#what you thought I was going to blab about my creative process on here?

[dappercritter]

(Edit by me)

METROID FIC IS POSTED!

PLEASE ENJOY!

[swampstew]

KillerCook Chapter 13

Welcome to Raven’s Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Join us in the family room as we sit around and celerate Straw Hat Luffy's birthday. Rated Mature for language. Minors DNI

Going Live in 3…2…1…

GO

“Good evening everyone, thanks for tuning in. I’m Killer and this is my neighbor, Sanji.”

The two blond men sat at a slim table as they faced they audience, both waving their hands in greetings and casual small talk as viewers started joining the stream.

“Have you ever been on a live stream? Wait, are you even on social media?” Killer asked.

“Killer, we follow each other on Instagram,” the curly browed man scoffed.

“Oh the one I hardly use?” Killer asked in surprise, quick to pull out a cell phone. After scrolling for a few seconds, “Oh yeah, here you are: Sanji {censored}. Wait, THAT’s your last name? Are-are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m adopted. What about it?”

“Why would you use your full government name on the Internet, you [redacted] idiot?” Kid griped as he came into the camera’s focus, taking the third seat at the table.

“It was never a concern until you blabbed it out loud in front of 3,000 and growing listeners,” Sanji snapped at them, whipping out his cell phone from his suit. “Great, now I gotta go on private…huh…hmm…maybe, maybe I’ll just change my user name,” he quieted down suddenly.

“Ooooo-kay. Moving on - we’re switching things up a bit. Today is a friend of a friend’s birthday and, surprisingly, a few people came to us seeking advice on making cake. Did no one ever teach them to bake? So Sanji and I thought we would make it a challenge. For ours and your entertainment.”

The camera was shifted offside to the second half of the kitchen, on the massive kitchen island that was set and stationed with ingredients, counter-top ovens, and three contenders.

Franky, Usopp, and Bubblegum.

They waved at the camera before the spotlight was once again on Killer.

“Now I’m no stranger to making cake but I’m brave enough to acknowledge that when it comes to plating and food decorating, Sanji is the true expert. Heat, please bring out the birthday cakes.”

Heat walked to the camera and showed off the treat before depositing the three-tier cake, with classic yet tastefully festive decorations, on the table for the hosts. Clean calligraphy on the top declared it to be Sanji’s roommate’s name, the birthday boy. Straw Hat Luffy. Repeating the process, Heat dropped off another cake, this time the cake was designed and shaped to look like a hunk of meat. A small straw hat sat atop of the bone leg.

“Thank you, Heat. Our challenge is to have our contenders make cakes that rival Chef Sanji’s. The rules are: it has to taste well, look good, the cake must be made using the ingredients on the table - no getting creative…looking at you, Bubblegum…” Killer warned.

“Both stacked cakes are layered with buttercream frosting, and decorated with more frosting, modeling chocolate, and fondant for the details. On average it takes about 90 minutes to bake and decorate a cake with enough time for cooling and correcting for any errors. But Killer is a bit sadistic.”

“That I am. And because it’s my show, I’m only giving these guys one hour.”

Kid slammed his hands on the table, standing up to shout, “SO GET BAKING!”

A separate camera was stationed and angled to record the contenders, catching Usopp as he jumped and knocked his bowl of eggs on the ground. Shattering.

“Ooooh and we’ve suffered our first casualty already. Of course Kid caused it and OF COURSE Usopp reacted,” Killer commented.

“Yeah this is going to set him back a little but not by much, Killer. The rule of thumb is to have your eggs and butter be at room temperature so they incorporate with the ingredients better. Having to use colder eggs means his batter could come out denser than he intends,” Sanji lit a cigarette. “Oh I meant to ask, can I smoke in here?”

“It’s fine, we smoke in the house all the time,” Kid left the table and the suspicious sound of bubbling water could be heard, followed by a billow of smoke.

While Usopp rushed around Bubblegum to retrieve new eggs, Franky was fast at work setting his ingredients in order to start baking. Bubblegum was lightly dancing on his feet as he read over the written recipe they had been provided.

“We gave them base cake mix recipes so they have to decide a flavor combination on their own, which can really make or break a cake’s standing with the crowd,” Sanji piped up after taking a few drags.

“If I was given a bad cake, I’d take it personally,” Kid said menacingly, drumming his metal prosthetic fingers on the table.

“Yeah yeah the threatening and torturing, we’ve all heard it,” Killer waved him off. “Sanji, how did you make your cakes? Explain so our viewers can learn the proper way.”

While Sanji explained the intricacies of the art of baking, Bubblegum, Usopp, and Franky were hurriedly working on their creations.

Franky was whistling as he quickly mixed his ingredients, pouring the thin batter into the pans and popping them into the oven. He looked confident, with the box of butter left unopened and parchment paper forgotten. Things one would normally use to grease a baking pan and protect batter from sticking.

Bubblegum was pouring his cake batter in the pans before he froze, a worried look on his face. Looking between the oven and his station, he quickly opened a can of dulce de leche and drizzled it directly into the batter, using a fork to mix it evenly.

Usopp, in an effort to save time, was throwing all his ingredients into the bowl and mixing them together. The batter was looking a little liquidly as he stepped in place to channel his nervousness.

“While the cake is baking, you should work on your buttercream frosting, a key point in the process to keep the cake moist while you decorate. It also serves as a binding agent for folding fondant over it. We gave the contenders pre-made fondant and modeling chocolate because I have some compassion. Drape the fondant over the cake, smooth it out, and trim at the edges. For a regular cake you can mainly use buttercream, but I would recommend it for shapes like the meat cake because it can help it maintain some structure, if it’s balanced just right. Too much weight can cause it to fall off or make a dent in your cake.”

“Modeling chocolate is great for decorations and requires a less refined hand compared to buttercream calligraphy. I would knead and mold the chocolate to be a straw hat, the bone leg coming from the meat of the cake, or maybe something cute like little balloons and party hats as cake toppers,” Sanji chuckled.

“I’m going to make some predictions,” Killer folded his hands, “Franky’s cake will get stuck to the pan, Bubblegum’s cake might come out crumbled based on how hard he was forking his pan, and I’m a leeeettle concerned about salmonella from Usopp’s cake.”

“If it looks and smells fine, I’ll eat it,” Kid chipped in.

With two minutes left on the timer, Killer reminded the bakers to put their cakes under the frosted cake covers when the timer hit zero seconds.

The three judges rose to their feet as they counted down the last 10 seconds.

“3…2…1…present your cakes!”

The three contenders lifted their respective covers for both camera’s that were now hovering between all 6 men as they stood at the kitchen island.

It was…hard…to stifle the giggles and laughter coming from Killer and Sanji, while Kid looked more or less baffled with the results.

Franky’s cake was well structured like the tier cake Sanji had made, if only a little flatter and less attractive. Franky was good at making things, but not so much with decorating - at least not when it comes to cakes. His cake was layered with fondant that slightly ruffled at the edges, and his buttercream handwriting wasn’t the best. His chocolate balloons were perfectly spherical but missing their strings, so they were actually more like colorful balls.

Usopp’s cake was much, much smaller than all five cakes. His station was a mess of puddles and crumbled cake, suggesting his cakes had cooked too thin and fell apart easily. To compensate for the small stature, Usopp made an effort to recreate the meat shaped cake. It certainly looked like a meat. The cake was the same color as Sanji’s, the straw hat looked fairly decent, unfortunately it - along with the molded chocolate bone - weighed too much and fell off the side.

Bubblegum’s cake was a combination of both. He had made the tier cake, and added the straw hat and a mini-meat sized cake as the toppers for his cake. Instead of buttercream lettering, a single candle stood between the toppers.

“I don’t actually know how old he is,” the tattooed man said sheepishly.

Kid was about to say something when Killer stopped him, “Its taste testing time. Cut off a slice from each cake and we’ll let you know if it’s acceptable to give to the birthday boy…man… Is he still a teenager or in his twenties?” he whipped his head to Sanji.

Sanji lit another cigarette, “He’s a kid at heart.”

“Good enough! Let’s take a bite.”

Starting with Franky’s cake, Kid and Sanji’s faces immediately crinkled as Killer went off camera to eat his piece.

“The…the flavor,” the redhead choked out.

“It’s…certainly a unique choice but I’m not sure I can place it,” Sanji looked at Franky.

“It’s cola flavored,” the mechanic gave the camera a thumbs up.

“It certainly is,” Killer responded as he grabbed bottled water for himself, Kid and Sanji. “Your cake had us in the first half. It looked like it could be trusted, and while the cola in itself isn’t a baaaad flavor, just…when it’s in my mouth, I feel like my taste buds are screaming, ‘that shouldn’t be cake!!’”

The judges nodded in agreement before moving on to Usopp’s cake. Only this time, Killer didn’t step away to taste it.

“Usopp, your cake is somehow cooked in some layers but not in others and I’m struggling to understand how that’s possible,” Killer nudged the cake around the plate.

Sanji agreed, “You know my policy on not wasting food but I don’t think I can defend this one. Your creative skills shine wherever you take them, the cake definitely looked edible.”

Kid was the only one who ate his portion, “Can barely taste the flavor,” he shrugged, biting into the chocolate straw hat.

Moving on to the final cake, the judges tasted the generous slice presented to them.

Sanji started, “Bubblegum, I don’t know you that well but I can tell, you can make a cake on the fly. I liked your last ditch effort to flavor this cake with the caramel drizzle and it gives your cake a nice texture, especially where the cake is a little dry. Your decorations are pleasant to look at, you even went the extra mile by combining both my examples into one!”

Killer came back to the kitchen island, “He’s an overachiever, that’s our Bubbs. I even like how he made the straw hat out of rice krispie treat covered with thin layers of buttercream.

“Suck up,” Kid rolled his eyes as he finished the plate, “But its a good cake BG. You make me proud. I don’t really love fondant so I appreciate you topping the cake with frosting and leaving the fake crap to the meat topper.”

“The meat is also made of rice krispie treat,” Bubblegum chirped.

“Work smarter not harder, that’s m’boy.”

“It time to declare which cakes are acceptable to bring over for Luffy’s party,” Killer announced. The three judges took a few minutes to themselves to discuss the cakes.

Lining up in front of their contenders, Killer addressed them and the live audience at the same time, “We saw some struggles, we saw some personal challenges, and most importantly, we saw growth. Whether or not that helps you make better cake in the future is not really my problem but I hope you at least take away something meaningful from this.”

Usopp nervously giggled.

“The cakes that are acceptable—“

Killer didn’t finish his sentence, cut off as someone shouting throughout the house could be heard.

“SAAAAAANJJIIIIII? WHERE AAARRE YOOOUUUUU?” the person with a tune in his voice was coming closer to the kitchen, “C’mooonn!!! We can’t start the party without you!! Are you hiding my cake here? I promise I won’t take a bite out if it and cover it up like last time.”

The kitchen occupants were silently moving towards the backyard sliding glass door, hoping to make a clean escape. Their hopes quickly blown away as the kitchen door handle turned.

Monkey D. Luffy walked through the door, multiple cone hats sat over his trademark straw hat.

The last words the audience heard: “HOLY CRAP FIVE CAKES?!?!?!”

Before the live stream suddenly cut to black, a rabid Luffy sprinted towards the judges and contenders as they screamed in fear.

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

[purelylilyisonline]

Blog Post: Pilot

While thinking of what topic I could blab about for my first ever blog, lets get deep. A phenomenon I have just created, while pondering what to write. The Idea trash shoot. 

I find myself thinking of these creative Ideas, funny situations that my mind might have made up as a once simple thought. This thought then snowballs into so many other ideas that then mix together in the end. Jumbling together to confuse myself. The same way when you say the word water one too many times and you can’t stop thinking, who made this word? Now, can someone please give me the country of origin of ‘water’? What does water even mean? What. Is. Water. Does anyone else that I know THINK about water- 

Anyway, I sit and ponder whatever this “thing” might be. In my case it's usually a research topic that I may think would be a great new creative outlook to ponder. Maybe a skit I think would be funny, since I’ve wanted to try other genres of writing. I sit and think, AND think. As my mind gets so involved in thought, a million different avenues appear. Before I can get my laptop or a pen and paper, the origin of the idea at hand is lost in a sea of unimportance. Unfamiliar and honestly quite annoying, it's been put in my idea trash shoot. 

To make some sense of my situation at the moment. I was at a university college about a year ago, to be an English major. Events transpired but, going into my sophomore year of college I made the decision two weeks before I was supposed to fly back for the semester to drop out. Now, it wasn't for reasons most leave college. That is a far different story, with far too many different things I could pick and prot at. Though yes, I did make the decision to drop out. This wasn’t because I didn't want to go to school. Again a far different story with a point that is not what I am trying to get at. Leaving college was in what I feel, the path I needed to go down for the time being. Only problem being, I am a person with a mind that is always creating. A mind that is yurning for creative exposure. Because I am still so young school was really the only thing that I’ve had to put my mind to use for. I see myself missing my once infuriating, particular teachers that pushed me out of my comfort zones. Because this is secretly what my mind craves. 

Learning that all of my creative energy for so long was used up on school, friends, or just the stress of a student. That was my outlet. I’ve felt a sort of loneliness. A lesser sense of belonging since this is the first time in my life I have not had a big obligation like school. 

Now I think that brings me back to the topic at hand. The Idea trash shoot. Being so creatively backed up, you forget how to create. I could whip up a ten page research essay with seven scholarly sources in 3 hours while hungover, and still get a 92%. But now I find myself not even knowing where to begin once I place the pen between the palm of my hand. I find myself getting stressed out not by the idea itself but yet, the formatting that would go into it. whether the idea has enough weight for it to even create interest. Unnecessary details that dilute my courage and my idea getting lost in the process. 

But here I am. Before I started writing this about 15 minutes ago I was going through the same cycle I go through almost every time. I sit frustrated as my mind fills with inspiration yet, corrupted with endless thoughts. Reaching my breaking point I realized nothings going to work if I just don't try. I'm not going to like anything I write about if I don't believe in the weight of my creativity. So here I am giving the creative weight by writing about how I can’t write.

Some may think this is a silly first thing to write about when trying to put yourself out there. To that I raise the question with the Idea trash shoot. I'd like to believe that I can execute any idea that I want. That I am able to upcycle an idea with the freedom of my confidence. Then the alternative of giving up on my passion, and throwing all of my inspiration down the lonely shoot of trashed imagination. 

[sometimesrosy]

what now? idk

TBH, I don’t really know what to do with this blog now that The 100 is over. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it’s over, but I feel like just posting kitties and cool photo posts isn’t a good use of this spot. 

I really liked answering asks about the show and other stuff, and I kind of miss that, but not having the community makes it harder... even though I was unhappy with fandom for the last couple of years. 

What should I put on this blog? What would you guys like to see, if there’s still anyone out there? 

Let me tell you a bit of what I’m doing outside of tumblr or fandom or scifi.

Professionally, I’m ghostwriting contemporary romances. I’ve written about about 18 so far, in a couple of years. It’s hard work, it doesn’t pay real well. I can’t really suggest to other people, but it just manages to keep my head above water and I get to stay home and take care of myself and homeschool and write and be creative.

Reading wise, I’m leaning hard into the historical romances, and have been ever since I started ghostwriting. IDK why. I read one and write the other.

Writing wise, I am not getting very far on my science fiction books that I’m writing, nor am I getting far on querying for an agent for my finished novels. I’ve got Moonshine, which is based on a bellarke fic I wrote quite a few years ago, and then they’re Girl Of Freaks, which is a contemporary fantasy inspired by how annoyed twilight made me. Like. That’s not what vampires would be. Ugh. Whatever. That’s two finished novels I have that are ready for publication and me, having problems with querying and publication and staying on task. (sometimes I wonder if I too am ADHD after researching for my son’s ADHD. I have been doing a little poetry, too, although that kind of slowed down in the pandemic. It seems to be picking up now that we have a decent not terrifying president. I think I was too anxious to get my thoughts together to write poetry, which was disappointing because I was really getting into poetry.

I am ALSO homeschooling my two teens. One of whom is on the autism spectrum and has ADHD, etc, and one of whom wants to raise chickens. They’re 14 and 15.  He’s older. We’re reading greek mythology write now and writing essays. He writes about philosophy and psychology, and she writes persuasive essays about how we should have Disney+ and have chickens. 

That goes along with the gardening we’re doing. It’s a school project, but we’re also gardening for fun and health. so. We’re trying blueberries and green beans and spinach and herbs and tomatoes and ginger. 

Then I’m getting back into art, too. I took on a challenge on instagram to do 100 days of creativity. I don’t really know WHAT I’m going to do, but it’s essentially 100 days of art journaling as I rediscover what the hell I have to say as an artist. I’ve been doing so much writing that is where my energy goes. 

I am also working on an e-course about Writer’s Block. It’s specifically for writers, because I’ll be showing some writing hints, but a lot of it goes for general creativity. My main thesis is that writer’s block shouldn’t terrify us, but really if we pay attention and listen to what’s stopping us, we can actually learn about our own writing process and become better and happier writers. It’s turned out to be MUCH larger than I thought, a whole book, I suppose, rather than one e course, so I’ve broken it down into four courses, and I’m doing the first one on Overwhelm, which is self explanatory. The other three are; Fear (the internal demons that stop you,) The Narrative Itself (because your subconscious knows there’s a problem with the story itself,) and Not A Block, But a Fallow Period (in which you listen to yourself and DON’T write for a while.)

I suppose I’m also doing the health thing. I have hashimotos, which is basically why I was so sick for most of my time here and could barely get out of bed. Because of that, I’m eating gluten free and mostly natural, although ice cream and dark chocolate doesn’t seem to do any harm to me. So that means I’m also doing a lot of cooking, because processed food always seems to make me sick. Fun. On top of that I’m doing some easy going Yin yoga, or restorative IDK exactly what kind it is, but it’s mainly to manage pain and stay flexible after writing all day in a chair. 

So why post this? 

Because I guess I want to know if I should be posting stuff from my real life? Before, almost everything I posted was a response to an ask that someone sent me, so my entire blog was reader driven. Now I don’t really have that anymore, so it’s hard to know what anyone wants to hear, especially since I’m not doing that deep dive analysis into fandom or really any content. Any analysis I do is going to be impressions, or initial thoughts, not a dissertation like before. (It’s healthier for me that way.) 

So the question is, what do y’all want to hear about? Posts on homeschooling? Why? Most of you aren’t doing that? Do you want to talk to me about the historical romance books I’m reading? I could do that, but they can blur together, especially at the speed I read them. And because I reread the ones I really like a lot. I can’t really tell you about the books I’m ghostwriting since I signed a contract not to blab. They’re fun, I think. But you know. 

I could post my art work, idk. Not all of it is good. A lot of it is just about discovery. I could post poetry. I still haven’t figured out how to format poetry on this weird website. IDK maybe screenshots. I could post what’s happening in the garden. I could write about my ecourse and about writer’s block. Which I don’t have, obviously, since I am writing 3k words a day ghostwriting-- except I DO have it, every day. But I’ve managed coping strategies to work with it. I’m actually using it to deal with my struggles doing the e course. Listen this is how I get words on the page. 

I mean I post a lot of this stuff already on instagram instagram   https://www.instagram.com/rowenamurillo/ and on twitter   https://twitter.com/rosymamacita1 I’m mostly doing writer twitter, some romancelandia, some politics and feminism a touch of tv and movies. 

[creamypudding]

Woeful WIP Wednesday

Hi! This is the start of my Woeful WIP Wednesday series of posts which will happen on Wednesdays, duh. And before anyone gets up at me about it not being Wednesday yet... just remember time zones exist in this world, and yeah, it is actually Wednesday.

Other things about the name... Most of these WIPs I'm happy with so it's not the actual stories that are woeful. It's the fact that they are still WIPs and not finished that is woeful to me, hence the name, yeah? Ok 😄

So with that out of the way...

I've gone through all my folders and found the various bits and pieces of writing I've begun and let slide or abandoned. My hope is that by letting them be free on Tumblr I might either A) remember that these stories exist, B) perhaps get a renewed appreciation and motivation to poke them, C) give myself permission to never look at them again.

Some of these WIPs I 100% mean to finish one day. Some I know I won't. Some I have actually finished but haven't polished completely or something's getting in the way of me doing a final pass so I don't consider them worthy of going onto my Ao3 account just yet but hopefully will one day.

The WIPs I'm gonna upload are also of various lengths. I have some completed chapters that are thousands of words long, I have some that are mere hundreds of words long and are slips of ideas I started to formulate.

I have 10 AkuRoku WIPs and 6 Zakkura ones. Each week I'll post one WIP and the pattern will be 2 AkuRoku WIPs followed by 1 Zakkura to mix things up a bit. I'll blab a bit about the WIP and post the full WIP under the cut.

If there is anything in particular people would like to know about the stories or the creative process in future posts please let me know and I’ll incorporate more information if people are interested in that sort of thing. If you give me direction I can follow through.

I hope you will enjoy these WIPs and I trust you'll judge them way less harshly than what I judge my own writing.

So anyway, kicking things off I have a very short and sweet AkuRoku WIP. 

I started this in May 2019 and it's technically 'done' but I haven't posted it because it's not done to my specific level of 'done-ness'. All it needs is a little polish. A little editing here and there. Fixing the grammatical and spelling errors, and fleshing it out in a few spots perhaps.

It's the 'fleshing out' bit that hasn't happened and that's truly stopping me from considering this a finished product.

This story is called ‘10 ways to fall in love’ but I never came up with 10 scenarios which I suspect is why this story will never be finished. I could change the name of it and if I ever post it I will change the name of it. In fact, most of the WIPs I post would have different names if they ever do go up on Ao3.

But going back to this specific WIP— it is a canon story spanning Days, KH2, KH3, and after, which is maybe the biggest culprit in regards to why I never finished this story. I don’t do well with canon-based story telling. It’s too much pressure to get everything canon-compliant. Do people ask for things to be right? Probably not so much, but my brain is very hyperfocused on getting things right, which is a huge road block to my creativity and the reason why I prefer AUs.

