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gothicpaperback · 10 days ago

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THE ART OF THE DEAL | harry castillo x you

{ part two: VALUATION ERRORS>>

wc: 6,7k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Harry Castillo x You | FALSE RELATIONSHIP

summary: you don’t believe in love. neither does he. that’s the only thing you agree on. after swearing off romance, you’ve built a quiet life in art preservation and avoiding anything resembling vulnerability. but when Harry Castillo, arrogant, infuriating, and stupidly rich, proposes you pretend to be his fiancée for the sake of getting his overbearing mother off his back, you’re thrown. but the money is good and with your detached views on romance and love, you make the perfect polished, commitment-free partner. It’s just a deal; cold, clean and temporary. but pretending to be in love with a man you can’t stand has a way of making you feel things you promised yourself you’d never feel again. especially when he starts looking at you like you're more than just a line item in a contract. And worst of all? You start looking back

the MC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely described physically aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: false relationship, mentions of materialists film, smut, enemies to lovers. i will add more tags as they become relevant.

THE ART OF THE DEAL | PART ONE | TERMS AND CONDITIONS

The restaurant is fairly quiet, the music playing in the back is dim. It's the kind of place that takes months to get into, but one mention of his name and his table for two is ready in an hour. It's a perfect setting for romance, for love

Except Harry Castillo doesn't believe in love.

Not at his age.

He couldn't, not after her.

Melissa. The girl he'd been slavishly devoted to his entire college experience. The one he overheard at a frat party months before graduation calling him pint-sized to a group of tittering girls.

"But the sex is decent and he's loaded, so I'll put up with him."

Put up with him. Like he was an annoying pet. He broke up with her that night, tears in his eyes, a hole in his heart and the engagement ring from his mother still in his pocket.

When he told his younger brother the next morning over coffee at his apartment he'd just shrugged.

"That's how it is for guys like us."

And that was supposed to be a comfort? How?

And as his date, a thirty year old art curator sits across from him now, rambling on about the things she'd seen recently at work, the people she'd talked to, the daily minutia of her life, Harry finds his attention drifting.

Not to anyone in particular, that isn't his way of operating. He'd always been a one woman man his whole life. Relentlessly monogamous. But he's bored, the conversation manufactured as if she's reading from cue cards.

His mind drifts to the kitchen with Lucy, the conversation, the admittance that he didn't think he was capable of love.

"You will. It'll be easy," Lucy had said.

This doesn't feel easy. But then again what did Lucy know? She didn't even know what she wanted. He shifts in his seat when he hears his name being gently cooed by the girl across from him.

"Pardon?"

She fingers the stem of her wine glass anxiously. She's clearly worried she's doing something wrong.

"I asked if you've been using Adore for long?"

"I've never actually used a dating service before," Harry replies politely. "You're my first."

Her cheeks tinge pink, eyes downcast, the very picture of demure supplication.

"Hopefully your last," she says with a gentle smile.

She's very soft. Everything from the fabric of her clothing to her voice is soft.

He offers a low chuckle, a rich sound. He knows that he's a catch, a proclaimed "unicorn" from his matchmaker at Adore. He knows the looks he gets aren't just for looks, but for his sizeable bank account.

And his mother has been very firm. She wants him to marry and he hates to disappoint her.

"You're almost fifty, Harry. It's inappropriate to be single at this age."

The woman across from him is traditionally beautiful, but what woman isn't at thirty? She has smooth unblemished skin, light voice. Botox at the forehead, lips plump from injections.

It's all tastefully done but what remains is nothing of true interest, nothing that sets her apart from the millions of women he sees in New York every day.

But she's smart, she's accomplished, she comes from money, she'd understand his world.

"Would you like a second date?" He asks as he walks her to her front door later that night.

His driver is idling at the curb, keeping the car warm against the New York autumn chill.

She beams at him, eyes sparkling.

"I would love that."

"He's perfect."

"No one is perfect, Gemma,” you remind her gently. Everything you do with Gemma is gentle because she's a gentle creature, long limbed, big dark blue eyes, auburn hair, like a doe come to life. "He's just a man."

"A perfect man," she swoons, coming to stand opposite your desk. "Rich, six feet, amazing hair and body. Smart, kind."

"And he's straight?"

"Ha ha."

You smirk before going back to photographing the small miniature portrait in front of you on the desk. A new acquisition, a piece from the 1700's. A coup for the gallery.

As the art preserver here at The Chapel Gallery you work in the back rooms of the gallery, in a part of the building the visitors never see. Back here the light is colder, whiter, and everything smells faintly of varnish, aging wood, and linen.

The floor is concrete, scuffed from decades of furniture being dragged across it. You’ve stopped noticing. There’s a tall window, but it’s been treated with a UV filter that dulls the sun to a diffused gray-blue haze. Still, it’s enough.

You like the quiet of it. The way it catches in the dust floating over a stretched canvas. The hush. Your own breathing. The gentle hum of the fume extractor overhead.

Gemma is the exception. Bouncy, sweet, colorful. You like her in your space. Gemma showed up on her first day in heels too loud for the old gallery floors, holding a latte and a dozen questions about framing protocols, and you liked her immediately for admitting she could never do your job. There was respect in her voice when she said it.

You'd bonded immediately over a love of Henry Ossawa Tanner and ethnical restoration. You moved quickly to lunches together, and then drinks after work and then a casual friendship that you appreciate in a city that feels cold. She loves to visit you in this space bringing coffee or baked goods, the two of you talking about everything from Rembrandt to The Real Housewives.

And now she stands in front of you, phone in hand showing you a picture from what you can only assume is Google.

"Isn't he handsome?"

He looks like any other rich guy to you. They all start to blend into a mix of fancy watches and stiff hair after a while.

"Sure."

Your tools rest in their tray; scalpels in their tray, cotton swabs in jars, solvents labeled in your handwriting. Everything with its place. Everything under control. The paintings arrive with their wounds and histories, and you restore them with a loving hand.

Gemma doesn’t interrupt, not exactly, but her presence changes the air. She’s lighter, glossier somehow. You hear the quick staccato of her heels before you see her. Always rehearsing the next exhibit, the next acquisition, the next donor she’ll have to charm.

Her voice echoes through the storage corridor when she’s on a call, naming names you don’t recognize. Its collectors, old professors, gallery patrons who write checks large enough to get their opinions framed.

You prefer the paintings because they don’t perform. They don’t flatter. They don’t lie about what time has done to them.

Sometimes she asks what you think of a piece. You don’t always answer. When you do, she listens in that serious way of hers, her lips slightly parted, like she's memorizing the shape of your opinion even if she’s already decided on hers. It works, mostly. You restore. She sells and curates.

You move behind the canvas while she moves in front of it.

"What does he do?"

"Private equity."

You hold in a groan. He's just like every other guy she's dated. All rich, all handsome, all in finance and all the most boring men on the planet. You can feel her eyes still on you and you know what she's going to say before she says it. You brace yourself.

"When are you going to try dating again?"

"Never."

Your sweet, hopelessly optimistic co-worker leans on your work table, big eyes sad. "The divorce was six years ago. When are you going to try again?"

"When men stop being assholes so..." you put on a faux pondering look, "never?"

She giggles, a bit nervous about her date, a bit tickled by your seriousness. "Don't you miss sex?"

You look over at her innocent face, amused. You're only a few years older than her but you feel like you've lived a lifetime in comparison.

"I have sex, Gem. Sex isn't the issue. It's living with a man that doesn't appeal to me. And I'm not gay, though I wish I was, so romance isn't really an option anymore."

You weren't always this way when it came to love. But it was a classic case of Boy meets girl. Girl falls for boy. Boy and girl get married. Boy cheats. Boy gets girl new pregnant. Girl moves on.

You wish it wasn't such a fucking cliché.

You think of you phone in your pocket. The message from earlier. You scowl. Gemma's phone beeps and she swipes to open the message, her face breaking into a beam.

"He's here," she says, going on her tiptoes and bouncing. "He's coming down here to get me! You can see him!"

She looks completely elated and there's a small, secret part of you that misses that. The excitement of a first date. Just then a gurgle sounds and she gets a strange look on her face, blanching before placing a palm over her stomach.

"Oh fuck."

Gemma has what she calls a reactive stomach. Which basically means that she has to aggressively empty her bowels when she gets anxious.

"I'll tell him you're freshening up," you tell her, making a shooing motion. She casts you a thankful look before rushing off to the loo.

You shake your head, mouth curled into a smile. She is ridiculous at times but you really do adore her. You go back to photographing the miniature portrait, excited to get to work on bringing the original color back from underneath all that grime.

The sound of footsteps grabs your attention. You glance up to see a tall man with dark wave hair that curls under his ears and large expressive eyes. He's dressed well and in one arm holds a large bouquet of pale yellow roses.

"Hello."

He smiles politely at you, plump lips curling under a perfectly manicured beard.

Harry Castillo.

"Gemma just went to freshen up," you tell him with a motion to one of the desk chairs. "She'll be back any second."

"Great."

He doesn't move to the chair. Instead he moves deeper into your workroom, eyes casting from one piece to the next. He places the bouquet onto one of the empty tables before surveying the exhibit you just finished restoring.

He stops in front of a small, clay pot, clearly taken with it. Despite it being behind protected glass you wince when his face nears it.

