'm still working on the other requests so please stay tuned💋

[tokkiiibunny]

Chick Habit | Megumi Fushiguro

13: 7 Words

Words: 1.5 k

Mainlist

I think you shouldn't have glorified, now you're wrong

Suck, suck, suck, suck

Suck, suck, suck, suck

Oh boy...

A part of megumi still refused to accept that he had screwed up, he kept wanting to think that it was your fault, that you were no victim and that you definitely deserved everything he had done but deep down he knew that he had been a fucking idiot, that he had taken things too far and that he had been doing for years the same thing that your former friends did to Tsumiki.

Megumi Fushiguro never regretted it, but maybe and only maybe at this moment he was doing it.

The more days went by the more frustrated he became and maybe, and just maybe, he was wondering what would have happened if he had figured out the reality of things before spreading all that shit about you, what would have happened if that first day of school he had responded to your cheerful greeting with a simple "Hi." You weren't the only one who had been wanting to do things differently.

"Did they hide what happened with that girl? It was horrible." Tsumiki brought up the subject in the middle of dinner, she only knew the story halfway and did not know that her beloved brother had been responsible. "poor girl, Mrs. Linwood told me she was a good girl, with all this she must not be having a good time."

"Why don't you shut up, Tsumiki?" Megumi was rude all the time to everyone, but he rarely had that attitude with Tsumiki.

"Megumi." Satoru scolded him.

"And shut up too, you have no idea what happened, stop acting like you care." Satoru leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, watched Megumi for a moment, he had known him long enough  to know that something is wrong.

"That girl, Yn Yl I think, she was in your class wasn't she? Maybe you can explain to us better what happened." Megumi hated talking to Satoru because he always felt like he knew everything, most of the time it was difficult to keep Satoru's secrets hidden. Megumi got up from the table and left the house slamming the door behind him.

They didn't know shit, no one did, you were just a fucking crybaby and he could have been so much worse. But God, he couldn't get you out of his head.

Although for a long time he saw you as the "enemy", the time he spent with you, those times when he wasn't being a bitch with you, he had really enjoyed your company.��

Because that smile that he had tried so hard to convince himself that he hated was actually the most beautiful he had ever seen, In fact, you were the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

You were pretty, funny, intelligent, you were full of good qualities, you were like a dream but he had broken you and there was no turning back. 

If he had to count how many times he had dreamed of you, the fingers of his two hands would not be enough. And it would be a lie to deny that his mind was repeating the two kisses he had given you over and over again because he loved remembering the feeling of his lips on yours. You were soft and sweet, the complete opposite of him.

Lately he had wondered a lot if he hated you or if he was just completely and deeply obsessed with you.

Yuji hadn't approached him since the Halloween party and Megumi really missed him but his pride prevented him from trying to talk to his best friend, Yuji missed him too but he was still angry about everything Megumi had done.

He was walking aimlessly, he was just trying to clear his head and forget about the small conversation he just had at home, he cursed that he didn't bring anything with him to help relax him.

The air was cold and his sweater wasn't helping to keep him warm But he refused to go home, he didn't want Satoru to question him again because he knew that he would sooner or later get into the truth.

That day he did not return until midnight and when he opened the door Satoru was on the sofa waiting for him.

"Where were you?"

"Don't start."

"Sometimes you forget who is in charge in this house." Satoru didn't seem to be playing at this time, even if his attitude was almost always playful and teasing, he looked Upset now.

"You're not my fucking dad Satoru." Megumi immediately cursed himself for saying that, but it was too late and he could only keep his defiant attitude as much as possible.

"I know." Tension filled the room, Satoru paused for a long time before continuing. "I know I'm not." Satoru preferred to keep his words to himself, he knew that anything he had to talk to him would be useless at this moment. "Go to your bedroom, it doesn't matter anymore."

That night was no different from the others where sleeping was almost impossible, now he was not only thinking about you and Yuji but he was also thinking about how he had been an ungrateful son of a bitch with the only two people who had taken care of him, Tsumiki and Satoru were his only family and yet he treated them like shit every time he was angry.

Sometimes he questioned why he was like that, what was wrong with him, to say that he hated himself would be too kind For what he really felt.

He was a cruel bastard too proud to admit his mistakes out loud, a motherfucker who every time he felt someone too close showed his worst side to puch them away.

The next morning he go downstairs to the kitchen And it probably wouldn't have been much different from any other day if it weren't for the very strange but recognizable figure that was on the couch between Satoru and Tsumiki.