I don't have much else to say about this story but if you enjoy this, or any of the other WIP’s it would be great if you would let me know.

If others are passionate about these stories it might make me passionate about them again. But who knows.

Rated G

Word count - 951

10 ways to fall in love

What do you call it?

This feeling I have?

Love?

No. Too strong, or not strong enough

A name

A special name

Your name

It was always your name

That made me feel like I had a heart

They didn’t have a name for it. They didn’t even know if what they felt was real because how could a Nobody feel anything. For Axel it was just a ghost of a memory of his old life. For Roxas it was an endless source of confusion because these strange sensations fluttered in his body all the time when he was around Axel. It was incredibly dull at first but grew exponentially bigger with the passing days.

He couldn’t reconcile that even the most tedious missions were made fun when they were around each other - though he shouldn’t be able to have fun without a heart. What were any of the experiences that ever happened between them, without a heart? They felt nothing. They were Nobodies. They couldn't be anything other than empty husks.

That had always been the greatest lie which had been told to them, which they chose to believe, until it became impossible, though the denial sat rife in the way they denied their joy, sadness, and anger. But the strongest denial flowed from the warmth and nameless affections that fluttered in the chest and stomach when they were together. Such a thing was most unbelievable of all and merely a figment of the imagination - a vestige of when they were Somebodies, a quiet echo in a vast nothingness of their actual existence. Even for Roxas, with his half-formed ideas of his Somebodies life.

But none of these things mattered because Roxas disappeared and Axel died.

"He made me feel like I had a heart." A quiet whisper of a thought, made real and said aloud finally crumbled the paper-thin veneer which Axel had clung too, all too late to do anything about.

And he is reborn, and now knows better. Lea knows better. He understands his returned heart which aches and bleeds broken and shattered even as it is physically whole inside himself, pumping blood. His soul has gone, reappearing for fleeting moments when he sees Sora get a certain look in his eyes, or uses a turn of phrase. A spark exists and it jolts Lea every time closer to awareness - closer to a name.

And then he is in that most miserable of places, fighting a war that might never be won, but he must try because the promise of what lies ahead if he does win is worth every risk. He fights for his friends, present and gone, and then out of almost nowhere Lea's heart is returned and whole and stronger than ever before, and his memories are back, and he holds the two people most dear to him. He cannot lose them again and does everything in his power to protect them both, and it is a safe feeling because it stops him from thinking too hard or feeling too strongly the flutters and warmth, and the soothing in his heart.

But he feels it all again, and let's himself be overcome by it as the never-setting sun of Twilight Town is observed with his most favorite people in the whole wide world sitting next to him.

He scooches a little closer, seeking the warmth and reassurance of Roxas next to him. The tinkling laugh builds his own and drips deep down into his body and soul to become the best sound he's always known to miss.

Happiness engulfs him. But it is not the word he looks for when he sees Roxas walking, talking, laughing, grumbling, and eating ice cream. It is so much bigger and all-encompassing than this miniscule word for a feeling..

"I never stopped wanting you back. I never stopped fighting to get you back," he confesses in the evening on Destiny Island, during a rare moment alone on this summer vacation full of reunions and happy tidings.

"I know. I saw, I heard."

"You did?"

Roxas nods and swings his legs as they dangle off the pier the both of them at sitting on.

It warms Lea’s heart to know Roxas was never far away. “I think I felt you – there in Sora. When he got angry and frustrated.”

Roxas laughs. “I was always angry and frustrated in Sora. Everything felt so warm and fluffy inside of there.”

“Realy? Why would that make you angry?”

“Because it’s like eating nothing but honey – you get sick of it,” Roxas shakes his head, “But it’s worse because someone else is force-feeding it to you.”

"It's ok. Just seeing you – knowing you were there wanting to get me back was enough." Roxas leans, Lea receives and the feels which are always right there, in the middle of his chest ignite and burn so bright.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help you."

Lea hugs him tight, almost too tight. Roxas writhes against his arms and just as Lea makes to let go Roxas gets his own arms around Lea and squeezed him, robbing him of his breath for a few seconds, but Lea feels he could happily die in Roxas' arms and savors the crush.

They both end up laughing against each other, inhaling deep breaths, rubbing their cheeks against each other and leaning their foreheads together.

Everything they ever felt for each other is still there, but stronger, because they have hearts and acceptance of their reality.

"Axel," Roxas' breath tickles Lea's lips. He doesn't care to correct Roxas. Roxas could call him a heartless and he wouldn't care because Roxas is back and with him.

"I don't want you to ever disappear again," Lea murmurs.

"I don't want you to ever suffer again," Roxas apologizes. 

Lea cups Roxas' cheek, which is so soft and warm. "I never will as long as you're with me."

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Things Done Differently 3

A/n: Supernatural RPF

Link to Chapter 2

Pairings: Richard Speight Jr x Reader

_________

The following days went smoothly for Richard and yourself. The two of you didn’t leave the house or the bed for the most part.

“These hormones of yours are really wearing me out, sugar. Not that I am complaining. Six months of just using my hand was miserable.”

Richard said with a smile as he watched you pull on some clothes. You smirked before trying to wiggle into a pair of leggings. With a sigh, you gave up after a few tries.

“I blame you for this.”

You said with a smirk as Richard sat up and attempted to fix his bed ravaged hair.

“I didn’t hear you complaining, especially last night, middle of the night, and this morning.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not complaining, silly. I never believed people when they said that when you get pregnant you turn into a horny mess. Well, now look at me you could bend me over whenever you want.”

Richard raised an eyebrow and was clearly considering your words.

“In that case, I better go buy me a supply of Viagra or something because sweetheart I’m not as young as I used to be.”

The two of you exchanged a smile.

“You haven’t needed any assistance so far. I have to run downtown and meet a client with my brother.”

Richard frowned.

“Ah gotta go meet Mr. Personality huh?”

You gave him a small frown.

“Rich, please. I know that you two don’t like each other.”

Richard held a hand up.

“Like isn’t a strong enough word, darlin. More like hate each other's guts and hope the other will drop dead.”

You pulled on a knee length sweater and tucked it around your stomach. For the past few months, you had been so used to trying to find creative ways to hide the fact that you were pregnant. The realization that you didn’t have to still hadn’t really kicked in.

“Richard, I’m not asking much of you just please for our daughter, try to get along with Andrew. Like it or not he’s going to be a part of her life. He’s my business partner. Carmichael records isn’t what it would be without my brother. I can’t do it all on my own.”

Richard frowned feeling guilty. He stood pulling on his jeans before going to you.

“Sugar, I’m sorry. He just bugs me. You’re right our daughter doesn’t need all the drama. I’ll see you when you get home..”

He leaned down pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, deepening the kiss. Richard sighed against your mouth.

“And this is what led to you getting pregnant. You better get going. I don’t want your brother coming in here seeing me half naked.”

You turned with a smile and walked out of the room.

Half an hour later, Richard sat in the living room waiting for Rob, Matt, Jensen, Jared, and Ruth to show up. Tonight was the night that he was going to let some of his friends other than Rob in on his secret. Part of him was ready to get the news of your pregnancy out in the open so the two of you could walk out in public and not feel you were hiding. The other part wanted to keep his daughter as safe as possible. Even if she wasn’t born yet, Richard wanted to keep the kid safe from all the sets of eyes in Nashville that would be on her once she was born.

Richard looked down at the magazine on the coffee table. It was Andrew and yourself on the cover of Nashville Star magazine. Richard sighed looking at you carefully. You were dressed in a loose black dress that clearly hid your stomach. Richard sat down with a groan. He hated knowing that because of him, you had gone to all those crazy lengths to hide your condition.

Looking at Andrew, Richard frowned. He knew that he had to find a way to get along with the oldest Carmichael. If there was anyone that could quiet some of the crazy that the unplanned pregnancy was about to cause it would be Andrew Carmichael. Even though Richard was annoyed at the thought of going to Andrew to keep the reporters off of you; he had a feeling he would be doing it. Sure, Richard could put his two cents in on everything to the reporters but that would cause even more of a circus fest. Andrew could smooth things over. Richard had seen him do it plenty of times when it came to an artist who was going through a rough patch. Andrew could have made Britney Spears 2007 meltdown look sane.

The doorbell ringing pulled Richard from his thoughts. Looking down at his watch, he was relieved to see that it was time for his friends to show up. Getting out of his head was the best thing at the moment. Getting up and walking to the door, Rob looked concerned as soon as Richard answered.

“Hey buddy! Didn’t know you bought a new house.”

Jensen said cheerfully as he walked in with Jared behind him. Matt grinned.

“Did you have someone decorate it for you or did you suddenly become awesome at interior decorating?”

Richard smirked as they sat down on the couch. Rob hadn’t out of earshot before turning and looking at Richard.

“Is everything okay? You look stressed.”

Richard shrugged.

“Just a lot on my mind. I’ll be good.”

Rob didn’t look too believing as he walked to join Ruth on the couch. Taking a deep breath, he decided just to let everything come out in the open. Feeling nervous around his friends was something that was not like him in the slightest. Anyone that knew Richard in the slightest knew that being shy or keeping secrets from his friends was not the man he was.

“So Rich, what is with you?”

Jared asked with a smile. Richard sat down .

“So I uh…have a girlfriend.”

Jensen looked surprised and nodded with a smile. Ruth clasped her hands together looking excited. She wasn’t about to say it but they had all been worried about Richard over the past few months. He had not been his normally cheery sarcastic self. Seeing him withdrawn and clearly acting when on stage was not her normal friend.

“Well, that is wonderful dear! You have seemed so moody lately.”

Richard nodded.

“She’s pregnant.”

The whole room went silent. Everyone looked between themselves before looking back to Richard. Matt tilted his head to the side.

“Come again?”

Jensen and Jared were mouthing what the fuck to each other before Jensen turned to Richard.

“We see what you have been doing!”

Matt meanwhile, was grinning.

“Is there something that you’ve forgotten to tell us and does it have something to do with all the love bites you’ve been sporting? That’s right I see things because I am your friend! Wait a second! Rob did you know about this?”

Rob nodded, hoping to keep everything as calm as possible. He was worried about Richard from the moment that he walked in the door. Jensen chuckled.

“Well, that explains everything! Rob how in the hell did you keep this to yourself? I figured you would have blabbed by now.”

Jared got up and went to stand beside Richard.

“Rich probably threatened to kick his ass. Rob is the only one that threat will work on. He’s the only one smaller than Rich.”

Jared said with a smirk before resting his arm on the top of Richard’s head. Richard quickly pushed Jared off with a frown while Rob crossed his arms over his chest.

“HEY!”

Rob squeaked. Having enough at the masculine ball-breaking fest, Ruth stood up.

“Okay boys that is enough. Richard, how far is she? How long have you been together?”

Richard looked up finally.

“She’s 6 ½ months. We’ve been together for over a year…just the past six months we were kind of broke up because I wanted to keep everything hush-hush.”

Matt looked like he had just figured out a grand puzzle.

“SO that is why you were coming back to Nashville all the time! I knew that there was something that I was being left out of! I thought that I was supposed to be in on this friendship. I feel so left out right now.”

Richard chuckled.

“I am sorry that you haven’t been included in the latest chapter of this train wreck called my life! If I could have….”

The sound of the door closing pulled Richard from his thoughts. He almost yelled the moment that he saw you standing in the doorway. From the look on your face, you had heard everything he had just said and wasn’t happy. Matt was the first one to say something. Matt looked awestruck looking at you. You were definitely as pretty as in all of the magazines.

“You’re Y/n Carmichael.”

You smiled politely.

“You must be Matt.”

Matt grinned.

“You really are pregnant!”

Everyone looked at Matt like he was absolutely nuts. Richard rolled his eyes.

“Did you think I was lying?!”

Matt shrugged.

“Just thought you might have been trying to pull one over on us.”

You chuckled before looking down at your watch.

“It's nice to have met you all. I’m sorry to run but I have a plane to catch in two hours and have to pack. I hope to see you all again.”

Richard’s less than amused expression became even more grave.

“Plane?”

Your eyes went to your boyfriend.

“I have a meeting in Texas in the morning with a potential client. Andrew decided to just spring it on me an hour ago. I should be back the day after tomorrow.”

You turned with a smile before walking into the bedroom shutting the door. Once you were out of the room, Jensen turned looking at Richard.

“Dude I think she heard what you said about your life being a train wreck.”

Richard ran a hand through his hair.

“Ya think? I didn’t mean it like that!”

Jensen shrugged innocently.

“You might not want to sit here and tell me. You may wanna go in there and talk to her.”

Richard groaned before turning and walking into the bedroom. The last thing he wanted was to lose you all over again because he made some crazy comment that he didn’t need to make in the process.

Walking into the bedroom, you stood to put random outfits into a suitcase. You didn’t even look up when he walked into the room cluing Richard in that you were upset.

“Y/n, about what you heard sugar.”

You looked up before holding up your hand.

“You don’t have to explain.”

You wanted to say more but didn’t. You wanted to let Richard know what you were feeling but that would just escalate to an argument. The last thing that you wanted before a trip to Texas was an argument with your boyfriend. You knew that if you wanted to keep Richard, fussing at him was the last thing that you needed to be doing!

Richard hadn’t moved from his place by the door for a moment before going to sit on the bed.

“Y/n, talk to me.”

You shook your head.

“There is nothing to say. Everything is fine.”

Richard ran a hand through his hair as you kept putting random clothing items in the partially full case.

“So are you coming back?”

You looked up.

“Of course.”

“You’re packing like you are about to run or something.”

You looked up again.

“I’m pregnant. I need lots of clothes. If I am not burning up one moment I am freezing to death the next. That calls for a lot of material.”

Both of you were quiet for a moment before Richard spoke again.

“You know, Y/n I am an actor I can spot someone lying from 100 feet away. I know you heard what I said and none of that pertained to you.”

You zipped your bag before looking up like nothing had happened.

“Okay.”

This was the point that Richard was beginning to get aggravated!

“Damn it, Y/n don’t do this! You are doing just what you used to! Instead of us talking about our problems you are just shoving them deeper and deeper into Pandora’s fucking box. It's like I can’t get you to trust me no matter what I do!”

You froze at that. Your pretty face went sour like you had eaten a ton of sour Skittles. Turning and looking at Richard, your eyes looked too much like Andrew’s for his liking.

“Fine, you wanna know what I thought when I heard you say that your life was a train wreck? I wanted to tell you to just leave. Just go like you did before and leave me to it. I tried to think that you were back here because you were actually in love with me and it wasn’t some sense of masculine sense of duty. Now I am starting to think that I was right in the first place. I am not staying with someone who considers our child a mistake or contributing to what you call a train wreck.”

Richard looked totally floored by that one. He looked like someone had crept up behind him and yanked the rug he was standing on out from under him.

“What the hell?!!! I never called our daughter a mistake and I sure am not staying with you out of a sense of male pride!”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Calling it as I see it.”

You turned and walked from the room without another word leaving Richard between shocked and furious! You meanwhile, knew everything that you said was wrong and that you shouldn’t leave angry like this. You knew Richard would never in the right mind mean the train wreck comment to be about you, however, you couldn’t help feeling hurt. Tomorrow you would probably regret everything that just happened but tonight you wanted to be miserable.

The next thought to enter your mind was the fact that you had to put on a grand act around Andrew. If your brother knew that Richard and yourself were already fighting that would offer no favors in the future. In fact, Andrew would probably just be hating Richard more than he already did. Putting on an act around Andrew was hard to do in the first place. You could only hope that your brother would buy your pregnancy hormones as being the reason that you were upset. For the past six months, if she started randomly crying or became irrationally angry Andrew would peek over his computer at you like a frightened church mouse. However, now that he knew Richard was back if you showed up with puffy swollen eyes from crying he wouldn’t hesitate to say it was Richard’s fault; pregnancy hormones be damned.

One of the shocking things with Andrew was he had been surprisingly tender with you in your “predicament.” You didn’t even remember him being this tender with Ashton when she was pregnant with his own children! This was probably what contributed to Ashton’s sudden dislike of you. She sure as hell didn’t let an opportunity to let you know of her displeasure.

“I couldn’t even get him to go get me food in the middle of the night. All you have to do is say that you are hungry and he will go running for you.”

You had been tempted to say that being your brother’s pet since the time that you were born definitely seemed to have its benefits as well as its disadvantages. You decided to remain silent on the matter. You weren't about to stir that pot in the disaster known as Andrew and Ashton: married couple.

Settling yourself into your car, you looked down seeing your brother’s name on the iPhone’s screen.

“Nose like a goddamn Doberman.”

You muttered before answering the phone.

“Hi Andrew.”

Her brother’s voice was instantly inquisitive.

“Have you been crying? What’s that guy done to you now?”

You winced.

“Richard didn’t do anything. I just…don’t want to leave him for a few days.”

You mentally congratulated yourself on a good save as Andrew sounded grossed out.

“Forget I asked. I was just calling to see if you were on your way.”

You sighed, as she pulled onto the highway.

“I am. See you in fifteen.”

_______

@brokencasbutt67-writer

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[harrieatthemet]

Signature

in which your sister gets engaged and Harry needs the sheet of paper. 

im baaaaaaaack!

He’s absolutely green with envy.

Riddled, consumed, and enveloped by jealousy. If he wasn’t so good at putting on a show, surely someone would’ve picked up on it by now. But he is; he’s made a career out of it, after all.

His eyes linger modestly on your sister as she sits vertical from him at the table. And he smiles as she gushes about her news, trying his hardest to match her excitement as he cracks a smile.

“It’s beautiful,” you coo, your grin almost as wide as your sisters, “let me see it again.”

Harry stares with adorn as your sister extends her hand across the table, placing her palm to rest in yours for the third time.

Platinum silver. He prefers rose gold but he sees how content your sister is, and decides to compliment her on her fiancées choice in color. He can’t tell quite how many carats it is; 2, maybe 3? Not that it matters. Modest, he thinks, but again it’s his own preference. He likes to be dramatic, but that’s his preference.

He knows asking will only fuel the jealousy even more, but he can’t help but give into curiosity.

He directs his attention to your sisters fiancée, “how did you propose?”

Without even so much as glancing at your sister, he can see from the corner of his eyes the way her eyes light up; almost like she had been waiting all night for someone to ask that very question. Your expression doesn’t lack enthusiasm either, with wide eyes and a child-like grin.

The two of you both sit and listen, your sister fiddling with the new diamond sitting comfortably on her ring finger.

Harry zoned out around the first couple of sentences. And it’s not because he isn’t happy for your younger sister; he’s over the moon. She’s as good as family, if not better, to him. Seeing her happy and engaged makes him feel good, at least, it should.

“M’happy for yeh kiddo,” and Harry means it sincerely, “gonna make a brilliant bride.”

His comment is genuine, even though as he makes it he knows you’d be twice as beautiful in an all white gown. And though the engagement story, for the small amount he was mentally tuned into, was nice he knows he’d propose to you far more creatively.

The mere thought of if makes his throat go all dry, in the best kind of way of course. Butterflies flutter subtly inside his stomach. The lighting in the kitchen is dim enough so no one can ask him why his cheeks haven’t gone a bit pink.

He’s so meticulous, so he knows his proposal would be so well planned. It would play out so nicely; romantic for sure. Private as well, not that it would matter; he’s sure that the occasion, even the gesture itself, would be so intimate it would feel like you and him were the only two people in the world.

“Your next.” 

He feels your sister’s voice almost before he hears it. And his neck cranes back from their brief hug goodbye so she could see the expression on his face; puzzled. 

“M’sorry?”

“You’re next.” the second time she says it is more giddy, her hand subtly raised so she can wiggle. her ring finger before you catch her. 

And even minutes later, as he trails behind you through the front door of the house, he’s still got the image of a sparkly engagement ring ingrained in his head. 

Your hands put the keys in the dish, then they’re twirling the stray piece of hair hanging from your bun. With knitted brows, he watches your hands, your barren ring finger in specific, and imagines a blinding diamond. He imagines how you’d react when he asked; would you cry? Hopefully not, if you cry he will too. 

“Too much wine?”, Your voice is even more melodic in real time than it is inside in his head.

He can peek just over his shoulder in order to get a clear shot of you, nestled comfortably into the sitting room couch. Your shoes are plopped down just at the bottom of the couch, while your feet end up finding relief atop the coffee table he’d just shelled out thousands on. Usually he’d hiss at you, swat your heels off because hello, smudges! But it’s an argument he’s willing to retire for right now; he’s divulged in half a bottle of red and his daydreams have him feeling as though he could walk on water. 

A pat on the open seat beside you is more than enough to lure him from the opposing end of the room, bringing with him that dorky smile. He also makes time to toe off his shoes, sprawling out his body along the couch so his head falls into your lap. 

“Had a nice night,” he sighs contently, letting out the words all in one breath, “never seen y’sister smile f’so long.” 

He lets out another small puff of air, his eyes fluttering closed as he succumbs to bliss. You know he loves this; loves when you run a couple fingers through the tousled pieces of hair at the front of his head. He’e fell asleep right here, in the middle of the living room, if he didn’t have plans to initiate a marital conversation.

“Mmm,” you hum, “me neither, s’good for her. Good for them.” 

“Innit?” and now he’s ready to lead this conversation where he’s been wanting to, “was a bit of a surprise, though, yeah?” 

“A surprise?,” you reiterate, and he modestly looks up at you as a way of agreeing, “Not really, no. It surprised you?” 

“I mean,” he hesitates, “it did a bit, yeah.” 

There’s a brief pause amidst the conversation. You haven’t got a clue as to what he’s eating away at him. Clearly something is; it’s blatantly clear in the way his eyes are cautiously peeking up at you before randomly roaming about the room. And each time he opens his mouth to continue speaking, he promptly shuts it before allowing anything to come out. 

“Gonna tell me why?” and that’s all it takes for him to start blabbing. 

“I just,” he exhales, “dunno, always thought we’d be engaged before her. Hell, thought we’d be married before her.”  

A quick pause from you is enough to send his heart race inside his chest. His eyes are glued to you, blinking barely as he watches you gaze down at your hands tangled in a few strands of his hair. But you shrug. There’s a calm laugh coming from you, too, and he’s not sure whether to be relieved or put off by it. 