"Do you mind stepping back from the artifacts? Everything here is incredibly delicate."

Harry nods unbothered, hands behind his back. "Understood."

He finds himself intrigued by what you're photographing with such focus. His legs carry him to the side of your desk. You're so invested in the task at hand you don't even hear him near.

"Rosalba Carriera."

You almost drop the camera. "What?"

"That's a Rosalba Carriera isn't it?" Harry looks puzzled. "I'm sure of it. My family owns several."

You hold in a scoff of disgust. Of course his family would buy up art and keep it for themselves. You stare over your shoulder at him, your expression cold. Men like this make you want to scream. Money, looks, arrogance. He has it all in spades.

"I love pastel painting," Harry continues, thrown off by your muted response.

He thought you'd warm to him and his art knowledge. He's been told he's charismatic, but the longer you derisively stare at him the more he's concerned he's been lied to all his life. You're like a cat; back arched, claws extended. Everything about you screams back off and so he does, eyes trained on yours.

"Yes," you finally offer when he stands on the opposite side of your workspace. "It is a Rosalba Carriera. One of her earliest."

Harry can see that the entire portrait is grimy with age. The edges torn in spots. He can't imagine taking something like that and making it beautiful again.

"Restoration and preservation seems like such tedious work," Harry hums.

He winces when he sees your jaw tic. He said the wrong thing. Fuck. Tedious wasn't the word he wanted to use. He'd meant labor intensive and exhausting with having so many hours spent over such detailed pieces.

But he feels out of his element, trying to appear in control of the conversation. But the way your eyes dig into him has him feeling exposed.

You don't even lower your camera when you reply.

"No more tedious than telling rich people how to spend their money."

That's an arrow to the gut. Despite being good at his job there is always the lingering thought that what he does is frivolous. That all the money in the world can't make him a good person.

He can change his legs, his clothes, his home, but at the end of the day he's still that awkward boy overhearing his girlfriend saying she put up with him.

You put him back there, back to the party that smelled of stale beer and hairspray. The night his life changed, where he changed, where he saw the ugliness in perfection.

And for that, he immediately dislikes you.

He frowns, irritated by this serious woman behind the desk and the way she turns her attention back to the portrait, as if he's nothing, as if he's not even good enough to glance at.

You want him gone. He wants to be gone.

"I'm ready," Gemma announces with a flustered laugh, coming around the corner in her flouncy dress. You and Harry exhale in relief.

"Great," Harry says extending an elbow. He can't wait to escape this suffocating space.

He can't wait to be away from you

Your apartment is on the smaller side, but it does its job. You make decent money. Not enough for some penthouse at the top of a skyscraper but it's got a cozy vibe, something that makes you feel settled. It's a third floor walk up and by the end of the day you're usually exhausted.

Above everything, you love that it's yours. You picked the paint, the decor, the pillows. Every part of this space is you.

Not him.

You toss your bag onto the hook by the door and start the toaster oven. You worked late and you have a real craving for that shitty lasagna from the supermarket that you grew up on.

You grab it from the freezer, Popping ventilation holes into the plastic and pop it into the oven. As you set the timer and heat you laugh to yourself when you realize how different your meal is from Gemma's this evening. She's probably throwing back lobster and farm to table veal.

With Harry.

What a stupid fucking name.

You can't help but be annoyed by his presence today, but if you're honest your bad mood started this morning at work after receiving a text from an old friend. Well, not a friend deal, more and emotional vulture.

I hope you're doing okay.

Huh?

I saw the pregnancy announcement on J's timeline. I'm so sorry hun xx

You hadn't even bothered writing back.

Harry had just been an additional irritant. Bad place bad time. Reminding you of the lifestyle Jarrod always aspired to.

You used to own a nice place outside Manhattan with your ex-husband Jarrod. A place with quiet neighbours and tall ceilings. A place that he furnished saying that he had an eye for home design.

He made decent money, but it was never enough. You both worked and he loved to live lavishly. When he found out about your secret account that has been the beginning of the end.

And the irony is his new wife doesn't even work. But she's young and shiny and maybe that's what he really wanted all along, he just wasn't honest about it.

But if you're honest you were checked out that last year of your marriage. How could you forgive him after his reaction to-

The ding of the oven catches your attention. You go to pull out the lasagna, hissing when the lip of the grill catches your wrist and the entire container goes toppling over onto the floor.

Sauce pools over the mushed meal of cheese and pasta. You swear, throwing the pan into the sink with a frustrated cry.

Today fucking sucks.

Dinner is delicious. Better than the last time Harry was here with Lucy. Or the time before with Bianca. Or the time before that with Gretchen. It's his favorite steak house and he always rents the back room out when he dines here. It's quieter that way, the service more dedicated.

Harry watches his date delicately eating her salad. But his mind is still back in that gallery basement, back on the woman who irritated him.

What was her problem?

Harry dabs at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. He speaks lightly, eyes down as he adjusts his cuff.

"I'm glad we could do this again."

"Me too."

Gemma stares at him with the practised air of a woman that was born beautiful, who went to an Ivy League, who comes from money and expects the best.

She's a good match. And he's so tired of looking.

"Tell me more about your job," he insists after another sip of wine.

"It's not very glamorous," she replies sweetly. Again that picture of demure innocence that's starting to grate on him. "Not like your job."

"I assure you private equity is pretty dull."

"I suppose it's similar to your job in that we both act as bridges between consumer and creator. But I've taken on some curating as well. That's my real passion. I love it because it's shaping what people experience when they walk into a gallery or museum."

"That doesn't sound boring."

Gemma looks delighted by that response, her eyes sweeping across his forearm, watching the gold ring he wears tapping against the glass.

"I guess not. Right now I’m working on curating a show on post-war artists who were overshadowed in their time, mostly women and artists of colour. It's the new piece my co-worker is photographing. She'll be busy pouring over that for the next few months."

Harry nods, not particularly interested in hearing more about you. But Gemma is on a roll, comfortable with the topic of you since nothing else is coming to mind.

“I'm worked about the funding though,” she says, delicately spearing a piece of endive, “my co-worker says not to worry about it, but I can’t help it. I’m a worrier.”

Harry nods, smiling with practised warmth. The kind of smile reserved for clients and vaguely familiar faces at weddings.

“Your co-worker seems…” he lets it drift, then adds almost idly, “focused.”

Gemma nods, chewing quietly. “She is. Especially when a new piece comes in. She’s been handling a lot lately. We lost funding for her assistant, so she’s doing everything herself.”

“That sounds unsustainable.”

“She doesn’t really complain,” Gemma says, smoothing her napkin. “But I think it’s been wearing on her. She hides it well.”

“She’s lucky to have you, then.”

Gemma smiles at that, pleased by the compliment, even if it’s only adjacent.

“She’d never say it, but I think she appreciates the support.”

Harry feigns a moment of thought, fingers absently trailing the stem of his wineglass. He can't agree. You seemed perfectly passionate enough to insult him the second after meeting him.

“She was a bit aloof,” he murmurs.

Gemma gives a small, quick laugh. “She’s not always like that. She’s very funny, very blunt. She just doesn’t warm up to people easily. Especially not people who act like...well....”

She catches herself and Harry lifts an eyebrow, amused. "Act like what?”

“Like they own the room.”

He smirks. “Guilty, I suppose.”

“No,” Gemma says quickly, almost apologetic. “Not you exactly. It's just, she’s careful with new people.”

Harry leans in slightly, voice low. “You two are close?”

Gemma lowers her eyes, just for a second. “We work well together. She’s so funny and so brilliant. And yeah, a little intense. But she makes the gallery better.”

He nods, slow and thoughtful. There’s something in the way Gemma speaks about you. Respect, yes, but also a sort of nervous admiration. He files that away.

“And she said not to worry?” he prompts gently, circling back.

“Mhm,” Gemma says, dabbing the corner of her mouth. “She always says that. About donors, pieces, my love life…” she trails off, laughing a little.

“Oh?”

“She doesn’t really believe in matchmaking,” Gemma adds. "Honestly, I don't think she believes in romance anymore full stop. But she told me that worrying will just make it worse and that I should enjoy the ride."

That doesn't surprise Harry in the least. The scraps of information presented to him about you paint the picture of a woman invested in her work. He saw no wedding ring and judging by the late hour he came to retrieve Gemma and you working away, he can only surmise that you likely don't have a partner waiting at home.

"But I worry about her sometimes. She hasn't dated anyone since her divorce and it's like she's given up."

Harry lifts his glass, his voice flat. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Gemma says, gently setting hers down. “I worry that she doesn’t believe in love anymore. I mean she told me as much. Since her divorce, it’s all been very cynical.”

That catches. Just for a second. Something shifts behind Harry’s expression. It's something small, almost imperceptible. But Gemma, watching, mistakes it for amusement.

“She calls dating a mutual performance of delusion,’” she adds with a grin, hoping he’ll laugh.

He doesn’t. Not really. He smiles, but it’s distant. His fingers are lightly tapping the base of his wine glass. “She said that?”

“Mhm.”

“And what do you think?”

Gemma blinks, caught off-guard. “I think she’s been hurt. And when people get hurt badly enough, they try to feel superior to what they’ve lost.”