Toji Fushiguro was like a blurry memory in megumi's mind, Although his voice was more than present in his mind because of all the calls he had received over the years, the way he looked was distorted among his memories.

He was strangely similar to him, Satoru had always told Megumi that he looked like his mother but he was also so similar to Toji that his stomach churned to, he didn't want to look like that man.

"Megumi." Satoru looked tense, in reality none of the three of them seemed too comfortable with the situation. "Sit down."

"What is he doing here?" but Megumi didn't try to hide his displeasure.

"Just Please Megumi." Satoru wanted to make things easier and although he knew that talking to Megumi would be useless, he tried to make him come to his senses.

"No. What is he doing here?"

Toji sighed and got up from the sofa, his expression far from the violent and strong face that Megumi remembered but still she was not going to trust him easily.

"I came to get my family back."

"You don't have any family here."

"Megumi." Satoru called out him.

"No, He's only here because he's old and finished, he doesn't give a fuck about his family, he doesn't give a fuck about changing."

"Just listen to him, Megumi."

"Shut up Tsumiki. Shut up, you three."

Megumi didn't go back to home that day, he didn't answer any calls, he hated Toji, he hated Satoru for accepting him into his house, and he hated Tsumiki for accepting back his father.

He felt stressed, tired and angry, he was fed up with everyone and couldn't leave his room because his fucking father was in the living room and didn't want to see him. After thinking about it a lot, he sent you a text message, he wanted to talk to you, he missed spending the afternoons in your bedroom.

You never responded, you didn't even receive the message, you had blocked Megumi's Contact.

Megumi was eating his breakfast when Toji arrived at the kitchen and patted Megumi on the shoulder.

"Are you going to talk to me, kid?"

"Never. touch. me. again." He got up from his chair with the intention of going back to his room but his father stopped him.

"Megumi, I really want to talk to you."

"But I don't want to. Look, I don't care about you, I don't want you in my life and you're never going to be my father. I lived without you up to this point and I prefer to continue doing so." Toji had never been present in his life, he didn't need him and he didn't care if this time he would change, he wasn't her father and never would be.  "I don't care what shitty story you tell me this time, but I don't want you to try to talk to me."

Notes area:

>Comments, suggestions and feedback are welcome

>Thanks for reading!

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[4klovver]

dancing in a jazz bar pt.2

scienceteacher!matt x musicteacher!reader angst!!

part one here

a/n; sorry this took so long, i was SO BUSY this week but i hope you enjoy. I have some more things cooking up so watch you (chris x reader) YAYAYAYAY okay have fun bye byebye

It’s been a couple of days; today’s the first day back at work. Some part of you feels lonely; some part of you never realized how much you saw Matt. Or maybe how much you annoyed him. You had rage and sadness all wound up in you, forming a constant tight knot in the pit of your stomach. 

You don’t know if him not reaching out to you is better or worse than if he did reach out to you. You desperately try not to think about him, about that night, but every time you get a moment to yourself, it just plagues your mind. When you see him in the office, the teacher lounge, or just anywhere, you can’t not clench your jaw and look down. 

When you get home, you just curl into bed and eat crappy takeout, wishing you were anywhere else. Wanting to take back everything you did or said. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･  

If you think it’s taken a toll on you, Matt has been in ruins. Him giving you “the space you need” has been harder than expected. He’s lived the past few days playing that moment over and over, regret filling his mind, leaving him with a migraine. 

He hasn’t properly slept or eaten since that night. Once he got home from your apartment, he just collapsed on his couch. His usual night routine, containing watering his plants and doing basic skincare, slipping away from him. 

You wouldn’t look at him in the short moments you would pass each other in the hallway. If you looked at him, you would see sunken-in tired eyes and messed-up hair. He knew it was getting back when students asked if he was doing alright. 

He knows he needs to do something, but he doesn’t know how to. Does he do a big gesture like flowers and a mariachi band, or does he beg for your forgiveness with a heartfelt message? A text, maybe a call, would in person be better? He spends hours sitting in bed contemplating every possible outcome of his actions. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･  

You go set up your things for your 5th period music class. Putting your notebooks and papers on top of the piano binder sitting on the stand at the top. Students start to shuffle into the class, some sitting in seats, some congregating near the piano. While you get situated, you can’t help but overhear some of your students’ conversations. 

“Yeah, Mr. Sturniolo has been looking just really…sad looking. Just like tired.” One student says worried, making you look up slightly. “I know he just seems off makes class kinda of a bore.” Does he look tired because of you? You don’t want to be narcissistic, but you never know. 

