#easel engine

[glitchphotography]

Frame of a fragment of " B a r b i e ~ W o r l d ~ B r e a k d o w n ," a new glitch art installation going up on the Schlosser Media Wall at the Museum of the Moving Image. June 28-July 25. Part of the EASEL ENGINE series curated by Regina Harsanyi, bringing large-scale video installations by 5 international artists: Estelle Flores, John Provencher, Ai Ladi, LuYang, and me.

[bullet-prooflove]

Fever: John Carter x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @anna-bailey @ofsoapsuds @queenslandlover-93 @gemofspace

Summary: John gets more than he bargained for when he attends a friend's stag party in a Chicago Speakeasy.

Companion piece to:

Dreamer (NSFW) - John dreams of you when he's with someone else.

Little John - You try to keep John's mind off the task at hand.

The First One Is Always The Hardest - You comfort John after the death of a patient.

Forget-Me-Nots - John wakes up hung over in a strange bed and with an unexpected memento of the night before.

Speak Your Truth - John speaks his truth in the aftermath of a tragedy.

Trauma - John makes a realisation after his confession.

Strip clubs have never been John’s thing. He doesn’t see the point in shelling out hundreds of dollars to get your dick teased all night and if he’s honest, every single place he’s been to for a stag party or birthday, it’s always seedy. The stuff that his friends, especially the would-be grooms get up to in the champagne rooms, it should be illegal.

When he receives the invitation to a burlesque show, he thinks it’s going to be more of the same. His friend Burkey from the country club is getting married to a debutante and he wants to go out in style.

The event itself… it’s nothing like he expected.

The private club plays into its namesake as a 1930s speakeasy, the only way to access it is through an innocuous door in an alleyway with a password that’s been given to you upon booking. Something you’ve paid an insane amount of money for the privilege of.

Descending those steps through, it’s like entering another world, one with the glitz and glamour of the period. Fringed chandeliers hang from the ceiling emitting a dulcet glow throughout the venue, the seating is all chocolate brown leather reminding him of the men’s only smoking rooms his father likes to visit to get away from his mother. The walls are painted a rich, dark shade of cranberry, fixed with mirrors buffeted with expensive mahogany and plush live foliage that adds a certain element of luxury to the room. The floor is original tile all the way back from the era when the venue used to be an real actual speakeasy.

When his party is guided to their tables, he finds himself right at the forefront of the action, sitting in front a small stage with a plush red velvet curtain that hangs along the back, shielding the performers from view. A drink is poured for him from ta ten thousand dollar bottle of bourbon and a box of Cohiba Behike cigars retailing fifteen grand is placed alongside the table’s tiffany lamp.

The excitement is palpable in the air as the music starts, the opening bars to Peggy Lee’s Fever.

The curtains part to reveal a single performer, an artist’s easel stands in the right corner with a glossy black poster with her name written in dozens of silver sparkles.

Introducing Crystal Heart…

It’s the dress that captures his attention first, it’s a nude tone that’s speckled with thousands of tiny crystals that glitter like diamonds as the spotlight fastens on the dancer. The corset clings to her in a way that’s beyond sinful, highlighting a choker dripping with jewels that extends all the way down her décolletage. His gaze lowers to the skirt that parts just under her navel, the split revealing matching crystal covered underwear you catch a glimpse of everytime she moves.

It’s too much and not enough all at the same time.

His eyes flicker up to her face as her teeth fasten on the fingertip of one of the elbow length gloves, those fire engine red lips frame a sultry smile as she tugs and his heart it stops beating in his chest because the woman he’s watching, the one he had a raging hard on for, it’s you.

His Crys.

Your hair is perfectly coiffed in 1930s curls, your eyes highlighted in a sultry grey with black winged liner, you’ve even included a tiny beauty mark on your left cheek. But John, he’d know that face anywhere.

He dreams about it every night.

He almost drops his glass, but his grip tightens at the last second because the expression on your face as you tug off that glove, pulling it taunt between your breasts… It almost has him coming in his pants. You toss the glove at the groom and Burkey grins like a fucking idiot, crooking his finger at you.

You give him a salacious smile as you wag your finger ‘no’ and he pouts like a toddler being denied his favourite candy. Its all forgotten a second later as you run your hands over your body reminding them there is far much more to see.

It’s the skirt that goes next, your hips sway in time with the music drawing everyone’s attention to the glittering underwear between your thighs as you unhook it.

John’s cock leaks at the sight of that jewel encrusted pussy just waiting for his mouth to get all over it. You turn around so he can see the satin ribbon of the corset, cinching the damn thing together. It drapes over that perfect heart shaped ass of yours clad in glittering translucent panties, he wants to take off with his teeth.

You glance over your shoulder as you drop the skirt, your eyes meeting his for the first time that night. He expects you to be startled, to be bashful but you get a little bit of the devil in you instead.

You twirl on the spot, before sashaying towards him with a focus that lights up every single nerve ending in his body. You pluck a lit cigar from the ashtray of his table before putting it between your lips and taking a long drag as you slide your foot out of your bejewelled shoe and place it between his legs.

“Help a girl out Carter.” You say gesturing at the glittering translucent stocking attached to the suspender belt just underneath the corset. His dick jumps at the order, his palms cupping your calf lightly, his fingertips chasing the seam all the way up to the lace top as you lean in close so you can look into his eyes.

This close he can smell the scent of your perfume, something dark, something seductive. It’s sends a tingle down his spine as he unfastens the first clip.

“I know you don’t see me a sexual being.” You whisper, blowing a stream of smoke into his face. He drinks it down like it’s oxygen, drawing it into his lungs like a drug as the second clip comes undone. His cock strains at his zipper, his hips practically arching as your thumbs hook in the lace band guiding it down your thigh until it’s a deviant balled up wad resting against his crotch. “But maybe this will change your mind.”

You switch legs, slipping your foot back into your shoe before raising the other. His attention is drawn the next set of clips, his fingertips trailing underneath the elastic before he continues his task.

“That’s where you’re wrong Crys.” He says with a feral smile as he guides the stocking down your thigh this time, his strong dexterous fingers leaving a heated trail that leaves you wet for him. “Every night I jerk off to thought of getting on my knees and drawing those scrubs down your thighs. I don’t come until you do with my tongue thrust inside you, making you say my name.”

Your breath catches and across the table he can feel Burkey’s gaze boring into him as he cups your ankle, pulling the stocking from your foot. He holds it up between two fingers for you to see before he snatches up the other one from between his thighs and tucks them into his pocket.

“You want these back you know where to find me.” He murmurs before taking the cigar from your lips, placing it between his own. He can taste your lipstick on the butt and he knows he’ll never be able to smoke a Cohiba Behike without thinking of this night, of the woman he loves drenched in crystals as she undresses for him. “Your move princess.”

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[treatmelikeasmut]

The Artist and the Engineer Part 1//Chapter One//The First Sketch

Master List NEXT >>

Pairing: Viktor x Fem!Artist!Reader

Synopsis: Heimerdinger wants a commemorative painting done of Viktor, who is not fond of the idea.

Word Count: 2.6K

Author's Note: This is the first in the canon I'm building for my fic For Your Pleasure. I'm working on making a whole series that will lead up to those events and after!

Listen to it on YouTube!

Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog your favorite fics ❤️

~*~*~*~

Viktor had never been to the art wing of the university before. It was all the way across campus from the engineering wing. He never had any reason to trouble with the journey. Even during his student days. So, he couldn’t even begin to fathom why Professor Heimerdinger wanted to meet there.

It was much the same as other parts of the school. High arches, vaulted ceilings, and long polished hallways. The most noticeable differences were the art installations scattered throughout. Student and alumni collections were displayed from the moment you set foot through the archway. They ranged from grand paintings that ate up a large portion of the wall, down to hand carved statues, folded paper displays, and multimedia pieces with swatches of fabric roughly hewn to canvas.

Viktor didn’t really get art. Or more, he didn’t really have the time for it. Sure, it was pretty to look at. But he wasn’t the type to stand around and ponder a painting, wondering what the girl was staring at out in the blank distance. He could draw enough to make his blueprints and observations, and he was satisfied enough with that.

This time of day, the campus was nearly empty. Most people were in classes. Just a few stray lingered. A couple people called to Viktor as he passed them. He greeted them politely, but their names escaped him.

The clicking of his cane against the floor echoed far beyond him. Squinting at the door plaques, he sought for the room the professor had specified. Finally, after a long stretch of hall without any doors, the Alumni Studio came into view. It was titled with tall thin letters over a set of double doors. Opening one, Viktor popped his head in, tentatively scanning the space. The scent hit him first. Some notes were familiar to him - the slippery smell of oil mingling with the dryness of parchment. Others were foreign, a different kind of burn in his sinuses he didn’t know the source of. All of it was underlined with earthy clay.

The room was empty of people, but full of other things - mostly furniture. A massive canvas took up one wall, it was covered with a white sheet. Smears of bright paint and multicolored shoe prints stained the floor, despite the dozen beige drop cloths scattered about. Viktor carefully stepped over these, making sure not to get his cane caught up in one. There were gallon buckets of paint on the floor against one wall, a few were open with dribbles down their sides. A metal pail with some kind of murky solution overflowing with paint brushes stood beside a sink. A tall cabinet with papers stuck to its doors sat in the far corner next to a long counter equally covered in random items.

Right in the center of the room was a crimson chaise lounge. A single dark pillow nestled into the space where the high part of the back met the single arm. Before it sat an easel with a sizeable blank canvas. A small table had been set up beside it, the only thing on it a large drawing pad and a small bag.

Still, no Heimerdinger.

The professor’s voice came before Viktor actually saw him. Heimerdinger was chattering away around a corner where another door had closed. Whatever he was saying was too low for Viktor to hear. Then the professor emerged from a hallway beside a floor to ceiling mirror. Adorned in his usual blue coat and brown pin-stripe pants.His eyes lit up as soon as they saw Viktor standing there.

“Viktor, m’boy!” greeted Professor Heimerdinger. “Right on time, glad you could make it!”

“Good afternoon, sir.” Viktor nodded to him. “May I inquire - why are we in the art wing?”

“Ah, yes!” Heimerdinger turned away, calling a name he’d never heard into the room.

“Sorry!” called a voice in response, a bit muffled. “I’m a bit stuck. I’ll be there in a second.”

From the hallway next to the mirror emerged a young woman Viktor had never laid eyes on before - you. With your bright eyes, huffing and puffing as you carried a few large rolls of paper. There was a constant tink, tink, tink as you came towards them. Viktor looked down to find that another metal pail had its handle caught around your ankle.

“What is this?” Viktor asked, frowning. He was staring at Heimerdinger, who wasn’t paying a single bit of attention to him. Instead, trying to help get the pail off your foot.

“Viktor, right?” you asked, now looking at him expectantly. He didn’t answer right away. Taking in your paint covered clothes, and the sooty smear on your face. You were clearly an artist. “The professor has told me so much about you.”

“He’s told me told nothing of you,” Viktor murmured, mostly to himself. The smile on your face faltered a little, eyes flickering to the professor. Louder, he asked, “What are you planning, sir?“

“Yes!” Heimerdinger said, and introduced you to him properly. “Since you’re my assistant, I thought we should finally get around to properly commemorating it. It’s a very big deal, you know.”

Many emotions flickered through Viktor at once. His brain couldn’t pick one to act on, so his protests came out as incoherent half-sentences. But Heimerdinger just kept on talking. You paid no mind to his rejections. Just going to the easel and putting down the rolls. Heimerdinger paced around the room, and Viktor followed quickly after him.

“Professor, I have research to do,” Viktor protested loudly.

Heimerdinger waved him off. “That can wait. This is a tremendous promotion for you. I expect you to take an hour or two a day to pose until the painting is finished.”

Viktor choked on his own spit. “You can’t be serious - sir, please. I do not need to be painted.”

“This young lady is an excellent artist and will capture your likeness to the letter. For her senior thesis last year, she chose to paint me. I’m sure you’ve seen the portrait in my office. - I promise, she will do you justice.”

“I - that is not the problem here!”

“Viktor,” you started. He looked to you, annoyance coiling in his chest. “If you really don’t want to, I won’t be upset.”

“Nonsense,” Heimerdinger said with a note of finality. “Viktor will sit for you, and he will be an excellent subject. - Won’t you?”

Viktor knew he didn’t have a choice. There was a hard glint in the professor’s eye. An almost threatening one. It wasn’t a request as a mentor, this was an order as the Dean of the Academy. He didn’t want to find out the consequence of disobeying him. Finally, Viktor sighed. “Yes, sir.”

Heimerdinger, back to his usual self, exclaimed, “Excellent! Then starting today, you will start sit for your portrait! Now, I have a meeting to attend. But I’m putting my trust in you to be a respectable subject as assistant to the Dean of the Academy, Viktor.”

Viktor nodded, and the professor started moving towards the door. He was muttering to himself, briefly announcing that he’d be back later to check the progress. The pair of you - the artist and the engineer - watched him walk out the door. The only sound in the cavernous room its soft closing. Viktor continued to stare at the door, a part of him hoping Heimerdinger would come back in and say he was pulling his leg.

He didn’t.

“So,” you started, rocking back on your heels. “I - uh…”

Viktor’s gaze shifted to you. A sliver of guilt wedged in his chest when his annoyance spread to you. You were probably just commissioned. You had no idea he was being forced into it. He watched your eyes travel the room, then land back on him, eyebrows drawn together with an awkward smile. You gestured to the drawing pad in your hand. It was the large one from the table, now opened to a blank page. You shifted foot to foot under his gaze.

“Where should I be?” he asked.

You nodded towards the chaise. “I want to get a few sketches first. You can read or something while we do this. I figured that’s probably how you would want to be in the painting anyway.”

Viktor went to the couch, dropping his bag on the floor by one of the legs. It was a little firmer than he was expecting. He sat on the end with the high back, perched stiffly. Shoulders rigid. You sat on the other end, the pad in your lap and pencil in your hand. It was already moving across the page with quick, deft movements. He watched, but couldn’t see what you were sketching.

“So, assistant to the dean, eh?” you asked, not looking at him. “That’s a pretty prestigious spot.”

Viktor hummed, but chose not to say anything else. His annoyance with Heimerdinger burned at the back of his mind. Meanwhile, his conscious mind was flitting around a mental image of the lab. Making of a list of things he’d have to do to make up for lost time. He was going to have to sleep there until these sessions were finished. He frowned a touch at the thought. There was only so comfortable the emergency couch got. He may almost have to resort to sleeping here, even this couch was more comfortable than that one.

“Hhmmm…” you hummed.

His attention shifted back to you, alarmed to find that you were now closer to him. He shifted slightly away from you. Your unwavering gaze made his skin itch. Finally, you leaned back and scribbled a little note on the side.

“Your eyes,” you started, glancing up at him then back at the page. “They’re the most stunning shade of amber I’ve ever seen. - I hope I can mix the color right…”

Viktor felt hot at those words. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever said that to him. To hide the embarrassment, he went into his bag and scooped out a book. He didn’t pay attention to which one it was. Blindly thumbing through the pages. Great, this was one he’d already gone through and notated.

You didn’t say much else to him. Eyes intently flickering between his face and your page. Your hand movements were practiced, he could tell. But, in the back of his mind, a small voice nibbled at him. It asked why someone would bother wasting time with art? Why would Heimerdinger dedicate an entire section of the academy to it?

Viktor almost asked the question out loud, then thought better of it.

When the bell tolled the hour, you sat up. He could hear your spine crack. Viktor found himself quite stiff from staying still so long. You glanced back down at the pad, and dragged your pencil across it one last time.

“What do you think?” you asked, and turned the sketch book to him.

Viktor was alarmed to find himself staring back in striking detail. Thick lines and thin ones cutting out the hollows of his cheeks, the bags under his eyes, and fly away tufts of his hair. There were solo sketches of his eyes, his hands, his lips - his brace and the way the fabric of his pants folded under it. It felt far too intimate.

On the side was a quick note, he traced his name in your handwriting with his eyes. You’d scribbled down ochre and raw sienna. Making a note of how much white or ultramarine to mix for the proper color match. You even referenced a study you’d done with honey. And he had a brief thought of how much it almost looked like his own notes on the sides of his blueprints. Almost.

Clearing his throat, Viktor said, “I cannot deny you have a keen eye for observation. - May I take my leave? I have sat for the hour.”

The smile on your face flickered again. You flipped the pad upside down then discarded it on the open seat behind you, tucking the pencil behind your ear. “Right. Yeah - no - go right ahead. I’m sure you’re busy.”

Viktor put the book back in his bag and stood, stretching. “Thank you. - I will come tomorrow, the same time -”

“Actually,” you started, standing as well. You kept your back to him as you went to fiddle with the table by the easel. “I know the professor wants us to sit everyday. But I have something that will take all of tomorrow. So we’ll have to pick it up the day after.”

Viktor stared at where the straps of your overalls were twisted. “Very well. That gives me time to sort things with my colleague.”

You nodded. “Then I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. I’ll let Heimerdinger know when I go to see him. - It was nice to meet you, Viktor.”

“Likewise,” he muttered, and headed for the door.

Viktor grumbled as he made his way across the building. This walk was going to kill him (though he knew that was an exaggeration. He’d walked longer back to his dorm after a night out drinking in his student days). A painting, he scoffed in his mind. How utterly ridiculous.

Jayce chuckled when Viktor told him of Heimerdinger’s request. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but it finally managed to be pestered out of him. Jayce had been trying to figure out why he was so grumpy.

“Who’s the painter?” he asked, one arm slung over the back of his chair. He seemed totally engrossed.

Viktor shrugged, already your name had slipped from his mind. “A recent graduate.”

“And…what?”

“What what?” Viktor kept his turned to his papers, but could feel Jayce’s eyes on his back.

“Did they say something to you?”

“Only that she was impressed by my position.” And that I had lovely eyes. But he wasn’t going to tell Jayce that. He would never hear the end of it.

“And…that's it?”

“Yes, that is it.” Viktor’s glare was over his shoulder. “Why are you be exceptionally irritating today?”

“I think you’re just ‘exceptionally’ irritated.”

“Yes, of course. Because you are not at all annoying.”

“I’m glad you see it my way.” Jayce was silent for a moment, then continued, “So this artist, what’s she -”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “Why must you continue to press the subject?”

“I’m just wondering why you’re so pissed.”

Viktor turned to him then, and Jayce’s playful expression just dug into the well of annoyance Heimerdinger had started. “Because I do not wish to waste my time. I have better things to do than to be stared at for an hour.”

“Alright, alright…” Jayce finally held his hands up. He chuckled a little, spinning back to his desk. “I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you,” Viktor huffed, and turned back to his own workstation.

He worked hard throughout the afternoon. Attempting to make notes and collections for Jayce to follow up on in his absence. He almost expected the professor to pop in, but he didn’t. By the time night fell, Viktor had forgotten all about his irritation. About the portrait.

About you.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Moon

summary: Janet had stolen Maddie's body. Mina had been killed a second time. Which had meant there'd been spaces to fill. as a result, Mr. Martin had been tasked with carrying out Amelia's mission to complete her set before time had run out. unfortunately, Amelia hadn't taken into consideration that, since Maddie had arrived, the ghosts had suddenly developed free will, had reestablished minds of their own, and had started to move to their own rhythms again.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.5

Wally stood by the punch bowl, goofing around with Rhonda and Charley as he waited for you to arrive.

The gym had been transformed; dim lighting and disco balls, satellite radio to fill the air until the DJ started his set. People trickled in at a leisurely pace, most sticking to the walls or high tables while they waited for the night to start. That awkward period at every party when too few guests had arrived for the vibes to have peaked yet.

Simon entering with an easel and a large framed picture of Maddie interrupted Wally's impression of Rhonda as Mr. Peanut. He perked up, metaphorical tail wagging, as his gaze slid back to the door. If Simon had arrived, that meant—

Charley whistled appreciatively beside Wally, pulling the sentiment right out of Wally's bones. The world moved in slow motion as soon as you stepped through the balloon arch.

Wally's gaze traveled from your feet, along the shape of your legs, up and up in a worshipful sweep, until he reached your eyes which were already on Wally. His heart thumped behind his ribs and a shaky breath blew out of him; for a moment his brain sputtered like an overheated engine, so much so that he was sure there was smoke spouting from his ears.

Rhonda's finger pushed into the underside of Wally's jaw, "You're gonna catch flies that way," she teased of his open mouth. "You going to say hello, Romeo?"

"Can't." Wally slurred. Realizing he was acting like an idiot, he shook himself out of his stupor and recomposed himself, fixed his suit jacket and his stance. "Not yet. We agreed to wait until after Principal Hartman does opening remarks." He looked around, "There aren't enough people yet, anyway."

Wally's eyes tracked you as you proceeded to the small stage where the DJ set up on stage left, a couple of your friends already there. Hana and Lucas, Wally recognized.

He wasn't sure what you were talking about, but it didn't seem relaxed and giggly. It was more directorial, you and Hana nodding when Lucas pointed behind him at a drum set that had been installed on the stage. Eli joined you, bobbed his head, proposed something you and Hana seemed to agree with, and then he marched away on a mission.

What was going on?