Harry nods, but he’s not really nodding. His mind’s moved. You’re in it again, your sharp voice, the disinterest that wasn’t just rudeness, but something colder. Something he recognizes in himself under all the pretense.

“Interesting,” he murmurs.

Gemma brightens slightly, mistaking it for approval of her. “But I still believe in something lasting. I mean, why else go to all this trouble, right?”

He looks back at her, as though just now returning to the conversation.

“Right,” he says, softly.

As if just realizing they've devoted the last ten minutes of their date to talk about her co-worker, Gemma turns coy.

"But enough about that. Tell me, what is your family like? You have a brother, any other siblings?"

Harry smiles again, this time slower. Something has become very clear to him and like anyone working in private equity he knows he needs to conduct a little due diligence before moving forward.

"Everything was delicious, the most delicious steak I've ever eaten!"

It’s three days later and Gemma is regaling you with her latest Harry saga and you're fighting to show even passive interest. The two of you are having coffee at the cafe across from the gallery, your favorite place to relax.

"He kissed my hand. My hand! Like something out of a romance novel."

"Cute."

"And he was so sweet; he took me to Central Park and did the whole carriage ride thing."

"Fun."

"Didn't you think he was handsome?"

"Sure."

You offer the odd word, knowing that she's barely even registered you're there. To her you're just a willing audience

You barely registered the man if you're honest. He seemed haughty, walking around your workplace as if he owned it.

"And he really knows his artwork," Gemma continues. "I didn't expect someone in finance to be so knowledgeable about more obscure artists."

"Mhm."

You remember his tailored presence, the faint perfume of old money and self-assurance. The way he looked at you like not with interest, but a kind of calculation.

"He rented out the whole back of the restaurant. We had private servers, a special menu." She's practically floating.

"So he's new money," you say acerbically. It comes out more bitter than anticipated. "Old money is quiet, new money is loud."

"For your information he is old money," she says giving you a pointed look. "His parents started the family firm."

"So he didn't even earn his money or position himself."

"Obviously there's no winning with you today. Why are you being so shitty about him?"Gemma asks, cheeks pinking in irritation.

'I'm sorry," you answer, feeling embarrassed. "I've just never been really comfortable with people that have that kind of money. You are, you grew up like that and it's what you want in a partner."

Gemma is in a snit now. "So now I'm shallow?"

"Not at all," you insist truthfully. "If you were ugly, do you think Harry would have asked you for a second date?"

She's quiet and blushing further. "No. I guess not."

I nod. My point exactly.

"You are just two people coming together who want something from the other. It's as pure and honest as any part of a functional relationship."

The two of you are quiet, fingers tracing the lip of the plate from the scone the two of you shared.

"Well, I hope we go out again," Gemma says with a bright look. "I mean, if I'm honest, I didn't feel a huge connection, but he's so good on paper. Handsome, rich, tall, charming."

"But do you actually enjoy his company?"

Gemma looks at you as if you've sprouted a second head. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Gemma," you admonish, "you're always telling me about how you want to find love and be swept off your feet."

"I do," she insists, "I just think we have a choice in who we love and my choice should take certain things like looks and money into account. I’m thirty, I want kids, and I want stability."

You want to tell Gemma that she’s capable of having all of those things on her own if she really wants. But you know that it’s not just that. She wants the cache of a partner up the social ladder.

“Well, then I hope this works out for you,” you say sincerely. “And if not, trying to find someone who knows about art preservation.”

By the time you reach your apartment your stomach is rumbling. You skipped lunch to work on some of the finer detailing on the portrait. You think of the all night deli across the corner and its beckoning croissant sandwiches and make your decision quickly. You throw your sketchbook into your bag.

The night is chilly and you pull your jacket to your chin. In true New York fashion you don't smile at anyone, you keep your head down; you ignore the fact that you're still upset about the memory of Jarrod.

You duck into the deli, cheeks and nose chilled. The place isn't busy, not at this hour. A few night owls linger at some of the tables, tapping away on their laptops, a tired man behind the counter raising a nod your way over their phone.

"A number two and a coffee."

You take a number and a seat, bringing out your sketchbook as you wait. The music playing is rhythmic, quiet, but relaxing. You should thank the serious looking man behind the counter for his choice in tunes.

The door opens behind you as you debate the menu. You've been curious to try the avocado turkey on rye.

"Number two," you tell the man with confidence. "And a coke. Thanks."

"That’ll be $8.66."

You reach into your pocket for your wallet but an arm has come around you to place a fifty on the counter.

"I've got it."

The man at the till takes it without question but you whip around, shocked at the random act of kindness. Familiar brown eyes swim into view and your surprise turns to irritation.

"You."

Harry gives you a dimpled smile. "Good Evening.”

The man at the till tries to give Harry his change but he just shakes his head, a light lift of his hand and the man pockets his large tip. You know you're scowling at this pathetic display of charitable giving. It's easy to give away money when you have so much of it.

"I can afford my own dinner."

"I know," Harry says.

You think about paying the amount you were going to, but the man at the till is heading over to another customer to answer a question. Harry continues standing there looking at you with interest. That same calculating look you've seen in him before.

Fine. If this idiot wants to pay for your sandwich you'll let him, considering his appearance has now dampened your mood.

"Thanks," you mutter his way, taking a table number and slinking away into a nearby booth.

You open your sketchbook, dutifully ignoring the annoying Harry still at the counter, speaking with the man behind the till.

You're shocked when you hear the guy laugh, a low chuckle. You've been coming to this deli for months and you've never seen the guy crack a smile, let alone laugh.

Probably hoping for another big tip.

You hold in an eye roll and begin to sketch lightly. Your mind is driven to darkness today. Black spiky limbs reaching for the sky.

A can of soda is placed on the table by your elbow, accompanied by a low voice.

"Forgot this."

Fuck. You sigh lightly before taking the can from him, murmuring your thanks. When he lingers, watching you pop the tab you attempt to be cordial. This is Gemma's potential boyfriend after all.

"This doesn't really seem like your scene."

You're not looking at him when you speak. You're taking a sip of the fizzy drink, nose wrinkling a moment when the carbonation tickles your nose.

Harry stands next to the booth like an awkward waiter, holding an espresso on a saucer. He's dressed in slacks and a charcoal sweater, a tweed jacket over top. He went to an effort, not that you’d know because you're still not looking at him.

"I like sandwiches as much as the next guy."

What he doesn't tell you is that his driver was pulling up to your apartment building when he saw you exit, looking agitated. When you walked into the deli he thought it was a perfect excuse. Much better than his original idea of just showing up at your home with a proposition.

"Okay."

Harry looks amused, not offended by your cold reception. He was ready for it He watches you go back to your sketching, letting the moment stretch. You don't seem to be upset by his presence.

The sandwiches arrive, both placed unceremoniously onto the perpetually stained tabletop. Harry motions to the chair opposite you at the table.

"May I sit?"

You raise your head from your sketches, casting an eye around the fairly empty deli. "There are lots of open tables."

Harry looks amused, not offended by your cold reception. Almost like he was ready for it. "It's not a matter of space, more the company."

He watches you wrestle with this before lifting one arm in a casual shrug.

"Knock yourself out."

He suppresses a grin, sliding into the booth opposite you. He can't remember the last time - if ever - he was in a tiny eatery like this with its cheap menus and yellowed floors.

He watches you take a bite of the sandwich in one hand, the other still furiously sketching away. He watches you for several moments and eventually you feel those big brown eyes on your face and you glance up to see his sandwich untouched. Why is he here?

Harry glances down at the greasy sandwich, hiding a sneer. He wouldn't feed this to his worst enemy.

"Do you need something?"

You're looking at him with anticipation, as if you're scared of what he might say.

"I wanted to know if you'd be interested in an exchange of services," he says coolly. "A barter."

This is how he is in the boardroom; this is how he commands the people he works with. Blunt, forward, confident, charming when he needs to be, but ruthless he just as easily.

The pencil stills on the page, your nose wrinkling. "With you?"

"Mhm."

He watches the way you blink at him, head tilting slightly.

"I don't need financial advice and according to Gemma you could buy out the entire gallery, so I don't really get what you want from me."

You feel strangely trapped by him here in the booth. You could slide out and run but would you make it? As if sensing your unease, Harry shakes his head slowly. Fingers lifting from the table briefly. "You don't have to say yes."

"I probably won't."

He smothers a chuckle. Gemma was right, you are blunt and you are funny.

"My mother wants me to marry," Harry tells you. "The sooner the better."

"And you're a Mama's boy?"

He smirks. "Maybe a little."

"Gross."

You lean back to take a sip of coffee, eyes peering at him over the rim. "I thought you had a matchmaker?"

He shifts in his chair. "I do."

"So then why are you here talking to me?"

The eraser of your pencil taps on your sketchbook, tap tap tap. Harry shuffles, one arm over the back of his chair affecting casual interest.

"Because I want to hire you. I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend for the next several months because I believe it would be mutually beneficial to us both." Harry takes a sip of his espresso now, secretly amused when you drop the pencil.

"Excuse me?" You blink rapidly, lashes fluttering. "What the fuck are you talking about? You're dating Gemma."

"I went on two dates with her."

"She likes you."

"She likes my status, not that I begrudge her for it. But after two dates it’s clear that she wants a husband who will cherish her, who’s every waking thought will be about her. That's not me."