“It isn’t a race, you know.” you remind him.

“I know,” he agrees, “I know.” 

“Besides,” you sigh, letting your hand retreat as you ward off sleep, “never really saw us as the marrying type, anyways. 

A once steady breathing pattern has become irrationally ragged as he sits upright, eyes wide as he somehow has rid himself of a wine haze and a bit of a sleep fog. naturally, his eyebrows weave together in curiosity as he tries to play back what you just said to him. 

He doesn’t have enough thinking space to process you’re bewildered reaction. And he doesn’t have enough thinking space to understand what it was that got you to say that. How did this not come up sooner? How did he not know? How were the two of you not. on the same page. 

“Not th’marrying type?” he repeats your comment slowly, word for word. 

As much as he wishes he wasn’t, the longer he stares at you the more anger seems to bubble. The nod of your head as he repeated it made him want to physically crawl out of his skin and disappear. You seem so unbothered. 

“Tell me, than,” and his voice has become more condescending, “what exactly do you ‘see’ us as?”

“Are you mad?” your tone is much smaller now upon getting a look at the grim expression on his face; 

“G’on ‘n answer me.” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “comfortable?” 

He sits for a minute longer, clearly a prisoner to his own thoughts. For a couple more minutes, it’s just silent. The dishwasher in the next room is the only thing making noise, until that stops and it’s radio silent in the sitting room. 

Comfortable. Comfortable. It could really mean anything. And in any other context, he’s sure that you being comfortable with him was a flattering compliment; one he could enjoy. But not right now, because all it’s doing is sitting uneasy in the pit of his stomach. 

So he gets up. He decides that the longer he sits, the more unwell he starts to feel. And he’s assuming you’ll be respectful enough to give him a moment of peace; that’s the impression he’s under as he wanders out of the sitting room and turns for the kitchen. But of course, the padding of feet on hardwood is enough of an inkling to tell him he’s got company following on the heels of his feet. 

“Well I’m not a mind reader,” you snap, “so if you’re feeling some kind of way right now, it’s best that you grow up and tell me.” 

It’s calm for a moment; eerily calm. It’s the kind of stillness that occurs before a storm. It’s a warning of something somber and treacherous; you could say the same for the expression on his face once he turns to look at you. 

“Bold of yeh t’decided we just aren’t th’marrying type,” he barks, “don’t quite remembering agreeing t’tha’.” 

You’re a bit taken aback, because you hadn’t necessarily realized just how cross he really was. He’s practically seething and, although a bit alcohol may be at a fault, you’re sure that 95% of this is all Harry. 

“I didn’t decide that,” you rebuke, “I just assumed it!”

“S’one hell of an assumption, than.” he snaps, and you roll your eyes. 

“S’been fucking years,” you jeer, “if we wanted to be married we would’ve done it by now.” 

He’s not entirely sure if you know just how low of a jab that was. If he wasn’t riding an anger high right now, he would be sure that you were unaware of it. But he’s decided that you do understand, and it only seems to make things worse. It only makes things more tense. 

“Y’right, yeah?” he laughs, but it’s bitter, “ ‘Cos my career is nonexistent, right? M’never busy?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

He knows. At least, he thinks he knows. But it doesn’t matter. He’s angry and proving his point is the only thing he has the urge to do right now. 

“It’s a stupid piece of paper with our signature!” you argue, “It’s a sheet of fucking paper that we don’t need!”

“Maybe I need it,” he retorts, “maybe I do need the stupid sheet of paper!” 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” you shout, “you absolutely don’t, and you’re only saying you do to piss me off!” 

“Can’t build a home with comfortable,” he rebuttals, “can’t have a family with comfortable.” 

The words settle with you differently than he had intended them to. It’s almost as though you can feel your stomach flip a bit. It’s like your heart dropped to your stomach, demeanor softening a bit because as the words that just previously flew so freely from Harry’s mouth have no left you with a heartache and an overwhelming sense of disappointment. 

“So I’ll go,” you breath, “I’ll go, than.” 

[fmdmiri-blog]

Hey everyone! It’s your fave, non gender conforming pal, Kim here and I’m back with a second muse. You guys already know me and my other muse @fmdguanting, but now it’s time to get to know this little lady here, Miri. She’s the leader, main vocal and rapper of BEE. Every hoobae’s favorite unnie/noona (is that self proclaimed? Maybe). I have her profile completed, which you can find by clicking on this link right here. I actually didn’t have much time to put together plots for her because it’s my birthday weekend, so this post is actually scheduled to post after acceptances and I’ll get to messages and welcoming the newbies later tonight/tomorrow! And I’ll try to have her plots finished and completed by Tuesday. Now, onto her background! 

She was born on October 1st, 1988. Certified grandma, I know.

Her mother struggled with drug and alcohol addiction, and wasn’t fit to be a parent, but no one tried to get her guardianship rights taken away. Her grandparents weren’t any help, and it wasn’t until her aunt came of age and became financially stable that she took Miri in as her own when she was a little girl. 

She’s always held some resentment towards her mother because of the way she was neglected as a child. She doesn’t feel any sympathy towards her whatsoever. 

Singing was a hobby that quickly turned into a passion for her. She had, ironically, gained her singing ability from her mother, and she would participate in school musicals and stuff just so she would have more chances to sing. 

Her mother told her that she had to graduate high school before she started pursuing a music career, so as soon as she finished her schooling, she started auditioning for labels. She was lucky enough to get into BC in 2006, and she’s been there ever since. 

For her, the worst part of the training process was the waiting part. She had to wait four long years before she graduated and it was the longest four years of her life. 

Once she was told that she would be the leader of BEE, she went into grind mode so she could become the best leader possible and take care of her girls. 

When they debuted and were met with almost immediate success, her mother tracked her down and tried to demand money from her. In order to keep things hush and to not ruin Miri’s career, BC paid her mother off to avoid any conflict. 

That caused Miri to see BC in a positive light, until they shipped them off to the states not even a year after they debuted. She was pissed off because she thought (and rightfully so) that they should wait to be more stable in Korea first. She’ll forever be lowkey bitter about the fact that they never fully reclaimed their spot as the top girl group when they ended their U.S. promotional stint in 2013. 

Then one of the girls ended up leaving, which was really hard on her because she had trained with her for so long and they had grown so close with one another only for her to leave without really giving a reason as to why she left. She moved past it after a while though. 

Her view of BC only got worse after a while because they kept stifling her creativity. The other girls were allowed to pursue acting ventures and other stuff, but BC shut her down every time she even mentioned doing something on her own. 

When their contracts were up in 2017, she had already made up her mind that she was going to be leaving and going somewhere else. She didn’t want to stay with a company that wouldn’t let her grow as an artist. BC tried to convince her to stay by promising to let her do more personal and solo schedules, but she wouldn’t budge. Then they decided to blackmail her by threatening to leak to the press that her mother was under the influence of not only alcohol but drugs, and that would’ve ruined her career. So, she begrudgingly signed with them again. 

She was happy with the success of their January comeback ‘Something’, but her happiness faded out quickly when her mother contacted her again. This time, she was clean and sober and had been for a few years. She thought it would be her chance to build up a relationship with her mother again, especially because her mother was treating her so kindly. At least for the first few days, then she brought up the real reason why she was there; money. She wanted Miri to help pay off her debts because the government was after her mom for tax evasion. BC wouldn’t help her this time, so she had to do it herself, or else her mother would blab to the press. 

The stress of an up in the air career and being blackmailed by her mother cultivated in the form of weight gain for Miri. By the time BEE came back with ‘I Swear’, she had gone up a whole dress size and the netizens and anti fans had, and are still having, a field day attacking her for her weight. On top of that, BC is watching her like a hawk and telling her that if she doesn’t lose weight on her own, they’ll put her on a restrictive diet. At this point, she’s frustrated and a little scared because she can’t seem to lose weight no matter what she does. 

Despite all of that, she doesn’t want to stop fighting. Being an entertainer and an artist is her dream, it’s her entire life, and even though she’s not as happy as she could be, she knows she wouldn’t be happy at all if she wasn’t involved in the industry any longer. So she’s pretty much grinning and bearing it and hoping that it’ll pass in due time. 

In terms of her personality, she’s really stern and strict when it comes to her career. The other BEE girls probably hate her because she pushes them to be their absolute best whenever they’re preparing for a comeback. Spends hours in the recording and dance studios until she’s 100% satisfied with the finished product. 

Outside of work, she’s usually friendly. She tries her best to be a good senior to her juniors, and she thinks she does a pretty good job of that. 

[aethernoise]

Hey! Do you have any general advice for writing pre-existing characters please? :D Your portrayal of Aymeric especially always feels so genuine, and I just wonder how you go about 'getting into their heads', so to speak. As somebody who has only ever written OCs, it's proving to be my first large hurdle! Thank you for any advice you can give

Sorry it took me a while to answer, this is sort of a tricky question. My immediate response was “I DON’T get into his head, he gets into MINE and I try to make something out of it” because that’s how writing feels a lot of the time, OCs included. That said, I think there are some general things you can do to make it easier to get into an existing character’s head, or to make it easier for you to really hear them and communicate for them.

Obvious disclaimer here is that I am not an Authority on NPC writing, and I only write one NPC with any depth or regularity. This advice may not work for every character. This is also advice given under the assumption that you want to be as canon-compliant as possible—ultimately you can do whatever the hell you want, it’s your writing.

Like I joked before, I often feel like Aymeric kind of does what he wants and I play typing catch-up. In the event that he isn’t just blabbing away, if his dialogue has me stumped I generally try to break it down to the following:

1. What is he trying to say? What am I trying to say?

2. Is this something I feel he would say at all? Not necessarily in choice of words, but in message and content. (If you’re faced with a “maybe not, but I still want him to say it” answer, carefully consider the context. Is the context enough to validate what might otherwise be OOC? Is this a creative decision I feel confident in making? If not, you might need to revisit your idea)

3. I know what he’s trying to say, now how would he say it? This step will vary wildly from one character to the next, and is pretty technical in nature when you get right down to it. It requires study. Re-watch cutscenes in the journal, consult quest dialogue. One of the reasons I feel so comfortable writing Aymeric is because I have paid a lot of attention to his dialogue, text and spoken. I’ve made observations about specific things and tried to apply them to the dialogue I write (for instance: he very seldom uses common contractions, but fancier ones like ‘twould and ‘twas are fairly common). Are there words or phrases you notice they use a lot? Are there any words or phrases noticeably missing? Do they “must needs”? (Really great example of this: Alphinaud yes, Alisaie not necessarily).

This is all sort of dialogue-specific, but it goes for internal monologue and general POV writing as well. Even with no dialogue characters will have a different “voice.” Aymeric is formal, but candid. He is emotional, but measured (most of the time). He is occasionally a bit flowery and almost always wordy as all fuck. Taking a second to describe a character’s voice or style can be helpful in figuring out how to make it your own, so to speak.

Honestly you have to just internalize the character’s voice, and pray they have a good actor to help you. Same process for non-voiced characters, but good luck, because that’s way harder IMO. I don’t know where I’d be without Blake Ritson. I think the most important takeaway from the above thought process is to not get hung up on exact word choice FIRST—first figure out what you’re actually trying to communicate, and then translate. With practice it will come naturally and you’ll be able to do both things in one try.

…again, everyone’s interpretation of a canon character is different. I’ve read a lot of Aymerics both in fic and RP and there are definitely some different takes out there, both in terms of dialogue mechanics and general portrayal/ headcanons. There are some choices I agree with, and some I definitely do not, but ultimately everyone is going to be a little different… and I don’t want everyone to write him the same way. My Aymeric is not your Aymeric and that’s fine! I just always try my best to “go back to the text” in moments of uncertainty, because he’s not my character. I love him as if he were my own, but I also love him as he exists in the source material, and therefore always want to do him justice.

Wheezes this got very long. Thank you for the question, it’s really very flattering and I appreciate your trust in me. Happy to help however I can.

[smoochcal]

numb without you (part eleven)

a/n: hello again! I definitely did not want to be creative and give the roommate a name so just know that RM/N is calum’s roommate smh. please give me feedback in any way shape or form you have it in my inbox :) suggestions are always welcome with all my writing but especially with this series!! I hope you guys are enjoying it so far and as always thank you to miss el for being my main inspiration for this entire writing work. if we could get this update to 20 notes that would be rad!! (part ten here)

pairing: readerxluke

word count: 1.7k

playlist: numb without you by the maine, piece of your heart by mayday parade

summary: Luke is fed up with the secrets and lies that Calum is giving him, the three of you have dinner together

rating: PG-13

warnings: swearing, secrecy

Y/N’s POV:

The three of you made your way back to your apartment after the appointment was finished. You swear you couldn’t stop smiling after you found out the news, and it’s true you have not stopped smiling for the past hour. You were so incredibly happy right now and you could not think of a single thing that could change your mood. You and the baby are both incredibly healthy and everything is going the way it should.

Once you all get back to the apartment, Luke and Calum decide the three of you need dinner. They both offer to go pick up some pizza. You make sure they get your favorite kind, cheese with extra cheese. Luke mentioned that any other kind of pizza would be gross, a jab at Calum for ordering something other than what the two of you were planning to eat. You mess with the necklace carefully placed around your neck as the two of them bicker about who knows what at this point. Luke got you this necklace for the first birthday you celebrated with him. It has a little butterfly charm on it and it has to be one of your favorite things that you own.

Before you know it the two of them are walking out of your front door and getting in the car to go pick up the pizza, they both insisted on having for dinner.  

---------------------------------------------

Luke’s POV:

You cannot believe the bullshit Calum is pulling right now. The two of you have been fighting practically since he showed up late to Y/N’s doctor’s appointment. After finding out about his whole roommate lover whatever situation, you really could not put up with his bullshit anymore. How can he even begin to care about Y/N and his own child if he’s too busy trying to fuck his roommate? Why did he even have a roommate? You definitely know he does not need someone else to help him pay rent, so this whole having a female roommate thing has to be something he has up his sleeve.

You did not get to say much to him last night when you found out about his roommate, mainly because he forced you out of his house the minute he realized you had met her. It’s not necessarily your fault that you found out about RM/N. You just stopped by to talk to Calum considering the two of you haven’t really talked much without Y/N being there. You have so many questions regarding this rather odd situation, and it was honestly hard to figure out a place to start. He was driving to the pizza place which was about a 25-minute drive from Y/N’s place. You had the time now, so you decided to ask him a couple questions about the whole situation as calmly as you could.

“So…what’s the deal with the whole roommate thing?” you ask Calum in the most nonchalant way possible.

Calum sighs with his eyes still glued to the road in front of him which you don’t know if he is doing this because he is driving or because he truly just does not want to look at you right now. He takes his time with answering your question. You know that there had to be some reason why he was keeping her from everybody. As far as you knew, literally no one knew about RM/N until you happened to stop by his house the one time he wasn’t home and she happened to answer the door. You feel kind of intrusive for being so blunt about the situation, but you did not have the time nor the energy to dance around this any longer. You were truly trying to understand where Calum was coming from with all of this and you wanted to make sure that Y/N and their kid would not be hurt in the process. Some song by Mayday Parade which you vaguely recognize was filling the empty space in the car and the silence made before Calum finally opens his mouth in order to talk to you about what exactly is going on.

“…I didn’t mean for her to get in the way of anything. I know it was probably wrong of me to keep RM/N away from you and the guys and Y/N and basically everyone in my life I just didn’t know what to do about the situation quite yet and I was hoping if I waited a little bit longer I would give myself some time to figure it out. You want me to start from the beginning?” Calum asks, glancing over at you for a nod of approval, which you give him.

“Basically, I was deep into the darkness that is the internet and I came across an ad for this girl looking for a place to live. Normally I would just scroll past something like that considering I definitely don’t need someone to help me with rent or anything like that…but then I read more of the description of her and saw her picture and got to thinking that I would need someone to watch Duke whenever we do promo and eventually go back on tour and why would I hire a stranger to come and watch my house while I was gone for months at a time when I could just have a roommate who would do that for me anyway because it was also their house and Duke already knew them…” he eventually trails off long enough for you to question exactly what he was trying to get at.

“So, you’re telling me that you found RM/N on a random Craig’s list ad and decided based off her picture and short description that she wrote about herself ALONE was the reason you decided you needed a roommate AND decided it needed to be her?” you conclude, looking at Calum skeptically.

“Dude, I know where you are going with this…and please just give me a break I know it’s weird, can we just get over that part? She lives with me now and I need to know what the fuck to do about it before you go blabbing to Y/N all about my home life that she doesn’t know about…” Calum responds, obviously concerned with what you are going to do with this information now that you have it.

You shake your head before ultimately responding in a somewhat decent way that would please Calum for the time being, “Fine, but don’t think that you are going to get off the hook that easily with all of this…especially that bullshit you pulled earlier with being almost twenty minutes late to the most important doctor’s appointment so far…like you are so incredibly lucky that the doctor herself was running behind with her appointments for the day because if everything was on time you would’ve missed the whole thing. What were you even doing that caused you to be so late?”

“I…uh…was writing a song…” Calum mumbles as he continues to stare ahead at the road in front of him, obviously avoid any and all eye contact with you to show what you had already confirmed.

“Well that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one…what were you fucking your roommate or something?” you question, raising an eyebrow at your friend.

“No…never…why would you think…” Calum replies but doesn’t completely finish what he was saying as you could see a small blush appear on his cheeks. He was still avoiding eye contact with you, but this time for an entirely different reason.

Before you could interrogate him further on his romantic endeavors with RM/N, the two of you have finally arrived at Y/N’s favorite pizza place. His timing could not have been better as you were forced to hop out of the car to pick up the handful of pizzas you ordered for dinner for the three of you to share back at Y/N’s place. He may have gotten some time to collect his thoughts, but you would definitely be grilling him more about the situation and what exactly the two of you were going to tell Y/N after she finished her dinner. She deserved to know what’s going on with Calum, not only because he is the father of her unborn child but also because if anything comes of this roommate thing then there is another person that will soon join your group that is planning on raising this baby.

---------------------------------------------

Y/N’s POV:

The boys were back after about an hour of leaving you on your own to do whatever you needed to do. While they were gone, you tidied up the place since you had kind of dropped the ball on keeping your apartment clean over the past couple weeks. You also spent some time browsing a couple maternity clothes websites before getting frustrated with it all and deciding that you would hit the mall sometime next week to get some new clothes that would actually fit you and your ever-growing baby bump. Your mom called about thirty minutes after Luke and Calum left to pick up dinner and you got to tell her the exciting news that she is going to have a granddaughter in about five months.

The three of you ate your pizza in almost complete silence. You did not know what was going on between Luke and Calum, but you were honestly getting sick of the secrecy. You finished the last slice that you could stomach and start to put away the leftovers while you waited for the boys to finish their food. Once everyone was done eating, you sat down on the couch and demanded for both of them to spill the beans on whatever they were so blatantly hiding from you.

“Do you want the short version or the long version?” Calum inquires with a sigh.

“The short version,” you say, being pretty short tempered yourself.

“Calum has a female roommate that he has been hiding from us for the past four months,” Luke states with a slight smirk in his tone.

~To be continued…~

[pinkvhs]

* whips * im going to blab about my slasher girl because i love her

keep scrolling if you want asdfasdf

name: ?????

age: 23?? 24?? 

height: 6′2″

pronouns: she/her

gender: female 

occupation: college student (studying ...??????)

Taking place in the 80s, she targets and kills types of gross people in the area she lives. Sometimes she breaks into the person’s house to kill them but other times kills them in convenient places like the woods or she kidnaps victims to torture them all while she blasts some 70s/80s hits music [ that you can listen to here lol ]  She never speaks when killing and people assume she is a cis man due to her tall height and her being muscular. 

She mostly kills with a knife (she also has an assortment of them with different styles and sizes), or an axe

If her victims are kidnaped, she either ties them up to a chair to slowly kill them and gets creative with torturing. 

Her outfit is black pants, black boots, black turtleneck shirt with a black hoodie over it (and wears the hood up), a deep pink/deep raspberry sherpa denim trucker jacket over the hoodie, deep pink /deep raspberry gloves, and a white rabbit mask that has small ears.

Her everyday outfits are rather fashionable and feminine such as dresses, skirts, high waisted pants with tucked in shirts, and so on.

She is a very protective person who cares very much for her best friend (who has yet to be named).  They are childhood friends but in recent years she has grown to have a crush on her, but keeps it to herself for her friend has a boyfriend and wants nothing but the best for them. 

However, she starts to notice more and more her best friend is being distant with her. At first, she thinks nothing of it. Perhaps her friend was just busy with her own school work and work in general. But their usual meet ups for lunch, hanging out, or even chatting on the phone have been more short and soon become non existent. 

She panics now thinking that her best friend found out her secret when she thought she was being so clean about covering things up. She tries to talk to her friend about what is happening next time they meet up, however, her friend cuts the conversation short and leaves all while acting on edge. Now she decides that night to go over to her friends house to talk it out. However, she hears the boyfriend and her friend yell. At first thinking it was just a fight and was going to turn around to leave, she hears glass break inside the house. She stops and hears her friend cry as more yelling happens inside. She looks inside the window to see her friend crying in the kitchen as she picks up the broken glass pieces. 

Filled with rage but not wanting to jump to conclusions since she didn’t see what happened, she walks to the nearest payphone to call her friend. Surprisingly, to hear her answer and with a voice to make it seem like her friend wasn’t crying. She behaves normal with her friend and asks if her and her boyfriend want to get together sometime for lunch or to even hang out or go to a halloween party that would be coming up soon. Her friend hesitant but agrees for the halloween party and hangs up fast. 

The next day, she looks more into her friends boyfriend to figure out more as to what he is like. Part of her desperately hoping the incident she heard was just a fight and her friend accidentally dropping something. She sneaks into spying on him at the house and hears more yelling and words spoken from him that cause her friend to break down. Her friend trying to leave her own home but him guilting her into staying. Her friend being abused in more ways than one. 