All you do is sit there just thinking about Matt and yourself and if you should reach out. “Uhh, Ms. Y/l/n, the bell just rang.” A student says to you, pulling you away from your thoughts. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Good Morning everyone!” Your teaching personality switching on like a light switch. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･  

You can’t stop thinking about Matt and what your students said. Your head is reeling, not knowing what to do. You’ve never felt like this about anything, and you don’t want to mess it up. 

When you leave work, you desperately need a pick-me-up feeling like a bus hit you. You sluggishly make your way to a local coffee shop, slumping into a seat. You contemplate everything. Maybe Matt was just sick. You thought he would’ve reached out by now if it was really affecting him that badly. You certainly were not going to reach out to him, beg him to be with you, and grovel for it. 

You had fully accepted your defeat, knowing nothing could take things back to the way they were. Tomorrow, you would try to make new friends and put this whole thing behind you. 

Leaving the coffee shop, you mosey your way home, taking the longer way and just enjoying your time you have to yourself.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･  

Matt got to your apartment at 2:45. He gunned it to the flower shop, then to your apartment door, assuming you would be home right away. He made sure to fix his hair up and smooth out his wrinkly clothes. 

It’s now almost 4:15, and he’s sitting outside your door. He knows you’re not in your apartment because he knocked about 10 times over the course of 30 minutes. So now he’s just waiting, hoping you would be home soon. Even if you weren’t, he’d wait and wait until you were. 

All he could do was sit and wait. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･  

Halfway through your “peaceful walk,” the rage and confusion in you were too pent up. You never fully realized how much he meant to you, and now he’s gone, you don’t know if it will help or make it worse, but you at the very least deserve an explanation. 

You turn on your heels and walk right to Matt’s apartment. You’ve only been there one time when he had to grab something, but you definitely remembered it. 

Storming up the stairs in a fit of rage, ready to lay it into Matt that what he did was so wrong. You knock on his door 3 times. “Matt, I really need to talk to you.” He doesn’t see any light on inside and can’t hear anything, but you knock three more times. “Matt, if you’re in there, don’t ignore me again.” 

You sit outside for 5 more minutes before you get impatient. Pulling out your phone, you fish for his contact. Ring, ring, ring. “Y/n? What happened?” He sounds nervous. “Matt, I’m outside of your apartment. I’m guessing you’re not home.” Your voice now filled with embarrassment. You hear a sigh on the other side of the phone. “Oh, y/n, I’m outside of your aapartment. Ive been here almost two hours.” 

You can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation fully hitting you. “I’m sorry for the other day, y/n. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I-I was just scared and hearing you cry like that…” He trails off, cutting off your laugh. 

“Matt, I came here to yell at you. These past few days, I’ve just been upset and angry. I thought you hated me.” Your back is against his door, waiting for him to respond. “I can’t do this over the phone anymore. Let’s meet in the middle. Okay?” He’s more forward than he usually is, but his voice is still nervous. 

“‘Kay, see you soon!” 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･  

The sun was already setting when you got there. The short 10-minute walk felt like hours this time. That’s when you see him, standing there looking around, slightly wilted flowers in his left hand, his right hand on the back of his neck. You stand there for a second before going up to him. When he turns to see you, he looks relieved, like he thought you weren’t going to be there. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I was such an ass. You didn’t deserve that. I understand if you want nothing to do with me, but I at least had to try. I’ve never done this before—“ Your arms warm around his neck, cutting his rambling off. You pull away, cupping his face. “You’re—“ before he could speak, you cut him off again, kissing him this time, taking in the moment. 

As you two deepen the kiss, somewhere in between, your bag falls to the floor, and soon after, the flowers. Through the haze of the kiss, you hear various “Go get him”s and whistles from people passing by. You two eventually pull away from each other, catching your breath. 

“You dropped this. Also, I got you these.” He hands you your bag and now semi-crushed and wilted flowers. “I had this whole thing planned where you would come home, and I would talk to you. But that clearly didn’t work out.” He smiles, a slight blush coming onto his cheeks. 

“Matt, don’t worry about it. Just don’t do that again, or I swear.” You become stern before you start laughing. “You want to get something to eat?” You turn to ask him, his face looking disappointed. “I was just gonna ask you that,” he complains, moving his arm to pull you in by your shoulder. 

“Oh, you’re lucky. I’m giving you another chance.” You lean into him, giggling and walking down the street, looking off into the sunset. 

“Trust me, I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:·  

a/n; hope yall enjoyed!!!! This took me so long to write bc i had HORRID writers block. Go read some of my other stuff okay bye byebye

more scienceteacher!matt x musicteacher!reader here!!