You're quiet because you know he's right. As much as Gemma liked his money, the things she liked most about her dates with Harry was the places he took her, the romance. How he held her hand on the carriage ride, how he listened about her job. Little, beautiful moments.

Harry takes advantage of your stunned response. "Gemma is a lovely girl, but not a good match for what I need."

"And you think I'm what you need? I don't even like you."

You stare at this man with his expensive watch and clothes and haircut. He even smells expensive.

"You're intelligent, confident, attractive," Harry lists these things not with the affection of a lover, but an appraiser at an auction.

"So is Gemma."

"Yes, but she's also looking for a true relationship, for love. And I can't give that to her."

"Why not?"

"I don't think I'm capable of it." He regards you with a tilt of his head. "I'm selfish, I like my job, I enjoy my own company, I'm driven and I'm not very romantic."

"You're very honest," you say, almost impressed. Almost.

"I find it saves time to be direct."

He watches your eyes survey him, appraising him like you would a piece of artwork needing to be restored.

"Gemma said you took her to dinner at Mastros. Then to central Park for a horse drawn carriage ride."

"I did."

"And that didn't seem romantic to you?"

"I know it was romantic," he replies.

"Then why do you say you're not romantic?"

Harry leans back in the booth, drink forgotten. He points at your open sketchbook. "You know how to draw. Are you DaVinci?"

"Obviously not. No."

"No," Harry agrees with a nod. "But you know enough about art from study. You know proportions without thinking about it. If someone random asked you to draw them a cow you could do it."

"Sure."

"It would mean nothing to you, but it would look like a nice image of a cow at the end. The person would walk away happy with their picture. But you wouldn’t feel attached to the sketch nor the process. It’s no different than how I approach romance. I know what it looks like, I’m happy to give it.”

You fall quiet, arms crossing. You've never thought about romance like that. So route.

"I've already spoken to Natalia at Adore," Harry continues. "She's setting Gemma up with two of my friends I talked into joining. They're younger and richer and hopeless romantics. Gemma will be just fine."

You don't know how you feel about that, the way he speaks about it makes it feel like something akin to prostitution.

"She wants romance and love along with status," Harry reminds you. "Both of those men fit the bill and either one of them would die to date a woman like her."

"But not you."

"No. Not me."

The eraser of your pencil taps on your sketchbook, tap tap tap. "What's in it for me?"

"You'd be paid very well."

He sees the hesitation in you now. The way your eyes jerk to the side as you digest his offer.

"How well?"

Harry takes a piece of paper folded from his pocket. He came prepared. He slides it across the table, biting back a grin when your eyes bulge open.

"You're not serious."

"I am."

Anyone else would have used computer paper, but not Harry Castillo. He used heavy card stock; the amount written in thick black ink with what you're sure was a fountain pen.

"How long would this charade go on for?"

"Six months."

"Six entire months?" You make a disgusted face. "No. No chance."

You go back to your sketching, the subject clearly closed for you. You toss the piece of paper towards him, forgotten so easily. Harry sucks in a sharp breath of air through his teeth. Rejection always stings.

"I'll double it."

Your eyes rise up to his. "What?"

"The amount on that paper. I'll double it."

Harry watches the way your eyes round, lips parting. He can't deny he enjoys shocking you. He watches you slump into the booth, your eyes darting back and forth between the table and the amount on the page.

"There must be other women you could ask."

"None that don't want love or commitment."' Harry takes another sip of his espresso before it clinks back into place on the small saucer. "Gemma told me your views on romance and that's when I knew this would work."

You sit for several moments debating the exorbitant sum on the paper and the year of your life you won't get back. But this kind of money is life changing.

You look at Harry, really looking at him. "Don't you want to find a girlfriend? A real one?"

"I thought I did," Harry shrugs. "I attempted it. But I don't think it's something I really need. And from what I gather, that isn't what you desire either."

He's right. But still you hesitate, fingering the thick paper.This could be a lucrative venture couldn't it? A chance to erase debt and start a life you've only dreamt about? And it's only a year. A year could go by fast.

But a year of secrecy, of false affection.

"Are we... Are we allowed to find company outside the fake relationship?"

He raises a brow. "Company?"

"Sex," you state flatly. "Unless you think this amount means I'll be your personal concubine?"

It's almost endearing watching his cheeks flush. "I don't need to pay for sex."

"Just for a fake girlfriend."

You watch the twitch at the corner of his mouth, a smirk. Touche.

"Sex is not required, of course. I would only request that company outside our arrangement be as discreet as possible."

"That seems fair."

Harry raises a brow, intrigued. "So you're agreeing?"

"I'm thinking about it."

Harry nods, standing and buttoning his dark blazer. You have a lot to think about and he doesn't want to rush you. He needs commitment not a lukewarm agreement. He slides over his business card.

"My number is on the back. I'll wait for your decision, whatever it may be."

He sticks his hand out like it's a business deal and you take it with a little smile, amused. You shake briefly and he stands the purpose of this meeting over. He gives you a dimpled smile.

“I hope to hear from you soon.”

He knows he will.

#harry castillo #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedrohubs #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #harry castillo the materialists #the materialists #harry castillo x you #harry castillo x female reader #harry castillo x reader

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mortalityplays · 1 year ago

Text

You need more free art.

I quit my job yesterday. Well, actually I quit my job eight weeks ago, but they finally released me yesterday for good behaviour. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do - but I do it for the wrong reasons. Working for major charities, you learn very fast that 'I want to make the world a better place' is a phrase you use to ask people for money, not to give them things. I was an ass-backwards fit for that world.

You need more free art. I need more free art. Everyone has felt the shift in our media landscape over the last ten years, away from access and towards nickel-and-diming the human experience. That lack of access is making life and culture worse for all of us, across the board. Paywalled news sites leave us less informed, attacks on the Internet Archive leave us less capable of research. Algorithmic social feeds and streaming walled gardens trap us inside smaller and smaller demographic bubbles, where we are increasingly only likely to encounter ideas that have been curated for us by marketing departments. Hasty efforts to resist AI commodification have only led to more artists locking their work away and calling for even more onerous systems of copyright law. This is not good for us.

We all need more free art.

So what am I going to do about it?

This is a question I have been asking myself for years. It's easy to sit here feeilng frustrated and thinking 'boy I hope SOMEONE does SOMETHING'. It's harder to take action in a world where I still have rent to pay. But hard doesn't mean impossible. Sometimes hard just means time-consuming, frustrating and slow. And sometimes it's worth doing something time-consuming, frustrating and slow because...I want to make the world a better place.

I'm going to do this:

1. From April 1st, I am relaunching as a freelance writer and editor.

This is the one that will (hopefully) help to pay the bills. I am a very good and experienced editor. I've worked on hollywood movies, I'm a member of the Chartered Institute of Editors and Proofreaders, I have clients who have been coming to me exclusively for more than 10 years.

Alongside bigger contract jobs, I am going to refocus on offering my services to small-press creators at a reduced rate. That means you, graphic novelists. That means you, itch and amazon writers. I want to help you develop your work, the same way I help large organisations. You can learn more about what an editor even does and what kind of pricing you can expect here.

2. I'm also going to start giving shit away. Like, constantly.

Next week I'm going to launch a new free shop. If you're unfamiliar, a free shop, giveaway shop, swap shop, etc. is an anarchist tradition of setting up a storefront where anyone can take what they like for no cost. Offline, this often means second-hand clothes, tools, furniture, food etc. Online, I am going to be giving away digital art. Copyright-free, no strings attached. It will (eventually) feature everything from print-res posters to zines, poems, tattoo flash, t-shirt designs and anything else we come up with.

Yes, I said 'we' - while this is a curated collection, it will feature work from a variety of credited and anonymous artists and activists, all of whom have agreed to give their work away to the public domain. Some of it will be practical, some of it will be political, but a lot of it will be decorative or personal. This is, in part, a response to recent difficulty I had finding somewhere that would print a one-off joke poster for a friend that featured the word 'faggot'. Enough. No middlemen - no explaining ourselves. Just print our shit and enjoy it.

I'm very, very excited about this project. I'll have more to say about it closer to the launch, but you can expect it to go live on March 27th.

2.2 I forgot to mention the ACTUAL LAUNCH GIVEAWAY

To celebrate my launch, I am going to be giving away a ton of physical prints. When I went looking for my old stock to see if it was worth setting a new (paid) storefront up, I realised I had way more old work in storage than I thought. This will be announced in its own right on Monday, but this is why I've been hinting you should go follow my Patreon.

On April 1st, I will pick 8 random patrons (from across all tiers including non-paying followers!) and mail them a bundle of assorted prints and postcards. The prize pool includes A3 and A4 posters, packs of A6 postcards, and printed minicomics that I've previously sold for up to £12 each.

You don't have to be a paying subscriber to enter - this is strictly no-purchase necessary. It is purely and entirely a celebration of the concept of GIVING ART AWAY FOR FREE.

3. PORN, YOU PERVERTS

Because I still have to pay to stay alive, I am going to be subsidising all this free art with the introduction of Fuck You Fridays. Starting from March 29th, I will drop a new 18+ short story on the last Friday of every month, over on itch.io (yes I know my page is desolate right now, don't worry I'll get there).