Now seeing his true colors and enraged over how long this could of went on, she plans for on halloween to kill him and hopes to god her friend doesn’t find out her identity in the process.  

She decides to throw a huge costume party filled with loud music, booze, and snacks galore. The place filled with loud people living it up while being drunk and dressed up. With the boyfriend partying it up and getting drunk, she talks to her friend. Trying to keep her mind off of him and for her to have fun. They both dance in the crowd of people till she dips out to find the boyfriend. With it being late at night and both of them occupied, she planned on kidnapping him to kill him in an abandoned building to torture him. However, he makes a loud fuss over her getting close to him and backtracks on the plan. And with the party dwindling, she sees she has to keep him here.  With only the 3 of them at the house, she asks her friend if they could just stay here for the night, Hoping her friend will sleep and she could take him to the abandoned building. With her friend agreeing since he is extremely drunk, they get him on the couch to sleep and both fall asleep upstairs. 

Once she knows her friend is asleep, she gets up to go downstairs to take him away. Her now dressed in her outfit, she takes him to the abandoned building and wakes him up. 

Meanwhile, her friend wakes up back at the house to see her friend is gone. She goes downstairs to get a glass of water to then see her boyfriend is gone. Worried, she goes to the upstairs bathroom only to see the door is open with the lights off. She searches the house for the both of them but finds nothing. Panicking, she runs outside to see that the boyfriends car is gone. Thinking the absolute worse could be happening to her friend, thinking the boyfriend woke up to do something to her, she drives her friends car thinking he went back to the house with her. She drives till she finds the car parked off side the road near the woods. She parks to get out and see he isnt in the car and neither is her friend. She looks around and goes into the woods till she hears some music playing and comes across the abandoned building. She fearfully goes inside to see her boyfriend tied up, slashes across his body, and the masked figure in front of him as music blasts from the boombox on the table behind with knives and other weapons scattered across it. She looks to find her friend but before she could do anything, the masked figure walks towards her. She screams and this alerts the boyfriend. He tries to look over and tries to get out of the chair but it fails. The figure goes to what seems to be reaching for her, but she kicks the figure in the crotch and runs inside to her boyfriend. She asks him what happened and where her friend was. But before he could answer, the figure comes up and grabs the girl and picks her up from the ground. She kicks and screams and punches to be let go and the figure does just that by going up stairs and tossing her inside a room and locking the door. 

The figure now scared as what she should do knowing her friend is upstairs, she tries to make the death of the boy faster. Returning downstairs she finds an empty chair. Quickly, she gets jumped by him with a knife in hand but she grabs his arm and twists it back. She slams her body against the wall to try to wound him. He yells asking where his girlfriend is. He stabs her in the side and runs to the table to grab another weapon. She pulls the knife out and heads towards the boy. 

They fight and during the commotion, her friend escapes the room she is locked in. She finds a gun and runs down the hall and heads to the stairs. The figure manages to grab the boy by the throat and pins him to the floor with a knife in the other hand. Just before the figure could make a fatal wound, a bullet enters the shoulder and thus falling over out of shock. She keeps the gun aimed but the boy gets ontop of the figure and begins to violently punch over and over. He reaches for the knife and stabs where the bullet wound is. The figure screams out and tries to shove away the boy. She asks the masked person where her friend is. The figure looks up at her but before doing anything, the boy grabs the knife stuck inside the shoulder and slices it across the face and breaks the mask. Shocked at what she sees she lowers the gun. Its her...its her friend. 

She gets out underneath the boys grasp and limps over to her friend as fast as she could. Bloody and bruised, she looks at her with sorrowful eyes. Hand still on the gun, the friend sees her boyfriend get up. He exclaims to the girlfriend to shoot her. She instead cries in disbelief and asks why. He grabs her and puts her in a choke hold and yells out for the girl to shoot her. But she doesnt. When he sees the girl not go through, he decides to finish the job himself. 

It ends with the girlfriend killing the boy instead of her friend

[lovelylunarwriting]

Doyoung Prince!AU

Prince Kim Doyoung’s kingdom is an empire of knowledge and scholars. The nation has a strong focus on maintaining quality education, keeping the people knowledgeable, and building some of the largest libraries to ever exist.

Although there are many massive libraries scattered across the country, by far the biggest one is the Royal Literature Hall. It’s so large that an entire wing of the castle is just that library.

This Royal Literature Hall is where Prince Doyoung, sometimes reluctantly, spends most of his time. As the crown prince and next in line to the throne, he’s always wanted to know more.

More about his kingdom’s history, more about his kingdom’s relations with the other nine nations, and more about his people. What the people need, how he could help them… the list goes on and on.

To sum it up, ever since he was told that he would be the next king, and not his older brother, Prince Doyoung has been s t r e s s e d.

He constantly feels the weight of the position of future king and the weight of his country on his shoulders.

It’s gotten so bad that he only sleeps a few hours a night, and even then, it takes him too long to get to sleep. His mind races from one issue to another, constantly trying to make up solutions. Inevitably, he has no epiphanies, and gets no sleep either.

He spends most days in the Royal Literature Hall, looking up one thing or another, whether it be historical war strategies or the medical advancements of another kingdom- it’s always something important, but ultimately not the most interesting.

But today, Doyoung's reading about the crop harvest summaries from the past seventy four years and oh my G O S H is he so bored.

So bored and yet he still can’t sleep because his mind is constantly racing.

Deciding that he’s had enough for the day, he borrowed some civilian clothes from his guard friend, Taeyong, gets dressed, and just walks out of the palace.

Upon making the long walk to town, he realizes that it's been two months since he’s set foot outside the castle.

For the first hour, Doyoung wanders around, strolling through the market, absently mindedly listening to people’s interactions.

The one thing that he notices is that almost every person he walked by is either talking about or carrying a copy of the newest hit novel “Shimmerlight”

In a nation built on books, for a novel to become popular isn’t uncommon, but this popular? That's kind of crazy.

Doyoung decides that he’ll check out the quality of this book himself.

He walks up to the first person he saw with the book and asks them where they purchased it.

“Oh, it’s in every bookstore! But if you want to talk to the author, I’d go to Honey Bee’s Buzzing Books”

Doyoung thanks the guy, and walks to where that bookstore is, following the directions given to him by the kind stranger.

All kinds of thoughts run through Doyoung’s mind. Why was the author at this bookstore? If they’re such a successful writer, why aren’t they living the good life in some villa instead of spending all day in some dusty store in town?

And why of all things, are they just available to talk? Don’t they have things to do? Go swimming in their piles of money, for example??

But then Doyoung checks himself, thinking “hey dumbass, you’re literally royalty and you’ve never seen a pool full of money, let alone jumped in”

By the time he’s done theorizing questions, he’s made it to the front steps of a cozy sized, old-timey bookstore, which he assumes has to be the famed Honey Bee’s Buzzing Books.

He hesitates walking in, but eventually does, immediately cringing at the sound of the bell ringing, announcing his presence.

“So much for keeping my head low”, he curses himself internally.

Just at that moment, a person (you) pops their head from around a bookshelf, and greets him with the biggest smile.

“Welcome to Honey Bee’s! How can I help you?, you ask the attractive young man that just entered your book store. You didn’t think you’d seen him before. No one could forget a face like that.

The awkward silence brings you out of your train of thought. He hasn’t responded to you at all- he’s just standing there, staring.

“Uhh, sir?”

“Sir? Oh gosh, don’t call me that. That makes me sound old”, he jokes.

“Okay, then what should I call you?”

“Doyoung. Call me Doyoung”

“Ooo, you’ve got the same name as the prince! How lucky for you, I’ve been told that he’s dreamy”

“He’s dreamy, huh? What else have you heard?”, he asks with a smirk.

“Well I’ve got a friend in the castle he says the prince is a hardass, but they’re known for being overly critical. I’m sure the prince is quite lovely. Anyway, have you come here with a specific book in mind?”

Doyoung: “Well, sort of. I’ve come here out of sheer curiosity. Have you heard of the novel Shimmerlight?”

You: “Heard of it! I practically wrote it”

Doyoung: “Really?”

You: “No like in all seriousness- I am the author. I literally wrote it”

Doyoung: “Oh, wow. So you wrote an entire novel, and you own this place?”

You: “Ah, this store isn’t mine. I work here to help out a friend- he’s the one who owns it. So you’re looking to buy my book?”

Doyoung: “Well, before I buy it, could you tell me a little about it? I’m not sure if your book is my kind of read”

You: “Of course I can! Here, come sit, I’ll go get some refreshments”, you say, leaving the cute stranger to go put on a pot of tea.

Doyoung’s used to being alone, and had never minded it before, but there's something so comforting and warm about you that makes him wish for you to come back sooner than later.

And his wish is granted as you stroll back over to the dainty table, with a teapot in one hand and two matching tea cups in the other.

Setting them down gently on the table, you excuse yourself once again and jog to the back room, your hair bobbing up and down as you run.

“Now we’re all set!”, you announce as you waltz up to the table, placing a plate of cookies and assorted sweets in front of the beautifully puzzled boy.

Doyoung: “Thank you, but you really didn’t have to do all this for me”

You: “Of course I didn’t have to. I want to! Don’t worry about it and eat up, the cookies are baked fresh. They only came out of the oven about half an hour ago.

Doyoung: “Writing and baking? Is there anything you don’t do?”

You: “Exercise. It’s just not my thing”

Doyoung: “Yeah I get that, it’s not like I have much time for it anyways though”

You: “You don’t have time to exercise but you have time to investigate my book out of sheer curiosity?”

Doyoung: “Hey, you’re the one who just admitted to not exercising, don’t turn this on me”, he laughs.

His deadpan expression that he entered your store with is long gone, and replaced with the most gorgeous eye smile you’ve ever seen.

You hope he’ll stay long, you think to yourself, you heart beating a bit faster than before.

You: “Well let’s get straight into it! What do you want to know about my book?”

Doyoung: “Well, what is it about?”, he asked, the curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

Explaining your novel to people and just getting to talk about your ideas, characters, and creative process is one of your absolute favorite things to do. Your friend who owns Honey Bee’s always reminds you not to get carried away and bore people with blabbing about your stories, but you’ve always insisted on blabbing anyway to anyone who is willing to listen.

Most of the people who come in to talk to you are grannies and young kids. The grannies always try to set you up and introduce you to their sons, but you always manage to maneuver your way out of it as politely as you can.

At one point there was an elderly woman who was convinced that you were the perfect match for her son, and so you told her that you were interested in women to get her off your back.

The next day she came in with her daughter.

You didn’t try that strategy again.

Blabbing as your strong suit, this is exactly what you do in this current moment with Doyoung. You explain to him what the characters are like, their relationship to one another, and by the time that you’d described the many different aspects of the fantasy land you’d created, he’s… dozed off.

Was he really asleep?

He’d eaten half the cookies and drank two cups of tea, and you always kept the shop warm, especially during these winter months, so you assume it’s only natural that he could get drowsy.

You make the decision to not take him falling asleep while you were talking as a personal offense, and more as something flattering. To protect your pride, more than anything.

You go to the back room and grab a blanket out of the closet. Treading careful, as to not make any noise, you come back and delicately place the plush blanket around his broad shoulders.

He's completely out cold with his arms crossed on the table, and his head tilted to the side, resting on top.

In this moment he just looks so… peaceful. He came in to your shop looking exhausted and stressed, so you're glad that he's able to rest.

Your friend is going to kill you for this, but you close the store down way earlier than normal, so that no one could come in and the bell wouldn’t ring, waking him.

He looked like he needed sleep more than anything and you weren’t about to take that away from him, even if he was sleeping in the book store.

You sit behind the front counter and immersed yourself in the book you’d picked up a few days ago.

Honestly you think about sitting back in the seat across from him, but conclude that it would be a tad creepy if he woke up and you were just… there. Chillin.

Plus the table is right next to the window looking out on the streets and you didn’t want people getting the wrong idea when you would inevitably stare at him while he slept.

He’s so pretty, how could you not?

You finish the book, left with the feeling of wanting to read more of it, so you get up to see if you have the sequel somewhere around here.

As soon as you stand up, however, you heard someone outside shout “Lord Prince!”

And you freeze on the spot.

Someone shouting for the Prince? And a man named Doyoung in your store?

“No way, this isn’t a fucking disney movie”, you mumble in disbelief as the shouting man pounds on the door.

“Excuse me, you!”

“Calling me ‘you’? How rude”, you say to no one in particular as you unlock the door. The man hurries in and starts barging over quite loudly to Doyoung when your protective instincts kick in. You grab the man by the wrist, whipping him around to face you.

“I’m sorry but he’s asleep and you need to let him rest. He was exhausted when he came in, so please let him sleep at least a little longer”

“Do you realize who I am?”, the man asks.

“No but frankly, I don’t care. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days”, you argue.

“...you’re right about that. I don’t know the last time he’s slept for more than a few hours at a time”, the man sighs.

You let go of his wrist, relieved that he’ll let Doyoung rest. But then you think, “Why do I care so much?”

Not able to find a reason, you pass off the feeling as your patriotic concern for the well being of your country’s Prince.

But even you know that’s bullshit. You just weren’t ready to admit to yourself that you’re catching feelings for the p r i n c e for fucks sake.

You pull up a second chair behind the front counter, and bring this guy, who introduced himself as Johnny, the prince’s butler, tea and cookies, just as you had done for Doyoung. It’s the least you could do, since you're telling him to wait.

For once, you're the one listening to his stories. Johnny confides in you his worries about the prince’s physical and mental health, telling you how Doyoung has been working himself to the bone, trying to know everything possible in order to be a good king one day. He also tells you in more detail about how Doyoung hasn’t been able to fall asleep due to stressing out and worrying himself about the fate of his country, and his own capability to reign as a good and fair king.

“But my real question is, how did you get him to fall asleep? Please tell me you didn’t drug the cookies”, Johnny asks jokingly.

“I drugged no ones cookies. He came in because he was curious about the book I wrote, so I was telling him part of the storyline when he dozed off”

“So you told him a bedtime story, essentially?”, he rationalized.

“I’d like to think that my bestselling novel is of higher literary merit than a bedtime story but if that helps you explain what happened, then sure, but-”, you began to say very sarcastically before Johnny hushes you.

“Shh! He’s getting up!”

And that, he was. First Doyoung sits up, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room with the most adorable panicked expression on his face, probably having forgotten where he was. Finally, he gets up and turns around, facing the two of you. Suddenly that panicked expression became more serious.

Doyoung: “What have you told them?”, he asks his butler sternly, as more of a command than a question.

You: “Nothing too terrible, Prince Doyoung, he’s not much of a gossip”, you reply lightly, trying to ease the tension.

Doyoung: “So you know that I’m… I wasn’t trying to-”

You: “Sweetheart, I do not care that you’re the prince. I do care that you let me call you dreamy to your face. Gosh, how embarrassing”

Doyoung: “You don’t… care?”

You: “No, why should I? You’re a person, aren’t you?”

Doyoung: “Well… yeah”, he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You: “So am I. So don’t think you’re getting special treatment, Prince Dreamy”

Doyoung: “Prince Dreamy?”

You: “I think it’s quite fitting, don’t you?”, you said playfully to Johnny, who gives a thumbs up, playing along. You assume it isn’t often that he gets the opportunity to pick fun at his prince.

Doyoung: “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult”, he comments, popping a cookie in his mouth.

You: “Well it’s either that or Prince Hardass, which would you prefer?”, you say nonchalantly. And with that, Doyoung chokes on the cookie, coughing and hitting his hand on his chest.

Doyoung: “You could’ve killed me!”

You: “Oh and I would be charged with treason and hanged for the killing of Prince Hardass. How tragic”

Johnny: “Tragic indeed”, laughing at your banter with the prince.

After a brief silence, the feeling of the room changed to something more serious, yet again.

Johnny: “I’m sorry for his majesty’s intrusion of your time, but the prince must now return to his duties. We’ll be on our way”

You: “It was no problem! It’s only been around… oh. Seven hours”, you say, checking your watch.

Doyoung stands there hesitantly, looking at you like he wants to say something but can’t.

You: “Oh, I know!”, you shout, standing up from your chair abruptly. You walk over to one of the towering shelves of books and pull down your novel from the top shelf. Grabbing a pen off the counter, you quickly write your signature on the inside cover and hand the book to Doyoung.

You: “You liked where the story was going, right? Now you can finish it!”

Doyoung: “Oh, um… thank you. How much is it?”

You: “Free of charge, Prince Dreamy. Don’t worry about it”

That particular comment makes his cheeks tint a bright shade of pink. You figure the crown prince isn’t used to being called dreamy to his face.

The two men leave the shop, the bell by the door ringing as the door slams behind them.

You miss the presence of the snarky prince, and decide to clean the shop to get your mind off of today’s craziness.

Doyoung on the other hand, was both happy and confused.

He knew three things.

One- That that was the first time he’d slept somewhat soundly in months.

Two- That your book sounds super interesting and he can’t wait to go back to the palace to read it.

And three- He’s pretty sure he’s crushing on you. Hard.

Something about you is just so… comfortable to him. You're welcoming even though he just barged into your store, you made cookies and tea for fucks sake, and you didn’t change your attitude or demeanor around him when you found out he’s the prince.

That last point meant a lot to him. Most people upon finding out his royal status made it their goal to suck up to him to get something from him. You on the other hand, roasted the hell out of him, and he’s pretty sure he loves you for it.

Johnny had ridden a carriage into town, so Doyoung didn’t get to walk back, like he usually prefers to. Going for a walk clears his mind, and his mind could use quite a lot of clearing.

The entire ride back, he thinks about something other than the future of his country for once- he thinks about you.

And even when he gets back to the palace, he can’t manage to get you off his mind. Which although it’s sweet, for Doyoung’s focus it’s problematic.

Johnny informs Doyoung that he should finish his reading on fruit harvests and then call it a day.

So there Doyoung sits- at his usual spot in the Royal Literature Hall, staring blankly at the words on the pages and pages of harvest reports.

If he couldn't focus before, he definitely can't focus now.

“It's just a crush, just a stupid crush”, he mutters to himself while pushing away the stack of papers.

“I'll just read their book and get them out of my system. I'll get over these brief feelings when I finish the story”, Doyoung tells himself, pulling out the book you'd given him earlier in the day.

Placing it carefully on the table, he flips to the first page.

And then the second page.

And by the time he's gotten to the two hundred and fifty sixth page, he's fallen asleep yet again, his face resting in the crease of the book, his nose acting as the perfect bookmark.

Little did he know that his butler, Johnny, had come back to make sure Doyoung had finished his task, only to find his master out cold, yet again.

Johnny: “There are over a hundred beds in this castle, Prince Doyoung. I implore you to choose one”

Doyoung shoots up in his seat, awoken by Johnny’s sassy remark.

Doyoung: “Sorry, I didn't plan to fall asleep, it just keeps happening”

Johnny: “It's great to see you resting, but are their stories really that boring? Enough to lull you to sleep?”

Doyoung: “No no, that's not it at all. Their stories are lovely and soothing. I think that's why they put me to sleep. It's easier to think of their fantasy worlds than it is to face the reality of having to be king one day”

Johnny: “You talk of the throne as if it's a burden”

Doyoung: “Some days I feel like it is”

On that note, Doyoung gathers his things and makes his way to his room.

He sits on his bed and picked up the copy of Shimmerlight, tempted to read more.

“Just one more chapter”, he lies to himself.

Five chapters later, Doyoung's asleep, dreaming of the world of magic that you'd created.

Every night that week, Doyoung would read more and more of your book until one fateful night- he finishes it.

“What? That can't be the end!”, Doyoung shouts to the universe at like one in the morning. He immediately slaps his hand over his mouth, realizing the late hour.

He slept fine that night, but the night after that, he couldn't sleep at all. He doesn't have anything of yours to read, and he doesn't have you there to tell him stories, so he just lays there.

He tries counting sheep, controlled breathing, and all the other bullcrap Johnny advised him to do, but alas. Not even a wink of sleep.

Pulling this all-nighter causes Doyoung’s mood and morale to plummet. He finally found a way to sleep well and now it was over.

After grumbling and researching whatever dull task Johnny assigns him for the day, Doyoung finds himself unable to focus. He’d only met you once, and yet you managed to have such a significant impact on him.

“I’ll get over it- I’ll get over them”, Doyoung said aloud. He’d forgotten his attentive butler happened to be looming over his shoulder at the time.

Johnny: “You’ll get over who, exactly?”, he asks with the curiosity of a gossiping school girl.

Doyoung: “It’s nothing- forget it”

Johnny: “Mhmm... the less you say, the more you reveal, Prince Doyoung”

With a huff and a sigh, Doyoung comes to the conclusion that his butler is not going to leave him alone until he spills the metaphorical beans.

Doyoung: “...well do you  remember the person who gave me the book Shimmerlight?”

Johnny: “Yes, I remember them very clearly, having had to talk to them instead of dragging you back to the castle after looking for you for hours”

Doyoung: “Look- you’ve already lectured me. Do you want to know what’s on my mind or not?”

Johnny: “I will admit I am quite curious. Before that day, I didn’t think anyone’s comments could fluster you, Prince Doyoung. Or should I say Prince Dreamy?”, he teases the moping prince.

Doyoung: “Ugh, forget it!”

Johnny: “My apologies for picking fun at royalty like yourself, Prince Doyoung. You just make it so easy”

Doyoung continues to confide in his butler, but not before shooting him a piercing glare.

Doyoung: “I just can’t stop thinking about them- no matter how much I try to block out thoughts of them with thoughts about literally anything else. And even worse, the only thing that can put me to sleep nowadays are their stories. And g o s h those cookies were so good”

Johnny: “I agree with you on that last one. With cookies like that, we ought to hire them as a pastry chef here at the castle”

And then it happens. The epiphany Doyoung's been waiting for all this time.

Doyoung: “Not as a chef, then they’d be stuck in the kitchens all day. We’ll hire them as a librarian, so they can work here- in the Royal Literature Hall”

Johnny: “...may I refrain from formality for just a moment?”

Doyoung: “...yes?”