Thankfully, Wally found his chance to ask you, if impersonal and discrete, when you broke away from your friends and meandered to the refreshments table. Wally leaned against it, hands in his pockets, hoping he looked more debonair than blushing and bashful.

As you ladled some punch into a cup, "I have a surprise for you," you said under your breath, certain Wally would hear you.

Wally couldn't help himself, slanting into your space, so close to touching you, nose almost grazing your cheek as he inhaled your perfume. "Another one?"

That you'd shown up as a vision in emerald green was something Wally considered a breathtaking surprise just for him. What more could there be?

Flicking his gaze across the gym, he saw no one was looking and took the chance to smooth the backs of two fingers from your hip to your thigh. He smirked when he felt you shiver. "Is it a kiss? Because I could really use one of those," his lips at your ear. "Been thinking about it all day..."

"You got kisses all day." You pointed out, still quiet, daintily sipping your punch.

He let his fingers slip under the skirt of your dress, hand skimming your inner thigh. "You look beautiful," He said rather than address how—yeah, okay—you'd indulged him with kisses (and a lot more) all day. What could he say? He had an insatiable appetite when it came to you.

He heard your sweet, little gasp as he teased the tip of his thumb along the edge of what felt like a thin scrap of lace at your groin. His heart rate spiked, eyes went heavy, a twitch in his pants. Fuuuck. Naughty girl.

You turned your head, glancing around him to your friends who'd been joined by Xavier. "I'll find you after your surprise," you told him.

He let his hand drop, gave you a cocky smile, and watched you swan away, returning to your friends.

Xavier, laden with two guitar cases, handed you one, said something, and then reached out to rest his hand lightly on your back. The glower that Wally sent him must've activated Xavier's Spidey Senses because Xavier quickly thought better of it, pale as he removed his hand like he'd been burned. Rather than direct you physically, Xavier simply instructed you to follow him to the side of the stage, sending Wally a tight smile of acknowledgment when he passed.

Over the span of the next few minutes, you and your friends climbed onto the stage and started connecting instruments to cables that hooked into amps. Adjusted microphones, tuned strings, shared a brief exchange with Principal Hartman. At 9:30PM on the dot, the lights above the stage went out. A spotlight shone on the ground in front of the stage and Principal Hartman stepped into it.

He welcomed everyone to 2023 Homecoming, excited to celebrate another school year. When Wally cast about, he noticed the gym was filling up quickly, the empty dancefloor flooding with students jazzed up in their best eveningwear. No one could compete with you, in Wally's opinion, but it was fun to see the sparkly dresses and pressed suits.

Wally's attention snapped back to the stage when Principal Hartman announced a live performance to kick the night off. The gym lights were turned off. People crammed closer to the stage. And then the stage lit up. Xavier was behind the middle microphone, you to his right, Lucas to his left. Behind you, Hana stood at a keyboard, and at the drums, Eli tapped his sticks.

Xavier began to sing as he strummed the first chords of a song Wally had loved since it was released. Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money. A cassette Wally had stashed to this day in his little box of ghostly treasures.

"Isn't that your favorite song?" Rhonda called over the intro.

Speechless, Wally nodded, too smitten with how your fingers moved over the strings of your guitar, the sound of your voice as you sang with Xavier who, Wally begrudgingly admitted, sounded incredible. The audience began to dance, clapping along, and Wally didn't want to be left out. He squirmed his way through the packed bodies, Rhonda and Charley in tow, and let the music vibrate from the soles of his feet to his teeth. The cover was punky, heavy guitar and drums, a subtle growl under your vocals, and Wally desperately needed to hear that up close, in his ear, on his skin.

He let loose. Rocked out. Jumped and shimmied and belted the lyrics along with you and Xavier. Even Rhonda loosened up and moved to the rhythm. Charley was in the midst of an interpretive dance when Wally checked on him and, farther back, he saw Ajay and Katelynn air guitaring with passion.

You were born to be up there, a star, and Wally couldn't tear his eyes away from you. He'd never seen this side of you. Wild and engaged and alive. The connection between you and him swelled in his belly, a blunt pulse that drew him closer to the stage as he danced, sang, blinked up at you like you were Debbie Gibson herself.

The song ended and the crowd whooped and cheered as you and your friends exited the stage. The DJ took over and began his set with another upbeat '80s classic for a smooth transition. Wally immediately searched you out, but he couldn't find you. Xavier and Lucas were packing their instruments in the corner, the case Xavier had handed you already closed and tucked away.

He did a tour of the gym, saw Simon and Maddie and Nicole. Hana, Mathilda, Eli. Claire and her minion squad. Where had you gone? Many unsuccessful minutes later, Wally stood in the center of the dance floor, eyes peeled, examining every cluster of people for you. And then, just as he was about to give up, he felt a tap on his shoulder blade.

When he turned to see who it was, his jaw dropped. There you were, still flushed and bright eyed, an affectionate smile on your face. He marveled when he felt the difference in your presence, how the air moved through you rather than around you. You were here, on his side of the veil, body cloistered somewhere he assumed was safe because you'd planned this. You'd intended to be with him, really with him for the whole night.

"Hey," You said, tender, shifting into Wally's space.

Not wanting you to slip away, Wally pulled you close, hand to your cheek, arm around your waist, "Hey, baby girl." He chuckled, overjoyed, "You really meant it when you asked me to be your date, huh?"

"It would be kinda shitty of me to ask and then spend the night ignoring you, wouldn't it?" You said, flattening your hands on his chest. "Did you like your surprise?" At first, he thought you meant this; you as a ghost so he could be all over you without earning you off-put glances of concern. "The song," you clarified through a grin.

"How'd you know?"

You hummed, tilted your head from side to side, pretending to recall, "Sophomore year. You rambled through my whole Geography class, remember?"

Laughing, Wally nodded, "Yeah. I mean, I don't remember what I talked about, but I remember doing that." He sobered, "You remember that?"

A shy one-shouldered shrug, "You're kind of the only thing I always pay attention to in school. Always have."

Wally's heart melted. His mind melted. His soul melted. The music shifted from country pop to fast-paced electro house that encouraged more people to the dance floor, you and he surrounded yet the moment still felt intimate. He held you, swayed gently as if it was a slow dance, leaning down as you craned up.

"I really wanna kiss you." He murmured.

"I'm not stopping you."

He didn't wait, capturing your lips in a soft, slow kiss; the kind that coaxed those noises out of you that he craved. The hand around your waist traveled to your hip and brought you closer, as close as he could get you without absorbing you into his skin. Wally never wanted to let you go.

The realization struck him like a lightning bolt to the brain. Yeah, he loved you, but this was bigger than that. Heavier. He wanted you hold you while you slept, eat every meal with you, explore the world with you, have adventures. Accumulate a lifetime of memories, wild and mundane alike. He wanted to...to grow old with you.

His heart twinged, however, that didn't deter him. He'd make the most of whatever time you and he had together, regardless of how long that might be. You'd figure out the symbols, you'd lift the barrier, he'd haunt you like a dedicated boyfriend should haunt the love of his life. He didn't care if you grew old, aged into wrinkles and white hair. He was never—never—going to let you go.

The night was spectacular and Wally wished it could go on forever. He had your full attention. You'd even brushed off Simon and Xavier when they'd asked for your input on Operation Claire—what appeared to Wally to be a cringeworthy experience for all involved. The DJ played an awesome selection of songs that Wally taught you, Ajay, and Charley the lyrics to.

Maddie came and went, as did Rhonda since she'd agreed to keep Bernadette and Katelynn distracted so they wouldn't look too closely at Wally's date. Though, how could they not? You were stunning. And goofy, and silly. And talented, as proven when you performed some of the choreography you remembered from your 10 & Under dance class.

When the mass on the dancefloor began to dwindle due to the DJ's choice in oldies music, Wally figured it was as good a time as any to reveal that he'd assembled a surprise of his own for you. Another '80s pop ballad and the dancefloor would be deserted entirely, and Wally didn't want to risk outing you to Katelynn and Bernadette.

He seized the opportunity to whisper in your ear as you fetched another cup of punch, still breathless and flushed from the line dance you'd tried and failed to execute. Wally brushed a strand of hair over your shoulder, slanted close so his lips hovered by your ear.

"It's my turn to surprise you, baby." He felt you shiver, his lips grazing down your neck, arm curling around your waist. "Come on."

Several feet away, loitering beside a patently bored Claire, Xavier watched you and Wally leave the gym hand in hand. Xavier cast a glance at Simon, who shot Wally a surreptitious thumbs up when Wally glanced at Simon over his shoulder.

Behind Claire's back, Xavier jerked his chin at Simon, silently asking what was up. Simon returned the gesture with a slight and slow shake of his head, the sentiment plain: Please do not ask me to spell it out for you.

Xavier frowned, returned his gaze to the now empty doorway, then back at Simon before it dawned on him. He had no way to explain why he blushed fuchsia when Claire asked.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Manipulating the living wasn't for the weak. It was a task that required careful forethought, patience, and dedication.

Though the barrier created an insulated aether within the school grounds—one that trapped weak spirits in spirals of low mood and compulsive negative thinking—there remained another half of the battle that Everett was responsible for undertaking.

It was part of his agreement with Amelia. He lured weakened spirits deeper into the void, placed the pieces just so on the board so—choke, blitz, snap, wheeze—they couldn't escape their fate. In return, Everett was allowed to nurture and guide them in the afterlife; tuck them under his wing, and have them depend on him the way he so desperately wanted to be depended on.

Amelia chose most of them, but Everett had some favorites that'd been entirely his. Bernadette King. Dawn Burton. Yuri Vyarheychyk. Quinn Wu, who'd accidentally brought with her a good number of the Blue Devils.

Mina Volkov.

Everett's stomach knotted, the memory of Mina's final moments riddled with terror seared the backs of his eyelids. His throat burned. He swallowed, straightened his tie, and dusted off the shoulders of his suit jacket.

He couldn't worry about that now. He had work to do. Nothing strenuous, a simple arrangement, helping herd the one who got away to a private space where Amelia could finish what she'd ranted Everett had failed to do.

He hadn't failed, he thought bitterly, insulted that, after all this time, Amelia believed he'd let her down so easily. Things had simply taken a drastically unexpected turn. As had many things since Maddie had arrived in the metaphysical world.

He didn't want to say it, especially not to Amelia, who, for some reason, refused to do to Maddie what she'd done to Mina, but there was something about Maddie that disrupted the forces that held the metaphysical world together.

Everett suspected Amelia knew what that was.

It wasn't that Janet had forced her way into Maddie's body; that Maddie was technically only half a ghost. That he'd discerned early on. The anomaly was laced into the very fabric of Maddie's being. And whatever it was, the more time Maddie spent in proximity to his students, the more he knew he had to find a way to snuff it out because his students were starting to wake up. As in, actually.

He exhaled sharply, unhappy that he had to put a pin in what he should really spend his time and concentration on.

He gave himself one last look-over in the mirror before exiting the boys' bathroom and marching down the hall toward the entrance he'd been instructed to wait at.

Everett would make up for an error that wasn't his to make up for, would help the new addition adjust as he had for everyone else, and then he'd deal with how to put an end to Madison Nears' interference.

‗‗‗‗🌶️‗‗‗‗

His fingers laced with yours, Wally led you through the school, out the back, and across the courtyard to the greenhouses. While most of the row was dark, gold light spilled out of the greenhouse at the end. You had no clue what Wally's surprise could be, but you didn't think it involved potting plants given how nervous he seemed to get the closer you got to the last greenhouse.

He stopped in front of the door, turned, drew you against him and held your jaw in his large palm as he said, "Baby, I—I don't want you to think I'm expecting anything, okay?" His gaze was imploring and he waited for you to nod your understanding before he continued, "You've been amazing, getting me—us—things from the outside even though you've been busy trying to get to the bottom of everything. And, I just... I wanted to do something special for you. To say thank you."

Wally reached behind him to grab and turn the doorknob. He opened the door and then stepped aside for you to enter first.

You couldn't believe your eyes.

The long tables had been pushed against the glass walls, plants across their surfaces and beneath curtaining the space from the outside and giving it a sense of privacy.

Above, strings of fairy lights had been threaded across the ceiling and trickled down the walls like a tent made of fireflies. In the center, to your utter astonishment, was a sheeted and covered air mattress laid upon a pallet to keep it off the floor.

Candles flickered from various spots around the greenhouse and soft music filtered from an old stereo in the corner. Wally had even wheeled in and set up the outdated school TV, your favorite silver screen classic muted on the fishbowl screen.

"Wally..." You didn't know what to say. The atmosphere was romantic and magical, and no one had ever done anything like this for you. "...how did...?"

Wally planted himself behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed his front to your back, mouth finding that sweet spot on your neck that made you keen when he bit it.

"You like it?" He asked nervously as the tip of his nose trailed up your cheek. He kissed your temple, "I didn't know you were gonna do your out-of-body thing and I wanted to spend tonight with you, any way I could."

You turned in his arms and gazed up at him like he'd hung the moon, "It's perfect." The connection between you and him simmered, a low, intoxicating heat that preened at Wally's thoughtfulness. You added in a whisper, "You're perfect," your hand finding Wally's jaw. "But how did you get all this stuff?" You panned around, referring in particular to the air mattress.

Proud, boyish grin, Wally confessed, "Simon."

"Simon." You repeated, dubious. "Simon, Simon."

Wally's grin widened, "Simon."

Simon. Huh.

You let that sit for a second, let it sink in, imagining how Wally had approached Simon without your knowledge to enlist his help to do all this. For you. Wally had asked Simon to get candles and fairy lights and—and sheets. Pillows. Duvet. A bed. That meant that Simon had an inkling as to what you and Wally got up to when you were alone. Not that things had gone that far (yet), but still.

You blushed crimson, face hot, lips pressed together in an embarrassed line. "Simon..."

Apparently, Wally found your reaction amusing, shaking with barely contained laughter, "I promise, it's not that big a deal." You pouted. He smiled. "So cute..." and he brought his face closer to yours, staring softly into your eyes, "Like I said, nothing has to happen, baby. I don't care. I just... I want to be with you tonight. And I want you to be comfortable."

The way Wally looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world, completely dissolved whatever hang-ups you had.

He brushed the backs of his fingers down your cheek, humid breath fanning your lips and chin. His other hand rested on your hip, and he used his firm grip to drag you flush against him, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I love you," He said, so quietly you almost didn't hear it.

Everything stopped. Time itself felt drained from existence as you absorbed what he'd said. The sincerity and depth, the tiny shake beneath the sentiment as if he was afraid you wouldn't reciprocate. You gasped a weak breath, your blood pumping faster, pulse racing in your ears. The moment felt too much like a fairytale to be real.

Just as quiet, not wanting to ruin the honey-dense atmosphere, you returned, "I love you, Wally."

His eyes closed and you watched him take it in, treasure it, hold it for a peaceful lull before he opened his eyes again. His thumb rubbed across your lower lip, tugged it slightly, and the hand on your hip glided lower until he cupped a handful of your ass through your dress.

The air thickened and warmed as you and he stood like that, the connection between you and him steadily swelling, bursts of liquid fire in your belly that made you mewl without realizing.

"My beautiful girl," Wally whispered and grazed his lips against yours as the hand on your jaw slid back into your hair. His lips connected with yours, the kiss slow and deep and filled with desire. He took his time, drew it out, made you savor the feeling as he poured every ounce of his love for you into the kiss.

When he pulled away, "Come on, baby, I wanna hold you," he took your hand and led you to the bed. Stood in front of you as he slid his jacket off and tugged his bowtie loose, both carelessly crumpled on the floor.

You followed his lead and undid the straps of your heels. You didn't have as many layers as he did, only your dress and one piece under it, so while he toed off his glossy shoes and removed his button-up, you lowered yourself onto the bed. His gaze stayed on you, affectionate if somewhat heated in the margins.

He met you on the mattress in just his slacks and tucked in close, pleased when you tangled your legs with his and burrowed into his chest, feeling safe and cared for in his arms.

"I swear, baby, nothing has to happen. I just wanna be here with you," He soothingly reminded you. You let the tension bleed from your muscles, believing his intentions were honest, and felt his mouth curve into a smile against your forehead. "There you go," He murmured, leaning back slightly to look down at you as his hand found the join of your neck and shoulder. "Can I kiss you?"

It was silly, you thought, that he felt the need to ask since you and he had spent hours touching each other in hungrier, more heated ways.

Hell, earlier you'd made him come in your hand while you'd ridden his fingers in the Home Ec. room.

You understood why he was being so careful with you. Though he said there was no expectation to go all the way, the privacy and romantic setting stirred up the idea that there was. No matter how much you trusted him, knew he was being completely honest, you couldn't control how it made you feel.

Quiet minutes passed, and he simply held you, his hand remaining where he'd placed it on your neck. Reassured by his patience, you finally answered, "Yes, Wally," nuzzled a bit closer, angled your head, your gaze snared on his lips, "Kiss me."

An inhale, two, and he obliged, closing the narrow space between you to kiss you softly. It was unhurried, deep, his tongue flicking against your bottom lip before taking it between his teeth then releasing it. You sighed, pressed closer, shifted onto your back, and pulled him with you so he hovered above you, his thigh between both of yours.

He broke the kiss to look into your eyes, large hand caressing your side through your dress, breath already heavy. His hand moved up and up and over, gently fondling your breast over the satin as he watched your face for any sign of discomfort.

You sucked in a breath when he nudged his thigh against you, inadvertently pressing himself on your hip with a weak moan. He claimed your lips in a feverish kiss as he shifted to fit between your legs, hand traveling from your breast to your thigh, under your dress to your ass, his firm grip pulling your hips against his.

You whimpered, desire swirling inside you and making your skin flushed and sensitive. Every touch felt a thousand times more acute, his fingers digging into your flesh, hard cock humping against you through his slacks and your panties. Still, his movements were slow, controlled, like he was holding himself back so he didn't spook you.

A deep exhale and he said, "Can I see you, baby?" He shoved his hand between your back and the bed, and his fingers found the puller of your zipper.

You and he hadn't done this yet. The part where he'd seen you completely naked. Everything up to this point had been strictly with clothes on due to the risk of possible interruption. Not that that meant he hadn't seen your parts in segments. He had. It was just that...this was different. Bigger. More important, somehow.

"It's okay if you don—"

"Yes." You blurted, cheeks pink and heart pounding and, god dammit, you wanted this. You wanted it more than you'd ever wanted anything. The connection between you and him curled tighter in your belly, washed outward through your limbs. "I want you to."

You heard him swallow, heard the long exhale as you arched your back to make it easier for him to unzip your dress. The sound of the elements splitting down your back was loud in the quiet space, and your breath quickened.

His fingers were so gentle, tickled over every notch in your spine as he opened your dress. Wally's gaze was heavy as it held yours. He licked his lips and removed his hand once he finished. Waited for you to slide the spaghetti straps low enough for you to slip your arms through.

With the patience of God, Wally held himself back from ripping the dress off you completely. You could tell, felt it in the way his muscles bunched and released, but he remained still, allowing you to set the pace.

Slowly, you dragged the bodice down your body so it scrunched at your waist, your chest fully on display for him to see. He inhaled sharply, gaze blown dark with want.

"Please, baby," He said, voice tight like he was fighting for self-control, "Can I touch you?"

Again, such a silly question in light of all the places he'd already touched you, including your chest.

He ground his hips against yours. You wrapped your legs around him, pinning him to your body, meeting his movements with your own.

"Yes~." You keened, head falling back as you pushed your chest forward.

He moaned, deep and hungry, his hand trailing up your side and then over your breast, the touch reverent and soft. His hips never stopped, no pause, no stutter, his back curving and arching. Wally's large, hot hand caressed your breast, thumb rubbing your nipple, and his mouth broke away from yours to blaze a line of fire down your neck.

"You're so beautiful, baby," He murmured into your skin, "So fucking beautiful."

The sensation of being skin to skin was heady. It made your brain syrupy as you held him close, one hand in his hair, the other roaming down his back to his ass that you clenched your fingers into to drive his movements how you wanted them.

He started to get more desperate, wanting as much contact with you as possible, his hands running over your skin and caressing every curve they encountered. You could feel his arousal between your thighs, pressing against you through your panties over and over again, the friction making your head spin.

"I want to make you feel good," He said, breathing deeply against your collar, lips and tongue and teeth leaving little red marks in their wake as he kissed lower and lower before suckling your nipple. "I wanna make you mine."

Wally groaned in satisfaction when you keened, chest pushing into the sensation. His hand continued to message your breast as he doled attention to your nipple, his hips moving a little faster, grinding his hard cock against you.

"Fuck, Wally..." You moaned. Your eyes rolled back, trying to keep up, the heat building and building inside you as the thick imprint of his cock rubbed against your clit through the layers of fabric. "How—how far do you wanna go?"

"As far as you want, baby," He whispered as he nipped the delicate skin below your ear. "I'm yours, no matter what."

His words struck like a match.

You shuddered a breath and then, "Everything," you panted, drawing him into another deep, searing kiss, "I want everything, Wally."

Again, Wally groaned, face pinched in desire, his hands everywhere.