The first edition, Go Fuck Yourself, is about, well - telling your boss where to stick it. Julia has had it with her millionaire man-child manager, and is just about ready to let him know what she really thinks. It's a short and steamy 5k words, with a gorgeous cover illustration by @taylor-titmouse, and you can pick it up for $3 starting from March 29th.

4. ANOTHER BIG SURPRISE

I'm keeping this one under wraps for now, but April 1st will also play host to one more (FREE) launch. If you've been following me for a long time, you might remember the other significance of this date (no not April Fool's day, though that is certainly thematically relevant to this entire effort). That's all I'll say right now. Watch this space.

tl;dr: I'm sick of paywalls and career ladders. I'm literally putting my money where my mouth is. More free art for everyone and I'm not kidding around!!!

#announcement #please reblog let's make this HAPPEN

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mrs-hwangh · 8 months ago

Text

a boxers heart.

chapter one

Kim Geonwoo x Fem!Reader

Summary: one day was enough to change your lifes forever. Geonwoo is your best friend, you help his mother with her coffee shop and became part of a legendary trio with Geonwoo and Woojin. However.. nothing will ever be the same again after the Smile Company entered your lifes.

wc: 2.1k

an: the story will follow the dramas events. Adjustments were made to include our character into the storyline.. other then that.. watch the two characters fall in love with each other ✨️

Enjoy

______________________________________________

He strikes again! Kim Geon-woo landed a fatal blow on Hong Woo-jins side! Sending him directly on the floor once more!

Will he stand up again just like he did earlier? It definetly does not look like this.

And three! two! one!

We have our winner! Kim Geon-woo won the tournament with an outstanding performance!

This year was truly something else. The pandemic hitting us out from the blue, causing for endless troubles.. These young men however proved us that the struggles we faced, still wanting to organize this grand show off, all of our hard work for making it work.. everything payed off!

We are proud to announce this years winner and to honor every other contestant who took part.

And let's not forget Hong Woo-jin! This finale was special because both of these young men went over their limits to decide the title of this years winner!

Now, have fun and enjoy your time!

Ladies and Gentleman, we'll hopefully meet again on the next years tournament!

The commentators praised the two while the cameraman focused on sharing close ups of the said fighters.

"He won! My Geonwoo won!"

His mothers melodic voice ringed through her small coffee shop, the small Samsung screen showing the broadcast.

"He's the best!"

You joined her cheering, engulfing her into a hug since she awaited you with open arms.

"I'm so proud of him!!"

His mother was the biggest sweetheart anyone could imagine. She truly loved her son and did everything in her power to ensure him a safer future.

You helped her once when she was cleaning up her store on her own.

Other then Geonwoo sometimes, she has no employees helping her to run the shop.. so you decided to offer your help.

It wasn't something you felt obliged to do, you just did it because you enjoyed helping others in general.

Ever since then, you decided to head over her shop to help her with everything, you didn't take money since you were payed well from another job you did sometimes.

With art.

Commissions payed you great.. this was more then enough for you to work for her for free.

"Do you want to head over? I can take over the shift until you return"

You offered but she was quick to decline.

"Thank you but I will stay here, what about you going to see him? I'm sure that it'd make him happy"

She offered you a warm smile.

... should I?

"Are you sure?"

His mother quikly nodded and pointed at the door.

"Enjoy his win together, make this day even more special as it already is!"

You were pushed out of the coffee shop with a gentle push.

She smiled at you as you waved her goodbye.

Now... where would he go after such a big win..

...

Time passed and you decided to just call him, finding him would be impossible otherwise.

'Hey y/n!'

"Congrats woo! You did it!!!"

'Thank you!'

You could hear his chuckle from the other side of the line, but there was another voice

'Hey who is that?'

The second voice was the one of a male, he had company..

"Am I interrupting right now...?"

'No, why? Did something happen?'

'Geonwoo who is this? Is this a girl??'

'Damnit Woojin!'

He whisper yelled that but you had to admit that it was funny.

"No, no don't worry everything is fine.. I just thought of meeting up with you to celebrate your win.. but I don't want to eh.."

'aaaa now I get why you asked me if you were interrupting earlier- No no, do not worry over this, I actually want to introduce you to someone! I'll send you our location, we'd be very happy to celebrate it together, with you!'

You could literally visually imagine his smile as he spoke. Your heart fluttered whenever he spoke.. whenever he smiled.. whenever he talked with you

He may be a boxer, but oh was he pure hearted. If politeness was a person, it'd be him. You need help? He's there. You need a shoulder to lean on? He'll stay by your side until the worst is over.

I'd love to meet him! I'll hurry over!!!

'Whoa whoa! That smil-'

Geonwoo hung up and you made your way to the location he had sent you.

They were eating. Perfect. You'd kill for a good meal now.

"Who was this?? Ohhh man you looked so happy!"

Geonwoo brought his hand to his forehead, resting it while he fought the urge of gifting him a second experience of their fight earlier today.

"A good friend of mine"

But Woojin didn't buy that.. not that easily.

"Yeah yeah.. let's believe that"

He smirked at him while taking the claw to turn the meat around.

Geonwoo was quick to snap it out of his hand.

"Not yet"

Woojin was left confused.

"... what? Hey I'm older, show me some respect"

"But they are not ready"

"I'm hungry."

"They need another minute. At least."

The hungry man wanted to say something but the doors bell interrupted his thoughts.

A girl entered the scene. She looked over the desks until her eyes met his.

"It's her.. from the call?"

Geonwoo nodded. He waved her over as he stood up to greet her and she sprinted towards him.

"Look who showed u-"

"Congrats to our champion!!!"

You jumped at him and hugged him real tight. He was taken aback but swung his arms around you immediately. He chuckled at your action and tightened his grip on you, spinning you around while thanking you. He put you on the ground again after the final spin and that was when you spotted the other man.

Wasn't he his opponent..?

"Let me introduce you to Woojin. Woojin, this is y/n and y/n this is Hong Woojin. We fought earlier at the arena"

You greeted him and complimented him on his fighting skills aswell.

"It's a pleasure to meet you y/n, and thank you"

Geonwoo and you sat down and looked at the meat.

"I think it's ready, you could turn it around no?"

Geonwoo took the claw again and turned the meat, leaving Woojin speechless.

"You disobeyed me when I asked you to do it!"

"It wasn't ready earlier"

"It was!"

"No"

"But-"

"It still needed some time, you see there is a me-"

"That's not fair!"

"It is"

"Okay, cut them now!"

"No"

"Why?!"

"They're not ready yet"

"They are!"

You sat there trying not to laugh, it was funny enough that that Woojin guy tried to make Geonwoo serve that meat while it was clearly not ready.

The trio sat there in silence until you spoke up.

"I think you can cut it now"

"Oh yes it's perfect"

Geonwoo took the scissor and cut the pieces.

Woojin.. well he let his head fall dramatically on the desk, whining that his marine comrad ignored him.

"The world has got to be kidding me"

".. is honesty really that bad?"

Woojin shot his head up and looked at Geonwoos eyes.

"You know what. Let's move on."

You and Geonwoo erupted into a heartfilled laughter and Woojin joined you soon enough.

"Let's raise a toast to the best boxers!!"

"Thank you!"

Said the two in unison as everyone prepared their bites to enjoy their meal after the great day.

"How did you actually meet? Was it after the tournament or during it?"

You were curious, Geonwoo never mentioned Woojin before after all.

"He waited at the hall asking each of his victims to go and eat with him."

Woojin said, side eyeing your friend.

"I thought that he was fooling me at first but he was serious about that" "Ahh yes that sounds like him"

You looked over and lightly hit Geonwoos shoulder.

"I'm glad you asked him, he seems like a fun guy"

Woojin felt a sense of pride as your words left your mouth, grinning widely.

"How did you actually meet Geonwoo?

"Well.. I came across his mother's coffee shop and I help her out ever since then. He happened to enter the shop while I was refilling something. Which was kinda funny because he thought that I was stealing something and oh did he get mad"

"He? Mad??"

Woojin may have only met him today but that.. that guy was more then honest and polite throughout the whole day.. him and mad didn't feel right in the same sentence.

"Oh yes."

You stood up, took a stable stance and mimicked Geonwoos face.

"Who the hell are you?"

Geonwoos eyes widened. Your voice was lower, you did something with your face that did not look like him at all.

"It wasn't that ba-"

"Answer now or I'll call the police"

Woojin nearly choked on his glass of water when you tried to copy his voice.

"Okay but be honest! How would you've reacted if a stranger was roaming freely in your mothers shop?!"

Geonwoo stood up for his defense, attacking your sides while he tickled the hell out of you.

"Wait wait w- sto-op!"

Your laughter filled the place as you tried to free yourself of his attack.

"No."

"Geonwoo!"

He continued his merciless attack until you were both gasping for air. He because he couldn't get over his laughter and you because of the tickling.

"I am feeling like a third wheeler right now"

Woojin put a fake pout and you literally became breathless.

"Woo please-"

"Okay, you shall be forgiven"

"Thank you for your mercy, your majesty"

This is how the whole afternoon went by, you three bonding with each other, exchanging stories and experiences while the restaurants owner regretted their life's choices.

What nobody of you all knew was the sudden visitor.. a man dressed in a suit.. visiting Geonwoos mothers coffee shop to offer her a deal.