Johnny: “Doyoung you c a n n o t hire someone to work for you just because you have a crush on them”

Doyoung: “I'm literally the prince, who is going to stop me”

Alden: “Ugh... I don’t like it. But if you insist, I’ll send a messenger to fetch them and bring them here to the cast-”

Doyoung: “No way, I’ll go talk to them. Don’t worry about it”

Doyoung doesn’t hesitate to rush out of the Literature Hall and out of the castle.

It takes him a good minute to realize that it’s raining, but there’s no time to waste, so he pulls up the hood of his jacket and keeps running towards town.

Johnny yelling in the background: “I would’ve gotten a fucking carriage if you would’ve waited five minutes-”

Finally, after the most running Doyoung’s done in years, he ends up at the front door of Honey Bee’s Buzzing Books, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to enter.

“Y/N? Y/N!”, he shouts into the seemingly empty store.

“Listen dude, you can’t come barging in here and start yelling”

For a fraction of a second, Doyoung feels a glimmer of hope, until he turns to the front desk and sees some boy instead of you there. He runs up the counter, regardless. Eyeing the boy’s name tag, Doyoung begins his frantic interrogation.

Doyoung: “Listen- is Renjun your name?”

Renjun: “Yeah, why else would I have ‘Renjun’ plastered across my chest?”

Doyoung: “Do you know where Y/N is?”

Renjun: “Home, like they should be. It’s their day off”

Doyoung bolts out the door, getting a whole four steps into the street before realizing he doesn’t know where you live.

He steps timidly back into the store, where Renjun is still sitting at the front desk with an all-knowing look plastered on his face.

Doyoung: “...would you happen to know their address?”

Renjun: “Of course, I’m their best friend. Would you like to know it?”

Doyoung: “Yes, please”

Renjun: “Then answer me one thing, Prince Doyoung. What’s your goal here? Just because you’re the prince doesn’t mean you can go around breaking hearts”

Doyoung: “My feelings for them have nothing to do with this- I want to offer them a job as the Royal Literature Hall’s head librarian”

Renjun: “...are you serious right now?”

Doyoung: “I know that would mean taking them away from your bookshop and I’m really sorry about that but I need them-”

Renjun: “No- you don’t understand. That is their dream job. You have to go tell them!”

Doyoung: “Really? I had no idea”

Renjun: “Well what are you doing just standing there! Go get them!”, he orders, scribbling your address onto a sticky note and sticking it to Doyoung’s forehead.

Doyoung: “Thank you!”, he shouts to the now gleeful Renjun, grabs the note off his bangs and bolts out the door.

Meanwhile...

A few blocks from the book shop, you’re having a lazy day at home, oblivious to the prince’s distress, and to his feelings for you.

The knocking at your door startles you into dropping the book you were reading. You have no clue who's on the other side but by the way they're slamming on the door, you're afraid they'd break it off its hinges. And paying for that to be fixed was the last thing you wanted to do.

You swing open the door, rubbing your eyes due to having just been woken up.

You: “Renjun, should you be at-”

“I'm not Renjun”

You stop rubbing your eyes and look up to the last person you expect- Prince Doyoung.

You drag him inside, preaching a mini-lecture on how “you should at least bring an umbrella if you’re stupid enough to go out during a storm like this”

And oh boy, he looks at you like you’re a whole other species.

You: “What??”

Doyoung: “No it’s just… no one’s ever really nagged me other than Johnny. I’m not used to it”

You: “Well save it Prince Dreamy, I’m not used to princes making a wet mess of my home”, you clap back and go to get him something dry to wear.

Stepping back into the front room, you find the prince of this nation awkwardly standing in the middle of the room.

“Here, go change into this”, you say, tossing him some oversized clothes you happen to have lying around.

He mumbles his thanks as you point out the bathroom for him to change in.

Him stripping down in the middle of your living room wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world as far as you’re concerned, but you figure you’ll save him the embarrassment.

While he’s getting out of those drenched clothes, you get to work brewing some tea and getting out whatever suitable snacks you have in the pantry.

By the time he steps out, you’ve got the table set with some sweets, at least, but the tea’s still not ready just quite yet.

You: “You sure took your time. What did you do, go through my medicine cabinet to make sure I’m not some kind of spy?”

Doyoung: “How would me looking through your medicine cabinet give me any kind of inkling of your loyalty to this country? And no, I was trying and failing to dry my hair”

You: “Oh sorry, I didn’t think of that. Gimme a second”, you say and scurry down the hall to get a towel.

The last thing you need is to be beheaded because the crown prince caught a cold on your watch.

You chuck a fluffy, pink towel at the prince, hitting him straight in the face.

...whoops

You: “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! My aim is terrible”

Doyoung: “It’s fine, really. I didn’t come here to recruit you as an archer or anything”, he says as the two of you take a seat at the table.

You: “Yeah about that- why did you come here? I don’t recall giving you an address, but you’re the prince so I guess you have a heightened stalking capabilities”

Doyoung: “I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy, I just have something important to ask you”

You: “Ah, I see. Well I hate to break it to you, but you should at least take me on a few dates before proposing. I’ll have to respectfully decline”

Doyoung: “Haha, very funny. In all seriousness, though, I would like you to come work at the castle. Work for me, that is”

You: “As what, a servant? Baker? Seamstress? Oh gosh please not a seamstress, I haven’t sewed anything in years and even then it was… tragic to say the least”

Doyoung: “I want you to work in the Royal Literature Hall as a librarian. You’d still have down time to write and if you don’t know how the Dewey Decimal system works, I’m sure Johnny could teach you. Actually, Johnny wouldn’t know but Taeyong probably does”

You: “...”

Doyoung: “So… what do you say?”

You: “Pardon my language your Royal Dreaminess, but are you fucking with me right now? Is this a joke?”

Doyoung: “I’m completely serious. That would be a pretty cruel joke”

You: “Okay then yes, yes, yes! A thousand times yes! Oh my gosh, when can I come to the castle?”

Just then, you hear frantic knocking at the door yet again.

You: “Did you bring friends?”

Doyoung: “My friends live in the other kingdoms or the castle so... most likely no”

You and Doyoung creep quietly over to the door, cautious of who else would show up at night in the middle of a storm.

Unlocking the door, you swing it open just enough for the two of you to peer through the sliver of space.

You: “Oh. Hi Mr. Butler, sir!”

You open the door all the way and let in the peeved and drenched guy. You’re just glad he’s pissed at Prince Doyoung and not you. Wouldn’t wanna be on the receiving end of that angry look.

Johnny: “Prince Doyoung, just because you are royalty doesn’t mean that you can disregard time and even more so- curfews. They still apply, regardless of your status, wouldn’t you agree, Y/N?”

You: “Ah… of course? When I was younger, I never broke curfew for fear of… well... a situation like this”

Doyoung: “I’ve just offered you your dream job, shouldn’t you side with me on this?”

Johnny: “Bribery is never appropriate, Prince Doyoung. Plus, the carriage is waiting for the both of you”

You: “Both of us?”

Johnny: “Yes, both of you. We can come back for your essential belongings tomorrow, but for now, the place you’re needed most is the castle. Am I assuming wrong about your reply to the Prince’s proposition?”

You: “Oh no, of course I’ve accepted- don’t worry about that! I just didn’t expect to be leaving so soon. I’ve got a few things I’d really like to bring tonight though.

Doyoung: “Whatever we can fit into the carriage should be fine”

The two boys help you pack the carriage with stuff and by the time you’re finished, there’s only just enough room for you and the Prince on one side.

Johnny reluctantly leaves the two of you by yourselves and takes his place as driver of the carriage, leading the horses on the mildly bumpy road back to the castle.

By this point in time, the storm has died down to only the smallest drizzle, the sound of rain being more soothing than its previous hectic plundering.

You’re not sure if it’s because it’s been a long day for you both, or the physical closeness of the two of you, but Doyoung seems suddenly quite shy of you.

Not wanting to say anything to make him even more uncomfortable, your attention stays on your stuff, making sure none get knocked over on the occasional bump in the road. Doyoung, however, is the one who breaks the silence.

Doyoung: “I loved your book”

You: “My what?”

Doyoung: “Your book. Shimmerlight. It’s very well written, I’m baffled to even begin to try and imagine how you came up with the plot”

You: “Ah, I could tell you, but that’d ruin all the fun. Some things are better left a mystery”

Doyoung: “Yeah, I guess so…”, he says, not even trying to mask the disappointment in his voice.

You: “I can tell you a dumb story Renjun told me the other day?”

Doyoung: “Well I just have to hear that”

The amount of time that passes is a mystery, seemingly lasting forever and coming to an end all too quickly.

For Prince Doyoung though, it probably felt like a few minutes, seeing as the sleepless boy dozes off on you about half way through the part where the story gets dumb.

It’s a good thing that he was out cold when he dozed off, his cheek nuzzling into your soft hair, otherwise he’d definitely be able to hear your heart pounding a mile a minute.

Does he even know he has this effect on you? Probably not.

“He likes me for my books”, you remind yourself out loud as the carriage comes to a stop at the front gate of the castle.

“I like you for you too, you beautiful idiot”, he mumbles sleepily, having just woken up.

Your mind frantically searches for something coherent to say back but fails. It wouldn’t matter anyway, because Prince Doyoung opens the carriage door and not-so-gracefully tumbles onto the dirt road.

“Oh shit”, you curse, flinging yourself out of the same door and crouching next to the boy laying on the ground. Johnny is quick to notice and hops down from his position at the reigns and asks what happened.

You: “”I don’t know, he just fell and- oh my gosh he’s got a fever”, you report, your palm feeling the heat and sweat coming off his forehead.

Johnny: “Of course he would get sick, having not slept well in weeks and frolicking through a thunderstorm”, he says with a sigh.

You: “What do you mean he’s not been sleeping? With his responsibilities, he should be resting as much as he can!”

Johnny: “That’s exactly the problem, dear, but right now we’ve got more pressing matters on our hands. I can’t just leave the carriage and horses here, so I’ll need you to take his Royal Highness to his room. Once you’re in the main corridor, it’s the hall on the right and then the third door to the right. Try not to be seen, he won’t want his parents to know about him going into town, they don’t approve of it. Here’s my butler’s pin- if anyone questions your authority, show them that pin and explain that you’re under direct orders from me, understood?”, he explains, placing the pin gently in your hand.

Before you can even respond, he’s back at the reigns and taking off to what you assume is the direction of the stables.

After ten minutes of arguing with the semi-conscious Prince, you convince him to stand, one of his muscular arms swung across your shoulders.

Lugging him through halls, getting horrendously lost, and hiding from every scary looking guard you see, it takes you even longer to get to his room, but you eventually find your way there.

You open the elegant oak door what you hope with all your might is his room, and thank all the deities that there are candles lit from earlier, allowing you to be able to see the path to his bed.

Knowing your own clumsiness and exhaustion, running into a chair in the dark and dropping the ill Prince wouldn’t be out of the question.

Plopping him down on his bed, the weight of him being way too much at this point, you look around the room, searching for something to signify that you have the right place.

It only takes one glance to the bedside table to find what you’re looking for- your book, opened to the page with your signature.

A smile comes to your face briefly, until he breaks into a coughing fit and your mind goes back into somewhat of a panic.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you mutter to yourself as you take off Prince Doyoung’s shoes and struggle to get all of his lanky limbs under the covers.

Doyoung: “You know… you swear a lot for someone so polite”, he laughs, not even letting his feverish state stop him from poking fun at you.

You: “Arguably, I’ve never been under more stress in my life, so I think I have earned that right”, you say, coming back to him with a freshly wet washcloth in your hands.

Doyoung: “Don’t worry- it’s not a bad thing. It’s actually really cute”

And there goes the washcloth out of your hands. Right onto the floor.

Making the trip of shame back to the bathroom to get another washcloth, you cautiously make your way back over to his bedside, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

There’s not really much you can do other than put the clean washcloth over his forehead, so you try to get up, but the Prince’s clammy hand grabs a weak hold of your wrist.

Doyoung: “Please… please don’t leave”, he says with enough desperation to pull at every emotion you have.

“I’m falling for you way faster than I imagined I would”, is what you want to say, knowing that he probably won’t remember in the morning, but ultimately decide that it’s not worth the risk.

You: “Don’t worry, I’ll stay. Of course I’ll stay”

Doyoung: “Would you mind reading to me? I think it’ll-”, he starts, but breaks off into another coughing fit.

Seeing him like this is breaking your heart into a million pieces, so you reach over for your book on the nightstand and settle in next to him under the covers.

You: “Where do you want me to start?”, you ask, hoping your tone isn’t conveying all of your feelings.

Doyoung: “From the beginning, of course”

And that’s how Johnny finds the two of you once he’s finished at the stables. Both in bed, you lying on your back with your book covering your face, and Prince Doyoung on his side with his arm thrown over your waist.

Johnny would break up the “inappropriate behavior”, but this is the first time in too long that the Prince’s face hasn’t been tense in his sleep. For once he’s actually relaxed and resting well.

And the clever butler’s got more than just an inkling that it’s got everything to do with you.

Waking up that next morning is… startling, to say the least.

With Prince Doyoung’s face nuzzled into your shoulder, close enough to feel his breath on your skin, and no personal recollection of how you got there, you just lay there with him, heart pounding out of your chest like it always does around him.

Slowly but surely, last night’s memories trickle back into mind, you recalling the whole “come be my librarian and write stories in your down time” and the carriage ride, and dragging the sick Prince around the castle.

And of course- how sad he looked when he thought you would leave.

Shivering a little bit, you block that thought out of mind. You should be excited! New job, new opportunities, new place and- oh my gosh you haven’t told Renjun.

Of course, the Prince decides to wake up in your brief moment of panic.

Doyoung: “What’s wrong?”, he mumbles groggily into your ear, making you tense up at his closeness.

You: “It’s- It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. More importantly how are you feeling?”, you ask, sitting up and putting your hand over his forehead. His fever’s gone down, but it’s not completely gone.

Doyoung: “Well I’ve not fallen over so far today, so that’s a personal accomplishment”

You: “You’ve been awake for all of thirty seconds and you haven’t even made an effort to get up”

Doyoung: “Sleeping with me and then making snarky remarks- I see how you feel”

You: “It wasn’t my goal to- I normally wouldn’t….”, you start but drone off into flustered silence.

Getting out of bed, you tell the sleepy Prince that you’re going to go find some medicine for his fever and that you’ll be right back.

He makes a point to open his eyes and look into yours, as if he’s searching for some hint of dishonesty, and he blinks a few times in surprise when he finds none.

Doyoung: “Alright. Good luck navigating the halls”

You: “It should be easier now that it’s day time and everything’s light”

Doyoung: “With you here, even nights seem more light”

You shoot him an embarrassed glare before fumbling with the door handle and exiting the room.

You get about a good twenty steps down the hallway before being stopped by a guard.

“Excuse me but who are you? What business do you have in this castle”

You: “Oh, well. I'm Y/N, and the prince is feeling under the weather so I was looking for an infirmity? Or anywhere I might be able to find something for his fever”

“Wait, you're Y/N?! Like the Prince’s Y/N?”

You: “Uhhh I’m not exactly his property but I’d consider us friends…?”

“Yikes. Friendzoned and not even to his face…”

You: “What?? Also what is your name if you don’t mind me asking”

“Taeyong. Lee Taeyong. And we have a medic on staff at all times, you should be able to get something for fevers from her”

You: “Okay, thank you Taeyong”, you say and begin to walk away, thinking the conversation’s over.

Taeyong: “One last thing, though! Can you please let me know when he’s well again?

You: “Of course! I’ll keep you updated as much as I can”

Taeyong: “Wow, you really are like he’s said”

You: “And what’s he said exactly?”

Taeyong: “That you’re caring and sweet. Take good care of him, alright?”, he says nonchalantly, as if that wasn’t the biggest boost to your already too hopeful heart.

Power-walking your way to the infirmary, you shake of the feeling of Prince Doyoung’s lovableness creeping into your heart.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly, and most of it’s a blur if you’re being quite honest with yourself. After retrieving the medicine from the complete opposite side of the castle, you make your way back to Doyoung’s room and instruct him on what to take and when.

From there, you spend the rest of the day following around the Head Librarian and learning the ropes of the job, where the book binding materials are, how to properly use the filing system, where each genre section is, and most importantly, where the prince’s workspace is and to “never interrupt his already permeable concentration”.

At Prince Doyoung’s request, the room across from his has been prepared for you to stay in and all your things have been brought there.

You fought him on it, saying that he was in no state to make that kind of decision, but he said that he wouldn’t want you anywhere else.

He won that argument, because all you could do after a statement like that is blush uncontrollably and flee.

Prince Doyoung with a fever is a lot more forward with his feelings than normal, bumbling Prince Doyoung.

And that was the other thing. Before you could escape to your room, Prince Doyoung asks for you to call him by his name without the title.

He’s the prince of this country though?? What right would you have to be so informal with him?

Well. You did sleep in his bed. With him in it.

You’re still unsure about it but at least he’s comfortable enough with you to ask that??

The next day when you report for duty, you’re shocked to see Prince Doyoung- well, Doyoung, at his workspace, with a worried looking Johnny looming behind him as always.

Disregarding what the head librarian told you yesterday, you walk right up to Doyoung.

He looks away from the mountain of papers on the table to meet your gaze, and the tired, far away look in his eyes is almost too much to bear.

Doyoung: “Did you need something?”

You: “Yeah, I need the prince of our country to live to see the end of the week. What are you doing out of bed?”

Doyoung: “This needs to get done, it’s doesn’t matter if I-”

You: “Doesn’t matter if you what? Faint again? Can you even stand right now?”

Doyoung: “I can stand, I can even walk!”

Turning to Johnny, you give him the “what actually is the situation” look.

Johnny: “Your royal highness, I did have to practically carry you half of the way here”

You: “Then carry him back. Right now”

Doyoung: “And who are you to be making such orders?”, he says with a harsher tone than you’ve ever heard him use before.

You: “If you refuse to take care of yourself, who else do you think will?”, you say quietly, your feelings clearly hurt.

At first you think you may have gone to far with saying that, because he snaps his head away from you and stares at all the papers and documents he needs to read.

But then he stands up, and with some help from Johnny, makes his way back to his room and back to bed.

He does all this without a word, and without even the slightest glance in your direction.

Pissing off the person who hired you isn’t what you wanted to happen on your first day on the job, especially when that person is someone you really care about.

He’s not well enough to be working on his own like this… but maybe he doesn’t have to do all the work himself.

You gather up all the documents you can carry and take them to Doyoung’s room.

Your hands are full… so you kind of kick the door instead of knocking and hope he gets the idea.

From your place in the hallway, you can hear shuffling and movement from inside the room, and finally, he opens the door.

Blinking multiple times, he just stares at you wide-eyed.

You: “So are you gonna let me in or….?”

Doyoung: “Oh yeah, of course umm- about earlier…”, he starts and moves out of the doorway, ushering you into the room.

Plopping yourself down in the cushy chair by the window, you look up to him to show that you’re listening.

Doyoung: “I’ve been… stressed out. To say the least. All these papers of things I need to know to be a good king someday and it’s just been eating away at me. So I haven’t been sleeping much- my mind is always on something. So reading your books and listening to you has helped with that so of all the people for me to be rude to of course my dumb ass was rude to you… what I’m trying to say is that I’m really sorry. I know you were just trying to look out for me”

You: “Don’t worry about it, I could’ve been more tactful in my approach as well. But I’ve got these!”, you say, lifting the stupidly heavy papers off your lap.

Doyoung: “Are those my…?”

You: “Yep! I brought these so I could help you go through them”

Doyoung: “Wow, you’re an angel”

You: “I wouldn’t go that far?? Aha it’s not that much really, I uh- here’s one on the castle’s construction, let’s start there”

And so that’s exactly what the two of you do for the next several days. Doyoung lays in bed and you skim through the documents, telling him the important parts, which he writes down. When he gets worn out, you take breaks and bring him tea and cold medicine.

One morning you even wake up early to go down to the kitchens and bake cookies to surprise him with, and oh boy- he smiles so wide his gums show and his eyes crinkle and you think your heart might e x p l o d e with absolute adoration for this boy.

When he’s fully recovered, the two of your stop your little routine and you go back to the Literature Hall to work and he goes back to his workspace to fuss over crop rotations and blah blah blah.

You make sure to ask Johnny to let Taeyong and the rest of the guard know of Doyoung’s wellbeing

The head librarian get’s pissy with you every time you go over to Doyoung to bring him snacks and drinks but you do it anyway, lol some lady ain’t gonna stop you.

In a big ass library like this that’s pretty much limited to royalty and nobles who would rather be out partying than checking out books, it’s easy to get bored.

Your job is to maintain the books but there’s not much to maintain if no one takes them off the shelves.

With so much free time during your shifts, you find yourself spending most of your time working on a new romance novel that you started the day after you met Doyoung coincidence I think absolutely n o t

It’s highkey about him.

So that’s what a day in the life is for you- writing and making sure Doyoung eats and stays hydrated.

About a month later, when you bring him little goodies, you notice the bags under his eyes and his slouching posture. It’s clear that he hasn’t been sleeping well, but it’s not like he can just stop worrying either.

Saying “hey man, don’t worry about it, it’s just the fate of the country!” won’t exactly help and you’re clear outta ideas. But it can’t hurt it ask, can it?

You: “Umm… Doyoung?”, you say timidly. Even though he told you to, you hadn’t called him by just his name yet, but you try it thinking it might cheer him up.

He whips his head to the side and has the most “???” happy look on his face.

You: “Do you want to take a break? I mean you’ve been at this for hours and-”

From his seated position, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in the warmth of your sweater.

You: “Is that a yes??”

He nods with his face still on you abdomen, making you laugh.

“Okay then, let’s go”, you say and pry his arms off of you, leading him out of the literature hall by his hand, almost like you would a child.

You lead him to his room and tell him to go take a nap, but as you’re about to turn and leave, he grabs your hand again.

Doyoung: “I know this is a lot to ask but… listening to you talk seems to be the only thing that helps me get to sleep so would you mind reading me something?”