He nodded, "Want you so bad," and rose just enough to help you out of your dress. It was quick, as if he couldn't bear to be anywhere else but on you, even for the briefest moment. He tossed the dress off the bed, surging into you once more, kissing you harder and hotter and with more intensity. "Fuck, baby, you're so soft," He groaned as his hands explored every inch he could reach.

"Wally," You whimpered and tugged at his slacks, frantic now, the heat of the connection soaring higher and higher, "I need to feel you, please."

Wally choked, "God," and swiftly divested his slacks and boxers in one go, shoving them off and throwing them to join the pile of clothes on the floor. "Fuck," he moaned when he began to grind against you again, slow, deliberate, "Feels so good, baby, I—fuck."

One of his hands skimmed across your hip and snuck between your body and his, fingers dancing over your thin, lace panties, down, down, to press into the wet stain over your pussy.

With a rich, needy moan, he rubbed his fingers over you, finding your clit with expert precision, sharp little circles of pleasure that made stars explode behind your eyes and the ache of heat between your legs beat faster.

"You're so wet for me, baby," He rasped as he snuck his fingers into your panties and smeared them between your folds, eyes fluttering as he felt how wet you were. "I need to feel you," He panted, cock throbbing, practically begging, "let me feel you."

By then, you couldn't deny him anything, nodding in a state of pure, blissful need. He sat up to peel your panties off you, flung them over his shoulder as his gaze wandered over you.

Wally took himself in hand, stroking over the tip once, twice; licked his lips and said in a voice thick with lust, "I'm gonna make this so good for you."

Laying himself over you, hot, heavy cock pressed against you, he took your wrists and pinned them above your head, shifting to trap them in one hand. He leaned in to whisper, "Tell me, baby girl, I need to hear it," his breath tickling your ear, "Tell me you wanna be mine."

Keening, "Always," you arched your back and humped his cock, the sound lewd as you coated him in your wetness. "I'm yours, Wally, always."

That spurred him on, hand tightening around your wrists, "Fuck," and you felt him adjust to take himself in hand and line himself up. He paused, staring down at you with dark, wanting eyes, "You want me, baby?" And he dragged the fat tip of his cock through your folds, punching another needy noise out of you.

"Yes!" You answered, rocking your hips forward, mouth falling open when you felt the head nudge inside you, just a fraction, just enough to send frissons of burning, liquid need shooting through you. "Wally, please!"

Wicked and smug, Wally leaned over you again to whisper, "You're so pretty when you beg, baby," as he snapped his hips forward, not enough to push himself in more than another few shallow degrees. He wanted to prolong the anticipation, let it build until you were ready to split apart. He wanted you to beg. You dug your heels into his ass and forced him in another fraction.

"Wally, please, I need to feel you, please!" And that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

"So good for me, baby," He praised and rocked his hips forward, draping himself over you, pressed against you, skin to skin, sinking deeper inside of you with a deep groan. "God, baby, you feel so—ughn—so fucking good." His free hand held your thigh, holding you open for him. "Say it again, say you're mine. I need to hear you."

You said it like a mantra, "Yours, Wally, I'm yours," and keened when he thrust himself as deep as he could get, his hips flush with yours. He was big, thick, and you felt stuffed full and ready to split in two. It was the most euphoric thing you'd ever experienced, the sensation unmatched, and you wanted more. "Please, Wally, move, I need to feel it. I need to feel you."

Wally cursed and captured your lips in a hungry, needy kiss, tongue licking against yours like he wanted to memorize your taste.

And then he started to move, slow at first to let you adjust, and then harder, faster, building euphoric rhythm. When you began to move with him, body writhing beneath his, Wally groaned against your throat, teeth sinking into your flesh as he worried a mark into your skin. His mark. His claim.

"You're mine, baby," He panted, moving faster, blunt head pounding your sweet spot with every stroke. You cried out, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, clenching around him as he brought you to the edge. "That's it, baby...so good...fuck, you feel so good."

"Wally, I—" You choked, whimpered, tugged on your wrists, but he didn't release you, "I'm close!"

He loosed a feral, greedy moan, "Yeah, baby, God, that's it, I wanna feel you come on my cock." Jesus Christ, his words alone should've been enough to propel you over the edge, dark and dirty and sandpaper rough. He continued to bite and suck bruises into your neck and collar between filthy utterances, "So fucking wet, so tight, God, baby you're gonna make me come so fast... I'm so close."

Whimpering, gasping, you felt that insidious pressure build inside you, deep within you, right in your core, a rubber band about to snap. "Wally, I'm gonna—"

Wally moaned, moved his hips faster, in and out, rubbing every nerve ending inside you as he thrust into you with abandon, "That's it baby, let go, let me feel you."

Two, three, four more quick, hard strokes, and you launched over the edge, coming so hard your vision whited out and your body spasmed. You heard him cry out when you convulsed around him, squeezing tighter, gripping him inside you.

"Fuck, yes, baby, I'm gonna come," He panted, sweat on his brow, lips crashing into yours as he stiffened and then, "Oh God," his cock twitched and pulsed, groaning as he peaked and spilled inside you.

In the same moment, he bit your neck, right over your pulse point, wrenching a pain-pleasured moan from your chest.

He collapsed on top of you, breathing labored, hand finally releasing your wrists while the other one slid down your body, the touch featherlight. And that's when it happened, in the caramel-soft afterglow, with Wally's brow against yours.

Images crowded your mind, visions. A thousand lives, a hundred-thousand, one after the other and all at once. Past. Present. Future. Some lived, some yet to be. His soulful eyes, his cheeky grin, his hands on your body, over and over and over across time. Birth and death and rebirth. Always drawn together, always finding each other no matter the circumstances. Older, younger, countless shapes and names and roots.

When the visions faded, you opened your eyes—when had you closed them?—and you saw Wally staring at you in awe. He'd seen the same thing, only most likely from his point of view. The connection between you and him expanded until it burst outward and then settled as if sated. Its job was done, and now it could rest.

"W-Wally?" You breathed, heart racing. Because you'd known him by so many other names, would know him by many more. "What...?"

He was trembling in your arms, eyes wide, "I don't—" Know, don't understand, don't believe it.

But both you and he did. You knew and understood and believed. Like the universe had peeled back it's mysteries and gave you an answer you'd been seeking since you'd arrived in this existence.

Fated.

The word echoed in your mind. And you'd had a vague knowledge of what that meant, though you'd never fully empathized with the concept. However, now, it was undeniable. You and Wally had always been, would always be. You belonged to him and he belonged to you.

It'd never been a soul-tie. You and Wally were a fated pair. The rarest of couplings formed within the heart of Awen—the universe, the force that birthed and connected all things. A love story destined to be lived in life, death, and beyond.

The feeling soothed you as you allowed yourself to open your heart to it. Warm and gentle and perfect.

"I was gonna find you," Wally whispered, sweet brown eyes gazing into yours, "I was always gonna find you, no matter what."

There were no words you could speak that would encompass how good that felt to hear, but you tried anyway. "Always," you murmured, your hand cradling his jaw, "no matter what."

He kissed you, slow and soft, the love he put into it moving you so completely you felt you could cry. It was as if you'd missed him, like he'd been gone too long and you'd been yearning for him forever, waiting for him to return to you.

"I'm here, baby," He said like a promise. Like he heard what you'd been thinking. "I've got you. I'm never letting you go."

You believed it with every fiber of your being because he never had. Time and time again, he'd never let you go.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Derek had had to ask Andrew to drive him to the school. Alice had agreed to watch Douglas again while he was out, but couldn't lend him her car. I might need it, she'd said through a grimace, though she hadn't elaborated.

It felt demeaning to have to ask his friends to drive him around like a taxi service. But he'd had to sell his car, the money put toward paying the school back without undoing the payments Derek had already made to some...less than savory characters to whom Douglas owed money.

The bank was its own problem, yes, and would be resolved when Derek sold the house, but there'd been no way to ask Lance Scott—funny enough, Sandra Nears' biker and bar-owner brother—for the school's money back.

Thus, there he was, a 47-year-old man, thanking Andrew profusely as he drove Derek to the school. He pulled up to the front entrance and agreed to wait however long it took for Derek to hear what Meredith had to tell him.

As soon as he stepped foot in the school, he felt a weird tingle up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his skin prickled. He was going to turn toward the gym, but then thought better of it, swiveling instead toward the staircase. Meredith had mentioned she'd wait for him in the faculty lounge.

Quickly, he shot her a text and blindly kept following his feet. Up the second flight of stairs, the third, the fourth. All the way up to the Creative Arts floor and down the hall. He didn't think it strange that he'd followed his intuition to the roof exit. Simply, Derek hadn't considered going any other way.

As if there'd been something at his back encouraging him forward on that particular path.

When he made it onto the roof proper, he was confused to find Meredith standing with someone else. They were already staring right at him when he stepped out into the crisp night air, silent. Like they'd been speaking but had shut the hell up as soon as they'd heard Derek coming.

Again, something—an unconscious urge—motivated him forward until he was standing with Meredith and whom Derek recognized as Andrew's nephew-in-law. What the fuck was realtor Dave doing at the school?

"You chaperoning?" Derek asked him with a frown.

Dave's dead eyes stared back at him, and he shook his head. Didn't say a word.

Derek turned his attention to Meredith. "What did you need to see me about?" And then, casting around as the fog in his brain thinned, "And why are we up here?"

Meredith approached him, oddly feline in how she moved, different than how she'd been the last time Derek had seen her. Not that he'd been able to think beyond his circumstances at the time, waiting for the cops to arrest him.

What he now noticed of her demeanor unsettled him nonetheless. Dave also held himself differently than how Derek remembered him from the meetings they'd had at Dave's office. His presence didn't feel as pushy. Instead, Dave appeared content to stand by and watch the proceedings, whatever those were, because Derek had no fucking clue what was going on.

"Are you going to tell me why you brought me here or not?" Derek asked, heart ticking up a notch as Meredith picked her way into his personal bubble.

"Of course I am, Derek." She said, and even her voice sounded off.

"Okay. So. Is it about my job? Did Principal Hartman reconsider?"

"Oh. No," Meredith smiled, small and serene. "Nothing like that. You're here to help us."

Derek frowned, opened his mouth to ask what the hell that meant, when he felt hands on his body, stronger than they should be. His feet skidded against the surface of the roof as he struggled, but he'd already been too close to the edge to avoid it.

"Wait! Stop! What're you doing!?" He yelled.

All he felt after that was freefall.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You and Wally had spent the remainder of the dance tangled together on the makeshift bed in the greenhouse. It had been surreal in substantial part due to the revelation of how you and he were connected.

Fated.

Jesus. It was so much bigger and more important than you would've ever thought. You didn't think you were that special. Special enough to have your very own, signed-sealed-delivered person, always with you in every lifetime forever.

Neither you nor Wally felt the need to discuss it at length, the truth settled into the fabric of your soul and his as if it'd always been there.

When you'd finally emerged from the greenhouse, hair mussed and dress wrinkled, you were lighter than you'd been in years.

Free. Happy. Loved.

It made you giddy, a skip in your step as Wally took your hand to walk you back to Xavier's truck. You had to collect Hana and Eli, and load the instruments into the truck bed to return to Hana and Lucas' garage.

Before Wally lifted you onto the tailgate, he kissed you, slow and deep and sensual, licked into your mouth and made you whimper when he dragged your bottom lip through his teeth.

His fingers traced the marks he'd left behind on your neck. "Guess I'll have to do it all over again," He sighed as if it was a burden, then grinned at you.

"Maybe next time, hot stuff. I don't feel like explaining hickies to my friends who don't know about my sexy ghost boyfriend."

Wally pouted, but quickly melted you with another hot, deep kiss. "I can always put them where they can't see them, baby..."

You crept back into your body, emerging from beneath the thick blankets with staticky hair and flushed cheeks. You could feel the chill in the air again and were thankful that you'd layered several blankets above and below you to keep your body toasty while your ghost had spent the night with Wally. In fact, you were a bit overheated, the chill welcome on your skin as you climbed out of the truck bed.

You got behind the wheel, Wally folding into the passenger's seat, and started the ignition, backing up easily since the parking lot was nearly deserted by then. You were going to drive to the front where Principal Hartman had instructed you and the others to load the instruments, but Wally waved that off.

"Go around to the side entrance, baby, it'll be easier."

"I think it's locked," You said, trying to recall what Principal Hartman's reasoning had been as to why you and the others couldn't use it.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Wally give you a significant look, "Good thing you have a sexy ghost boyfriend who can open it for you."

Which, fair. Your abilities allowed you to bring together physical manifestations from both the living world and the metaphysical world. If Wally unlocked a door for you in the metaphysical world, you'd be able to open it in the living world.

Respecting Wally's suggestion, you pulled around to the side of the school and parked close to the wall just ahead of the door. Wally got out and told you he'd be back in a minute, citing that he needed to retrieve the key from Mr. South's office.

"Why?" You asked, frowning. "You're a ghost, you can just open the door if you want to."

Wally shook his head, "Nah, baby. If it's locked on your side, it's locked on ours."

That...didn't sound right. You'd seen Dead Grandpa John flounce through many a locked door in the house and elsewhere. He'd even once raided Ginny's padlocked liquor cabinet (Andrew had been a rebellious teenager and she'd never trusted her nephew around her booze again despite his being a teetotaler since university).

Ghosts didn't have to adhere to the same laws as living people. It didn't make sense. Just like Wally and the others being trapped at the school didn't make sense.

Ugh.

You didn't feel it was the right time to kick that hornet's nest. It was late, you were tired, and Hana and Eli were relying on you to drive them home.

You diligently waited in the truck until you heard the metal clack of the door being pushed open. Wally grinned at you, stood back and let you enter, smacking your ass playfully as you walked by.

"I'm gonna go find Maddie." He'd seen her on his way to the basement, apparently, and she'd looked like she'd needed a friend. "I'll be back before you leave." One last kiss and off he went, strutting down the hall to where he must've last seen Maddie.

You entered the gym, waved to Simon as he sat popping balloons. Hana and Eli stood beside the disassembled drum kit, chatting, and were relieved to finally see you when you approached them.

"I seriously thought you left already," Hana said, shouldering Lucas' bass and grabbing her keyboard. "I was going to kill you."

"Not today, Satan," You joked back as you gathered your guitar and Xavier's. "I parked at the side entrance, so we don't have far to go."

Eli looked surprised, "I thought it was gonna be locked, no? That's what Hartman said, isn't it?" He glanced at Hana for confirmation.

Hana made a face—the shits I give—and said, "If it's faster, I don't care."

Between the three of you, you were able to carry enough that you'd only need to make one more trip in and out. You didn't even see Principal Hartman in the gym, so you felt confident that he'd never discover you'd broken a rule.

As you trudged under the weight of the instruments, you saw Maddie and Wally strolling toward the gym. Maddie appeared lost in thought, Wally there, silent and dependable at her side, if she wanted to talk.

He shot you a charming smile and a wink as you walked across the hallway intersection, and you blew him a kiss behind Hana and Eli's backs. Wally caught it and held it to his heart, cheesy and adorable. Beside him, Maddie rolled her eyes, but her smile was sweet.

Eli held the door open for you with his foot, Hana ahead of you both, gently setting down her load and unlatching the tailgate. You shuffled into the space beside her and shifted the guitar cases off your shoulder, leaning them against the side of the truck. Behind you, Eli had deposited what he'd carried on the ground and had already disappeared to go fetch his second and final haul.

And that's when—BANG!

At first, you didn't know what'd happened; it'd been so fast. A falling shadow, the back of the truck dropped—the sound of a short, sharp explosion, the ground shook—then bounced back, and dust clouded the air above the truck bed.

When it registered, Hana was already screaming.

There was a body in the truck bed, limbs akimbo, face obscured. Heart in your throat, trembling, you slowly panned up to see where the person had fallen from. Your breath caught and you froze, eyes widening in horror.

Oh God.

You felt hands on your upper arms trying to tug you away from the scene, Simon's voice repeating, "Don't look, come on, come here," but he sounded distant as the ringing in your ears got louder. You released a frightened, dry whimper, almost resisting Simon's attempt to help you. Your muscles were stiff, your lower lip trembled. You couldn't breathe.

You saw a man's figure lean over the edge of the roof. He straightened, shifted his body, head angled as if listening to something—clearly not alone up there—and then returned his attention to the truck bed.

Holy fuck.

Dave's passive face stared down from above, not horrified, not scared, not worried. Tight. Hard. Cold.

Unremorseful.

💀___________________________

PART FOUR - PART SIX

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[aspenmissing]

ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛꜱ ʜᴏᴘᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 2119 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ’ꜱ ʟᴀʙ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴏɴ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ, ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴀʀᴛ ɪɴᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ—ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴛʀᴀɢᴇᴅʏ ʀᴇꜱʜᴀᴘᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ. ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ, ᴀ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟꜱ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢ.

ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴅʀᴀ��ɴ ʙʏ 'ᴏɪᴅɪɴɢᴜꜱ_ᴀʀᴛ' ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

The name of the artist was known throughout Piltover. Not for her completed works—because she had none—but for her brilliance in leaving her art just shy of whole. Every piece she created stirred something indescribable, the incomplete strokes telling stories of longing, imperfection, and possibility. She thrived in the mystery of absence, and it made her a celebrated enigma.

When Professor Heimerdinger extended the invitation, she hesitated. Engineering was hardly her forte, but the professor believed her talent for visualizing ideas could assist in translating the ambitious designs of Jayce Talis and Viktor into something practical, something revolutionary.

Jayce was sceptical at first. Viktor, however, saw the potential in having her involved. “Sometimes,” he said in his lilting accent, “a fresh perspective reveals what we’re blind to.” And so, she became a part of their peculiar little team.

Her role was clear: to refine their chaotic scribbles into elegant schematics. Jayce’s bold visions and Viktor’s intricate calculations often clashed on paper, but she found harmony in their contradictions, drawing plans that balanced ambition with practicality. The three worked tirelessly, the laboratory becoming a second home.

Yet when she wasn’t assisting with Hextech, her easel stood by the massive arched window of the lab. There, she painted the room as she saw it—the grand glass framing Piltover’s ever-bustling skyline, Jayce’s hammer leaning against the wall, Viktor’s cane perched beside his chair. She captured the glow of Hextech crystals bathing the workspace in ethereal light and the cluttered brilliance of their desks below. Her brush strokes immortalized the laughter, the debates, and the quiet moments of thoughtfulness they shared.

Still, the painting remained unfinished.

The events that unraveled Piltover began as whispers, rumors of unrest in Zaun. But soon, the city shook under the weight of its own ambition. Hextech, once a beacon of hope, became a tool of power. Jayce grew more burdened with responsibility, his ideals tested at every turn. Viktor’s determination to overcome his failing health drove him down darker paths, paths she feared would consume him.

“You can’t stop painting us,” Viktor said one evening, his voice soft as he leaned on his cane beside her easel. His once-bright eyes now seemed dim, his frame thinner than ever. “Not now.”

“I’m not stopping,” she assured him, though her hands trembled as she worked. She was no longer sure if her art could capture the fractures forming between them.

Jayce’s visits to the lab grew less frequent, his duties pulling him elsewhere. When he did return, his presence was heavier, his laughter scarce. “Things will get better,” he told her once, his hand brushing against hers. “We’ll finish everything we started. Together.”

But as the days passed, her painting became a reflection of their reality. The colours darkened. The vibrant glow of the Hextech core faded into muted shades. And still, it was incomplete.

She had been in the council room when it exploded, the world around her fracturing in a storm of fire and rubble. Jayce had been the one to pull her from the wreckage, his face pale but determined. She had been there when he brought Viktor back using the Hexcore, desperation overriding caution. She had stood beside them when Viktor awoke, his frail body surging with new strength, and had watched helplessly as he walked away, leaving her and Jayce behind in silence.

Time passed, and Jayce disappeared. Viktor, burdened by his own choices, would occasionally return to the lab, seeking solace in the ruins. She was always there, sitting amidst the debris, her easel standing like a lone sentinel. He never said much, just stood quietly, his gaze fixed on the painting that captured a world they could no longer reach.

“Why do you stay here?” Viktor had asked her once, his voice hollow.

She didn’t have an answer. Or perhaps she did, but the words never came.

When Jayce returned, it was as though no time had passed. He found her staring at the unfinished painting, the brush resting idly in her hand. The colors had faded, the outlines softened by dust, but it remained as haunting as the day it had been started.

“You still haven’t finished it?” he asked, his voice laced with both wonder and confusion.

She turned to him, her eyes heavy with something he couldn’t name. “Some things aren’t meant to be finished,” she said softly. “Completion means an end, and I don’t think I’m ready to let go yet.”

He didn’t press her. He simply sat down beside her, the weight of their shared memories hanging between them like a fragile thread.

And then the news came. Jayce and Viktor—together again, just as they always should have been—had sacrificed themselves to save the world. She hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen their final moments, but the weight of their choice crushed her all the same.

Now, the lab was silent. She stood amidst the wreckage, dust settling over the shattered remains of a dream. Her easel had somehow survived, the canvas untouched. She sank to the ground before it, staring at the painting that captured their world before it fell apart.