It seemed too good to be good, a startup company offering to help the ones in need?

"Thank you so much sir"

"She signed the paper and gave it to the man."

"I have to thank you miss"

"Woojin.. are these original?"

Geonwoo pointed at Woojins shoes, your gaze followed his finger as you spotted the said shoe.

But.. it does look fake.. no?

"Yes. 1.2 Million won"

Geonwoos eyes widened at this.

"What?! That's the rent of our coffee shop!"

Woojin chuckled and shook his head. Your friend looked at you in disbelief.

"Did you hear that??"

You nodded but waited for Woojin to say something..

"Bro.. these are fake"

Thank god.

Geonwoo was relieved upon hearing that.

"It's obvious if you look at the cap, it's shinier. The true ones don't.."

Their voices blended with your surroundings as you took in the scene.

Late night walks weren't rare but this one.. this was somehow special.

The two continued their talk until they realized that you were walking behind them.

"Hey y/n!"

They took a few steps back and swung their arms around you, holding you in their middle.

"You're so small.. we nearly lost you"

Woojin said and you jokingly punched him.

"I'm sorry Mt. Everest"

The three of you continued the chatter as you walked through the streets.

Woojin went to his home at some point leaving you with Geonwoo alone, on your way to the shop.

"Today was quite a handful huh"

You joked, but you had a point.

He won the match, he found a new friend, your trio got created and the restaurant owner now knows about the marines divisions.

"Haha yes.. thank you"

He turned to you, locking your gazes.

"You coming over after the match. It meant alot to me"

"Well.. you're my best friend after all, I'll always be there to support you"

Geonwoo was speechless but his smile was priceless.

"Now let us surprise your mother, I bet she's thrilled to congratulate you on your big day champ"

He nodded and you two arrived at the shop where his mother was. "My Geonwoo! You did it!!"

She sprinted to him and hugged him, really proud of her son. Her eyes then shifted to yours and a warms smile appeared on her face.

"Did you celebrate the win?"

"Yes!! The other fighter.. Hong Woojin was also with us. It was real fun!!"

"I'm glad! Now let's go home everybody"

You three closed the shop and made you way to the apartments.

A black car drove past you as you walked further into the street.

Geonwoo and you looked back at it but the plate was unknown to the both of you.

You turned around again, joining the topic his mother was talking about.

But little did you know that this day would change your life's forever.

#woo do hwan #kim geunwoo #hong woo jin #bloodhounds kdrama #bloodhounds #geonwoo x reader #dohwan x reader #woodohwan x reader #bloodhounds x reader

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canisalbus · 7 months ago

Text

Hi! A little life update.

At the end of October I wrote that I was deep in a depression spiral and due to unexpected occurrences I had been left with basically no income for several months. I had emptied my savings at that point and was feeling extremely stressed, sick and hopeless.

I just want to thank everyone who reached out and offered support or even looked up my ko-fi info and sent me a donation. It was an unfathomably kind thing to do and helped me tremendously. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I was at the end of my tether, I had 1,70€ in my bank account at that moment. I was sleeping four hours per night on average because my insomnia was so out of control, and had more or less stopped eating, after surviving on nothing but porridge, bread, apples and buttered pasta for close to a month. Things were kind of dire. No one has ever showed me that kind of unprompted generosity before, irl or online. Thinking that people I've never even met were willing to support me like that both warms my heart and makes me feel kind of guilty and undeserving. I'm not used to being treated like that. I hope I didn't make you feel pressured to get involved. It did genuinely help me put myself back together though. The next day I went and bought some essential groceries and getting to eat properly was a massive boost in terms of energy and mood. I'm doing a little better now. I finally managed to get the financial situation corrected, but it'll take months before my finances recover and I'll be able to go shopping without feeling paranoid about counting every cent and hating myself if I buy a small treat. I mentioned that my seven years old, well-served laptop is on it's last legs, so the remaining funds are going towards putting together a new PC, hopefully soon. I don't really have any product or extra content to offer you as a thank you for the ko-fi donations I received, but I hope it's at least nice to think that they're directly enabling me to continue making more art in the future.

I'm still struggling with intense anxiety every day, and it has caused me to develope some kind of impostor syndrome that is impacting my online presence negatively at the moment. I look at the things I try to draw and the asks I get, and feel like nothing I create, say or write is good enough or worth people's time and attention. I'm having hard time opening up like I used to, and I miss the interactions I used to have here, they were an immense source of inspiration and motivation to me. But I'm trying to work on that, and hoping that posting stuff will start to feel more natural again eventually. This got a little long, but thanks for reading! I hope life treats you well.

#life rambles

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bingbongsupremacy · 4 months ago

Note

Hey I saw your old post asking which fanfics you should do next. I know it didn’t win but could you please please please do “Tell Me You Love Me Again” with Eddie. Im in dire need of some good angst ❤️

Tell Me You Love Me Again

Sorry this took me so long to write! I have had some massive writer's block. Hopefully, this is okay!

Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie Munson x reader

Story Type: Angst

Warning: Y/N use, swearing, Eddie's a bit of a greedy ass ngl

Summary: You've been with Eddie since before he was famous. It used to be a loving relationship. As the years have passed, things have changed. Can you save the dying spark between you?

*Not Proof Read*

□□□□□□□

"Baby, you wanted to talk. Why are we just sitting here in silence?" Eddie asks with a grin. He casually flips through a music magazine, observing all of the new instruments for sale.

I take a deep breath. How do I even start this conversation? He's been so busy launching his band's new line of merch that I doubt this is a great time to talk about our relationship. Who knows when we'll have another opportunity? This is the first time I've been able to see him privately in weeks. I don't know how long I can keep harboring my frustrations.

"We do need to talk...here goes nothing." I sigh. "It's about our relationship."

Eddie pulls his eyes away from his magazine, his smile fading into a serious expression. "What about it?"

"I've been feeling very frustrated lately. I feel like you're never home, and I never get to see you anymore. I miss you." I reply honestly.

Eddie sets the magazine on top of the coffee table that separates us. "I know it's been busy lately, but it's great for us! Now I can take you anywhere you want to go. Name any place, and I can bring you there." Eddie's playful smile returns.

I let out a tired laugh. "Eddie, that's nice and all, but the problem is you don't have the time to take me anywhere I want to go. I just want you to dial it back a bit, please. Spend more time with me, and I'm sure Wayne would love it if you spent some time with him, too."

I'm not even sure if Eddie has time to call Wayne anymore. I might be the only one talking to him regularly.

"I spend plenty of time with Wayne." Eddie's expression is slightly offended.

"It's just the past year; you've rarely been back. Can't you take some time off? Cancel a few tour dates or reschedule some photoshoots?"

"I can't just abandon my career, Y/N. My band has worked so hard for this." Eddie argues. "It wouldn't be fair to the boys."

"What about what's fair to me, Eddie?" I let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm not asking you to abandon anything, Eddie. I just think you should prioritize our relationship a little more. We barely see each other anymore!" My heart pounds. "When you're not on tour, you're constantly doing promotional videos or photoshoots. We haven't gone on a date in almost a month."

My flurry of emotions has caused tears to prick the back of my eyes. Fuck, I can't cry right now.

Eddie's shoulders are tense. His usual animated and playful exterior is replaced with a frustrated and angry one. One I rarely see, especially not when talking to me.

"That's part of the job. I'm a fucking rockstar, Y/N. I can't exactly blow off the world tours and photoshoots. My label and manager expects me to get shit out quickly. You don't understand! The moment I stop making songs and producing new shit, the moment all of this, " He gestures around the room to all of his expensive nicknacks and furniture. "disappears. I'll become irrelevant. My band will become irrelevant. This is my life, Y/N. And you're going to need to learn to accept it."

My frown deepens. "Do you hear yourself? How can you not see how greedy you're becoming? What happened to just loving music? Loving the art of creating, no matter how many people heard. When did this all become about money?" I stand up from my spot on Eddie's couch, needing to put some distance between myself and the man. I avoid making eye contact with him, knowing if I do, I'll burst into tears.

This room suddenly feels so suffocating. "Is this really all you care about? How many shows you can sell out? How deep your pockets can get?"

"For fucks sake, Y/N." Eddie groans as he leans back against his recliner. His head hits the back of the seat, an annoyed expression flashing across his face. "You're being so fucking dramatic."

I shake my head. "This is not what I signed up for. You are not the man I signed up to be with."

Eddie stiffens. Hurt crosses his eyes. His face turns stoic as he looks me dead in the eye. A dark anger replaces his hurt. "Things change. People change. Obviously, I've changed. If you hate me so fucking much, why don't you get the fuck out and find someone new? Someone who better suits your lifestyle since you're not happy with me."

I freeze. My heart drops at his bitter words. He's never spoken to me like this before.

He's so different than the man I fell in love with all those years ago. Life seemed simpler in Hawkins. I'd work the night shift at The Hideout and he'd play with his band. I was able to see him regularly while he was still able to do what he loved. No massive world tours to separate us for months. No partying until early the next day. Just the two of us, supporting each other and doing what we loved.

I feel my cheeks heat from embarrassment and anger. He's right. He's changed, and it's obviously been for the worse. "You know what, you're right."

Eddie's eyes widen slightly in surprise, like he didn't think I'd agree.