You: “Of course! What do you want me to read?”

Doyoung: “What about that new book you’re writing? You’ve yet to tell me anything about it”

You: “I- uh. Yes, I can read you what I have so far, just let me go get it…”

He goes into his room and you go into yours across the hall to get the book and oH goSH how did you get yourself into this one?

Let’s just hope he doesn’t banish you from the country when he hears your feelings for him because you can bet this book is full of them.

Or maybe he’ll be too tired to really pick up on it??

Either way, you make your way back into his room to see him on one side of the bed instead of his usual spot aka taking up the damn whole thing.

You: “Are we doing this again?”

Doyoung: “I mean you can stand if you want to but that seems pretty uncomfortable”

Sighing and smiling a little, you climb into bed next to him, painfully aware of the small amount of space between the two of you, and start reading.

It’s not long before his eyes flutter shut and his breathing becomes more slow and rhythmic.

“I’ll finish this paragraph and then duck out”, you think to yourself.

You: “he’s already woven himself through my every heartstring. I’m afraid if he leaves my heart will be left with nothing but holes and the emptiness filling-”

Doyoung: “I… won’t”, you think you hear him say.

You: “I- are you awake?”

Doyoung: “I said I won’t. I won’t leave you so you don’t have to worry”, he half says/half mumbles and throws and arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

You’re at a loss for words, not believing that this could actually be happening.

Doyoung: “You do realize that I’m in love with you too, right?”, he whispers into your ear, sending chills down your spine.

You: “Well I do now… and aren’t you a little cocky to assume my book is about you”

Doyoung: “You call him dreamy. You called me dreamy. It’s not that hard to put the two together”

You: “That’s on like the second page! You’ve just been letting me go on and on about how much I love you for what? Shits and giggles?”

Doyoung: “So you do? Love me?”

You: “Of course I do, I wouldn’t be worrying over you if I didn’t”

Doyoung: “You don’t need to worry about me so much”

You: “And you don’t need to worry about the country so much. You don’t have to do it alone, and you need to give the people more credit for being able to function without the meddling hands of royalty”

Doyoung: “Hey, these meddling hands are yours to hold~”

You: “One more cheesy line and I’m fleeing the country”

Doyoung: “Hmph, and you call me dramatic”

The two of you stay like that for a while, chatting about this and that, and eventually drifting off to a much needed sleep.

Johnny is unsurprised by the news of you two dating.

Johnny: “With that amount of flirting, I’d be more shocked if something didn’t happen”

You write to Renjun telling him about all that’s happened, and he quickly replies that “I know he’s the Prince but you could still do better”

Being the significant other of the Prince is??? Not something your brain can really comprehend.

Being the significant other of Doyoung, however- that makes a lot more sense.

You don’t really see him as “Prince Dreamy” like the girls in town faun over him. He’s more like “my clumsy boyfriend who cares to much about everything and needs to take a break”

But heyyyy that’s what you’re here for- to remind him to take care of himself and to put himself first.

The staff around the castle have really noticed a shift in his mood. He walks through the halls with his shoulders high, and he smiles and waves to everyone like he did when he was younger.

And boo we all know it’s because of you.

And lastly- he has to move his workplace to somewhere outside of the Royal Literature Hall because you’re too distracting and he can’t focus with you around. He just wants to bother you and love you instead of doing his work.

[home-halone]

Long Post on Screenshots

Coincidentally, I had glimpsed the twitter thread in question (or something similar) before I saw a post about it and had some thoughts™ as well

I was going to straight up reply but it got out of hand and I ended up blabbing a lot about taking screenshots, mods and ReShade.

Mods. Literally just an aesthetic client-side change. I can't believe people are up in arms about this. Let people have their fun and ignore it if it's not to your taste. There's absolutely no need to shit on someone else's definition of fun. Your values for what comprises a good screenshot made with effort should not be imposed as the standard. (Unless you're holding a screenshot contest, it literally doesn't matter.)

I don't use mods personally, out of laziness and I cannot be bothered messing with my files. Partly because I don't have characters that have a particular appearance that I really want. But that's my reason, and if other people are happy with their mods, so be it. I'm happy with my own thing. Even a walk home next to a world-famous monument just gets dull when you see it so often. It's not a crime to appreciate it through a different lens.

I'm going to preface this by saying no one has to defend what they want to do for fun. And even if your reasons for using mods/ReShade etc doesn't fall in line with any of the ones offered below, it literally doesn't matter and you should have your fun.

Contrary to what some negative folks think, people are still fully capable of doing some really good glamour without mods. Although it makes sense when you play around with FFXIV's glams/character creator enough, you'll quickly realize that there are particular limitations (certain gloves don't show up with certain tops, some bottoms lose the pants/skirt when you wear certain things over them, etc) and some people simply want to portray the details of their characters accurately to their vision. I have seen a lot of really good designs that don't exactly match their in-game sprites. Some people might want to do an easy cosplay. Some people might just want to look pretty and sometimes it doesn't get deeper than that. 

Nevermind that there are ordinary people behind modding, creating these for use. They didn’t spawn out of nowhere. They’re a product of someone’s hard work and skill too. Shout out to @keeperofthelilacs​ for the posts & a glimpse into the grueling, painstaking process just to make a deceptively simple mod and apply changes to each model. I cannot fathom people creating things that are not even in-game.

But obviously, with modding being the new shiny thing, there would be an influx of pretty pictures with people using them. The majority out there still does some creative things without the use of these programs. But their use isn’t indicative of a lack of creativity in taking screenshots.

Yes, the game is intrinsically beautiful and the sights are breathtaking, and there's no shortage of unmodded, unretouched, unReShaded screenshots littered about. I know there are more than a handful of reddit threads with such screenshots up. But, even with the built-in /gpose, the options can be limited and the vivid colors don't always show up the way people intend them to. This is why ‘different’ draws attention. Since we all have the same washed out color palette (suitable for actually playing the game. try raiding with an Aesthetic ReShade setting with Depth of Field on, it is agony.) it’s easier to pick out brighter looking, unusual colored screenshots. Moreso if they’re beautifully composed.

The improvement of colors from ReShade are only one aspect of it, as a lot of people who use them could tell you.

This screenshot has ReShade on and some /gpose settings, and it’s whatever. It’s meh.

It’s poorly lit, tilted to one side for some reason, the background lantern is grabbing all the attention, but the scenery is somehow cut off, my character is awkwardly posed, the colors, while MORE vivid, aren’t really inspiring the ‘hey this outfit is awesome and unique’ feeling. You have no idea what you’re meant to pay attention to.

Now, before you say I took a bad one on purpose, this was actually from the time I first got the diamond coat so I was ACTUALLY trying to show it off. This was one of many screenshots I’d taken, trying to nail down what I wanted to do.

It just goes to show even if you have the tools, you can still produce some pretty underwhelming stuff. And you could easily take a better one if you know what you’re doing.

It may be beyond the provisions of the game, but it’s not an easy task taking good screens with ReShade. Like said, it takes time and skill. 

You have to know when to use angles and tilts and how to frame photos. Composition does SO much. The word gets used a lot but there’s a lot involved, whether you do it consciously or not. Do I zoom in up close or far out? How far?  Do I want to put my subject in the center or a little to the right? How much of the background should I show? Do I blur? Do I use dutch angles? Do I take a high angle shot? Daytime? Nighttime? /gpose which filter? How much can I crop? Do I need the feet in the frame? Do I add special effects? Lighting setting 3 2 or 1? More green or more red? Those are basic questions people think about, but these are settings you use to tell a story. Then there’s questions like, how do I frame the photo to draw more attention to the feeling of being trapped? How do I use lighting to create a feeling of dread? How do I use the environment to help me tell the story and not just take a dull photo of my character?

And that’s just taking the photo. It’s easy to be tempted by all the shiny stuff you can pile onto a photo, but if it doesn’t serve a purpose other than “ooh”, then the intense sparkles floating around a photo can distract more than contribute.

So you have everything set. You switch ReShade on. You picked out a good preset. But when it comes to stuff like this one size does not fit all, in order to make it work beyond what a preset provides (as night can be pitch black, and daytime is a complete bloom-filled eyesore) you have to get your hands dirty. Presets can be pretty for sightseeing, and for most it’s enough and they work well enough to use consistently in screenshots. And that’s perfectly fine. The settings are very technical and have numerical values. I don’t understand all the values and effects myself, and finding the sweet spot to produce is an arduous process.

The same goes for Photoshop. There’s no magic button to make your art look good. You need a good eye for adjusting saturation, color balance, lighting, cropping, framing etc. to improve ANY photo. More than that, you need to be good at making believable visual effects for fancier edits. If you drag a brush randomly, no one’s going to be immersed in the way those hair extensions were made. Nope, people study the native look of a photo to make changes. Otherwise you just end up with spaghetti hair.

[it’s the same ugly photo but with spaghetti hair]

I literally used the color dropper. It’s not enough to do that!! Like GIRL I’m a fuckin digital painter and I don’t know how all those people paint/edit hair, it’s a SKILL they learned and not one I have LOL. You have to care about lighting and getting the right width and all that. It’s not that simple.

Photoshop’s got a magic wand but it’s not that easy!

People who edit photos are familiar with these... and each one has its own settings and values :,^) that can change the mood of a photo by making only certain colors be more muted or even making everything look a little lighter and brighter.

It’s not that easyyyy look at one of these windows if I didn’t do this for a living I’d be so confused

So going back to showing off my coat. After I saw the lineup of photos I’d taken, I was pretty dissatisfied, especially because I knew I could take better photos. 

I identified the problems I saw:

1.Even though I wanted to showcase my outfit, I didn’t have to take a photo straight on. The photo earlier had her facing completely straight into the camera. And it felt very flat.   

2. It’s zoomed too far out, you can’t really see the details on the coat.

3. I tweaked my ReShade settings. I worked on the lighting. When I realized my settings and the lighting in game (and on gpose) were not cooperating, I decided to wait for daytime. Kugane at night was distracting as hell with all the lanterns in the background. My clothes were the star.

Here’s another screenshot I took wearing the Far Eastern stuff.

I wasn’t showing off the details of the glamour here. Kugane at night has a lot of personality, lights and colors. When I looked at this old screenshot, I realized that it wasn’t a good setting for a simple photo that said “hey check my glam”. This photo told a story. My clothes weren’t the focus, it was the fact that Proxi was in Far Eastern clothes in Kugane. All of those facts were of equal importance, so she was a figure immersed in her surroundings.I didn’t need to capture the details of her dress, just show enough for it to be recognized. That’s why this photo worked. And only one of the many reasons why the badly lit one didn’t work. Contrary to the urge to do so, I didn’t need to tilt the camera angle to make it look interesting. I used her body language, paused an emote at the right second to get something more relaxed, her over-the-shoulder look gives an inviting feeling. I let the color contrast separate her from the background as a figure, but I kept her a part of that warm Kugane vibe with bits of red lighting. There’s a lot of thought that goes into this. How color and mood tie together. Knowing what is essential and what isn’t helps a lot, and sometimes it’s trial and error and you don’t really actually know what you want.

Here’s the final image of the Coat screenshot that I posted  a couple months ago

The problem with the Diamond Coat is that I dyed it a dark blue color and I wanted to keep that sense of dark blue without shining a bright light on it, or lightening the color. I used stronger contrasts to bring out the blues, fiddled with settings I didn’t understand but it made details shaper lol. I used angles and some blur to add a little more dynamicity (being a more static photo) and focus on Proxi. While she is still mostly facing forward, I played with her pose more, to get more of a ~random well-dressed elezen on a stroll~ feel. And!! look at all the details on her coat, you can see them!! 

But wait, you ask, aren’t you just proving that ReShade is a crutch wELL IT’S NOT. It’s a TOOL. You use. If it makes your life easier and more efficient and it makes you happier, like, honestly it doesn’t matter.

But here’s a non g-pose, non-ReShade screenshot I took during a Zurvan EX run early last year. My PC froze for a second lol. I was going to have a heart attack doing this but as a SMN I’m obligated to RELISH Teraflare. This is ONE lucky screenshot I got and you know what, even if the colors aren’t super vivid, this screenshot feels SO right. The explosions aren’t overwhelmingly bright, the arena is surprisingly a fitting background, and she’s got her leggy up but she didn’t give me a panty flash and I am fortunate this turned out to be a great photo I could put in a church mural.

Another non-gpose one. See! framing, contrast and all that. This was from my old blog circa 2016 and it got one note! LOL gpose didn’t even exist yet as we know it, and I don’t think ReShade was widespread or even a thing yet and I was super proud of this one. The trees gave her a soft background without making it too blindingly bright so she stands out and I love it.

So there’s’ your normal screenshot look, without excessive flash and eyesore while still being pretty.

But yeah anyway

TL;DR 

1. Don’t be bitter about other people using tools and adding steps to enhance their aesthetic experiences or to create screenshots that are more faithful to their vision. If it’s not harming you, live and let live. 

2. There’s more thought that goes into pretty screenshots than you think. Just because they don’t pick up a brush and draw, does not disqualify these screenshot posters as skilled artists in their own right.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ'✿ That’s all!

[femmesfollesnebraska]

Artist Feature: Kara Dunne

Pleased to present this q-and-a with artist Kara Dunne. All words and images (c) Kara Dunne...

A Trailer is a Castle on Its Side

Where are you from? How did you get into creative work and what is your impetus for creating?

I like to say I’m from Vermont because that’s where I was born and most likely will end up someday.  Currently I live in Massachusetts.

My observation skills got me into creative work.  I was always good at drawing from observation growing up, and in general observing things that were odd or quirky in the world.  Once I tapped into these heightened skills of seeing things in a new way, I think the gift of creativity followed suit.  Once you are super-honed into the world around you, you naturally start making unusual connections that you’d like to share (secretly in hopes that you may be the first one to make them of course).

As a practicing artist over the years, my work accumulates around me in boxes and flat file drawers.  And since I mostly create multiples of things, sometimes I feel like an unintentional hoarder.  But the thing is, unlike a hoarder, I don’t want to hold on to the stuff I make. I have increasingly felt the “what is the point of producing all this stuff?” question that is not unique to the artist’s experience.  I can relate to the: “If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around, then it doesn’t make a sound” concept.  If I make work that remains in my flat file, then it too, remains silent.  So what is the point?  I can only amuse myself for so long by producing for myself.  One needs an audience.  Coming from a performance background, audience interaction for me was always the most exciting part of the practice.  I’ve recently made it my main goal as a printmaker to reach an audience with my work by finding new ways in which I can just give my prints away.  I’ve never wanted to sit with my stuff at a table making puppy dog eyes in order for people to stop and buy something from me.  No surprise that I was terrible at selling girl scout cookies.

Tell me about your latest project and why its important to you. What do you hope people get out of your work?

Just before the world shut down, which for me was a year before the pandemic because my time was happily consumed as a new mom, I had just finished a long term research project that connected the agrarian and urban versions of what it meant to be a shepherd and gather something.   It compared the idea of a shopping cart attendant at the grocery store to that of a traditional shepherd gathering and caring for a flock of sheep.  The final result from my years of research into this concept was a limited edition artists’ book, titled, Shopping Cart Shepherds.  Printed on a letterpress, it combined drawings, screen-prints and interviews from my conceptual journey that began in 2012 when I spent time in a small town in Ireland (and yes, around sheep and people who raised sheep).  I met a local man in his eighties named Tom Tarpey, who had been raising sheep for about thirty years at that point.  Strangely enough and quite a rarity in Catholic history, he was the retired priest of the town.  He had left the church in order to marry the love of his life. Once a shepherd of the people, he became a shepherd of sheep.  What a rare find!  I thoroughly enjoy my work when I can interact with the world more directly; when my artistic research connects me to people in places I have never been and with whom I remain in contact with.  I have all these great big ideas, and usually I will be hesitant at first (shy?) to make connections with the community in order to see those ideas come into fruition, but ultimately things pan out in one way or another.  For example, when I came home from Ireland and was blabbing about sheep, a friend gave me a newspaper article about traditional Basque shepherds still working in this country- in the mountains in Idaho.  For a long time, the article was taped to my wall as a reminder to contact some guy I read about named Henry Etcheverry.  In 2014 I was awarded a residency at a fabulous spot called Surel’s Place (thank you so much Surel Mitchell), and it gave me the opportunity to the make necessary connections out there for this book.  Needless to say, it was an amazing experience and the Etcheverry family embraced me like one of their own; and I learned a lot about sheep.  I now consider them my extended west coast family.

110 copies of the book, Shopping Cart Shepherds, exist (that’s all I could afford to get printed) and inside the back cover it asks the reader to pass the book along to someone else once they finish it.  It is my hope that the ideas in this book will travel and reach more than 110 people.  (More trees falling in more forests?)  I have given away most of the copies at this point, both to people I know and don’t know. The books serve as messages in bottles- it’s honestly difficult to not to have control over where they go, but I guess an artist never really knows where their artwork will end up after it is purchased anyway.  Perhaps my books are mostly buried in the sand dunes of someone’s office book pile, or they have actually reached new beaches far far away.  I will never know.

Since completing this major work, all of my ideas for making prints have the underlying purpose of getting out into the world and reaching an audience.

I find certain design elements of architecture to be amusing, and often make work about the structures around us, as they are extensions of our culture and can change with popularity just like anything else.  Cupolas, ultimately a very useful and functional architectural ventilation add-on to barns and other large buildings, have been on the rise where I live.  Decorative cupolas mainly, seem to show up on top of garages overnight, like cherries atop sundaes.  (Makes the sundae and the house look better).  I made an edition of screen-prints based on this idea- a vanilla sundae with chocolate sauce and sprinkles in a fancy glass serving dish…with a cupola on top.  To get them out to cupola-adorning people, I made up a survey of questions about cupolas.  I printed the survey onto paper door hangers and distributed them.  The survey could be cut out from the door hanger as a postcard and mailed to my special P.O. box in town.  If the survey was sent back, that household would receive an original artist print.  I had the post box and distributed the door hangers for a few months before I had to stop the project because of the emergence of covid.  I had received at least a dozen responses at that point, and mailed out a portion of the edition.  I’d like to start it up again at some point.    

My next print- based community outreach project idea is in process now and will involve restaurant placemats.  I just need to make some local restaurant connections.  (Another pre-pandemic idea forced to simmer on the back burner).   Here’s the basic idea.  A table at a restaurant is the perfect gallery space.  It is especially ideal because it is the location where a group of people will sit and wait for a long period of time together with nothing else to do but sit and chit-chat in one place.  Not even in a gallery do you have the same group of people staying near each other and talking for longer than fifteen minutes in front of a single artwork.  

A paper placemat at a restaurant is viewed for a longer period of time than a work of art on a gallery wall.  It is hard not to look at a placemat- it is one of the few places to look while waiting for food.   I will use the format of the dining placemat as a way to bring fine art into the everyday world. I believe an etching is the perfect kind of print for this project.  An etching is considered the finest of fine art printmaking, mainly because the process of making an etching plate is just as time consuming as printing the edition itself.  Also, it would be perfectly ironic if a plate made a placemat.  And the thought of such a sacred piece of paper so carefully processed as an art work that should end up underneath someone’s sweaty beer glass and dinner plate is simply…exciting to me.  Equally, the thought that a restaurant guest may decide to not get it messy because they want to take it home is the kind of leave-it-to-chance scenario that I gravitate to as an artist; it forces me to relinquish my control and challenges the idea of art as an artifact.  For the viewer, the idea plays with the preciousness of “art” and the context in which we view a work of art (in a gallery vs. the real world).  For the restaurant owner, it may also bring more business and create a new kind of hype attracting more customers.  Let’s say I print a series of five placemats, and if people collect all five placemats they get a free limited edition non-placemat print worth X amount of dollars.  Or maybe they collect all five and get ten dollars off their next meal.  Something like that.

This project connects directly with the public and gets the fine art print into the hands of the everyday person.  The imagery within the frame of the placemat will vary- from beautiful local scenery and landmarks (as everyone enjoys a pretty picture), to several different designs that will engage the table with non-phone related activities- like a dining room scavenger hunt or a list of dinner conversation starters, as well as other designs that are more cerebral and open to interpretation, serving as conversation starters themselves (with digestion friendly, witty imagery).  It is also my intention to make one of the placemats at each table have a QR code with a link to a video of how the placemat was produced, essentially educating the public about what an etching is, and moreover- what printmaking is.  

Considering the political climate, how do you think the temperature is for the arts right now, what/how do you hope it may change or make a difference?

The climate is quite volatile right now, to say the least, and I think artists have a responsibility now more than ever to connect people from both sides of a political issue in order to start a meaningful conversation.  I think the temperature for artists right now is great- get in the pool!  Art always impacts at least one person looking at it, so that’s something.  Art is mainly a non-confrontational way to interpret something about the world that needs to change for others who may not understand why change needs to happen.  The best example I can think of within the visual arts is installation and involves statistic- based information.  For example, a person may come across a beautiful sculpture of a sea monster made from plastic cups.  Then they read about the work and how two million cups were used to make the work and that two million cups end up in the ocean every day; that person now has the physical representation in front of them of what two million actually means and it is forever burned into their mind. That person can stand next to the giant sculpture of cups and can better understand what the number means in relation to how it impacts the environment.  A real life artwork that is forever burned in my mind like this is a video piece by the ceramic artist Ehren Tool called the ‘1.5 Second War Memorial’.  In it, every 1.5 seconds a cup is shot and breaks. Each cup represents a human life.  You would have to watch the video for  eight minutes to get to the number of people who died in the Gulf War (Tool is a veteran of that war) and watch the video for two years to get to the number of total casualties in WWII.  

Artist Wanda Ewing, who curated and titled the original LFF exhibit, examined the perspective of femininity and race in her work, and spoke positively of feminism, saying “yes, it is still relevant” to have exhibits and forums for women in art; does feminism play a role in your work?