The window, intact in the painting, now gaped open in the ruins. The desks were no longer cluttered but splintered. The chairs they had sat in together were overturned, broken. Her hand reached for the brush, but it faltered. There was no one left to finish this with her.

She stared at the painting, her chest tight with grief. Something was still missing.

But now she understood. It wasn’t that the painting was incomplete because it couldn’t be finished—it was that she wasn’t ready yet. The story—their story—hadn’t ended in her heart, even if they were no longer here to tell it. But one day, when the weight of their absence wasn’t so heavy, when the memories of what they built together felt less like loss and more like legacy, she would pick up the brush again.

She would finish it.

For now, the painting would remain as it was, a testament to the hope that lingered in every unfinished stroke, and a promise that the story they began together would find its ending in time.

The museum was quiet except for the rhythmic tapping of a cane against the marble floor. A group of people followed their guide, his worn name badge reading “Viktor.” Despite his frail frame, he carried himself with quiet dignity, his voice steady as he described each piece of art with the utmost respect and love for the artist.

“Y/N’s work is renowned not just for its beauty, but for its elusiveness,” Viktor said, his accent lilting gently. “She had a gift for capturing moments that felt eternal, even though she rarely completed her pieces.”

One guest frowned and raised their hand. “Why are all of her paintings incomplete?”

Viktor paused, his gaze lingering on a half-finished canvas. A faint smile touched his lips. “It is believed she never liked endings,” he said. “To her, the world was in constant motion, and to end a piece would mean to confine it. Perhaps she wanted her art to remain as alive as the moments she captured.”

They moved on, Viktor leading them into a smaller, dimly lit room. At its centre hung a painting, larger than the others, bathed in soft light. The group leaned closer, their eyes widening at the masterpiece before them. It was a depiction of a lab, vibrant and warm, filled with life and detail. Two figures sat in their respective chairs, their backs to the viewer. One tall and broad-shouldered, the other slender and hunched slightly, their shared presence radiating quiet camaraderie.

Viktor’s voice softened. “This is the only painting she ever completed. It is called ‘Her Hope’”

“Why did she complete this one but not the others?” someone asked.

Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver from the painting. “It is believed that this was her way of saying goodbye. To the lab, to the dreams they shared, and to the people she loved most.”

Another guest, curiosity etched across their face, asked, “What happened to her after this? Why didn’t she create any more art?”

Viktor’s expression grew sombre. “After this painting was completed, Y/N disappeared. Some say she died not long after, perhaps from illness or heartbreak. Others believe she took her own life, unable to bear the weight of her loneliness.”

A hush fell over the group. Then, one guest spoke hesitantly. “What do you think happened to her?”

For a long moment, Viktor was silent. His grip tightened on his cane as he stared at the painting, his voice barely above a whisper. “I do not know what became of her. But what I do know is that she found them again. In her own way, wherever she went, she found her peace.”

The group lingered a moment longer, the weight of Viktor’s words settling over them. As they left the room, Viktor remained, his hand brushing the edge of the painting, a faint smile gracing his lips.

“Viktor!” a voice called out from behind him. He turned, his smile widening as Jayce walked in, his confident stride faltering only slightly as he reached Viktor. Without a word, Jayce leaned down, pressing a soft peck to Viktor’s lips. They turned together to face the painting once more, the moment shared in quiet understanding.

Jayce tilted his head, studying the figures in the painting. “You know,” he murmured, “those two look a little like us.”

Viktor’s smile turned secretive, his tone light. “Pure coincidence, I am sure.”

Jayce’s laugh was soft, the kind shared only between those who have weathered years together. But their moment was interrupted by the faint sound of shuffling. Both turned to see a woman seated on a small bench facing the painting. She was hunched over a journal, sketching with quiet intensity.

Curiosity drew them closer. Viktor’s cane tapped lightly against the floor as they approached, their footsteps careful not to disturb her. Peering over her shoulder, they caught a glimpse of her work—a detailed, delicate rendition of “Her Hope,” the lines almost breathing with life. Her skill was undeniable, her strokes imbued with a familiarity that neither man could ignore.

Jayce’s voice was gentle, threaded with curiosity. “Hello,” he said, the single word carrying an unexpected warmth. The woman looked up, her gaze meeting theirs, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to hold its breath.

Her eyes flickered with recognition, or perhaps it was something deeper—a spark of familiarity that neither Viktor nor Jayce could place. Silence stretched, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Then, she smiled, a small curve of her lips that felt like the echo of something long forgotten.

“Good afternoon,” she said softly, her voice lilting like the first notes of a melody. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Not at all,” Viktor replied, his tone careful but kind, his cane tapping lightly as he shifted closer. “You draw beautifully. May we?”

She nodded, and as they stepped nearer, Jayce’s eyes fell to the sketch in her lap. The lines were graceful yet precise, the image forming was unmistakable—the painting of the lab, rendered anew through her hand. Each stroke seemed alive, imbued with an understanding that tugged at the edges of memory.

“That’s remarkable,” Jayce said, his admiration genuine. “You must have spent time studying it.”

“I have,” she admitted, her gaze flitting between them. “It speaks to me, this painting. The lives it captured… it’s as if I know them.”

“We’ve spent a great deal of time with it ourselves,” Viktor offered, his words tinged with something wistful. “I am Viktor, and this is Jayce.”

“A pleasure,” she said, inclining her head. “I am Y/N.”

The introduction lingered in the air, the exchange of names feeling oddly significant, as though they had been spoken before in a time neither could recall. Yet, there was no certainty, only the strange pull of connection.

“Your work,” Viktor began, gesturing to her journal, “it captures something… familiar. As though you have been here before.”

She hesitated, her fingers brushing over the edge of the sketch. “Perhaps,” she said, her voice quiet. “Or perhaps it’s simply the way some places, some moments, leave an imprint on the soul.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the three of them drawn together before the painting. The weight of years seemed to melt into the stillness, the past and present converging in the shared space of art and memory. Whatever had been lost, or forgotten, didn’t matter. In that fleeting moment, it felt as if they had found each other again—even if they didn’t quite know it yet.

[aladaylessecondblog]

The Whore AU - Gilvoth

Author's Note: nsft, oral

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

Be most careful here, the Temple had warned Sadara. For in the seat of their power is the house of devils most dangerous, there where Dagoth Ur himself is found. Worst and most evil of the lot, and more depraved than the rest of his family. Brutal, the last whore had called him. He always tended the wounds he left, but he enjoyed inflicting pain. When she mentioned this to the Temple priest she had been speaking to, he had scoffed and said, "What else can one expect from the Sharmat? He seeks the suffering of all beneath him, to better bring them under his will. Do not let yourself hear his lies, do not let them enter into your heart. Pray and be saved from his influence."

But Sadara had seen plenty of depravity since the move to prostitution, and she felt nothing could really surprise her. And something else - there was something else too, something that told her that surely they were wrong. It seemed moments like that cropped up more and more often as she'd seen each successive brother.

She was beginning to suspect that maybe she WAS Nerevar's incarnate. As little sense as it made for a whore to be so, though...there were too many little moments that made her suspect it. She'd slept in Odrosal - and dreamed, of some sparring match with the two of them. Only...only none of them were the gray that she knew them to be. And nor was she. The arm of hers she saw was golden, and so were theirs...

No. No, I am not Nerevar's incarnate. Because if I am...

No. She would completely forget it, all of it. She was not Nerevar. She was just a whore, coming to do a job - that was ALL.

She hadn't told them, merely thanked them for their hospitality and left.

Now she approached Dagoth Ur, the building. It was ominous, going down the path with the blight storm at its worst so far. Turning that dwemer crank, rushing to get into the door, and finally dusting herself off when she got inside.

An ash ghoul introduced himself as Dagoth Ienas, and after she responded in kind he seemed to nod.

"You're expected," he said.

"Will I be seeing Lord Dagoth or his brother first?"

For all their warnings about the wickedness of the Sixth House, the Temple had also taught her - to give every appearance of deference and politeness.

"Lord Gilvoth," Ienas said. He gave her directions to Gilvoth's 'quarters' for lack of a better term and off she went.

There was a sound in the distance much like she'd heard in the other Dagoth strongholds, a sound like an unceasing engine. And again, there was that feeling of familiarity that she was trying very hard not to let linger. It was all wrong, all of it. It wasn't supposed to look like this!

She found Gilvoth at an easel, finishing the work of a chimer, she assumed himself in the old days. It was magnificent - the red fabric of the robe he was wearing looked as though she could reach out and tug it.

"It's beautiful," she said, forgetting for a moment what she was there for, and then when Gilvoth turned correcting herself, "Lord Gilvoth. ...I'm Sadara. I'm sorry, I couldn't help but admire the painting."

On glancing away from him she noted several other paintings in the room, up on the walls. The outside of what looked like Dagoth Ur the building itself, only instead of merely rock, ash, and lava there were flowering plants and trama root below. Above there were cliffracers nesting, and clouds in the blue sky...

Another, of Nerevar - somewhat like the paintings she'd seen in the Temple, but somehow MORE. Blue eyes, white hair, and the frame of a great warrior lit up with a chest wound.

There were two smaller ones - some of the ash creatures, she thought.

Every one looked lifelike, and she had to apologize once again when she realized Gilvoth was talking.

"I didn't take you for the sort of person to appreciate art," he said, watching her carefully. "What do you have to say of this one?"

He gestured to the one he was done with. She came closer, puzzled as to why he'd ask. The chimer stood tall and proud, lifting his chin as though he were looking down at the viewer. His face...

I know that face.

Gilvoth must have seen the discomfort in her expression because he immediately said, "No need to be shy, as long as you're not vulgar I'm happy to hear talk of what I paint."

"It's not that I think it's bad, because it's not. It's beautiful," Sadara replied, "But...I...I really shouldn't--"

"Go on."

"I know this face. I've seen it somewhere before, I swear I have."

Gilvoth turned back to the easel. "We can continue this conversation, but I would prefer you to be on your knees."

"You want to keep working with me pleasuring you?"

"Call it a test of my skill." There was something almost impish in his expression as he then said words she couldn't quite identify, "Sit, boy."

One moment she was on her feet, the next she was down. All she'd had to do was blink, and it was just--as if her body had just instantly, instinctively obeyed a command she didn't know herself.

And as she moved down before him, he adjusted his loincloth. The moment she had his cock in her mouth there were two more words.

"Good boy."

Sadara felt a rush of wriggling delight at the words, inexplicable, unexplainable. After lavishing it with a bit of attention, taking it deep, pushing it into her throat - there was a grunt and another question.

"Did those words do anything to you?"

She pulled back, "I-I felt good."

"Good how?"

"Like--I don't know, unreasonably happy. The first two I didn't think anything. It just...why do you ask?"

"Keep going, and I'll explain."

(How he could do THAT, she didn't know. How in oblivion could he possibly keep painting while questioning her and getting his cock sucked?)

She obeyed, stroking at him as she lavished the underside of his cock's head with her tongue.

"You see, there are certain things suspected about you. Certain things that may make other members of the family very upset."

"Is this that Nerevar business?" she asked, stopping to suck at the tip of Gilvoth's cock for a few moments. "I don't claim to be Nerevar. I'm just here to do a job, I swear that's all."

She went down again, relaxing her jaw and letting his cock breach her throat.

"You claim nothing, yet...there are many things piling up to hint that you are his incarnate." There was a shift in his tone, almost humorous. "The birthmark, for example. The fact that you took less time to get to each of us than all the others before you. That you recognized Voryn, as he was in the First Era. And..."

There was a groan as she took his cock deep enough to swipe her tongue over the spot where it met his balls.

"And there's the fact that you responded to commands in Ald Chimeris, a language I am quite sure you have no reason to know. Unless you're a scholar in your spare time."

"No," Sadara responded, pulling back again to speak, "I've been learning the lute and know a few songs in the khajiit language, but nothing more than that."

She was quite used to this sort of thing - it was one of Crassius's favorite ways for her to service him, to hold a conversation with her while she was sucking him off. This was easy, familiar...

(Something was missing.)

"I suspected as much." There was a slight grunt from Gilvoth as she took him balls deep a few times. "You're certainly quick, aren't you?"

"Or you're sensitive."

"Could be, yes." He paused, and spoke again a sentence she couldn't understand. "Are you going to be good for me?"

"Yes." The word she didn't know was out before she could stop it. She did NOT know the word she'd just said, had never even heard it before. She swept her tongue up and down, over every inch of Gilvoth's cock it could get to, furiously trying to show (something, frustratingly she didn't know what!).

A moment later his cock twitched, pulsed, and spilled his seed onto her tongue. Sadara swallowed quickly, and moved back - but not before tucking Gilvoth back into his loincloth.

"Yes, I believe you ARE Nerevar," he said, "Up. Now."

She obeyed instantly.

"Voryn will be harder to convince."

"I'm not," she said, "I swear, I'm not!"

"Oh no? Then why did you respond to Ald Chimeris like that? Commands Voryn has used on Nerevar? Commands you would not know if you were not him, that wouldn't affect you unless..."

"I don't want to make him angry," she said, "I want to make it back to the Temple in one piece."

"I know, I know. Stay calm. He may be angry but certainly he'll believe once he's seen you. Stay here."

She obeyed, feeling apprehensive and anxious as she waited. While he was gone Ienas came in with a small meal which she ate gratefully, glad for the distraction.

Then she looked back at the portrait Gilvoth had been working on. Was this Lord Dagoth as he had been - before? Surely if she wasn't Nerevar there wouldn't be this sense of familiarity. The thought of how accurately it was capturing him, of how even the little details were well done.

Gilvoth reappeared as she sat staring.

"He's not happy, not in the least," he said.

"I could have told you that," Sadara replied, "Odros and Endus said--"

"Bear with it," he went on, "He'll be intent on testing you, but so long as you cooperate I see no reason why he should do anything rash."

Somehow that was not a very comforting thought.

"You're expected."

He held the door for her and she went on, further forward. There was a strange fear over and above the one she already felt, as if she were remembering the echo of something long gone. The details were not there, but the feeling remained.

The next door.

And then, trembling, she stood before him. He stood facing away from her, looking at the statue on the other side of the room.

"So, the Temple tries a new trick," he said coldly. "How dare you? How DARE you think to mantle the name of--"

He whipped around to face Sadara and approached. But as frightened as she was she keep her eyes directed where she assumed his own were.

"I don't think to do anything," she said, "I was hired to do a job. Anything else isn't my doing. I haven't claimed anything."

"So the birthmark?"

"I didn't put it there."

"The clear study of the layout of my brothers' strongholds?"

"I don't know shit about House Dagoth's strongholds!" she couldn't help but retort.

"And now you've fooled even my most suspicious brother," Dagoth Ur said. "How DARE you?"

"I'm not the one--"

He spoke now in, she assumed, Ald Chimeris. And from the tone of his voice she assumed it must be something terrible - but while there was again that strange familiarity, there was NOT recognition. She felt she had heard this before, but not in a way she could exactly remember.

Then he stopped, and spoke two words.

"Sit, boy."

At once she went down. But while with Gilvoth she had merely obeyed automatically, this time there was something else.

She looked back up, wriggling just slightly, feeling a quick eagerness that came over her suddenly. An eagerness to please the mer before her that faded quickly but made itself known anyway.

Dagoth Ur stopped dead in his tracks, and lifted a hand to cover where she assumed his mouth was.

When she started to get up, thinking some outburst of anger was coming he came back to himself.

"No. Stay down--where you are."

She moved back down and looked at his retreating back with no small amount of shock.

What had just happened?

[tsukacchako]

MODERN AU VALENTINES

Theo clutches his bag of pins in excitement as they enter the Hibachi restaurant. Theo has always wanted to go, but the idea of sitting with strangers always made him feel gross. Nevertheless, he put on the happy pin and walked towards their table.

“Ah look, we are the first ones here.” Pale exclaims next to him, looking around at the empty 12 person table.

Theo races to a seat at the end, forcing Pale to be the one to sit next to a stranger. The anxiousness he felt a few seconds ago is slowly fading as he picks up the menu.

The sound of footsteps in the distance distracts Theo for a moment. He growls quietly to himself as he feels himself start to zone out, his body solely listening to the sound of people talking. “Strangers … shut the fuck up ….” he mumbles to himself, his fists clenched around the menu.

“Woah! Look who’s here bro!” A voice breaks through his cloud of anger. He looks up to see Vic and Ember standing in front of them, Ember widely shaking his arm as he talks. “You guys are here too? Nice! A great bro hangout!”

“Vic. Ember. What a surprise.” Pale gives them a nod of acknowledgement, a rare motion from the man.

“Didn’t think you guys were the type to go to Hibachi.” Vic comments, glancing between Pale’s “I’m way too sophisticated for this” posture and Theo’s “I hate strangers” expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be in some Cheesecake Factory?”

Theo rolls his eyes and waves the annoyed button in his face. “Shush! We can come here if we want to.”

Ember laughs loudly before slapping the two on the back and sitting next to them. Vic takes a seat next to Ember, the four of them sitting in a line. Their presence calms Theo as strangers fill in the other seats at the table. Soon enough, Theo is proudly wearing his happy pin as the four of them chat and eat. He chuckles as the chef makes a heart out of rice.

A tap on Willow’s shoulder breaks them out of their thoughts. They look over and see Mill standing next to them, canvas and supplies in hand. His eyes are as soft as his smile as he looks down at their notebook.

"Drowning in work like a ship lost at sea," he chuckles, settling down beside them and placing his stuff on the table. "Even the most relentless sailor needs to come up for air."

Willow lets out a scoff-like chuckle and puts their notebook and pen down in front of them. “Just had a good idea”

The sparkle in his eyes shines a little brighter as he places his head on their shoulder, his hair nuzzling against theirs.

“Why stay stranded on an island when you can share the city with me? There’s always a spot next to me for you,” he gestures at the notebook.

Willow explains the plot of a story for one of their college assignments. Mill listens intently; he loves it when Willow rambles about one of their stories. It’s unlike the reserved student to go on tangents about things, so Mill treasures each one.

He leans closer into them, his arms wrapping around their waist. “You know, your engine is bound to overheat if you keep pushing like this. You should rest.”

They sigh and lean back against the chair. “Too restless …”

Mill brushes a long strand of red hair out their face, revealing their eyes clearly to him. “The simplest stroke always helps scratch the itch of creation. Paint with me.”

Willow looks away, a tiny blush of embarrassment rising on their cheeks. “I … can’t … Don’t know how …”

“Let me be your compass.” He takes their hands and pulls them out of their chair, leading them to the center of the room. He sets up his easel and canvas, as well as his paints. He hands them a thinner one and takes a thicker one, dipping his into a cup of water and into a light green paint.

Using Mill’s brush as a guide, Willow’s own dances across the canvas. Shades of blue, tints of red, every color of the rainbow covers the canvas.

They don’t realize how much time they spent until their stomachs growl loudly. Darkness settles over the room as the bright day outside fades to night. 

Unable to paint in the dark, they decide to stop and order a pizza. While waiting for it to arrive, they hang up the canvas on an empty wall of their dorm, signing their names and smiling to each other.

Nariko wakes up to the sounds of pots clanging in the kitchen. She heads downstairs with a growl and a yawn, feeling herself about to snap. When she makes it to the kitchen, she sees Hoshiko standing there, an embarrassed look on her face.

“Hehe … Whoops! I guess I’m a worse cook than I thought …” She looks down at the mess of flour, sugar and pans on the floor. 

Nariko’s previous anger disappeared at the sight, bending down with a chuckle to clean up the mess. “Ya loser … I’ll help you cook.”

A smile fills Hoshiko’s face as she rushes to their side. “Thanks baby.”

Nariko’s face goes red at the pet name, and she turns around to hide it. “Yeah yeah, now hand me the recipe.” She smiles when she sees that Hoshiko was trying to cook pancakes. “Well, let’s get to work Pigtails.”

Before they start, they hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Ribbit? What’s going on here?” Amane’s voice calls out as Amane reaches the door to the kitchen. The two girls smile at Amane as Amane stands there, a confused look on Amane’s face. 

“Morning Amane!” Hoshiko smiles, their hands and clothes covered in flour. “We’re just making some pancakes.”

“Wanna join, Frog?” Nariko gestures for Amane to join the two. Amane smiles before joining them, Amane’s long hair bouncing behind Amane.

The three of them work to finish the pancake batter. 

“Alright, time for these bad boys to cook.” Hoshiko is practically bouncing on her feet as she watches Amane hold the bowl above the pan, about to pour the batter.

“Wait,” Nariko stops Amane, a faint blush on her face as she holds out four red stencils, each one in the shape of a heart. “Let’s use these.”

The other two grin at them and nod, taking the stencils and pouring the batter into them. They all lean into each other as the sound of pancakes sizzling on the pan drifts over them. Amane presses a kiss into the other two’s hair. The rest of the day is filled with love.

Mizi’s sweaty palm in its hand is all Sua can think about as they walk through the gorgeous field. The grass tickles its feet as it uses everything in its body to move, to follow her. It refuses to look at her, because if it does it knows it won’t stop blushing.

Sua hears her giggle at its side. “You’re so silly Sua!! You can relax, this isn’t our first date or anything!” Her wide smile almost blinds it, a blush filling its face.