"You don't want to work this out like an adult, so I'm going to leave. We're done, Eddie. I can't do this anymore. I deserve someone willing to set aside time for me. I shouldn't be the only one giving 100% to the relationship. I need someone who respects me and what I need. You can't give that to me." I grab my purse from the couch. I pause right before I reach the door. " Eddie, " I turn to look back at the man.

He doesn't meet my gaze. His eyes are trained on his locked hands. He looks like he's in disbelief.

"I hope you find what you're looking for. Just know that you'll never have enough money or fame to please yourself. Materialistic things can only bring you so much happiness. You'll suffer until you realize that. I just hope it isn't too late when you finally do."

With that, I leave the apartment. As soon as the door behind me clicks shut, the tears begin to fall. I lean against the wall near Eddie's door and wrap my arms around myself for some sort of support.

I wish he loved me enough to apologize. I wish he would come out here, tell me he was wrong, and that he was going to try to fix things.

I finally garner the strength to push away from Eddie's wall and make my way downstairs. With every step, I think of new things I wish Eddie would do.

When I take my last step out of the apartment building, disappointment settles in my chest as I realize none of my wishes came true.

Eddie's a rockstar. He'll never love me as much as he loves his lifestyle.

I was stupid to think he'd always be the man I fell in love with in Hawkins, Indiana.

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #x you #x female reader #stranger things x reader #xreader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #x yn #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 15 days ago

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Hey, loves. <3 Important stuff below.

If you've been considering commissioning a fic, now would be a great time to help out your friendly neighborhood writer.

Those of you who have been around a while have probably seen some pictures of my doggo Kuma and may remember that he is the inspiration for Bear in my series Dead of Winter. You may also remember that my beloved black lab Aldo (inspiration for Strider in the same series) passed away a few years ago unexpectedly at age 7. We are coming up on the 3rd anniversary of his passing, and my heart is still healing from that loss.

Unfortunately, last week, Kuma was diagnosed with lymphoma. I caught it about as early as you can in pets. He wasn't (and isn't) acting sick but I had noticed that his lymph nodes were all swollen. I am devastated by this diagnosis. Untreated, the prognosis is about 2-3 months. With treatment, we hope to keep him comfortable, energetic, and give us more time together, six months or hopefully much more. Luckily, he is in very good health otherwise and has responded and tolerated his first week of treatment really well. Here he is only 48 hrs after his first chemo infusion appreciating a nice jaunt through the woods and back to his usual energy level.

Obviously, veterinary treatment is expensive. We are pursuing a multi-drug protocol called COP that tends to have very good outcomes. I am starting a new job in August which will ease my financial concerns a bit, but for the next two months things will be tight and stressful. To make matters worse, my dumbass old vehicle JUST required two back to back repairs of about $1300 each, so the small amount of savings I had are pretty much gonnnnne.

If you've ever considered being a patron of mine and commissioning a fic, now would be a great time.

I know there are so many good causes out there—Relief for Gaza, ACLU, The Trevor Project, your local shelters for unhoused people and centers for LGBTQ+—so I understand if you can't sponsor a fic. A share and comment and like would be SO appreciated if you can't donate or commission something. I also am an artist and have been trying to get some shops up and running to sell some of the things I like to make to help pay for Kuma-bear's treatment. Mostly I have cute bird stickers, blank card sets with my bird art, and a couple prints available right now, but I am working on adding A LOT more goodies. I also do pet portrait commissions and single-strand hand embroidery. So, if you don't mind taking a peek at my page (mandyroseart.com) and buying a cute sticker for your laptop, Kuma and I would be forever grateful. You can also Venmo me @/mandyart if you want to drop a dollar or two. Or use my Kofi link. I'll have an Etsy shop coming soon, which I will share as soon as it's up. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. Kuma has been with me for a lot of my life, and I want to do everything I can to keep him happy and with good quality of life for as long as possible. This is hard to take after losing Aldo so young and feels like opening a barely closed wound. Kuma really is my "first-born" and right hand pup. So, thank you for even reading this far. And extra thanks if you help by commissioning or buying a little bird art. Sending kisses and hugs, babies. Much love <3 Mandy

#tw: pet illness #on personal things #tw: pet loss #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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botboots · 2 years ago

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Saw that your requests were open so what about TFP cons with an adorkable teen human reader? A really close friend (the emotional support bundle of joy™) that is really artistic, kind, understanding and just a pure cinnamon roll, what would be the bots reaction to the lil' human? Optimus, Ratchet,Bulkhead, Arcee, BB, and if you do the kids then the kids. If not the other bots, stay safe!

im back!! so sorry for the long ass wait, had so much going on in my life recently (graduating, going back home, etc.) but hopefully i'll be back to posting somewhat regularly! tysm for the continuous support :] love seeing the notifs pop up every day this is one of the first asks in my inbox (and i completely forgot that the prompt said reader was part of the cons... whoops) and i've wanted to get it done for a while now! have so many more to get through but will get them done eventually - this isn't the best but its cute <3 and you can 100% tell who my favs are lmao warnings: none word count: 939 (GN reader)

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Optimus:

he finds your outlook on things is a nice change of pace compared to the more pessimistic views that some members of the team can have at times

values your compassion greatly, often turning to you as a confidant over the time you’ve gotten to know each other. a mission went wrong and he’s putting all the blame on himself? you’re there to reassure him in a heartbeat, reminding him that he did his best and there’s always another chance; you keep him grounded

has an innate interest in art and writing - he used to be an archivist, after all

so he enjoys watching you indulge in your hobby, your excitement about it reminds him of his younger years of being a clerk at iacon when he would become giddy over a newfound archaic text

he’s very fond of you and makes sure you know it, taking note of the small things you like and getting you whatever little gift he can manage to find - genuinely thinks you’re cute and likes seeing you happy :]

Ratchet:

while it may have taken him a little longer than the others to warm up to you fully, he grew to start looking forward to your company (despite his his best efforts to hide it)

he appreciates your quiet company; you’re much less rambunctious than both the other humans and his own team - you complain a lot less too, probably one of his favorite qualities about you

like optimus, your bubbly attitude gives him a much needed break from the dreary duties that come with being the autobot medic

you often find yourselves working in tandem, with you sitting on the couch working on your newest project while he stands at his terminal typing away. occasionally you’ll walk over with a nervous smile, and with a roll of his optics he’ll lower a servo for you to climb into and lift you up onto the corner of the console, huffing when you chirp a thank you before the both of you quietly return to your tasks (he enjoys it, really)

while he’s not one to vent his frustrations to you, he’ll always be open to listen to you vent about yours. even if he doesn’t respond with much, he’ll offer logical solutions and observations for whatever issue you’re having

Bulkhead:

the big guy loves art, having been exposed to his fair share of it by miko, and is very encouraging when it comes to your projects

he might not get some of the nuances or meanings of the things you make, but he tries - oftentimes making you laugh a bit at the sheer amount he misses. it’s endearing though, and you appreciate the effort

too fidgety to sit and watch you do anything for too long, but he’ll offer to drive you to a vista for some inspiration while he does his usual scouting routes, miko tagging along of course. she’ll probably bring her sketchbook with her and sit next to you and draw, chattering the entire time while blasting some music from her ipod, offering you one of her earbuds

Arcee:

similar to ratchet she takes a while to get used to you, a little cold at first to your attempts at friendliness

she notices how happy you seem to make everyone else and eventually makes a legitimate pass at being friendly despite how awkward it feels

but with how eagerly you accept it she doesn’t feel as bad, sighing in relief as you immediately start filling her in on how much you’ve enjoyed your time with the autobots

she’s not much of a conversationalist (especially when it comes to humans) so your chattiness is almost a relief - not having to keep up fake interest and energy with someone puts her in a more comfortable position; especially since you’re not one to comment on it like others tend to

will sit and watch you work on whatever your newest project is, a comfortable silence shared between the two of you

rambles about random stuff from her past sometimes - you turn out to be one of the few people she trusts enough to mindlessly dump her thoughts to, both good and bad

Bumblebee:

one of the first to get to know you, overly excited about having a fresh face around

super curious when he sees you working on something, a barrage of questions translated from mechanical chirps and whirrs with the help (and annoyance) of ratchet

he’ll actually try and mimic some of your art on the walls of hidden ditches where he and rafael hang out, excitedly bringing you along to show off his latest work and buzzing happily when you praise it

will eventually, with your encouragement, try and make something original - he ends up finding it pretty soothing and an easier way to feel understood; communicating his feelings without words can be unsurprisingly helpful for someone who can’t use any of his own

you’ll spend hours hanging out and working on your stuff - he likes when you help him with his own art, adding your own brushstrokes to the concrete wall

he’ll let you sit up on his shoulder just to watch him make whatever he feels like making, or even just taking you on joyrides in the desert where he doesnt need to worry about anything going wrong

while it’s usually you, him and raf hanging out he does enjoy spending solo time with you - usually in silence or one-sided conversations, but you understand each other well enough without words

will also figure out what your favorite songs are and surprise you with them; he loves when you get all giddy about literally anything

#NO LONGER DEAD!!#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers fanfiction #tf x reader #optimus prime x reader #ratchet x reader #bulkhead x reader #bumblebee x reader #arcee x reader #tfp x reader #transformers x human reader #tfp ratchet x reader #tfp optimus x reader