More often than not, feminism lies under the surface of my work.   How can it not, as I am living as a woman in this world?  Feminism is always going to be relevant.  It does not end, it is forever in existence; Feminism should not be considered as waves of the past, but as the water itself. I hate that ‘feminism’ is still considered a ‘dirty’ word.  Mostly I experience this as a high school teacher, when every so often I will have a male student who expresses their thoughts about what they think feminism is and after I cringe, mostly internally and sometimes externally, I sadly realize that this wrongly informed opinion comes from the belief system of the parents.  I try my best to inform them of what is true and false without becoming pushy; it is my hope that these particular students gain more perspective in the world through life experiences once their bubble becomes bigger-  and of course once their bubble of close-mindedness has popped.

Ewing’s advice to aspiring artists was “you’ve got to develop the skill of when to listen and when not to;” and “Leave. Gain perspective.”  What is your favorite advice you have received or given?

One of my first professors, Nick Tobier, had a five line mantra of sorts that he told us to write down during his first lecture.  

“Public space is yours to take.

Reveal the things that are hidden.

What you see has been filtered for you.

Let private notions become public.

You can make icons”

-

https://www.karadunne.com/

~

Les Femmes Folles was a volunteer organization founded in 2011 with the mission to support and promote women in all forms, styles and levels of art from around the world. Editor Sally Brown retired from active blogging after 10 years in 2021, but still accepts submissions. sallery_art@zohomail.com https://femmesfollesnebraska.tumblr.com/callforart-writing

Check out the 10th anniversary LFF exhibit, Feminist Connect, here:

https://www.les-femmes-folles-feminist-connect.com/

[alphawave-writes]

Experimental Design Chapter 4: Actions have consequences

Synopsis: Stone reminisces on his past, and how he came to become Agent Stone. Robotnik gets the bright idea to get handsy with a collar. Feelings ensue.

Read it here on or AO3. You guys can also find me on twitter @alphawave13.

If you like my writing, please do support me by buying me a ko-fi, becoming a patron on Patreon or requesting a fanfic commission from me. Especially with COVID, any little bit helps me out a lot.

I also now have a discord server for the fanfic here! Check it out here for sneak peeks and insight into the creative process and more.

-

Actions have consequences. That was the first thing Stone was taught back in school, long before he was given the identity of Stone. As a child, Stone wasn't too different from his adult self, with a few exceptions. The most blatant one of all was his utter disregard for any and all authority figures. But in his defense, it was utterly hilarious to see Teacher Deidre try and wobble over to chase him, her big gangly arms wafting with the breeze. Teachers had words to describe people like him. He was too nice to be a bully but too much of a nuisance to be a good kid. He was kind and friendly to his peers and his family, but showed absolutely no consideration for his teachers.

Thus, he was labelled a 'troublemaker'. For a boy with no future goals in mind, it suited him well enough.

There was one victim above all else that young Stone liked to tease. Mr Khoury was a new science teacher in his school, with slicked back hair and a wide grin and a crazed look in his eyes. As a teacher he was OK—this was his first job as a teacher and so he was still a little wet behind the ears—but it was the experiments he did during break time that awarded him his reputation amongst the students. As a son of a chemical manufacturing giant, he was able to get easy access to all sorts of chemicals and materials for his experiments, and then some. He'd mess with chemicals in bunsen burners. He'd steal compost and seeds from the school garden to experiment on the plants. More often than not, he'd make sculptures and robots from scrap metal that he fished from the school's recycle bin.

He may not have been the best teacher, but there was no denying that he was incredibly and devoutly passionate about science. That made him the best target for pranks, Stone thought.

It started small. Stone would steal little things from Mr. Khoury when he wasn't looking. A piece of scrap for his experiments, the fancy gold pen on his desk. But of course, it quickly escalated into hiding all the valves for the bunsen burners and locking the room and drawing silly stuff on his classroom's whiteboard. The best moments were when Mr. Khoury caught him in the act and tried to chase after him. He'd laugh, just a silly little kid enjoying the moment as he ran and ran, glancing behind his back to stare at his teacher's flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead. Mr. Khoury was slow compared to Stone, so sometimes he’d let himself get caught. And then he let himself get caught more often. One time, instead of taking him to time out or detention, Mr Khoury forced the young child to help him with his experiments. And then he became an active participant. He claimed it was just to observe his teacher, and in a sense he was. He remembered Mr. Khoury's quiet look of concentration, the glitter in his eyes and the fire that burned deep in his soul. He remembered it so well that those looks stained his dreams, making him feel fuzzy and warm and happy.

It all seemed so fun and idyllic. Until one day, when Stone found Mr Khoury clearing out his desk.

“But I don’t understand,” the young Stone said. It was another lunch break, and he was expecting another experiment. Instead, Mr. Khoury was packing up his stuff, his normally calm face twisted into a scowl. “You didn’t do anything. You can't be fired.”

“It’s that incompetent headmistress," Mr Khoury said. "Her and her backwards views of the world, of progress. It’s only because of her that I have to go.”

“But why?”

“I’m…” Mr Khoury pouted, then turned to young Stone. Behind his glasses, his eyes were dark but focused, a swirling and shimmering vortex. “Will you keep this a secret between you and me?”

He nodded obediently. His chest felt light, knowing that his teacher trusted him so much with such an important secret.

“I’m married.”

Stone frowned. He wasn’t surprised, Mr Khoury was very good looking for an adult. Or at least, he thought he was. His friends didn’t agree. Then again, most of his friends were boys like him. “Is that a bad thing?"

“To another man. I'm married to a man," Mr Khoury replied.

Stone tilted his head in confusion. "That doesn't sound like a bad thing."

"It's not, but of course your headmistress seems to think otherwise, the troglodyte," Mr. Khoury spat. "Not all love is equal in this society. People of walks of life are expected to fit into society's expectations of love, and when you defy it, you’re punished.”

"I love someone," Stone blabbed. His small eyes widened, his hand instinctively reaching up to cover his lips. He didn't mean to say that. Not to Mr Khoury of all people.

"Oh? Who?"

Young Stone looked away shyly. A small chuckle escaped Mr Khoury's lips, gracing his sharp features with a rare softness.

"I'm flattered, but I'm afraid you're a bit too late. Five years too late, to be specific," Mr Khoury said.

"Most people say it's just a childhood crush," he quietly admitted. "They don't think it's real."

"All love is real, to some extent. It's the same neurotransmitters firing in our brains whether it's a fictional entity or a real person, someone close to you or someone that's completely and utterly unattainable." Mr Khoury smiled. "Perhaps you do have a childhood crush, but if you learn from who you love, and why you love them, maybe you'll learn a little bit about yourself from these experiences."

He nodded slowly, a frown playing on his young and childish face. He knew nothing would ever happen between them, even if Mr. Khoury stayed at school forever. In the presence of someone greater and better than him, why would they ever fall in love with someone so weak and dumb?

Mr. Khoury's face sharpened. "You've learned something from this experience, have you?"

He nodded. "I did."

"Perhaps not everybody in this school is a complete idiot," Mr. Khoury said, rubbing his hand through the kid's short hair.

He stared up at his teacher's face. He did not know how or why, but something in his gut told him that this would be their last conversation ever. "I'll be smarter," the young boy continued. "I-I'll be better than smart. I'll be strong and cool and smart, and I won't let bullies tell me off."

In all his life, he'd never seen Mr. Khoury smile like this, soft and gentle like his favourite teddy bear. It shouldn't suit his face, and yet it did, this rare moment of softness transforming him into another person, a better person. In the reflection of Mr Khoury's eyes he saw his own expressive face, wide and beautiful. A selfish thought popped into his head, of someone looking at him with the same adoration that he looked at Mr Khoury. It couldn't be anyone. It had to be someone great. Someone brilliant and smart, who saw the world in a way no one else did, who'd grant him the kindness of letting him be by their side.

It didn't have to be Mr Khoury, but someone like him. Someone just as great and brilliant.

"Tariq?" Mr Khoury asked.

"Stone!!" Robotnik yelled.

Stone jolted in surprise, turning his head to the source of the sound. In the present, Dr. Robotnik was glaring at him from his usual spot behind his desk, his stubble peeking out a little bit more than usual.

Stone put on a smile. "Sorry, sir?"

"I was going to ask you to do something, but it seems your mind is filled with ridiculous nonsense. What is it? Did you suddenly remember that red and blue paint combine to create purple?"

"It's nothing," Stone handwaved. "Just remembered something. Nothing important though."

But Robotnik didn't seem convinced. "You've been staring into space a lot lately. Do I have to get your brain checked?"

Stone blinked rapidly. From anyone else it was an insult, but from Robotnik it sounded almost like concern. "If you're talking about the nightclub incident, I'm fine. What about you, though?"

"Obviously I'm fine," Robotnik scoffed. "Unlike you, I haven't been affected whatsoever. My superior intellect means I do not get inundated by such insignificant things like death, and dildos, and other miscellaneous things in that category."

Except that was an obvious lie. Since the nightclub incident a few days ago, a few things had changed between them. For one, Senator Willingham didn't take too kindly to being tortured, so they needed to keep a low profile for now, which meant more hours being by Robotnik's side. Robotnik in turn had devoted more time to his research, working late into the night to work on a mysterious new project he'd concocted. Normally the doctor was eager to talk about his experiments, but when Stone tried to ask this time, Robotnik would stiffen and clamp up, pretending not to hear him.

And then there were those...other moments.

They were insignificant in the grand scheme of things but Stone took care to notice the insignificant things, because in his line of work nothing was ever insignificant. The twirl of a moustache, the way the doctor chewed on the very tip of his gloves, the snap of leather gloves to the doctor's pale but firm wrists, the way he licked his bottom lip all too slowly when he was deep in thought.

It was earlier that day, as Robotnik scratched and itched at a red rash growing at the base of his stubble-lined jaw that Stone realised he had been staring at his boss for a whole ten minutes.

It wasn't polite to stare. He was sure if Robotnik actually paid attention and caught him, he might have been given some form of punishment. But then that only made Stone think about his punishment, and what Robotnik would do to him. If Robotnik made a threat, he always followed through on it. It could be any day now, perhaps even today, that he'd be punished. But usually Robotnik was rather swift with his threats, claiming that it took precious time away from his experiments. So why was Robotnik delaying it? Did he forget, or was he planning something big? If it was something big, why was it big? Would it be painful or humiliating, mild or serious?

Would Dr. Robotnik glance down at Stone with that heated gaze once again, ready to take whatever he wanted from him? Was Stone willing to give his boss whatever he wanted?

Stone glanced at his reflection, only to see a wide, excited smile grace his features. He clamped it down, trying to relax his face into a more normal smile. He was not getting excited about getting punished. This was just the adrenaline talking, or maybe that newly-discovered kink of his. This had nothing to do with his boss.

Robotnik waved his hand frantically in front of Stone's face, making him blink.

"You're doing it again, Stone," Robotnik said.

"I-I'm sorry, sir."

Robotnik stood up from his chair and dramatically took a step forward, closing the distance between their bodies. With his gloved hand, he pulled Stone's face up, forcing him to look into Robotnik's cold, dark eyes. "What's going on in your mind?"

"Nothing," Stone said quickly, even as his eyes glanced down to Robotnik's salt and pepper stubble. He always wondered what that'd feel like on his hand. Would it feel different on his lips?

"It shouldn't be nothing. There should be something to fill that enormous head of yours," Robotnik cradled Stone's head roughly, as if looking through his eyes to see his dark, festering mind. "Perhaps there's something wrong with your head after all. The neurons aren't firing, or perhaps your frontal lobe just isn't responding to stimulus."

A strange thrill grew in Stone's chest as a smile grew on his lips. "Wouldn't it be the parietal lobe that's not working? If I'm not paying attention?"

Robotnik's eyes widened for a second, blinking rapidly as crimson fury crept up his face. Stone was correct, and they both knew it. In an instant, calm and logical Robotnik was unraveling at the seams. It always entertained Stone, seeing his boss lose that carefully crafted veneer of his and the madness and the brilliance peek through.

"You know, I never got to punish you for your insubordination the other day," Robotnik purred, a predator sizing up its prey. "Perhaps I've been a bit too lax with you recently. You should be taught more...discipline."

Stone couldn't stop smiling even if he wanted to. Something about that crazed look in Robotnik's eyes made him feel bold and cocky, as if he was the one in charge and not the man with the army of robots at his disposal. But that was silly to entertain, especially given how tightly Robotnik was holding his face. "How would teaching me discipline help me with my head?"

Robotnik chuckled darkly, exposing a bit more of his throat. They were almost nose to nose, so close he could almost taste the doctor's sweat. This was the moment Stone was all too familiar with, the charged energy building between their bodies, rising and rising, only striking when Robotnik so commanded. This was the moment when Robotnik's breathing increased and his pupils dilated and his cheeks went a gorgeous rosy pink. It made him look ridiculous. Human.

Gorgeous.

Stone sharply inhaled. Oh god, he didn't think that, did he? Not about his boss. Not about Ivo Robotnik.

"Stone," Robotnik said.

He couldn't stop staring at Robotnik's pink lips. Were they always so kissable?

"Get down on your hands and knees," Robotnik ordered.

To his credit, Stone did it all without shaking. Whether he would hypothetically shake from fear or excitement, Stone didn't know anymore.

"Stay there, and don't move an inch.," Robotnik said, disappearing for a short while to grab something from his desk. That act alone limited the possible punishments he might be given. What did Robotnik have planned?

He heard Robotnik's steps approach him. "You can move your head up now."

Stone did, taking his time to let his eyes trail up Robotnik's legs, torso, neck,before finally resting on Robotnik’s devilish face. In his hand was something circular but thick, wires and electronics sticking out of the fabric interior. It resembled a dog collar, but it was much thicker and wider than a normal one, with strange wires surrounding it. But Stone didn’t remember Robotnik owning a dog.

Stone gulped. It couldn’t be…that wasn’t for him?

“Don’t move a muscle,” Robotnik commanded.

“Sir, this is unconventional.”

“Oh, but you’re an unconventional man, Agent. I thought I was dealing with a government lapdog with a modicum of intelligence. But you’re so much more than that, aren’t you?”

Stone went silent, keeping his face neutral. Robotnik chuckled darkly as he undid Stone's tie, letting it drop to the floor. His lithe, leather-bound fingers traced the sensitive skin of his neck before clamping the collar on. It wasn't tight, but it wasn't loose, as if it was made for him.

"I must admit, you keep stumping me. There's no records about you. Nothing about the man you were before you became Agent Stone, what school you went to, your parents' names, whether your mommy tucked you into bed or not. Even I couldn't find anything." Robotnik leaned forward. "I find that very strange, Stone. Or whatever your real name is."

"Ben," Stone said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Ben Stone. My name," Stone swallowed tightly. "And as for everything else, I graduated the academy top of my class, I kept getting transferred to too many schools when I was a kid, my parents' names are Ali and Mary, and my mom tucked me into bed every night until I was 12."

"I've read your file—or should I say, I've read Stone's file. I know all about your cover identity. You're supposed to be an obedient little dog with a gun. And you know what happens to dogs that don't do what they're supposed to do?"

Robotnik pressed his thumb to a button on his gloves.

"They get a little shock."

An electric current rippled through Stone's neck, making him gasp, more in surprise than actual pain. It only lasted a second, but it was enough for all the muscles on his back to firm up in attention.

"Does it hurt?" Robotnik grinned.

Stone let out a chuckle. "You'll never hurt me, doctor. We both know you can't."

"Wrong answer," Robotnik said.

An another electrical current at a slightly higher voltage. Enough to make Stone wince, but still far from painful. It all but proved Stone's point. The doctor could take the air out of his lungs, but he was always careful never to harm him.

Robotnik crouched down so he was face to face with Stone. His smile was condescending, but not completely malicious. The doctor was far too excited to be that cruel. "You're going to be wearing this collar all day. If you slip up even a little bit, I press a little button on my glove and you'll get shocked. The more times you slip up, the longer the electric shock lasts. I'll take it off when the shift ends. No earlier, no later. Understand?"

Stone stared at Robotnik for a few seconds, taking in those flushed cheeks and eager grin. This was a test, Stone realised, and he was the sole participant. Was the doctor's plan to reduce his will? To make him beg? Robotnik would love to see that, it'd stroke his massive ego even more, but Stone would never give him that satisfaction. He'd do many things, but not everything. It'd take away the fun.

Another chuckle escaped from Stone. Robotnik's lips thinned into a line. "What are you laughing about?"

"Don't I get a reward for this?" Stone smiled devilishly. "If I'm a dog, I deserve a treat for behaving, don't I?"

Robotnik smirked. "And why should I give you anything?"

"To reinforce behaviour. After all, isn't that why you put a collar on me?"

Instead of laughing, Robotnik scoffed sharply, the corner of his lips pulling up against his will. "Perhaps." He stood up suddenly and went to his chair. It spun approximately 70 degrees before Robotnik placed his feet down, grinding to a halt. "You know, Stone, all this talking and moving has made me thoroughly parched. A nice latte with steamed Austrian goat milk sounds like it'll do just the trick."

They both knew that the coffee machine was in the breakroom for the other guards, on the opposite side of the compound where the mobile lab sat. The chances that Stone would be seen wearing what was very clearly a BDSM collar were fairly high, but there was just as high a chance that the person who caught him would report it to both their superiors, and Robotnik wouldn't have that. This was just another one of those games of 'Simon says' that they played. A dare to see how far Stone could be pushed.

Stone slowly stood up, stuffed his tie into his suit pocket, and gave his most award-winning smile. He always liked a challenge. "Of course, sir," he purred.

Robotnik's cheeks seemed to get redder, but if he had something to say Stone didn't hear it as he opened the door and strolled outside.

Whether it was Stone's luck or some other supernatural force, the base was surprisingly empty given the time of day. Not that there weren't people, but the few he did pass seemed far too engrossed in conversation to notice him walking past. All the better for him. Less questions asked, less answers he needed to give.

In the breakroom were two coffee machines: one that was used fairly often and one that wasn't. Stone went to the latter, preparing the coffee beans (a special blend of his own creation based on a South American recipe) and steaming the goat milk and making the foam. The resulting latte is rather sweet, with a chocolate-y aftertaste. Not everyone's cup of coffee, but Stone liked it, and Robotnik loved it. It definitely earned him a few brownie points when he first came into the doctor's services.

Stone had just finished making a latte for the doctor (and of course one for himself because why not?) when he heard someone call out his name. "Stone?"

He turned his head, letting out a breath when he realised it was Agent Jared Aird: low-level government agent and high-level weirdo. In other words, the closest thing to a friend Stone had outside of Robotnik.

"What's up?" Stone asked.

"Someone's looking for y—" Stone winced suddenly as an electric shock hit him. Aird's eyes flickered between the collar and Stone’s expression, the dots connecting slowly but surely in his mind. "I, uh…OK then. I'll just talk to you later."

Stone stifled the need to explain himself. He didn't need to make this more embarrassing. “You said someone's looking for me. Not the doctor?"

"No, they're looking for you specifically. Or at least…it sounded like they were talking about you. Described you to a T."

"Name?"

"Called themselves Lara Stein." Before Stone could comment, Aird said, "Obviously a pseudonym. We’re pulling ID checks on her though. Should take at least an hour." Aird glanced at the collar and coughed loudly into his fist. "I'll just…tell her to come back later."

Stone didn’t know a Lara, or anyone that could be looking for him specifically. Not many people knew of Agent Stone, as part of the whole cover identity business. He shook his head. "Tell her to come after my shift's done, please. And, uh…don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t, I won’t, we all know the doctor is a freak. But a shock collar? Bit kinky for his tastes.”

Stone let a frown slip. The doctor was strange, but certainly not a freak. He was a genius with limitless knowledge, unburdened by the expectations of society, but no one else saw him like that. Everybody thought he was dangerous. Everybody thought he was crazy. Not Stone though. Stone knew the doctor was just a drama kid with a need to please. Dangerous men weren’t capable of such innocent, child-like smiles when they tinkered away with their machines. Crazy men didn’t see the world with such fascination and awe.

Times like these reminded Stone that he might literally be the only person in the world who liked Robotnik, let alone tolerated him.

Stone forced a chuckle. “He’s certainly gotten some weird ideas lately. But I’ll manage.”

“I hope so,” Aird muttered with concern.

The trip back was equally uneventful, with even fewer potential witnesses. By the time he got back to the mobile lab, Robotnik was sneering at him, stamping his foot for dramatic effect.

"You're seven minutes late." Robotnik snatched the latte out of Stone's hand and took a sip. His face, as it often did when he drank Stone's coffee, softened considerably. "At least the coffee is the correct temperature this time. Nearly scalded my tongue yesterday."

Stone smiled warmly. The only compliments he ever got from Robotnik was for his coffee. Not that he minded. He made some damn good coffee, and any compliment from Robotnik was worth its weight in gold. "You're welcome, sir."

The rest of the day went surprisingly normally, give or take a few electric shocks here and there when Stone looked like he was daydreaming again. Robotnik did little to hide how much he enjoyed the way Stone twitched in surprise, catching him off guard. Even when Robotnik left to get a quick snack, his presence could still be felt on Stone' throat. The collar tethered him to the doctor, a physical mark of his servitude. It was sobering, realising how far he let himself get subjugated by Robotnik's whims, to the point of humiliation and shame. This was just the start, and if Robotnik got any more crazy ideas from BDSM, this might not be the last time he'd be punished like this. No more 'pin yourself to the wall'. It'd be 'get down on all fours and bark like a dog' or 'lick my shoes'.

He saw his wide grin in the reflective walls and forced himself to stop smiling.

When Robotnik came back, he continued his usual work on his computer, stopping every now and then to quiz Stone on the collar and how it was working. After Stone answered, he would then ask him to write it down anyway. The first two times, Stone did it without question. The third time, Stone felt brave enough to ask Robotnik why he wasn’t taking the notes himself if he was so much smarter. He glanced over his shoulder, ready to ask, only to realise that the doctor was already behind him.

"Sir?"

Robotnik was silent as he turned Stone's chair to face him, his normally expressive face toned down into something that almost looked soft. He clicked a few buttons on his gloves, and then fiddled with a strap on the collar. It opened up easily, sliding down and off of Stone's neck, before gently being dropped on the nearby table.