It feels its feathers wrapping around it, hiding it from view. Mizi can tell what it feels and giggles, hugging it from behind.

‘Cute…’ it thinks as Mizi continues to giggle in its ears. It reaches behind it and threads its claws through her hair, its long nails lightly scratching her scalp in a soothing way.

Mizi sighs and leans into its touch. They stay like this for a few minutes before continuing walking, not wanting to spend less time at their destination.

Eventually, the two arrive at the top of a cliff. They set up a cute, small picnic and start getting out the food: watermelons and Everything Bagels for Sua and chicken for Mizi. They smile at each other before digging in.

Sua glances at Mizi as she eats, her eyes drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

‘How did I get so lucky?’ It thinks to itself as it wipes a bit of chicken juice off of her lips.

The two eat and watch the clouds drift by, their fluffy shapes adding to the soft atmosphere. The two lie on the grass once they are full, their fingers intertwined.

“This is perfect,” Mizi whispers, looking into Sua’s eyes. “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

Sua nods as it leans in, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss.

The first thing Cindy notices when she wakes up is the warm body next to her, cradled in her arms like a childhood stuffed animal. After rubbing her eyes, she remembers that Yuuki stayed the night, and a smile forms on her lips. She snuggles closer to her, wrapping a leg around her waist and pressing her cheek against her soft, white hair. The smell of her coconut shampoo from their shower last night fills her nose, and the fabric of her soft, oversized t-shirt on Yuuki’s small frame feels like holding a cloud. 

They lay like that for a few minutes before she feels her stirring in her arms. She looks down to see her waking up, her ruby-red eyes slowly opening. “Mm … Good morning,” Yuuki mumbles, brushing a strand of green hair away from Cindy’s face.

Cindy smiles at the gesture, a blush forming on her cheeks. She moves a hand under Yuuki’s shirt, her cold hands craving the warmth of her back. “Good morning,” she replies as she presses a kiss to her head. “We really slept in huh?” They look out at one of the open windows of the apartment. The bright sunlight is almost blinding as it shines in through the window. Birds and cars are easily heard, but don’t destroy the calming atmosphere inside.

“What time is it?” Yuuki reaches over to grab her phone on the dresser, her body slipping a tiny bit out of Cindy’s grasp. “2PM. Wow, we really did.” She also notices the date, February 14th. She smiles to herself as she feels Cindy snuggle closer to her, burying her face into her shoulder and pressing a kiss there. 

“Lazy day?” She tightens her grip around her small form.

Yuuki nods and opens a delivery app. “I’ll order some takeout.”

Cindy hums and watches over her shoulder.

“Oh, by the way.” Yuuki mumbles, turning her head to Cindy.

“Hm?” She blushes more as Yuuki gently kisses her. She moves a hand to her cheek.

“Happy Valentine's Day, love.”

@doubtscomein for ember and vic || @sotogalmo for pale and yuuki || @waterydream for mill

[inadaydream99]

Even When You Were Invisible

Based on the movie The Princess Diaries (2001)

NCT Dream Jisung x fem reader, fluff

A/N - so I recently rewatched The Princess Diaries and just had to write this into a oneshot. This focuses more onto the budding romance side-plot of the film, so I’ve taken some liberties and adapted the narrative a bit. This is also unedited for now - please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes!

Disclaimer: I have used a direct quote from the film which is in italics. I am not trying to replicate the film, just use the plot as inspiration. I do not take any credit for this plot. This does not represent any of the members in real life and is for entertainment purposes only. Jaemin’s character does not reflect him and is purely to fulfil the shallow character he plays. Mild use of language (like 5 swears, maybe??)

“How’s my baby?” You gleam at Jisung, catching him off guard from where he’d been so focused on tinkering around with the car engine in front of him. He bolts upright beside you, quickly grabbing hold of the car bonnet and slamming it down before reaching into his pocket to pull out the rag he uses to wipe off the engine oil from his hands.

“All good.” His voice comes out strained, watching as your smile somehow grows wider. He observes the way your hand smooths over the shiny baby blue metal of the car, gazing into the way it reflects your loving expression.

“Well, she looks amazing.” Your eyes flicker up to meet his, watching the way his Adam’s apple bops. “Thank you, Sungie.”

“Oh, it was really no problem…” he gushes, playing down all the turmoil your precious car has given him over the last few weeks. Not that Jisung ever plans on telling you about all the extra hours he’s spent fixing up your car for you. He doesn’t mind at all. He spends most of his free time at the garage anyway because his band is also allowed to practice there in return for Jisung helping out repair some cars.

It’d be a dead giveaway to all of the feelings he has towards you and he also knows you’d insist on paying him extra for his time if you knew when you’ve already put every penny of your savings into repairing the car you’d worked so hard to get.

Besides, with the way you look at him now, radiating so much adoration, Jisung feels it’s more than enough compensation for his hard work.

“You’re the best!” You reach out to ruffle his hair the second he ducks his head shyly from your compliment. Whispered giggles tumbling from his lips as his cheeks burn. “Can I pick her up tomorrow after school?” You shine those big doe-like eyes at him.

“No problem.” Jisung nods, smiling warmly. And he watches you skip out of the garage with so much excitement, shouting a “see you at school!” over your shoulder. Just as you have left his line of sight, Jisung is called over by his band mates for practice. And while they spend the rest of the evening playing their songs, Jisung continues to replay your interaction over in his mind. Damn, he’s down bad for you.

You reach home quicker than usual, thanks to the spring in your step from Jisung’s amazing work with your baby. You’re so unbelievably excited to finally be able to drive your dream car. You’ve wanted a baby blue mustang since you can remember, so you’d scraped all of your savings from your part time job together to buy the old beaten up car and payed the garage where Jisung works to make your car dreams come true.

“That you honey?” You hear your mom call as you walk further into your house. She sends you a smile over her shoulder when your bag clatters onto the kitchen table. Picking up an apple from the fruit bowl as you watch her refocus on the painting before her.

“Did you get another commission?” You speak through half-chewed apple.

“Uh-huh.” You mom hums, placing down her brush carefully onto the tray beside her easel before turning to you. “Who knew posting my art online would rake in so much work?”

“I did.” You tease, taking another bite of your apple.

Your mom shakes her head at you while rinsing her hands in the sink. All the while, you push yourself away from the counter, grabbing your bag to begin heading to your room.

“(Y/N), wait!” Your mom calls just as you reach the stairs. “Your grandmother called today. The live one.” Your mom adds upon seeing your shock.

“The one I’ve never met?” You tilt your head in confusion, bushy eyebrows furrowing. “What would she suddenly want?”

“She said she wants to have tea with you after school tomorrow.” Your mom explains. “Something about important news she needs to share with you.”

“Oh, I was supposed to pick up my car tomorrow… but I guess I’ll have to rain check.”

That was two weeks ago now and little did you know at the time how much your life was about to change.

The following afternoon, when you’d arrived at your estranged grandmothers house - or should you say mansion - you’d had your world flipped upside down.

“A-a Princess-” your mouth hangs agape, unable to comprehend the situation at hand. Your eyes dart around the room, looking from your grandmother to her staff, then the security, before finally landing back on your grandmothers perfectly calm expression. She’s not joking. “No no no nonononono." You shake your head.

“You’ve got the wrong person. I’m the furthest thing from a princess. Look at me!”

-

As it turns out, they did not have the wrong person. Your father, who you’d never met, had been heir to the throne of the small European country you’d never heard of and after his death, that left you - his only child - next in line.

You’d come to an agreement with your grandmother that, before anyone made any rash decisions, you’d give it some time to try out the role of Princess. And so commenced the ‘Princess training’ every day after school with your grandmother. You’d learn how to walk, talk, sit, stand and live like a true Princess within the agreed trial month between this life altering news and the annual independence ball.

Sworn to secrecy, you’d not told a soul about your new informed identity. So, while your private life has somehow changed in every single way, your school life has not budged an inch. From the hours of 8-3 you’re the same invisible girl, with your two bestest friends since kindergarten, Jisung and Chenle.

“Woah, he’s so dreamy.” You gush, resting your chin in your palm as you watch Jaemin walk past your lunch table. Jisung simply rolls his eyes at the way you simp over the most popular guy in school, like always. He doesn’t get the hype around Jaemin. So what if he’s the captain of the football team, extremely lean and always seems to have perfectly shiny hair? Anyone could have all of those things. Jisung could have all of those things…

Despite the fact that he’s almost flunking gym class because of his terrible hand-eye co-ordination in football.

Jisung feels his only consolation is that Jaemin is dating Nina, the head cheerleader.

“Anyway…” Chenle speaks a little louder, “as I was saying before (Y/N) let her hormones take away from the crisis at hand. How am I going to get another guest for my show on Saturday?”

Ah yeah, you were trying to console Chenle on his last minute drama. His school curricula radio show, Talking with Chenle, had finally been getting more than three listeners a week. And ever since his audience has started to slowly grow, he’s been putting more and more pressure on himself to promote the topics he cares about with guests.

“Dude, chill. You still have four days to find a replacement.” Jisung grumbles from beside you. He looks a little like he’s sulking, although you have no idea what could have possibly made him so annoyed within the last thirty minutes that you’ve been sat at your lunch table.

“So much help you are.” Chenle fires at the grumpy Jisung on your left as he stands from the table, slings his bag over his shoulder and storms off.

You turn your attention to said grump, frowning.

“That wasn’t nice Sungs.” You watch as regret consumes his face, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he mumbles a muted apology.

“So, are you collecting your car from the garage tonight?” Jisung finally builds up enough courage to ask you. He’s been battling in his mind for the last few days on how to bring this up, so he’s a little nervous, but tries his best to suppress the shyness that wants to win over.

“Oh I can’t.” You guiltily grimace. You feel terrible putting him off again, especially when you were meant to pick up your baby weeks ago. But, since you’ve been having your ‘Princess lessons’ everyday, you’ve had no time. “I’m seeing my Grandmother.”

“Again?” Jisung regrets how quickly the word slips out of his mouth. But you don’t seem offended, nodding yes in response.

“How about Saturday?” You quizzically raise a brow, biting down onto the corner of your bottom lip in anticipation.

“Saturday works…” You let out a breath in relief upon Jisung’s agreement. “…and maybe you can stay for a bit, hang out?” Jisung suggests.

“…it’s just my band are practicing that afternoon in front of a few people and it’d be great to have a bit more of an audience…” Jisung trails off, cutting off his word vomit just in time to notice the way your smile reaches your eyes.

“Sounds perfect.” You beam, just as the bell rings for class.

-

You were beyond nervous. Petrified, if you’re completely honest. Yesterday evenings ‘Princess lesions’ with your grandmother had turned out to be a head-to-toe makeover and you’d come out the other end of the evening looking like someone entirely different. Some may even say, like a Princess. Gone were your glasses, bushy eyebrows, your hair had been cut and the frizz tamed. To you, you look almost unrecognisable. To Chenle, you look amazing. But to Jisung, you look like the very thing you’d always swore you’d never want to be - a popular - and it scared him.

While you liked your new look, you felt like a bit of a sellout for complying with the makeover to look more ‘regal’ - as your grandmother had described it. So you’d walked into your first class of the day wearing a grey bucket hat, so as to cover as much of your new look as possible.

Jisung had to do a double take when you entered the classroom and took your usual seat beside him. He’d always thought you were beautiful before, but wow, you’d somehow managed to ascend to another level quite literally overnight. From under the hat, he could see your bright eyes and long lashes. The neat shaping of your eyebrows and the plumpness of your lips, accentuated by the baby pink lip gloss you’d applied. Although, he’s unsure of why you’re wearing a hat on such a warm summers day, especially when you’re inside.

“Okay class, simmer down.” Your teacher, Mr Sums enters from the back of the room, hushing all of the excited chatter in the room as he places down his bag on the front desk and begins to set up for the class. “Yes, Nina?” He acknowledges without so much as glancing in her direction.

Nina sat in the seat behind you, perfectly poised and ready to strike. She’s the head girl in your grade for a reason, with her off-scale intelligence, popularity and cunning attitude. She will take down anyone who gets in her way. Which, right now, is your hat covered head that’s in her line of vision to the front of the class.

“Mr Sums. Isn’t there a rule about no hats allowed?” You can feel her smirk on the back of your neck, letting out a concealed huff as you try to prepare yourself for what you know is going to happen next.

“You’re right Nina.” Mr Sums sighs, “(Y/N), please could you remove your improper dress coded attire?” He glances at you and your mortified expression, watching as you gulp down your nerves while simultaneously reaching up to reluctantly slip your hat off.

Out tumbles your perfectly smooth hair as it cascades down past your shoulders. Jisung’s eyes almost pop out of his head from beside you. Not that you notice, too busy being consumed by the gasps from your classmates.

“Oh wow.” You hear Nina laugh, “Look who’s trying to fit in now?”

Her sickly-sweet tone only makes your cheeks burn deeper and you try to sink into your chair.

“Well, I think (Y/N) looks stunning, actually.” Your head whips towards Jisung, grateful for him sticking up for you. You send him a thankful smile as class begins and everyone’s attention is turned away from you. For now.

-

“So what’s the deal with your sudden change of appearance?” Chenle questions as he shovels his salad into his mouth. His words come out slightly muffled between the half-chewed lettuce and Jisung just rolls his eyes.

“Nothing.” You try to shut down the topic, bowing your head into your own lunch.

“It’s clearly not nothing.” Chenle deadpans, before narrowing his eyes at you. “You’re hiding something.”

“Am not.” You grumble into your sandwich.

“So you’ll be coming to my baseball game after school then, like we agreed weeks ago?”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about Chenle’s baseball game and you know for certain you can’t get out of seeing your grandmother.

“I can’t.”

“See!” Chenle drops his fork into his salad, folding his arms as he turns to Jisung for support. “What? Are you just bored with us now? Don’t want to be friends anymore?”

“No, that’s not even close!” You cry in distress.

“Then tell us what’s so important that you keep dropping us (Y/N).”

You bite down on your jittering bottom lip, your worried eyes casting from Chenle’s unimpressed expression to Jisung’s concerned one.

“I’m not allowed to tell…”

Upon this half-confession, Chenle drops his attitude and leans across the table to speak quieter.

“Are you in trouble? Being blackmailed again? Do we need to beat someone up?”

“No!” You shut down his conspiracies, hands flying up in surrender.

You know you shouldn’t tell anyone. But you also know that if you don’t spill it all to them now, you’ll risk loosing the only people keeping you sane. Heaving a deep sigh, you know what you have to do.

“Okay. You have to promise me you’ll keep this strictly between us.” You point between your two intrigued friends, encouraging them to lean into the table so you can whisper. “I’m serious. The repercussions if this gets out-”

“Just tell us.” Chenle rolls his eyes.

To other students, it simply looks like your gossiping like any other group of high schoolers. But if they were to look closely enough, they’d notice the way both Chenle and Jisung’s eyes blow wide and how the colour seems to drain from Jisung’s face faster than lightening.

“You’re a what-” you cover Chenle’s mouth before he has a chance to shout anything further, covering it with a “Shhhhh.”

“Promise this stays between us.” You stick your pinky finger out for them to link, watching as both of your friends entangle theirs around yours.

“Damn. Wish I could be a…” Chenle begins to mutter.

“Dude!”

-

Walking into school the next morning feels a little more unnerving than usual. You’re barely through the threshold of the gates when someone spots you and shouts “that’s her!”.

Everything’s a blur from that moment. With a frenzy of people shouting “Princess!”, a crowd of students swarm you in seconds, phones and cameras are flying in front of your face as they all take pictures and videos. You feel nauseous from being elbowed and shoved in the midst of the unfolding chaos. However, just when you think your about to spew your guts from the motion sickness, you feel a pair of hands find your waist and clutch onto you, wrapping you into the taller frame of your saviour and using their body as a shield until you’re safely out of the crowd.

“Follow me.” Your saviour moves you away from their hold, clutching onto your hand and forcing you to run as you’re dragged along behind them to a place of refuge. You’re pulled into the main building and twisted through the narrow corridors until there’s no one on your tail.

It’s not until you’re hidden inside a janitors closet that you’re able to look at the person before you and realise it’s Jisung.

“How do they know!” You rush back into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso and burying your face. Jisung is winded a little from the impact, tumbling a few steps back with you before he regains his balance.

“It’s ok. Everything’s going to be ok.” He whispers into the top of your head, fluttering his eyes shut as he inhales the floral scent of your freshly washed hair.

Of course, Jisung has no idea how your secret had gotten out, or what to do next. All he knows right now is how perfectly you fit in his arms and how much he wants to protect you.

“I want you to know, it wasn’t me.” You pull away from Jisung, peering into his worried eyes. You’d never once doubted it would have come from him and there’s nothing more in the world you want right now than to let him know that. Cupping his cheek, you brush your thumb over his soft skin.

“I’d never even consider that being a possibility.” You soothe.

Jisung drinks in every drop of affection you give him as though he’d been traversing the desert for days on end without water. Knowing you never could have accused him rehydrates him and makes his heart feel like it could burst.

“It wasn’t Chenle either. I was with him all evening after his baseball game.”

“I don’t doubt him either.” You reassure. “This feels bigger than just some school gossip.”

-

After cooling down in the janitors closet for a while, you’d managed to sneak out and into your first few classes of the day without too many people bombarding you. Your principle had made an announcement to not cause another commotion and all staff were on patrol during lesson changeovers and breaks.

“Wait, (Y/N)!” You turn to find Chenle forcing his way to the front of the cohort of students following you, instantly linking his arm with yours as you continue to uncomfortably make your way to class surrounded by your new admirers. “You’re an overnight sensation!” He beams, loving the attention on you both.

“Tell me about it…” you mumble, juxtaposing Chenle in every way. Unlike your friend, you’re not made for the limelight. You don’t like all the attention on you. Not now, not ever.

This was one of your biggest fears about people finding out you’re a Princess.

“So, you’ll be my special celebrity guest on Talking with Chenle this Saturday, won’t you?”

Your mouth gapes, finally making eye contact with him and ready to outright refuse. Until, you see how hopeful he looks.

Damn it. There’s no way you can turn him down.

“Sure…” you sigh, unable to hide the small smile that forces its way onto your face when he jumps in excitement.

“You’re awesome!”

-

“(Y/N)!”

You’re just closing your locker when you hear your name, your heart picking up pace from the unmistakeable voice of your caller.

Spinning around, you find none other than Jaemin, smiling at you with his signature smile and staring at you with those heart melting eyes.

“How are you holding up? Been a bit of a crazy day…” He leans one arm on the locker beside you, standing so close you can smell his earthy cologne.

“Just a bit.” You giggle sweetly.

It’s amazing how Jaemin can have such an affect on you. One word and your mind has gone to putty and you’ve forgotten how to act like a normal person.

“Well, I just wanted to apologise for Nina this morning…”

“Huh?” You furrow your brows, feeling yourself come back down to earth.

“She was the one who shouted when you entered the gates and made everyone swarm you?” Jaemin’s tone comes out unsure, not realising that you weren’t aware when you let out a light “oh.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I do not condone that at all. In fact, I broke up with her because of it.”

“You did?” You gush, surprise written all over your face.

…and you’re off in space again.

“Yeah, it was totally not cool.” Jaemin nods. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the end of school beach party with me this Saturday?”

Oh my gosh! Na Jaemin just asked you out!

“Yes!” You blurt. “I-uh I mean, yeah” you swallow, “sounds cool.”

“Cool.” His smile reaches his eyes. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

You watch dreamily as Jaemin walks away to join his group of friends at their lunch table. You’re only pulled back into reality when you spot Jisung perched on the edge of the fountain across the courtyard.

“Guess who just asked me to go with him to the beach party this Saturday!” You park yourself next to Jisung on the ledge of the fountain. “Jaemin!” You squeal your answer when Jisung simply raises an inquisitive brow at you.

“But, what about seeing my band practice?” Jisung tries to not sound depleted.

“Well, I was hoping we could reschedule? I just, I’ve been wanting to go out with Jaemin since forever and you’ll have other band practices, right?”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Jisung forces a smile, feeling himself deflate the second you’ve squeezed him in a tight hug before skipping off to get some lunch.

His attention flickers over to the table where Jaemin sits. How could Jisung ever compare? He’d always felt you were unattainable to him because of how he was too shy to express his feelings. And that was before your new look and title. But now? He has no shot.

You’re a Princess for goodness sake. You belong with the most popular guy in school. Not a shy keyboard player in a band that sings in the local garage like him…

-

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” Your grandmother rushes to you as you arrive for your ‘Princess lesson’ of the day. She takes you by your shoulders and peers at you intently.

“Now,” she exhales a deep breath. “We’ve got the press under control with the looming promise of the annual independence ball, so long as they keep a little distance for now.”

You nod in understanding.

You were honestly a little nervous about seeing your grandmother this evening. You’d been worrying about her reaction to this all getting out, even though she is calm and has dealt with an unimaginable amount of trials and tribulations during her many years of reign. She is also strong willed and has made it clear to you that - even though you have yet to make the choice to accept your title and duty - the expectation of this trial period would be as though this is your future.

“And we’ve found that the leak was from the stylist we’d hired.”

There’s more relief in knowing your Grandmother knows it hadn’t come from you than there is from the culprit being found out.

“And we’ve got him doing a formal apology to the press this evening.”

-

Saturday rolls around quickly and before you know it, you’re on your way to the beach party for your date with Jaemin. Everyone who’s anyone is there; dancing, sunbathing or cooling off in the ocean as the sun begins to set.

You feel a little awkward as you walk down the beach to join the other party-goers. It seems like it’s well underway already and you’re not typically one to mix with the crowd in attendance.

“Welcome to paradise.” You almost jump out of your skin upon hearing Jaemin’s voice from your side. You had been so engrossed in your awe of the scene in front of you, you didn’t notice he’d walked over. “I got you a drink.”

You accept the plastic cup, your fingers brushing accidentally with his. Chuckling a flustered thanks before taking a sip, you try not to be affected by his amused grin. He thinks you’re so adorable. How had you been kept so hidden before?

“C’mon.” You feel Jaemin’s hand slip into yours, gently tugging you along with him to head further into the crowd…

“Hello, welcome to Talking with Chenle.” Chenle professionally introduces when his fellow producer Mark signals they are live. “On todays show, we have a special interview with the newfound Princess and close friend of mine, (Y/N).” Mark hits the applause button.

“But, before our main guest’s appearance, we have a short segment on the upcoming senior class projects, presented by our very own Mark.”

Mark jumps in with his pre-written script, listing out the upcoming events for the semester. Meanwhile, Chenle checks his phone to see if you’ve tried to contact him about your whereabouts. Nothing. You should have been here 30 minutes ago…

Back at the beach party, you’re having the time of your life dancing with Jaemin. Uncontrollable laughter tumbling from your lips as he takes your hand and spins you around.

“Who knew you were such a good dancer?” You teasingly glance up at Jaemin as he leads you out of the crowd of dancers and to the side for some much needed air, your hand still firmly in his.

“Well, who knew you would make such a great dance partner.” He praises back, succeeding in making you flustered.

You cast a shy glance up at him through your lashes, still unable to believe that this is reality. You really are here with Jaemin, hand in hand in front of everyone. You feel like you should pinch yourself, just to double check your not dreaming all of this.

That is, until reality comes crashing down in a burning rage. What you’d simply brushed off as a plane flying above you, turned out to be a helicopter filled with paparazzi. It lowers, the wind from the propeller cutting off the party and almost knocking everyone off their feet as multiple cameras flash at you, trying their best to get a good snapshot.

You panic, a million questions buzzing around your mind. What should you do? How do you get away? But most of all, how did they know you’d be here?

“Quick, follow me!” Jaemin pulls you, both of you running towards the lifeguard shack at the back of the beach.

Once inside, Jaemin bolts the door shut and silence and darkness settle around you.

“I’m so sorry.” You plant your face into your hands as you fall into the chair behind you. Being chased by paparazzi - all shouting Princess at you - was not a part of your imagined date with Jaemin. And it’s mortifying to know that’s the reality.

“Hey.” You hear him whisper, his larger hands coercing yours away from your face. In the time you’ve been wallowing, Jaemin had made his way over to you and knelt down to your level so the first thing you see are his eyes and the way they catch the moonlight that filters in through the crack in the curtain covered window. “It’s not your fault.”

His sincerity mesmerises you and washes away your humiliation. How does he do it? How does he seem to know the exact right thing to say?

Meanwhile, Chenle’s radio show is crashing and burning live on air. The last forty-five minutes have been filled with Marks terrible jokes and ramblings and it’s all because of you.

“Alright, I’m off.” Chenle sounds defeated, taking off his headphones and making a stand from his chair the second the ‘live’ light goes dim.

Mark doesn’t respond, nodding his understanding as he watches his friend walk away. He knows it’s not his fault. Heck, Mark did everything he could to act on the spot and make the best out of the shit situation. Chenle is grateful for Marks loyalty and perseverance.

But damn, he still wishes you’d showed… they both do.

“Ok, I think they’ve given up.” Jaemin asserts, peaking through the curtain to find a dark and empty seeming beach. The relief that fills you has you following Jaemin out of the lifeguard shack without thought.

“Thank you for sticking by me, it means a lot.” You timidly smile at Jaemin, allowing him to take your hand in his as you begin to walk up the beach.

Before you have time to register, a bright flash snaps in front of you, the momentary blindness giving time for multiple lurking paparazzi to spring out from their hiding places and surround you both.

“Princess! Who’s your date?”

“Is this your boyfriend?”

“Princess, give him a kiss!”

The crowd shout as you panic, looking around to try and find an escape route.

You spot a slither in the sea of bodies and pull on Jaemin’s hand, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he complies to the crazy demands of the privacy invading press and scoops your body into his. His lean arms make your desperation to get away worthless and before you know it, he’s cupped your cheek and forced you to look at him.

With one final deer-in-the-headlights look at him, Jaemin crashes his lips to yours.

It takes you a few seconds to register what he’s doing, before you muster up the strength to shove him away and force yourself out of the circle.

You can’t believe he just did that.

-

“It’s really not that bad.” Jisung tries to console you.

You’re flopped over the table, head in your arms as you try to block out every piece of reality. After Saturday’s kiss fiasco, the picture had been posted everywhere. There was no escaping the horrifying image of your first kiss with Jaemin. No less because you’d always dreamt your first kiss with Jaemin would be magical, like something out of a fairytale. And while you may be a Princess, this feels nothing close to those magical Disney princess movies you adored so much growing up.

For starters, where is your fairy godmother? You could really use one of those right about now…

He can’t lie, Jisung’s a little heartbroken seeing the picture of you kissing someone else posted everywhere. He’s upset for you, knowing how much you hate the situation. But, selfishly, he’s more gutted for himself. That should be him in Jaemin’s place. In fact, if he’d been lucky enough to kiss you, the image wouldn’t have existed because he never would have done it in front of the cameras. Knowing that Jaemin used you to get his 15 minutes of fame angers him too. The first time he saw the picture online, his fists had clenched so tightly from the rage that bubbled up in his stomach his nails had left little crescent moons in his palms. And yet, he can’t bring himself to not look at the grainy image.

“Not that bad?” You retort. “Any hope I had of being Princess has gone down the drain.” You begin to sob.

“What’s my grandmother going to say?”

Jisung doesn’t realise how stern his face had been until he finally looks away from the picture to find your eyes peaking out from their hiding spot. His gaze softens in a heartbeat, his hand reaching out to instinctively rub your back.

From your peripheral, you recognise the group passing by and tear your gaze away from Jisung’s to find Jaemin and his friends snickering as they walk past.

“Hey (Y/N), great kiss.” Jaemin puckers his lips mockingly.

You’re not sure what hurts you more, having reality shred the mask to uncover his true, obnoxious personality to you or knowing how many years you spent pining over someone so shallow.

“Ugh.” You bury your face back into the safety of your arms, blocking out all daylight and - you hope - reality.

-

After a lot of pep-talk from Jisung, he finally managed to coax you into going to your next class. But it’s not until final period, when see Chenle enter the classroom, that you realise you hadn’t seen or heard from him since last week. You send him a smile when he makes eye contact, feeling confused when he frowns back before taking a seat on the opposite end of the room.

You find yourself casting glances in his direction throughout the class, hoping to catch him looking over at you at least once. But nothing. Not even a peep is sent your way.

“Chenle,” you chase after him. Barely five seconds after your teacher had dismissed class, Chenle had been out of the door and down the corridor. You’d had to sprint through the throngs of students just to get to him before he got out of the building. “Why’d you not sit with me?”

But your question is met with the biggest eye roll you’ve ever seen as Chenle continues to make his way out of the school grounds.

“Did I do something?” You press.

“Did you do something?” Chenle fires back at you, narrowing his eyes vehemently. “Try what you didn’t do!”

You’re dumbstruck.

“I have no ide-”

“My radio show Saturday?” Chenle sasses. Thank goodness you’re down the street by the time Chenle finally stops walking and begins exploding on you. “I had to listen to Marks lame jokes for an hour.”

“Oh my god! I’m so unbelievably sorry.” Your eyes go wide, mortified at how you’d completely forgotten about being Chenle’s guest. “I’ll make it up to you next time, I swear!”

“There won’t be a next time.” Chenle scoffs, turning away once again. “Oh,” he stops himself to mention one last thing. “and, just so you know, just because you a Princess now, doesn’t mean the only thing that matters is you.”

-

“Hey Sungs.” You mournfully approach where Jisung finishes polishing your car. The garage is oddly quiet, no music or clatter sounding in the usually busy space. No. Instead, it seems like it’s just you and Jisung here. “Thank you for taking such good care of my baby.”

“No problem.” Jisung sends you a half-smile as he hands over the keys. “She’s all yours.”

“You don’t know how much this means to me.” You warmly smile, but feel your mood drop when he doesn’t reciprocate like he usually does. There’s a silence that fills the space between you. You’ve never felt so awkward with Jisung before.

“Well… I better get going…” you try not to sound too deflated, jangling your keys in the air as you go to open your car door.

You watch as Jisung takes a step back from the car, his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets as he wordlessly watches you.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” You timidly look at Jisung, stopping yourself from clutching the car door handle in front of you. “You don’t think I think the only thing that matters is me, right?”

There’s a timidity to your tone that makes Jisung gulp. He knows all about the argument because Chenle had ranted down the phone to him for a hour after school and he can tell Chenle’s words have gotten to you. At the same time, however, he feels a little dumbfounded that you seem to only realise this now, after you’d had someone shout it in your face. It’s even more ironic you only ask Jisung of his thoughts when you are just about to take the finished car home. The very one that you’ve been stringing him along with for weeks. He knows he has to be honest with you.

“There were times when I would say I agree, yes.” Jisung nods. “I mean, you dropped me for Jaemin in a heartbeat and he’d never once given you the time of day before your Princess glow-up.”

“Right. I really should go…” you voice comes out hoarse. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jisung feels terrible as you spare no more time getting into your car and starting the engine. It revs to life and roars as you drive away, leaving him alone once again. But the it sinks in how much you’d made him feel used. You’d chosen to walk away from the truth when you’d asked him for it. And Jisung can’t help but feel disappointed.

-

Walking through the halls the next day you feel so insecure. Groups of students stop their conversation to stare at you as you pass, their expressions unreadable, leaving you unable to tell if they are judging you or just fascinated.

Reaching your locker in the courtyard, your eyes light up in hope upon seeing Chenle a few doors down at his locker. You watch him until he notices you, forcing a meek smile his direction when he does. But instead of him smiling back and making his way over to you, he frowns and slams his locker shut before walking the opposite direction.

You self-consciously peer around, hoping no one had witnessed that rejection and your eyes light up when you spot Jisung.

“Jisung!” You call as he walks past. But he doesn’t even acknowledge you. Instead, he picks up his pace and your eyes follow him as he catches up with Chenle. You turn back to focus on getting the right books out of your locker, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill.

How had you managed to mess up so bad that your friends won’t even acknowledge you…

With tears still in your eyes, you enter your next class with your head hanging low. You can’t bear to look up and see your two friends, knowing they won’t speak to you. Instead, you rush to the back of the room and take the seat furthest in the corner.

But when you do eventually look up towards the front of the classroom, you catch Jisung glancing your way. He turns back to face the front a split second after. But there’s as hope that flows through you from catching the longing in his expression.

Maybe there’s still a way to win them back.

-

It’s taken a few days to figure out, but you think you know how to get your friends to forgive you. Starting with Chenle.

First you have to sneak up on him so he doesn’t get away when you try to talk to him, which from his avoidance of you the past week, has proven more challenging than you thought. But you do manage to corner him in class as everyone leaves for lunch.

“Chenle, I want to make it up to you.” You plea. “I just want everything to be right between us again.” While you’ve technically been successful in talking to him, he’s still refusing to look at you. “Tell me what I can do…”

This piques his interest.

“Stop being a Princess.” He flatly states. If only he knew…

That was actually something you’d been working on, deciding days ago that you don’t think you’re cut out for accepting royal duty as a Princess. You’ve already spoken to your grandmother about this and, despite her reluctance and assurance that you would be more than capable for the role, you’d come to a mutual agreement to make no public announce until the evening of the ball.

You wish you could tell Chenle, but you can’t break your promise to your grandmother. You’re done breaking promises you’ve made.

“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of attending the independence ball this Saturday?” You send him a hopeful beam.

You take his blank expression and lack of a quick response as a good sign and continue to persuade.

“It’s invitation only…”

Chenle sighs. Damn him and his weakness for exclusivity. Plus, he’s always wanted to go to a ball and he doesn’t know when he’ll get this type of opportunity again.

“Fine!” He caves. “You’re forgiven.”

You squeal, jumping into him to squeeze him in a hug. You feel his chest vibrate with laughter and look up to finally see him smiling.

“I missed you.” You gush as you pull away and begin walking down the hallway together.

“I know.” Chenle laughs heartily when you shove him and roll your eyes.

You finally feel like you’re on the right track. If you can get Chenle to forgive you, then you’re pretty certain Jisung will too. Now you just need to find him.

-

“Wassup bro.” Chenle greets Mark as you join his table for lunch. You’re familiar with Mark because he helps Chenle out with his radio show and you’ve always found him really bubbly and sweet on the few occasions you’ve spoken.

“Sup guys.” Mark greets you both warmly. “I see you’re back on speaking terms.”

“Yep.” Chenle responds through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about all of that.” You grimace towards Mark. “But I heard you’re on your way to becoming a comedic genius.”

“I think I’m good with sticking to the pre-scripted topics.” Mark laughs loudly.

“Oh, hey Jisung!” Chenle’s sudden shout almost makes you jump out of your skin.

You turn your attention to where Chenle looks to find Jisung casting an embarrassed side glance over to your table while trying to continue his conversation with one of his band mates Renjun.

You don’t really know Renjun, other than what you’ve observed. Even though he’s part of Jaemin’s popular group, he seems like a nice guy and there’s always been a part of you that’s been curious to know how he ended up with friends like Jaemin, Jeno and Donghyuck. All so loud and attention loving in comparison.

You watch as he bids Renjun goodbye and approaches, stuffing his hands into his pockets once he’s reached your table. It’s clear he doesn’t want to hang around…

“Aren’t you gonna join us for lunch?” Chenle snickers at his friend, his tone mocking at the way Jisung acts so hesitant.

“Actually, I-uh have,” Jisung gulps. “I have last minute band practice.”

“But you just said goodbye to Renjun?” Mark furrows his brows.

“Gotta go!” Jisung takes off as quickly as he can. He doesn’t look back when he hears you call after him, instead only ducking his head lower and picking up more speed. You have to run to catch him. Damn him and his long legs. You hate running.

“Jisung.” You pant, catching him by the arm and using all of your body weight to slow him down. He lets out a defeated sigh as he stops, knowing there’s no escaping having to talk to you now. “Please talk to me…” you beg, pleading with the best, saddest puppy eyes you can muster.

“What is there to say?” His voice comes of quieter than he wanted it to. He’s so hurt and upset with you and he wants to be able to express that. He usually can when it’s towards other people. But when it’s you on the receiving end, there’s just something that stops him. No matter how much you broke his heart.

“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have run away from what you’d said.”

Theres something in your words that makes him wake up and finally realise that he’s been running away too. Not just now. But for way too long. Jisung’s been running away from telling you how he really feels about you. For so long he’s talked himself into waiting for you to fall in love with him, to wake up and finally see that the person you should be with has been by your side the whole time. His feelings have been repressed and he’s forced himself to be invisible for too long. But he’s done with that now.

“Sungs, are you ok?” He blinks back into reality, not having realised he’d gotten caught up in overthinking for too long.

You watch him, wide eyed as he stands up straighter, determination written across his face.

“Actually, I have something I need to say.”

You nod, waiting intently.

“I’ve been an idiot for too long.” And… you’re confused. “I’ve let you walk all over me for years because I’ve been so in love with you.”

“Heck,” Jisung laughs at himself. “I even let you off when you ditched me for Jaemin because I kept telling myself that I wasn’t good enough for you.”

You feel your heart break knowing Jisung had been putting himself down like that. Any and every emotion courses through you as you try your best to take in the weight of his words.

“I-” you begin, but Jisung cuts you off before you have a chance to say anymore.

“I know you don’t feel the same… it’s ok.” Jisung forces a smile. “I just need some time apart.”

You feel like you’re suffocating, unable to voice anything as you watch Jisung walk away. Chocking on sobs as the weight of the world hits you like a ton of bricks.

You just wished you’d realised sooner. Because if you had, then maybe you wouldn’t have lost your best friend, you wouldn’t have hurt him for so long and maybe you wouldn’t have had your heart smashed to pieces like you just have.

-

“Can’t you just have someone do the speech for me?” Your voice is muted by the duvet that you insist to remain under. Your mom perched on the side of your bed as she encourages you to at least go downstairs to eat something.

It’s the morning of the annual independence ball and you’ve not left your bed since you’d gotten home the day before.

You’d had many home truths and realisations from Jisung yesterday. But cocooning yourself inside your duvet has really helped you process a lot. Like the fact that you love Jisung too… and not in just a platonic way. He’s always been there for you and you’ve taken that for granted.

You’ve been so dumb to your feelings for so long, brushing infatuation off as excitement or just that you really care for Jisung, when reality is that your heart doesn’t flip every time he smiles just because he’s your best friend. It flips every time he smiles because his smile is one of your favourite things in the world. It eases your worries and brightens your day.

Just being around Jisung makes you feel like everything’s going to be ok. He’s always so supportive and soft-natured. He takes care of you not because he’s a good friend but because he loves you.

You know that if he were to be here today, you’d be able to get through your speech this evening, facing crowds of people and answering to them why you are abdicating your royal duties. With Jisung by your side, you can get through anything.

Without him you’re lost.

Similarly, Jisung has been trying to drown out reality since he confessed to you by focusing all of his energy on his band practice and fixing up cars. He went straight from school to the garage and worked through the night to try and get his mind off of you.

Which is why he jolts awake to Chenle shouting in his ear for him to “wake up!”

“Why!” He cries, rubbing his sore neck from the poor posture of his sleep on the couch by his band’s equipment.

“You seriously slept here last night?” Chenle doesn’t hold back any judgment, raising his brow at Jisung as he grumbles out unintelligible remarks under his breath.

“I get you’re heart broken or whatever, but that doesn’t mean you should give up now.”

“Well, what else should I do?” Jisung, still sat in the chair he’d slept in, sulks like a child.

“Uh, I don’t know, go after her?” Chenle retorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But she doesn’t feel the same, I’d just be making a fool of myself…”

Chenle scoffs. How does he not see it?

“Of course (Y/N) feels the same. It’s so obvious.” Chenle leans down to place his hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “Trust me. I’ve had to watch you both almost every day for years.”

He’s not joking. He really has. All the times he’s rolled his eyes at the way you both act so soppy towards the other. You’ve both been too wrapped up in either convincing yourself that you have no shot, or mistaking your feelings to notice.

Jisung springs to his feet. With the way Chenle remains so serious, he knows he must be telling the truth.

“I need to win her back!”

-

You frantically pack, shoving everything you can into your bag before anyone catches on to what your about to do. You feel so hopeless, like a complete failure and you know you can’t face the crowd of influential people and reporters to decline your role of Princess. So you’re running away.

You’d managed to convince your grandmother to not send a limo because your mom wanted to take you to your first ball. And you’d also lied to your mom, telling her that your grandmother had organised a limo to pick you up.

As soon as your mom had left, the race against time had begun and you’d been flying around your room packing.

You pick up the embossed faux-leather diary your grandmother had gifted you when you’d first met and found out you were a Princess, stilling when it slips from your grasp and falls open to reveal a letter that had been tucked in between the pages.

Carefully picking it up and unfolding it, you realise it’s from your father before he passed away.

His heartfelt words bring tears to your eyes as he expresses all the love he has for you and his country as soon to be King. But the final line strikes something within you that makes you rethink everything you had planned to do.

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all. From now on you’ll be travelling the road between who you think you are and who you can be. The key is to allow yourself to make the journey.”

-

Helping Jisung come up with a plan to win you back is easy for Chenle. With the independence ball being that evening, nothing could be more perfect than Jisung turning up, declaring his love and sweeping you off your feet. Just like a true Prince. So he’d offered the plus 1 you’d given him to Jisung.

Waiting in the grand hall for your arrival feels like an eternity. Everyone seems to be here except you.

“Have either of you seen (Y/N)?” Your mom rushes up to Chenle and Jisung in a slight panic. Both of them shrug, shaking their heads no in response. “She told me a limo was picking her up, but apparently she told her grandmother I was bringing her.”

Shit. There’s something in Jisung that springs into action upon the possibility that you could be in danger.

“Stall until I get back.” Jisung directs Chenle.

“Where are you going?!” Chenle shouts back, but it’s too late. Jisung’s already run off.

“Oh no no no…” you whine as your car conks out, the heavens pouring down on you and pooling in your hatch-back. “Is this what I get for messing everything up!” You shout at the sky, flopping back into your seat and sobbing your heart out.

You don’t blame the universe for this payback. You deserve it after all your selfishness. But you have been trying to make amends, to right all of your wrongs. You have every intention to go to the independence ball to share your decision in person. It’s the least your families country deserve. It’s the least your family deserve. But, right now, you’re failing. Failing at getting to the ball on time just like you failed at making amends with Jisung.