Stone rolled his head slowly, frowning at the stiffness. The cool air felt so much colder on his now-sensitive neck, which was in stark contrast to the hungry flames in Robotnik's eyes. He felt like those women in those B-tier horror films, waiting on bated breath for the vampire to sink their teeth into his neck and make him feel the most writhing ecstasy.

"Does it hurt now?" Robotnik asked, his voice suddenly quiet. Unsure.

Stone glanced at the clock. "Is it time already?"

"Clearly you need to get your eyes checked as well," Robotnik huffed. He grabbed Stone by the jaw, twisting and turning his head to observe his neck. He let out a small tut. "There's a few spots of redness on your neck. Was it from the collar?"

"It didn't hurt," Stone said. Which was partially true. He was aware of a faint itchiness but they weren't painful. He got shot with a blank to the stomach once. No pain could compare to that.

"You should have told me. Or written it in your report. You have seen me work, you should know by now the importance of writing down every single observable detail for data collection."

Robotnik slowly tugged at the tips of his gloves, pulling them off his hand one by one. It was a simple act, done without show or boast, and yet somehow it was the most erotic thing Stone's ever seen Robotnik do. Stripping away his gloves felt no different from watching him strip away his clothes. The way he folded up his gloves so neatly, those dexterous yet thick fingers moving so freely now that they weren't bound to their cloth prisons. And the way they moved, gently tucking the folded gloves into one pocket before retrieving a small jar from another, was an act that was far too intimate for a scientist and his agent. And yet Stone stared at Robotnik, his neck exposed and his cheeks flushed, wondering if this was a dream.

The cool sensation of Robotnik's lotion-covered fingers on his neck quickly told him it was very much real.

"Doctor?" Stone breathed.

"Let me work," Robotnik replied, sounding out of breath himself.

"What is this?"

"It's just lotion from the supermarket. Won't cure the redness right away, but at least it shouldn't distract you any more than you've already distracted yourself."

This felt wrong, just as much as it felt right. There had to be a reason Robotnik was being so nice as to rub lotion on his neck. There had to be a reason why those dark eyes seemed so warm and brilliant. There had to be a reason why he was leaning in, drawn in to the dark fire.

"I'll ask this for the final time. Is there anything else about the collar that was uncomfortable? The fabric, the voltage, the tightness. Anything at all?" Robotnik dabbed his fingers and let his fingers dip lower, near Stone's nape.

It took all his willpower not to sigh or gasp. This didn't just feel good. It felt great. It felt amazing. How could one man's touch feel so amazing? "Why are you so concerned about whether the collar hurts or not?" Stone asked quietly.

"I'm going to be making improvements for next time. Obviously, I don't want it to harm my best agent."

Stone chuckled, if only to disguise the warmth creeping up his chest and dipping to his limbs. His smile must have been big and wide, but Robotnik was still applying the lotion with the kind of careful touch he usually only reserved for his robots. Best agent. The doctor thought he was the best. He was getting excessively giddy from those two words alone.

"Everything's good, doctor. Perfect as always." He smiled. "Have I been a good boy then?"

The question didn't register for Robotnik for several seconds, applying the lotion before stopping, his fingers paused near the tight ball of Stone's throat. He blinked rapidly, glanced up into Stone's eyes, then turned his head away abruptly. "You have, for once." He cleared his throat loudly. "You're lucky I didn't punish you firmer. I was hoping the collar would have more…observable results."

What was this energy floating between them? What was this urge to get closer? Their noses were almost touching and their breaths were fusing and it was making Stone dizzy. Despite his position, despite the creative punishments Robotnik could dole, he felt powerful. Like he could lean in and purse his lips and do whatever he wanted without consequence.

"So does that mean I get a reward?" Stone breathed.

Robotnik smirked. "You're not getting any more sick days from me."

"I wasn't thinking sick days, doctor."

"Oh? So what were you thinking? What's going on in that microscopic mind of yours?"

Stone pretend to think before grinning. "I'll let you decide, doctor. You're the genius."

Robotnik had stopped massaging the lotion, putting it back in his pocket and wiping his hands on Stone's jacket. His eyes were unfocused as he continued to stare at Stone's neck, as if scanning him for his blueprints, looking for weaknesses. It was so uncharacteristic and so firm that Stone wasn't sure he'd refuse any command Robotnik would give him. If he was asked to strip, he'd do it. If Robotnik bit his neck like a vampire, he wouldn't refuse. He'd do anything if it meant Robotnik stared at him like this, like he mattered, like only he mattered.

Was this really a punishment kink, or was there something more to what he felt? Did his feelings for the doctor perhaps run deeper?

Did Robotnik perhaps feel the same?

A knock on the door took both of them by surprise. Robotnik had stood up, quickly snapped his gloves back on, and pressed a couple of buttons. The security feed for outside flickered on, the edge of a white skirt flapping in the wind near the entrance. A woman in a white business jacket and skirt came in holding a file. Her eyes flickered around the room before narrowing on Stone.

"You must be Tariq," she said. "My employer has been looking for you."

For a second, time stopped, a bevy of uncomfortable, horrific memories surfacing. Then, in a flash, Stone had rushed forward with superhuman speed and punched her square in the face. She went out cold in an instant, her nose ruined and bloody, bruises already forming near her cheek where his knuckles had connected with the facial bone.

"Stone?!" Robotnik yelled. "What in tarnation is going on?"

He didn't react, instead searching the woman's jacket for something, anything. A file, a USB, an incriminating something or other. But nothing. Just her ID, and a card at maximum clearance level, the same level as Robotnik's and Stone's. The mysterious Lara Stein. Robotnik's legs seemed like jelly as he wobbled over to his desk and hurriedly typed away. Lara Stein's name was compared through hundreds of databases, but there was no one high enough to have maximum clearance. He tried to go through every filter, every database, too fast for Stone to comprehend, but even he knew that there'd be nothing.

There was another knock on the door. Robotnik grabbed Stone by the shoulder and said, "Don't do it," but Stone shrugged it off and readied his handgun. The door opened, and Stone pointed his gun at the person who opened the door.

Behind that person was a swarm of G.U.N agents, all pointing their weapons at Stone. He recognised a few of them. Sarah, Flores, Jacobs, they were all here, and they were all blank and emotionless like dolls, or mannequins. A pity he couldn't reacquaint with them under better circumstances.

The person at the door shook his head casually. His military-buzz cut had now gotten a bit longer, and his face was sagging, but Stone knew this man all too well.

"Still shoot first, ask questions later, huh, Tariq? Or should I say, Agent Ben Stone?"

Stone flicked his gun off safety. "My primary job is to protect my current charge, Commander. If you do anything to him—"

"Didn't you hear? We want to talk to you. Or, well…you would've heard it if you haven't bashed that poor girl's head in." He glared at Robotnik. "We only want to talk to Tariq."

Robotnik's eye twitched. "I am Dr. Ivo Robotnik. I've caused more wars than you’ve sired fatherless children. If you think I will—"

"Who do you think has been giving you those orders?" The Commander interrupted.

Robotnik's eyes widened. "You can't be…b-but the Commander is just some stupid character from a John Wick movie. "

"Doctor…" Stone warned.

"You are not touching my agent without my express permission,” Robitnik continued. “And since you've been so nice as to introduce me to your inferior weaponry, I shall introduce you to my means of destruction."

Stone grabbed Robotnik by the wrist, just as the turrets and sentires activated. He squeezed hard, hoping to the heavens themselves that Robotnik realised how serious this was. The Commander wasn't just any man. The Commander was a dangerous man who knew thousands of ways to kill and torture people. The Commander had a hand in every major war operation from the US since 9-11. The Commander had informants all over the globe, and was considered utterly untouchable.

The Commander was the man who taught everything Stone knew. And if someone was on his bad side, hell hath no fury.

Stone pressed a few buttons on Robotnik's gloves and the turrets and sentries deactivated. "I'll be back shortly," Stone said as he flipped the safety of his gun back on and holstered it.

"Stone?"

"Wait for me," he said.

"Don't you dare go," Robotnik's voice warbled. "T-that is an order, Stone. You won't like me when you disobey me, so don't—"

But Stone stepped out of the mobile lab and toward the Commander. Neither of them said a word, because there was no need for them. Stone knew the Commander too well to not know what he wanted to do, and he was not going to disobey the Commander. As he followed the Commander and the G.U.N agents out of the compound, the man known as Agent Stone disappeared, and a different man emerged—identical and yet different—to take his place.

Actions have consequences. That was the first thing Stone was taught back in school, long before he was given the identity of Stone. When the headmistress initiated a slam campaign after Mr Khoury left, slandering him as a pedophile who liked young boys, nobody expected it to go viral on the internet and get him taken to court on criminal charges. She was a white lady with a respectable career and numerous connections, whereas Mr Khoury was a relatively young teacher who had yet to make his mark on the world. His family wanted nothing to do with him. His husband could only provide moral support. Legally, he was on his own.

No one would imagine a little kid like him to have that much pure anger and rage, to punch and kick and win in a fight against an adult. It didn't matter that she had started the fight by slapping him on the face for providing evidence to refute her lies. It didn't matter that he was trying to protect himself. It didn't matter that his parents whole-heartedly supported him, and even helped him retrieve the evidence. In the end, he was expelled, and his school record was completely tarnished. Mr Khoury was declared innocent solely due to lack of evidence, but no one would ever hire him again.

It'd be many years before people took interest in Stone. Until then, Stone kept his head down and his ears peeled, learning as much as he could about the world and the evil that festered within it.

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Things Done Differently 4

Warnings: RPF 

Link to previous chapter 3

Words; 2,825

Pairings: Richard Speight Jr. x OFC

__________

The following days went smoothly for Richard and Grace. They didn’t leave the house or the bed for the most part.

“These hormones of yours is really wearing me out sugar. Not that I am complaining. Six months of just using my hand was miserable.”

Richard said with a smile as he watched Grace pull on some clothes. Grace smirked as she tried to wiggle into a pair of leggings. With a sigh she gave up after a few tries.

“I blame you for this.”

She said with a smirk as Richard sat up watching her with an amused expression.

“I didn’t hear you complaining especial last night, middle of the night, and this morning.”

Grace rolled her eyes.  

“I’m not complaining silly. I never believed people when they said that when you get pregnant you turn into a horny mess. Well now look at me  you could bend me over whenever you want.”

Richard raised an eyebrow.

“In that case I better go buy me a supply of Viagra or something because sweetheart I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Grace raised an eyebrow.

“You haven’t needed any assistance so far. I have to run downtown and meet a client with my brother.”

Richard frowned.

“Ah gotta go meet Mr. Personality huh?”

Grace gave him a small frown.

“Rich, please. I know that you two don’t like each other.”

Richard held a hand up.

“Like isn’t a strong enough word darlin. More like hate each others guts and hope the other will drop dead.”

Grace pulled on a knee length sweater tucking it around her stomach. She had been so used to trying to find creative ways to hide her growing stomach the realization that she didn’t have to still hadn’t really kicked in.  

“Richard, I’m not asking much of you just please for our daughter, try to get along with Andrew. Like it or not he’s going to be a part of her life. He’s my business partner. Carmichael records isn’t

what it would be without my brother. I can’t do it all on my own.”

Richard frowned feeling guilty. He stood pulling on his jeans before going to Grace.

“Sugar I’m sorry. He just bugs me. You’re right our daughter doesn’t need all the drama. I’ll see you when you get home..”

He leaned down pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Her arms wrapped around his shoulder deepening the kiss. Richard sighed against her lips.

“And this is what led to you getting pregnant. You better get going. I don’t want your brother coming in here seeing me half naked.”

Grace turned with a smile walking out of the room.

Half and hour later Richard sat in the living room waiting for Rob, Matt, Jensen, Jared, and Ruth to show up. Tonight was the night that he was going to let some of his friends other than Rob in on his secret. Part of him was ready to get the news of Grace’s pregnancy out in the open so they could walk out in public and not feel like they had to hide everything. The other part wanted to keep his daughter as safe as possible. Even if she wasn’t born yet he wanted to keep from safe from all the sets of eyes in Nashville that would be on her once she was born. As popular as he and Grace were in the city it wouldn’t take long for news of the baby to circulate.  

Richard looked down at the magazine on the coffee table. Andrew and Grace was on the cover of Nashville Star magazine. Richard sighed looking at his girlfriend carefully. She was dressed in a loose black dress that clearly his her stomach. Richard sat down with a groan. He hated knowing that because of him she had gone to all those crazy lengths to hide her condition and was about to face a splurge of media attention when the truth came out.  

Looking at Andrew, Richard frowned. He knew that he had to find a way to get along with the oldest Carmichael. If there was anyone that could quiet some of the crazy that his and Grace’s totally unplanned pregnancy was about to cause it would be Andrew Carmichael. Even though Richard was annoyed at the even thought of going to Andrew to keep the reporters off of Grace he had a feeling he would be doing it. Sure Richard could put his two cents in on everything to the reporters but that would cause even more of a circus fest. Andrew could smooth things over. Richard had seen him do it plenty of times when it came to an artist who was going through a rough patch. Andrew could have made Britney Spears 2007 meltdown look sane.

The doorbell ringing pulled Richard from his thoughts. Looking down at his watch he was relieved to see that it was time for his friends to show up. Getting out of his head was the best thing at the moment. Getting up and walking to the door, Rob looking concerned as soon as Richard answered.

“Hey buddy! Didn’t know you bought a new house.”

Jensen said cheerfully as he walked in with Jared behind him. Matt grinned.

“Did you have someone decorate it for you or did you suddenly become awesome at interior decorating?”

Richard smirked as they sat down on the couch. Rob hadn’t out of ear shot before turning and looking at Richard.

“Is everything okay? You look stressed.”

Richard shrugged.

“Just a lot on my mind. I’ll be good.”

Rob didn’t look too believing as he walked to join Ruth on the couch. Taking a deep breath he decided just to let everything come out in the open. Feeling nervous around his friends was something that was not like him in the slightest. Anyone that knew Richard in the slightest knew that being shy or keeping secrets from his friends was not the man he was.

“So Rich what is with you?”

Jared asked with a smile. Richard sat down .

“So I uh…have a girlfriend.”

Jensen looked surprised and nodded with smile. Ruth clasped her hands together looking excited. She wasn’t about to say it but they had all been worried about Richard over the past few months. He had not been his normally cheery sarcastic self. Seeing him withdrawn and clearly acting when on stage was not her normal friend.

“Well that is wonderful dear! You have seemed so moody lately.”  

Richard nodded.

“She’s pregnant.”

The whole room went silent. Everyone looked between themselves before looking back to Richard. Matt tilted his head to the side.

“Come again?”

Jensen and Jared were mouthing what the fuck to each other before Jensen turned to Richard.

“We see what you have been doing!”

Matt meanwhile, was grinning.

“Is there something that you’ve forgotten to tell us and does it have something to do with all the hickeys you’ve been sporting? That’s right I see things because I am your friend! Wait a second! Rob did you know about this?”

Rob nodded hoping to keep everything as calm as possible. He was worried about Richard from the moment that he walked in the door. Jensen chuckled.

“Well that explains everything! Rob how in the hell did you keep this to yourself? I figured you would have blabbed by now.”

Jared got up and went to stand beside Richard.

“Rich probably threatened to kick his ass. Rob is the only one that threat will work on. He’s the only one smaller than Rich.”

Jared said with a smirk before resting his arm on the the top of Richard’s head. Richard quickly pushed Jared off with a frown while Rob crossed his arms over his chest.

“HEY!”

Rob squeaked. Having enough at the masculine ball breaking fest, Ruth stood up.

“Okay boys that is enough. Richard how far is she? How long have you been together?”

Richard looked up finally.

“She’s 6 ½ months. We’ve been together for over a year…just the past six months we were kind of broke up because I wanted to keep everything hush hush.”

Matt looked like he had just figured out a grand puzzle.

“SO that is why you were coming back to Nashville all the time! I knew that there was something that I was being left out of! I though that I was supposed to be in on this friendship. I feel so left out right now.”

Richard chuckled.

“Well I am sorry that you haven’t been included on the latest chapter of this train wreck called my life! If I could have….”

The sound of the door closing pulled Richard from this thoughts. He turned seeing Grace standing in the doorway. From the look on her face she had heard everything he had just said and wasn’t happy. Matt was the first one to say something. Matt looked awestruck looking at her. She was definitely as pretty as she was in all of the magazines.

“You’re Grace Carmichael.”

Grace smiled politely.

“You must be Matt.”

Matt grinned.

“You really are pregnant!”

Everyone looked at Matt like he was absolutely nuts. Richard rolled his eyes.

“Did you think I was lying?!”

Matt shrugged.

“Just thought you might have been trying to pull one over on us.”

Grace chuckled.

“Its nice to have met you all. I’m sorry to run but I have a plane to catch in two hours and have to pack. I hope to see you all again.”

Richard’s less than amused expression became even more grave.

“Plane?”

Grace’s green eyes went to her boyfriend.

“I have a meeting in Texas in the morning with a potential client. Andrew decided to just spring it on me an hour ago. I should be back the day after tomorrow.”

She turned with a smile before walking into the bedroom shutting the door. Once she was out of the room Jensen turned looking at Richard.

“Dude I think she heard what you said about your life being a train wreck.”

Richard ran a hand through his hair.

“Ya think? I didn’t mean it like that!”

Jensen shrugged innocently.

“You might not want to sit here and tell me. You may wanna go in there and talk to her.”

Richard groaned before turning and following his girlfriend into the bedroom. The last thing he wanted was to lose Grace all over again because he made some crazy comment that he didn’t need to make in the process.

Walking into the bedroom Grace stood putting random outfits into a suitcase. She didn’t even look up when he walked into the room cluing Richard in that she was upset.

“Grace, about what you heard sugar.”

Grace looked up before holding up her hand.

“You don’t have to explain.”

She wanted to say more but she didn’t. Grace wanted to let Richard know what she was feeling but that would just escalate to an argument. The last thing that she wanted before a trip to Texas was an argument with her boyfriend. She knew that if she wanted to keep Richard fussing at him was the last thing that she needed to be doing!

Richard hadn’t moved from his place by the door for a moment before going to sit on the bed.

“Grace, talk to me.”

Grace shook her head.

“There is nothing to say. Everything is fine.”

Richard ran a hand through his hair as she kept putting random clothing items in the partially full case.

“So are you coming back?”

Grace looked up.

“Of course.”

“You’re packing like you are about to run or something.”

Grace looked up again.

“I’m pregnant. I need lots of clothes. If I am not burning up one moment I am freezing to death  the next. That calls for a lot of material.”

Both were quiet for a moment before Richard spoke again.

“You know Grace I am an actor I can spot someone lying from 100 feet away. I know you head what I said and none of that pertained to you.”

Grace zipped her bag before looking up like nothing had happened.

“Okay.”

This was the point that Richard was beginning to get aggravated!

“Damn it Grace don’t do this! You are doing just what you used to! Instead of us talking about our problems you are just shoving them deeper and deeper into Pandora’s fucking box. Its like I can’t get you to trust me no matter what I do!”  

Grace froze at that. Her pretty face went sour like she had eaten a ton of sour Skittles. Turning and looking at Richard her green eye’s looked too much like Andrew’s for his liking.

“Fine, you wanna know what I thought when I heard you say that you’re life was a train wreck? I wanted to tell you to just leave. Just go like you did before and leave me to it. I tried to think that you were back here because you were actually in love with me and it wasn’t some sense of masculine duty because you got me pregnant now I am starting to think that I was right in the first place. I am not staying with someone who considers our child a mistake or contributing to what you call a train wreck.”

Richard looked totally floored by that one. He looked like someone had crept up behind him and yanked the rug he was standing on out from under him.

“What the hell?!!! I never called our daughter a mistake and I sure am not staying with you out of a sense of male pride!”

Grace narrowed her eyes.

“Calling it as I see it.”

She turned walking from the room without another word leaving Richard between shocked and furious! Grace meanwhile, knew everything that she said was wrong and she shouldn’t leave angry like this. She knew deep down Richard would never in the right mind mean the train wreck comment to be about her but she couldn’t help feeling hurt. Tomorrow she would probably regret everything that just happened but tonight she wanted to be miserable.

The next thought to enter Grace’s mind was she had to put on a grand act around Andrew. If her brother knew that she and Richard were already fighting that would do them no favors in the future. In fact, Andrew would probably just be hating Richard more than he already did. Putting on an act around Andrew was hard to do in the first place. Grace could only hope that her brother would buy her pregnant hormones as being the reason that she was upset. For the past six months if she started randomly crying or became irrationally angry Andrew would peak over his computer at her like a frightened church mouse. However, now that he knew Richard was back if Grace showed up with puffy swollen eyes from crying he wouldn’t hesitate to say it was Richard’s fault; pregnancy hormones be damned.

One of the shocking things with Andrew was he had been surprisingly tender with Grace in her “predicament.” Grace didn’t even remember him being this tender with Ashton when she as pregnant with his own children! This was probably what contributed to Ashton’s sudden dislike of Grace. She sure as hell didn’t let an opportunity to let Grace know of her displeasure.

“I couldn’t even get him to go get me food in the middle of the night. All you have to do is say that you are hungry and he will go running for you.”

Grace had been tempted to say that being her brother’s pet since the time that she was born definitely seemed to have its benefits as well as its disadvantages but she decided to remain silent on the matter. She wasn’t about to stir that pot in the disaster known as Andrew and Ashton: married couple.

Settling herself into her car, Grace looked down at her phone seeing her brother’s name on her iPhone’s screen.

“Nose like a god damn Doberman.”

She muttered before answering the phone.

“Hi Andrew.”

Her brother’s voice was instantly inquisitive.

“Have you been crying? What’s giant hole in his head done to you now?”

Grace winced.

“Richard didn’t do anything. I just…don’t want to leave him for a few days.”

Grace mentally congratulated herself on a good save as Andrew sounded grossed out.

“Forget I asked. I was just calling to see if you were on your way.”

Grace sighed, as she pulled onto the highway.

“I am. See you in fifteen.”

___________

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