Gosh, even when you’re trying to do something else it’s still seems to end up on Jisung…

Just as you’re giving up all hope, a car horn jolts you up in your seat with a gasp. The headlights blind you momentarily as they round the corner, until the car has stopped beside you.

“Need a ride, Princess?” Your mouth hangs agape as the window rolls down to reveal Jisung in the drivers seat.

Although you can only see the top half of him, you’re heart summersaults from his attire. There he is, coming to your rescue, dressed in a black tuxedo and bow tie. He looks just like Prince Charming.

“How did you find me?” You remain in your car, unable to move from the shock… and the cold. You look like a drowned rat as the storm continues to shower down on you.

By this point, Jisung had gotten out of his car, into the pouring rain and rushed over to help lift you out of your vehicle to transfer you into the warmth and shelter of his own.

“Lucky guess.” He smirks from the drivers seat, twisting the keys and bringing the car to life again, before racing through the dark deserted streets.

You watch him from the passenger seat as he remains focused on the road, mesmerised by the steady focus of his eyes and his tight jaw, the way his hair - now wet from your rescue - drips little droplets of water onto his forehead and nose, down his cheeks to his perfectly plump lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You’re caught off guard by his question as it breaks the silence that had settled. You hadn’t even realised you’d been staring that long, or the fact he’d noticed.

“I was… just looking.” You blush, turning to look out your window. You’re just thankful it’s dark right now.

A few seconds go by and you begin to recognise the street just as the car pulls into your grandmothers driveway and stops at the entrance.

“Wait!” You clutch onto Jisung’s arm as he goes to open his door. He freezes from the touch before slowly twisting back to look at you. “Thank you.” You whisper.

“It was no problem.” Jisung sends you a tight lipped smile.

“No. I mean, thank you for always being there for me.” You elaborate, moving your grip down his arm until you get to his hand, entangling your fingers with his. “For loving me.”

Jisung’s breath hitches. He’s not sure what to say. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. And the way you continue to stare at him makes him feel so warm and fuzzy and loved.

“(Y/N), I-”

“I know you said you wanted space.” You cut him off. “But I’m so lost without you.”

“Why me?” He whispers.

You slowly reach up to cup his cheek, drawing him in closer and closer until your noses touch. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe in his signature piney scent. The familiarity makes you feel like you’ve arrived back home and gives you the courage to utter your next words ever so breathily.

“Because you saw me when I was invisible.”

The next thing you know, Jisung’s lips are smashed against yours. You’re unsure which of you initiated it, not having had your eyes open in fear of his rejection. His lips are just as soft as you’d imagined they’ve be and you feel yourself unable to suppress the smile that explodes across your face, causing Jisung to smile into the kiss too.

Everything seems to fall into place again. Who knew kissing your best friend could feel so right?

Pulling apart breathlessly, you both continue to smile at each other, idiotically in love.

“We really should get inside and put Chenle out of his misery.” Jisung chuckles, only imagining the chaos he’s cause by trying to stall.

“I guess…” you trail off, sending Jisung a sheepish smirk. He knows exactly what you’re thinking. “…Or we could kiss some more?”

“We can do that later. But first, you have to tell your country you will be their Princess.”

~ bonus ~

“How’s my baby?” Jisung rolls his eyes.

“I told you to stop calling me that.” He deadpans, failing to hide the blush that tinges his cheeks from the way you smirk at him.

You know he loves it really.

“But it’s cute!” You continue to tease, laughing as you speak.

“Whatever you say Princess.”

[glitchphotography]

Just a few weeks left to catch my video installation " b a r b i e ~ w o r l d ~ b r e a k d o w n " at the Museum of the Moving Image as part of the Easel Engine series, bringing new media artists on the Schlosser Media Wall.

[eustasscapitankid]

Eustass Kid x Nico Robin Challenge: Kikitober 2024 "Metal Trinkets" Rating: General Audiences Warnings: None Tags: Soft Kid, Love Summary: Sometimes you don't need words to say 'I Love You'. Word Count: 363

"And on my easel I drew, while I was thinking of you."

      If only it was as easy to express feelings as it was to be an engineer. Cool metal provided relief to his hands against his skin from the humid summer air. She relishes the papers grain with each turn of the page. The trill of cicadas fills the air, harmonizing with the soft rustling of paper and the calm lap of ocean waves against the beach’s sand.       His

            favorite music.

      Her

      Kid’s heartbeat acts like a metronome, to his calculated movements keeping beat to its’ beat. Hands keeping a rhythm as he toys with his current project. Steady hands bend thin sheets of metal into perfect curves. A focused grip carefully sets pins in place, anchoring the pieces together. Meticulous and delicate work made easy with his large hands by the aid of the magnetic forces that aid him.

      Robin’s hand runs down the soft paper as she turns another page. Her eyes follow it’s path, landing on one of the trinket’s that now adorn her desk. A growing collection—each more intricate than the last. She reaches out a hand, fingers gently caressing the artifact closest to her. It’s a small elephant made of metal, a forest perched on upon it’s back. You would think each figure lain before her random, if you had not read the words pressed upon inks in her favorite pages. A single working stood taller than the rest, positioned thoughtfully at the corner of her desk. She adored the way it’s thin metal leaves glittered when moonlight streamed through the windows, it’s thick trunk decorated with small windows carefully carved into it’s uneven surface. A reflection of her once-home.

      Her eyes rose to the man opposite her, watching his hands busy themselves. The soft sound of his metal hand brushing against the copper he minded himself with ceased. The sound of moving pages stilled. Even the cicadas’ endless song seemed to silence as their eyes met. A small smile graced her lips as he reached out to her desk, adding another piece to her collection.

      Sometimes, you don't need words to say 'I Love You'.

[treatmelikeasmut]

The Artist and the Engineer Part 1//Chapter Three//Pose Reference

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Pairing: Viktor x Fem!Artist!Reader

Series Synopsis: Heimerdinger wants a commemorative painting done of Viktor, who is not fond of the idea.

Chapter Synopsis: Viktor and the artist are back for their second session. He's being far more cooperative this time. But it seems the artist may have something to hide.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author’s Note: I'm still debating how I want to flip-flop between Viktor and reader. If it's going to be every other chapter, or if it's just going to be however the flow feels right.

Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog your favorite fics ❤️

~*~*~

You were late.

Super, incredibly late.

You’d gotten in the zone; playing music, working on a commissioned painting. You’d completely lost track of time. It was so easy for it to slip away like that. When you finally decided to take a break, the clock on the wall read five after two. Your apartment was ten minutes from campus if you ran like your life depended on it.

People clogged up the roads and sidewalks, which definitely didn’t help your situation. Some people yelled after you as you shoved through the crowd. You knew all too well the consequences of being late to appointments. You were just glad the spring thaw had finally seemed to be staying. The breeze no longer held its icy bite.

Still, sweat trickled down your spine as you finally made your way through the entry arch of the academy. You paused briefly, shielding your eyes as they hunted for the clock tower. It read 20 after. Cursing under your breath, you hustled towards the main door.

Standing just outside was a familiar face, Fallon, one of your friends who was still working through her undergraduate studies. Usually recognizable by her sizable stack of long, dark curls. She smiled, waving as she called you over. You returned the greeting.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you rushed.

“I just got out of of class, I have a before hours before my next one starts. You want to get lunch?”

“I would, but I have an appointment to keep and I’m running super behind!” You were already halfway through the door. “I’m so sorry, I swear, we’ll catch up soon! I’ll see you later"!”

Fallon called something after you, but it was lost when the door shut. You speed walked down the main corridor, and then turned into the hall that would take you towards the art wing. When you were sure there was no one around, you broke into a jog. You knew Heimerdinger’s assistant didn’t want to be doing this as it was. Being late was not going to help your case any.

Taking a moment, you caught your breath and wiped your sweaty forehead with a clean rag. You could only hope you weren’t too disheveled. Regardless of the paint stains on your clothes, you still had to appear somewhat professional. Running in soaked with sweat and panting was not the way to do that.

You were surprised to see Viktor already in the studio. Well at home on the chaise and deeply engrossed in his book. His long legs were stretched across the cushion, one cross over the other. He didn’t look up as you shuffled passed.

“You’re late,” Viktor observed, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” you panted, “Sorry - give me a moment and I’ll be ready.”

You hurried into the side room, and barely caught his words, “Take your time.”

In the side room, there was a wall of cubies. Each about as wide as your wing span and stretched about a foot over your head. They all had a wide shelf at the top and drawer in the bottom. Some of them were filled to the brim with covered canvases, others held only a sketch pad or an easel, most of them were empty. You were grateful the academy even had a reserved space for alumni artists. Not everyone had the space or the money to have a studio. You had a small corner where you kept your easel and paints in your own apartment. The entrance to your balcony was there, so it offered the best light. Just not the best view, since it over looked one of Piltover’s side roads.

You made your way to the one with a scrap of paper reading your name that had been stapled to the wooden surface. Tossing your bag into the bottom drawer, you dragged out your sketch pad, along with the pouch that held erasers, pencils, and a sharpener. Quickly double checking that no sticky fingers had made off with your extra supplies. Double counted your rolls of paper. Made sure your spare easel and the canvas you’d be using was all accounted for. That canvas was going to need prepped soon. That mental note got tacked to the back of your mind.

“Alright!” you sighed loudly, rounding back into the main studio. “Are we ready to start?”

Viktor looked up at you then, slotting a place holder into his book. His sharp eyes didn’t miss a beat, immediately zeroing in on your non-dominate hand. Narrowing as he studied it.

“Rough day yesterday?” he asked plainly.

You glanced down at the splint bound to your hand with white cloth. It held your ring finger and pinky straight. In the back of your mind, you could still hear the sickening sound of them breaking. Hastily, you shoved your hand in the big pocket of your overalls. You tried very hard not to wince at the pain.

“Something like that,” you told him. You tried to laugh, but it came out strained.

Viktor continued to watch you, as if he were waiting for you to elaborate. It left you feeling a bit like a specimen under a microscope. When you offered nothing he opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Finally, his gaze moved elsewhere.

It didn’t keep the shadows of the Alumni Studio from being oppressive, however. They sat heavy on your shoulder. Squeezed your lungs far too tightly. Making you itch for more than the dusty light coming in the high windows.

“Would you be too terribly opposed to sitting outside today?” you asked, then gestured behind you. “There’s a door not far that takes us to one of the inner court yards. It’s nice enough today.”

“Wherever you will have me.” Viktor shrugged, bringing his gaze back to you. Then he seemed to realize just how his wording came out. Clearing his throat, his ears reddened. Quickly, he corrected, “That is, wherever you wish me to sit.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. He was kind of cute when he was embarrassed. You swiftly erased that thought. “This way.”

Viktor trailed after you as you lead him out the side door and into another long hall lined on one side with windows. It was quiet between you, just the clink of his cane on the floor to let you know he hadn’t run off. A chill chased from the nape of your neck down your spine.

Finally, you came across the door to the court yard. The entire thing was relatively bare. Just a large circle carved from the same white stone as the rest of the building. There were a few low benches with arms, along with a sprinkle of large basins full of shrubs and moss. A couple trees grew from well maintained raised beds. You lead Viktor to your favorite one.

“Here,” you said, pointing to a bench backed by neat bushes.

Viktor sat, then you went to the edge of the low planter wall opposite him. You were both covered by the shade of a tall tree. It was just starting to sprout lively green leaves. You flipped to a new page in the pad. Then rifled through your pouch until your found your favorite pencil.

“I thought we would figure out your pose today,” you said, tapping the end of the pencil against the paper.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “My pose?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “I want to do sketches of potential ones. It’ll help us figure out what will look best. - We also have to consider how comfortable it will be for you. I know what I’m thinking of, but did you have anything in mind?”

“I wouldn’t know -” Viktor awkwardly folded his hands in his lap.

“Try this.” You laughed a little, then moved to the edge of the wall, setting your stuff beside you. You adjusted your posture to be ramrod straight, your body set at an angle with your hands at waist height, cradling air. “Obviously you’ll be holding your book.”

Viktor tried his best to mirror your posture. Glancing at you, eyes flickering over your body. You knew it could be awkward. It was never easy posing people, it often felt too staged.

“Like this?” he asked.

You relaxed, taking a moment to check. Your mind was already doing a preliminary painting. But something wasn’t quite right. You stood, going to him.

“Almost, do you mind if I - ?”

Viktor looked at you for a long moment, then shook his head. “No, no - go right ahead.”

You nodded, then carefully covered the backs of his hands with your own palms. Applying just enough pressure with your fingers to guide him. His hands were smooth and chilled under your touch. You pulled the book a bit farther away from his chest, giving the pose some breathing room. “Hold that there. - Now this is going to feel unnatural, but I’m going to adjust your elbow. Now tilt the book itself back a little bit. We need a nice silhouette.”

You stepped away, looking him over one more time. Still just almost. You hummed, tapping a finger on your chin with the other resting on your hip. Viktor pursed his lips as you took his chin between the knuckle of your forefinger and your thumb. Guiding it to where it needed to be to follow the lines of his body.

“Now turn your hips out just a bit more,” you uttered. He followed suit without a word.

Once more, you stepped away to check composition. Perfect, except for his expression. His brows were furrowed as he stared very intensely at the pages. Without thinking, you placed your thumb between his brows. Trying to get him to relax. You’d done this before, many times, trying to get people’s expressions just right. You felt him go still under your touch, but the creased immediately went away in his surprise.

“Sorry.” You pulled your hand away. “I should’ve asked if it was fine to touch your face.”

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor muttered, glancing at your very briefly. “You simply me caught me by surprise. That is all.”

You were surprised that he was being far more cooperative today. You wondered what had changed in the last two days. Maybe Heimerdinger had said something. As long as it wasn’t about your deal, you’d be fine with whatever he had to say to get Viktor to sit until the portrait was complete. You needed this. Desperately.

“Hold this pose for a minute.”

You returned to your seat, pulling the drawing pad into your lap. You did a quick gesture drawing. Getting the lines right, carving out the silhouette with the side of your pencil. A few places needed smudged with the pad of your finger, blending until it felt right. You saw his hands begin to shake.

“Okay, you can relax,” you told him.

Viktor’s entire body slumped, then he stretched with his arms over his head. You had to admit, he was nice to look at. Long and lithe, the light carved out his features in a way you hoped you could recreate and highlighted the warm undertones in his hair. You looked back down at your sketch. You definitely hadn’t been exaggerating when you told Heimerdinger Viktor had nice features that you couldn’t wait to put on canvas. You laughed to yourself, thinking of your conversation with the professor.

“What is so funny?” Viktor asked lightly. “I most certainly hope my posing wasn’t that horrid.”

You looked up, surprised to see him bent slightly over you. Eyes on what you’d drawn. The intensity of them almost made you bashful about your work.

You shook your head. “Not you, just thinking of something I’d told Heimerdinger.”

Viktor hummed. “Nothing too awful, I hope.”

You chuckled again. “Only that I was glad you didn’t have fur.”

“Really?” Viktor asked, clearly amused.

“It took much longer to paint him because of it. He got a good laugh out of it, though.” You shrugged. “I forgot to ask - how was your day yesterday?”

Viktor straightened up, leaning on his cane. You would have to remember to sketch it. It was a nice cane, finely crafted. You wanted to make sure you got it right when you painted it.

“Eehhh…” Viktor’s eyes bounced as he searched for the right word. “Productive.”

You smiled at him. “I’m glad. I don’t want you to get too behind in your work.”

“Worry not, my partner is seeing to things in my absence.” Viktor hovered, hand readjusting on his cane. His gaze had settled on the branches over head. “I also had some time to reflect. I want to apologize for my behavior - I must not have made a good first impression.”

“It’s fine, really. I know how Heimerdinger can be. I thought he told you. I can’t really blame you for acting the way you did. So, no apology needed.” You stood, if only for something to do.

“Then let us begin anew. On the proper foot, this time.” He held out his hand. “I am Viktor, assistant to the Dean of the Academy and Hextech researcher. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

You found the effort endearing. You took his hand in yours, shaking it as you reintroduced yourself. “Recent University of Piltover graduate. Semi-professional in portraiture. It’s nice to make your acquaintance. I look forward to painting you, I’m very glad that you are not furry.”

Viktor gave you a real smile this time. It was nice to see. It suited him, opened up his face. Making you feel warm inside. You tried to shut that feeling down immediately. But you couldn’t help admiring the boyish charm in it.

“Now, shall we continue?” he asked.

You nodded towards the bench. “Be my guest.”

You walked him through a few more poses. A couple were an immediate ‘no.’ Either they just didn’t look natural on him, or he said it would be too difficult to maintain for long periods. By the end of it, you had settled for something simple. He would sit reclined against the back cushion, one arm resting on the arm of the lounge, the other holding his book. His legs would be crossed, with his left ankle resting on his right knee. Carefully keeping his brace from digging into his skin.

You considered this session a success.

When the clock announced three, you stood to stretch out your back. You were expecting Viktor to take his leave like a rabbit sprung from a trap. Instead, he sat and observed as you began to pack your things.

“Well, that’s the hour,” you announced. Wondering if he was waiting for a proper dismissal. “I figure I won’t keep you longer, I was the one who was late after all.”

“Actually,” started Viktor, “I find I have some spare time. I can stay another hour, if it’s needed.”

You paused. “Are you sure? You don't have to do that.”

He nodded. “Jayce can suffice another hour without me.”

“Alright then.” You couldn’t help but grin. “Since we've figured out your pose, I was wondering if it was okay to sketch your cane?”

Viktor glanced at where it laid next to him on the bench. “My cane?”

“For the painting.”

His expression was unreadable. “You want to include it?”

“Yes?” You cocked your head. “Why wouldn't I? Unless you don’t want it to be? - It’s your picture, at the end of the day. Heimerdinger is just sponsoring it. We don’t have to include anything you don’t want..”

“I -” Viktor frowned a touch, as if the idea had never occurred to him. He sighed. “That is perfectly fine.”

You sat on the ground in front of the bench. Viktor held the cane upright, turning it when you asked. You made little notes about colors, and where it was dullest from being held. All while being under his sharp gaze. You wondered what he was thinking. If he resented you at all, even though you were just hired to do a job.

“So…” Viktor cleared his throat. “Your fingers - what happened?”

Your whole body went rigid, freezing mid-sketch. You carefully avoided his eyes. Shaking your head, your forced yourself to keep drawing. “Nothing. I was clumsy. Tripped, landed on my hand wrong.”

A moment of silence, then a small hum. “At least it was not your other one.”

You muttered to the paper, “Not yet anyway.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked,” you stated louder, “will you tilt that to right a bit?”

Viktor obliged, though the movement was hesitant. You studied the cane intently. Trying not to meet his eyes. He had to know you were lying. That excuse hadn’t even sounded convincing to you. A few more minutes ticked by in silence.

“Tell me,” Viktor started again, “do you have a preference for coffee or tea?”

That one did make you look up. He ran a finger along the rail of the stone bench, watching you from the corner of his eye. The amber of them burning in a patch of sun. You told him your preference, to which he hummed. You searched your mind for something to ask him.

“So,” you started, “what all do you do for Heimerdinger?”

“Many things.” Viktor shrugged, as if it was the most uninteresting question in the world. “I do anything he asks.”

“I’ve heard you and Jayce Talis are the founders of Hextech. All the revolutionary stuff that’s appeared the last few years has been because of you. Is that true?”

Slowly, Viktor nodded. “He took the first steps, then together we built.”

“Then it’s no wonder that Heimerdinger wants your portrait done,” you started, a bit awestruck. “It’s not everyday this sort of thing comes along. - We’ll have to include something of it in your painting. Make sure everyone knows your face, too.”

“Right.” Viktor shifted in his seat. You pretended not to notice the pink blotches staining his neck. “Ah - I’m not well versed in art. Out of curiosity, how long does this sort of thing usually take? Professor Heimerdinger said this could take months, but surely not…”

“It could - it took me most of the four year graduate program to paint Professor Heimerdinger. The third and fourth year especially since I had to make a presentation to go along with it, but it was also hard to meet with him. Yours shouldn’t take nearly as long,” you told him. Your eyes traced the curves on the cane’s handle, your hand trying to follow along on the paper. “If I can focus, a painting this size takes…80 or 90 hours to complete. That isn’t including color matching and sketching, which could take it well over 100 -”

“100 hours?” Viktor repeated, jaw tight. Any openness that was once there now gone. “That is nearly four months of my time. More if one of us is not available!”

You nodded slowly. “I can try and speed up the process, but there’s no promises with this sort of thing. Some of it, I may not even need you there for.”

Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, sighing. “No, no - it’s fine. I will just have to accommodate accordingly.”

Your name echoed across the courtyard then and you both flinched. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught sight of Fallon. How had she even seen you? That ever present smile was on her face. She waved, curls bouncing as she jogged over to you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she laughed. Her eyes turned to Viktor. “Who’s your friend?”

“Not really a friend, more of an acquiantance. This is Viktor, the Dean’s assistant,” you said, “I’ve been commissioned. Sorry - Viktor, this is my good friend Fallon. She’s in her second year of her undergraduate studies.”

He nodded at her. “A pleasure.”

Fallon gasped, gripping your bad hand by the wrist. You hissed softly at the pain, grimacing. She turned your hand palm up, then back over.

“What did you do?” In a second the sweet Fallon was gone, a dark cloud sweeping over her features. She asked in a low voice, “He didn’t do this, did he?”

You tried to pull your wrist away, laughing awkwardly. “No, no, no - nothing like that. This is my own fault. Viktor is…sweet. He’s been very patient with me today.”

Just as quick as it appeared, the storm cloud passed and Fallon was back to her grinning self. Her gold skin practically glowed under the late afternoon sun. The light threading through her dark curls to highlight the red understones. Her eyes danced briefly over your face, then narrowed.

“I know how you can get,” Fallon scolded, releasing your wrist. “Have you eaten today?”

As if on cue, your stomach growled loudly. She put her hands on her hips, foot tapping against the stones. You gave her sheepish smile. “I got in late then was up early. I had some work to do.”

Fallon flicked your forehead. “How many times have I told you -”

“Yes, I know - take care of myself.” You rolled your eyes. “I’ve just…been busy.”

“You are never too busy to care for yourself. - I’ve decided I’m taking you to lunch.” Fallon pulled your arm, hauling you off the ground. Small but mighty, it seemed. “C’mon -”

“But I have to -” you argued, barely keeping a grip on your pencil and pad as you stumbled after her. “Uh - I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, Viktor!”

You glanced over your shoulder to see him watching you. He almost looked like he was trying not to laugh. That sent a wave of embarrassment through you. You had the strongest urge to stick out your tongue or flick him off. But you didn’t. Just allowing yourself to be pulled out the door, barely being able to waylay her long enough to put your things away and grab your bag.

Fallon found a resturant close to academy for you both. The entire time she gave you a scathing review of your poor habits. But you knew it came from a place of concern. You’d done the same for her a few times. Especially around midterms and finals.

“So, anyway,” Fallon said, the stern tone fading. A mischievous grin took over. “That guy, huh?”

“Viktor?” you asked, taking a bite of your food. “What about him?”

“He was a cutie, wasn’t he?”

“Okay, first off - he’s way too old for you.” You rolled your eyes. Fallon had been unstoppable since she started at the academy. Constantly chasing one guy after the next. “You’re not even twenty yet. He’s like, 26 or 27.”

“As if that would stop me. Besides - I wasn’t thinking about me…” Fallon chuckled. Then licked her finger and rubbed at your cheek. “Hey, did anyone tell you there’s graphite on your face.”

You looked down at where your shiney, grey fingers held your fork. Then scrubbed at your cheek with your shirt sleeve. “Secondly, I haven’t really thought about it.”

She hummed, eyebrows raising briefly. “Liar.”

“I’m not!” You truly hadn’t, whether she believed you or not. “His has some nice lines. His eyes are a nice color -”

“So you’ve just been looking at him like an art project.”

“I guess, yeah.” Your face felt hot, so you swallowed down some ice water. “I can objectively observe someone’s beauty, ya know. You literally have to take an entire class about it.”

“All I’m saying,” Fallon pushed, “is that maybe you should stop looking at him as just a subject.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “You’re trying to set me up, and you don’t even know him.”

She held her palms up. “There’s more to life than work, that’s all I’m saying. And if you just happen to be able to be in the presence of a cute guy who’s stuck with you until the commission is done…”

“I don't want to make our sessions weird. Also, I already told you that I’m not really looking to date anyone right now.”

Fallon pouted. “But why?! There are so many cuties on campus. You’re just going to ignore them all?”

“I -” There were so many things you wanted to tell her. So many things that were safer if you didn’t. You just wished you at least one person to confide in. “I’m just not looking. I’m so busy with commissions and making sure that I can pay rent. It just wouldn’t be fair to try and balance a relationship. I wouldn’t be able to dedicate enough time. It would end badly. So it’s better off that I don’t.”

Fallon’s gold eyes watched you. They reminded you of Viktor’s a bit, but hers were missing the honey tones. Either way, they didn’t seem to miss a thing.

“You’re hiding something,” she said plainly, “what is it?”

You shook your head. “I’m not involving anyone in my life drama.”

“I’m your friend, you can trust me. I want to help if I can.”

“I know exactly the kind of help I need. - Trust me, I’m already dealing with it.”

“You don’t have to carry this burden alone.” Fallon reached over and touched your arm, staring at you with nauseatingly intense sincerity.

Finally, you sighed, leaned forward in the booth - and whispered to her the whole dirty truth.

____________________________________________________

TAG LIST

@starmansolar @motheroffae @vintagehellfire @seaweedbumblebee @21-princess @starriekaede @local-mr-frog @tspmovro @hexhoess @shushjayvik

[purplesimmer455]

Meanwhile, Piper and her fiancée Cam have moved into a one bedroom apartment in San Sequoia. It's a bit smaller than their last place, which was a one bedroom in a shared two story house with a garden but its spacious and beautiful. Plus, they have a decent backyard to do some gardening and yoga and just relax during warm weather. It's a bit more expensive too, but Cam's getting paid well at the engineering firm she's interning at and Piper sells a lot of her paintings so they make it work.

Now, Piper stands by the easel in her and Cam's room, and lets her thoughts drift as she moves her paintbrush across the canvas. Although she's still exhausted from the move, she's so happy to have her own place with Cam. She imagines having movie nights with her and Cam's friends in the living room, having their family members stay over, and maybe having their first baby here. She smiles as she imagines a toddler with her hair and eyes and Cam's smile and nose walking around the apartment and filling it with noise and laughter.

Piper’s snapped out of her thoughts as she hears the front door open. She hears Cam call out that she's home and a second later, she appears in the room, smiling at Piper. "Hey baby, how was work?" Piper asks. "Good, how's your painting going?" Cam asks, coming over to kiss the back of Piper's neck before standing beside her to eye the canvas. "Good too, I think I was in a cats mood." Piper says, gesturing to the painting as Cam laughs. "I can see that. Okay, I'm going to get dinner started." She says and Piper nods. "Sure, I'll just wrap this up and join you." She says. "Maybe after dinner, we could woohoo. I mean we have a whole apartment to ourselves and I haven't woohooed you on the kitchen counters yet." Cam adds and Piper blushes. "Wow, okay Kang. But I'd like that too." She adds with a grin, and Cam kisses her cheek and heads back out to the living room.

Also, I had Piper try the new tarot card option and she got this card. I'm like well, okay I guess I can have her brag about her possessions. I wonder what she did to get this moodlet? Maybe cause I used money cheats to decorate the apartment or used freerealestate on. 👀😅

[theswarmsarchives]

KAREN (DIALTOWN) DRABBLE!!

Karen loved when she was able to paint near Norm’s shack. There were plenty of different subjects to choose from; the multitude of greenery, the lakes scattered throughout the forest, even a few animals on occasion. Even a few wild horses popped up from time to time. She kept her distance from them, of course, but she couldn’t help the excitement that popped into her mind when she saw them. Today, she was in the spot where she was fairly certain the horses showed up from. She saw a few tracks left behind, faint but obviously the animal she was looking for. Well, more like the animal she was hoping showed up.

She set up her easel, took out a few paints and grabbed a set of paint brushes out of her bag. Birds chirped in the distance, setting her focus into different directions but she knew the moment she started painting it would fade into the background. Just some noise that blended in with the others, much like her art’s colors did in the end. A gentle sigh left her, she picked up a paintbrush and carefully dipped it’s end into a delightful shade of green. She loved and hated how when she worked with green the thought of Gingi soon followed. She had grown quite fond of the cryptid at some point. She set off painting. Brush, back into paint, brush some more, rinse off in water, choose a different color, repeat.

She was finally done by the time the sun was setting, mixing the sky into a beautiful gradient of yellows, oranges, reds and pinks. The snapping of a twig behind her caused her to turn around, a quiet gasp falling out of her before she could think to stay quiet. There, in the path where she had been painting, stood a horse. It’s silvery, gray coat looked as though someone had splattered ink onto it but that paired well with the whirring engine it has for a head. It looked at her for a moment before galloping off into the distance, the humming from it’s head lingering for a moment before fading away as it grew more distant. Karen’s mind raced in joy, her hands were moving before she could tell them too. Fists waved around in wild, frantic movements as she tried to shake off the energy from her excitement. Rotary-christ, she loved it out here.

(oh and this was requested by @vincentbeloved!!! hope i did your idea justice little bro :3)

[madamemachikonew]

2, 7, 23, and 34 for Theta

(Or all of them, but that both feels like too much and some of them are pretty obvious)

2. what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

He listens to pretty much anything that he can stick on as background noise without distracting him from working. But if he's in the mood for moping Howl's Moving Castle style, then it would be to 'Hab' Mir's Gelobt' (aka the final trio) from Der Rosenkavalier by Richard Strauss. It's the culmination of a love triangle.

If I had to associate a song with him in terms of what reminds me of him, it would be Count Grassi's Passage Over Piedmont by The Divine Comedy. I'd love to write a one shot of him based on this song, as I could imagine him feeling truly free in a hot air balloon and happily tossing the picnic basket over the side to gain more height. 'If I were to die, then let it be in summertime, in a manner of my own choosing...'

7. favourite animal? Why?

The way I unhesitatingly said 'frog spawn'. The whole life cycle of a frog is the closest he can get to watching cells divide in real time, as well as them being an evolutionary microcosm. He loves to watch tiny gelatinous blobs turn into wriggly waterborne life forms, who then eventually sprout legs and flee to land. And freedom.

23. how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

Average singing voice. Neither particularly sweet nor tone deaf. I kind of imagine his speaking voice to be reminiscent of a young Jude Law. Not quite as well-spoken as his Bosie Douglas but not quite as Londoner as his Gigolo Joe.

34. how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are

Indolent renaissance man.

A few bonus ones (I've tried to pick the least obvious ones though some of the questions made me a little sad for him like how did he spend childhood summers and will he ever go home)

are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

Dark navy-teal blue, the kind reminiscent of old Swedish palaces. Basically this colour. He often wears his signature velvet frock coat in this colour, highlighted with embroidery in silver thread.

3. weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

Length of pipe, spanner, violin, wine bottle, monkey wrench, easel, welding torch...basically whatever he can get his hands on, since he doesn't customarily carry a weapon. He is skilled with a rapier, but that's just for fun. He generally doesn't enjoy fighting.

12. how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

Officially his first chapter was published on 23rd July. But for some reason I keep gravitating back to 25th May as his birthday. So it's that, I guess. Birthdays are bittersweet because it isn't really a birthday in the traditional or biological sense. He doesn't celebrate them, since he never expects anyone to remember them, plus they're slightly meaningless amidst the segments. Consequently he will feel quite touched if someone goes to the trouble of remembering. But he takes a quiet pleasure in the fact that it's his and not Dottore's.

22. do they sleep well at night?

He is very nocturnal, but not through insomnia, rather it's his most productive time of the day. It's easier to concentrate. But if he goes to sleep, he sleeps soundly for the most part.

30. do they smell like anything notable?

Citrus cologne masking either engine oil or linseed oil depending on whether he's been painting or engineering. And cigarettes.

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Smooth Sailing

Scott put the cool bag down with a groan and a thud he hoped no one else heard. Their grandmother had outdone herself, as usual. He glanced around. None of his brothers were in sight. No one would know if he peeked, or had a taste.

He barely touched the zipper when-,

“Don’t even think about it.”

Gordon appeared from behind the sail. Scott snatched back his hand. No doubt his brother had been checking the boat over given it had been a while since they’d taken it out. It was unlike Gordon to be a stickler for the rules though. Then the younger man winked.

“Unless you’re planning to share.”

Scott grinned, slipped a hand in, and came out with his prize: a cookie for each of them. They ate quickly, then Scott stored the bag properly before dropping back to the beach to wait for the others.

John didn’t leave them waiting long. Gordon burst out laughing when he saw the long-sleeved shirt and wide hat John was sporting.

“You’re gonna boil.”

“Better than being a lobster,” John muttered. He and Gordon had always been the most likely to burn. But the water loving Tracy had build up a tan and a tolerance after years of being out in the elements and living on a tropical island. John, however, only had to look at the sun to go bright red.

Gordon had a retort ready but Scott shook his head. He wanted to be out on the water before the arguments started, otherwise John would just refuse to come.

Virgil, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?” Gordon complained after twenty minutes. “We’re going to miss the tide if he doesn’t hurry up. He better not be trying to bring his entire easel.”

“He won’t,” Scott said soothingly, shielding his eyes as he stared up the beach. “There he is.”

“What is he bringing?” John asked in amazement.

Scott only shook his head. There was a heavy bag hanging from each shoulder as Virgil staggered towards them. Scott went to help, hearing a familiar clink from the bag he took.

“Grandma,” Virgil panted as he finally reached the water line, dropping his remaining bag and collapsing onto the sand. “Apparently we needed more.”

Scott looked in the bag he was carrying. Bottles of water and soda greeted him, but he rummaged a bit and found the beer at the bottom.

“Nicely done,” he said. No doubt Virgil had distracted her while he slipped those in.

Scott passed the bags to John and Gordon while he hauled Virgil up from the sand.

Now they were all here, there was no reason to delay. Still, Scott found himself hesitating, standing on the beach as he looked back at the house.

“What if-,”

“Nope,” John said firmly. He and Virgil both took an arm and dragged Scott onto the boat. Gordon started the engine before Scott had the time to protest.

For half an hour or so, they didn’t speak. They were used to working together and all knew what they needed to do. Gordon cut the engine once they were far enough out and, seamlessly, they got the sail up and were soon drifting towards a good spot.

It took a while for Gordon to be happy, but eventually they stowed the sail, and the relaxation properly began.

John found the shady spot, ditching his hat and stretching out his long legs. He pulled a book from his bag, reached for a beer, and settled back with a small smile on his face. Gordon sniggered but didn’t say anything. They all knew this was paradise for John.

“You’re sure Alan didn’t mind?” Scott couldn’t help but ask. Gordon shook his head.

“Sure. He was desperate to finish the last of the training up on Five so he could be home next week. Apparently hanging out with TinTin is more important than hanging out with us these days.”

“Don’t worry,” Virgil added, prodding Scott with his toe. He, too, had made himself comfortable. He’d slipped out of his shirt, shades on, and propped himself up against the side, sketchbook already balanced on his knee, one pencil in his hand and another tucked behind his ear.

“We asked him,” he continued, “repeatedly. The entire time we were planning the trip.”

“But what if we get a call-,”

“Scott!” Three voices said in unison, and he held up his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. He’d agreed to this, after all, and it was supposed to be a chance for them to relax. Instead, he looked towards the cool bags.

“Is it lunchtime yet, then? I’m starving.”

No one bothered answering him. Gordon stood up, pulling off his shirt and kicking off his flipflops.

“Laters.”

He dived smoothly over the side of the boat. Propping his elbows on the side, Scott watched his brother swim for a few moments, before deciding to join him.

He soon forgot about the cares and worries that had been hanging over him since operations started. They pulled the snorkels out and he spent a fun hour with Gordon, exploring the area around the boat.

By that time, he really was starving, and signalled to Gordon he was going back. Gordon accompanied him (apparently it really was lunchtime this time, not just Scott’s stomach trying to convince him of that). Pulling himself back onboard, Scott smiled at the scene.

John was exactly where they’d left him, engrossed in his book. He didn’t look like he’d moved this entire time and, knowing his brother, he hadn’t.

Virgil, however, had. His sketchbook had been placed carefully to one side. The man himself was stretched out on the deck, his rhythmic breathing giving away Virgil was taking the chance for a nap.

Scott smiled, flicking a towel lightly over himself but knowing the sun would dry him in moments. John didn’t look up, but reached into the bag by his side with one hand and passed over a bottle of water without taking his eyes off his book.

Scott had downed it – not realising how thirsty he was – by the time Gordon had climbed aboard. He had his elbows propped on the side, staring out to sea, when he heard a yelp behind him.

He looked round. He really didn’t need to, knowing exactly what he’d see, but he did it anyway. Sure enough, Gordon had shaken himself off like a dog, while standing over the no-longer-snoozing Virgil.

Virgil raised a hand to lift his shades, trying to glare up at Gordon but finding the sun was in his eyes. His squint was less impressive and Gordon chuckled even as he went to get a drink for himself.

“You suck,” Virgil complained, running a hand down his chest to try and get the water off.

“You’ll be dry in two minutes,” Scott assured him, but Virgil didn’t look comforted by the thought.

Scott decided to change tack. “C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

He disposed of his bottle and moved across the deck. John stretched, climbing to his feet, and putting his book with Virgil’s sketchpad. He was the only person Scott knew that still insisted on finding paperbacks when he was home – although thankfully didn’t moan about digital the rest of the time. Three wasn’t big enough to transport the amount of reading material John could get through during quiet times.

“How much has Grandma sent us with?” John asked as they lifted the cool bag out from where Scott had stored it.

“Two cookies less than she thinks,” Gordon muttered as he passed them.

Scott smirked but thankfully John didn’t hear – they’d never hear the end of it if their brothers found out they’d already dipped into the snacks. Then again, there was no telling what they’d been doing while Scott and Gordon had been in the water. John may have just looked like he hadn’t moved…

“Virgil!” It was half-yelp, half-shout.

Scott and John both turned.

“Virg-,” Scott began, but he honestly didn’t know what he was going to say. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Virgil had made it to his feet. He’d caught Gordon off-guard, going in low and catching him around the mid-riff before straightening up, Gordon over his shoulder.

“Put me down!”

“Okay,” Virgil said cheerfully. He took two quick steps towards the side of the boat, already struggling slightly to hold on to his prisoner with Gordon’s squirming.

“No- no, don’t!” It was only a half-hearted protest though; Gordon was already laughing as Virgil did as he was asked, dropping his brother.

Right over the side of the boat.

Gordon landed with an almighty splash, a far cry from his smooth dive earlier. Scott just chuckled, continuing to busy himself with getting lunch out.

“There will be payback,” a voice called from the water, but Virgil didn’t look concerned as he settled down in a spot closest to the food and started helping himself.

John shook his head fondly. He moved to the side and stretched out a hand. “Come on, fishie, before those two eat it all.”

“Wait, John-,” Scott was already moving forward. He knew exactly where this was going to go. He reached the side just as Gordon took John’s hand. But before he could move, Gordon had planted both feet against the hull and pulled.

Scott reached out, but he missed as John joined Gordon in the water with an almighty splash. Virgil gave a shout of laughter from behind him, rushing over to also peer over the side. Gordon was casually treading water when John spluttered his way to the surface.

“Rule one of any rescue, bro: check your footing,” Gordon said innocently. He was rewarded by a splash of water to the face before John swam for the steps. He climbed out, his long-sleeved shirt clinging to him, rivulets of water streaming from it.

John glanced down at himself, sighed, and peeled it off. Scott wordlessly handed him a towel and sunblock, turning away to hide his smirk. He was just in time to see Gordon climb out, and the silent high-five between him and Virgil.

Shaking his head fondly, Scott decided the safest thing to do was sit down and eat, before anything else got in the way of his food.

Gordon spent the next hour complaining he couldn’t go back in the water, but their grandmother’s rules from when they were children had lodged firmly in their minds even after all this time.

They played a few rounds of cards instead, John wiping the deck with them. When Virgil and Gordon decided to go diving, John refused, claiming he wanted to stay at a normal pressure level for a while, and Scott decided to keep him company.

Once the two were suited up and exploring the depths, Scott took out his datapad while John returned to his book. With a furtive glance at his brother, he opened the latest IR reports that he hadn’t had a chance to look through yet. He was still relaxing; it wasn’t like anyone would know…

Until a pretzel suddenly hit him on the shoulder. Scott looked up. John was still studying his book, but he glanced up, and flicked another treat at him.

“Stop it.”’

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Fine – hand it over.”

Scott quickly saved and closed the report, opening a random book as he handed the datapad over. John made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, pressed a few buttons, and handed it back.

Once he was sure his brother was reading again, Scott went back to the report. Or, at least, tried to. He couldn’t open it. He was locked out the files. He looked up again; there was a small smirk on John’s face even though he kept his focus on his book.

“Wanna play cards?” Scott said in a voice that certainly wasn’t a grumble, no matter what anyone said. John put down his book.

“Sure.”

They spent an easy couple of hours playing until Gordon and Virgil resurfaced. The rest of the afternoon was spent swimming, snorkelling, persuading John to come in, persuading Gordon to get out, and hanging out in a way they hadn’t done since International Rescue started.

As the sun started to go down, Virgil dived for his sketchpad. By the time he agreed that they could move, night had drawn in and Gordon needed the spotlights on to get back to the beach. But it was a journey they had all done plenty of times and it didn’t take long for them to get back and store the boat safely away.

Virgil and Gordon headed back towards the house, chatting quietly. John stopped, looking back across the ocean as the stars started to come out. For once, he wasn’t looking up.

“Okay?” Scott asked casually.

“Yeah,” John said, the smile obvious in his words. “It’s all good.”

As they followed their siblings back towards the house, Scott couldn’t agree more. It was all good.