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hoshinasblade · 1 year ago

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For real, the animator had ri have been a Hoshina loyalists. Cause no way he looks that bad. For a Narumi prompt it could be funny that he gets with someone that doesn't know him. Someone who doesn't believe he is the 1st division captain because they only see him as the "wet cat" version of himself. And we have Narumi losing his mind over the fact you don't believe him

(not sure where tumblr took my post again because i cant find it lol) the budget went to hoshina and his tight shirt and there was nothing left to animate narumi properly. anyway, this is such a cute and interesting prompt because because yes, he is losing his mind over you not believing he is the cool first division captain 😆

pairing: gen narumi x f!reader trigger warnings: narumi gen is a trigger warning himself, just super short because im not used to writing anything narumi-related yet. hopefully you don't get mad at me anon for not going exactly per the ask lol my brain is a mush right now, i'll try harder on my next fics

the rich man is here, shouted the kids from the hallway. you can hear their hurrying footsteps - excited little taps that in turn triggered your heartbeat to race as well. you shut your eyes, calming yourself down.

narumi gen is not exactly a rich man; the children in the orphanage just calls him that fondly. apparently he has been dropping by for years, way back when you weren't working as a teacher yet. the older orphans refer to him as nii-san.

narumi would bring toys snd snacks for the kids, and would spend time with them until the early evening before he has to say goodbye. last time, he played video games with everyone; he brought crayons and sketch boobs for his visit today, and within an hour, it was eerily quiet - the little girls and boys holding their pencils, drawing all sorts of things.

the youngest in your herd, a six-year old boy with a missing front tooth ran to you when he saw you by the door, showing you his drawing - a stick-man figure with a knife in its hand, and an animal beside it which you were not sure whether it's an oversized dog or a giraffe.

"it's a kaiju, and narumi nii-san is fighting it", the boy explained, and you patted him in the head. "he's a captain of his team, i'm gonna be like him when i grow up!"

you looked at narumi who is sitting on the floor, but he was already looking at you. you shifted your gaze. "this is so pretty, we should display it in the art wall", you suggested to the boy who grinned at you, clapping.

"you know that it's not a good thing to do, lying to kids, right?" the children had bid narumi goodbye just past 7pm, and although some of them cried, narumi was quick to promise he would be back next weekend. you were surprised, he used to only be here once a month.

"huh?" he responded to you with confusion. you walked him out the orphanage to the parking lot outside. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"look, i know you are trying to be nice. and i thank you for that. what you've done for these kids is more than anyone else have done for them. but telling them you're some guy who kills kaiju is wrong. and telling them they can be like you?" you scoffed.

narumi's mouth was wide open before he realized you have finished your speech. "but i am a guy who kills kaiju", he replied, his hand on his chest as if he is swearing on his life. "really, i'm not lying. i'm the captain of my team -"

"right, and you fight kaiju on the daily," you finished his sentence for him.

"yes, i am a real badass, i promise!" he exclaimed when he sensed you do not believe him in the slightest. it looks comical how he looks close to panicking over the fact that you are not buying whatever he's selling. he frowned at you, and you stared at him, the eye contact lasting for a few seconds.

maybe this guy is a con-artist and he makes his living manipulating people, you said to yourself. this would make a lot of sense considering you think he has the good looks to lure people in. narumi had flirted at you once or twice before - or you wish he was flirting and you were not just reading too much on his actions.

"you know if you meet my friends, they would tell you the truth," he suggested, his voice cheerful.

"why would i meet your friends?" you asked, equally confused.

"so they can tell you that i am the coolest captain of the anti-kaiju defense force. they would also tell you i am a good man and a dependable friend," narumi said, reciting maybe the contents of his curriculum vitae to you. is he in a job interview? you wanted to ask but didn't.

you sighed in defeat. "are your friends as exasperating as you are?" you asked in jest.

"come on, let me impress you", he told you with sincerity that is almost startling. you were not expecting him to sound so genuine, so adamant at proving himself to you.

the kids will have their dinner in a few minutes and you will be needed to help out. you gave narumi one last glance before strolling back to the orphanage. "i'm off on fridays", you said.

narumi's smile could have lighted the entire street.

#gen narumi #narumi gen #narumi gen x reader #gen narumi x reader #kaiju no.8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 #just warming up lol #i should definitely write more for him #im a real hoshina sympathizer but narumi has a special place in the void of my heart

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cokoweee · 5 months ago

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COKO- DLKJFKADHKFDAKFHADFDSFDSKJFDKLFDHAK

COKO.

Youuuuu magnificent artist you-

This update- .... THIS FRIGGIN' UPDATE-

LET'S BEGIN. First off- THIS IS GORGEOUS. It amazes me how uniform and clean your art can be- while also being whimsical and naturally flowy. The shades of purples just add the perfect touch of depth and life- And then the contrast of the gray with the characters and the white of the snow and smoke?- AMAZING.

Next.

Despite Donnie's brain becoming his worst enemy right now, he's still pushing past it to make sure Kendra's okay and not accidentally harming herself. Her being both drunk and sickly, he's making sure to keep an eye on her like a good boyfriend would.

With this exchange we also hear that Kendra's fever had come back hours ago during the party- This poor girl can't get a health break if her life depended on it. :(

I love that even though Donnie has indeed grown in terms of emoting and feeling again, he still has those classic deadpanned lines. When I read his first line in this panel, it was deadpan. (I think his expression also hints at this haha).

Kendra continues on for a bit about how the alcohol helps her to forget. But with all the years that she has been drinking, it NEVER WORKS. "You always remember though.." But then, after saying such a fact, she immediately contradicts herself stating emphatically "..I know that for sure I for one WON'T." Perhaps it's Big Mama's drinks flowing through her system that makes her think she definitely won't remember what happened. "I'll forget yesterday.. today.."

And then Donnie asks the question every fan is DYING to know the answer to:

"Is that why you did it?"

When Kendra kissed Donnie- was she somewhat in control of her actions? Was there feeling and connection smothered deep underneath the waves of alcohol? Was the drink poisoned? Did it mess with Kendra specifically to make her kiss him?

DOES SHE TRULY LOVE HIM?

Donnie is physically shaking with anticipation, anger, mourning, all the feelings he desperately doesn't want to feel. he begins to interrogate Kendra on why she did it. GET SOME ANSWERS. Prove him he's wrong.

"Big Mama made you do it, right? That's why you want to forget it..."

And then Kendra drunkenly but simply replies, "Do you want me to remember it?"

And what's Donnie's response? Will he yell at her to "JUST FORGET IT-" and storm off? Will he go silent and try to weasel his way out of all these emotions flying high in the air and in his heart?

No. He does the unexpected. He tells her straight out- "I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER OUR FIRST KISS." He says it with such emphasis, such passion and gusto, that it completely takes Kendra by surprise... And then, just as Donnie admits his true feelings, he freezes and backtracks. "Ah- Wait-" It's terrifying to tell someone such heartfelt emotions you have for them. It's terrifying because you have no idea if you'll be accepted or rejected. "I mean- Scratch what I said!" (I can't give you an opening to hurt me- I can't be vulnerable with you- I can't I can't I can't)

After Donnie speaks, Kendra begins to move her hand closer to his. Not enough to touch- but extremely close. She is slowly but steadily showing him to not be afraid of her. Don't be afraid of feeling. I won't hurt you.

(ALSO HER NAILS?? LIKE BRO?? THEY LOOK SO GOOD WHAT THE SHELL-)

... And then her nose ruins it. XD (Seriously, honey, GO INSIDE IT'S COLDER THAN A SNOWMAN'S CORE OUT THERE.)

Now we see Donnie immediately and instinctively protecting his mate friend- handing her his own shirt to keep her warm in the chilly air. Forget their earlier conversation- she's still sick, and her health is priority over some dumb dumb feelings.

Walking back into the hotel room to hopefully find more medicine for his sick girlfriend, he grips down on his wildly wagging tail, once again trying to mask over the fact that he's never been happier in his life. We also can't see his expression very well throughout these panels- if not at all. I really like this. It's almost as if when you can't see him, he's forcefully disassociating, not allowing anyone, (including the reader) to see what's going through his mind and heart.

And when Donnie leaves, Kendra watches him. <3 And then not long after...

... She joins him inside.

DKLFJADKFHAHFKHDSKFH

COKO THIS UPDATE- THIS UPDATE-

You did what so many tv shows and movies and fics don't. HAVE THE TWO LOVE INTERESTS TALK ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS without any need for intimate touching, kissing, etc. They just stand in the cold and talk it out.

.. AND I LOVED IT. :)

You did an amazing job on this update, dude. Seriously. This was some really good dialogue and writing and art and I loved every second of it. :)

Good luck with the next chapter thingy! You got this!

Remember to drink water and see what the sun looks like!!

~ Melissa

OKAY IVE GOT TWO OF YALL WITH LONG ASKS SO I GOTTA SPACE EM OUT

So with that line “you always remember though” was meant to be read with the you emphasized but my jittery brain was blanking last night. Seeing it now that I’m awake I’m glad I left it like that cause she doesn’t know if she’ll forget or not.

Donnie without anything in his system, no voices to hear, makes him really start to slip up. Do things, say things without fully planning it through. His hearts being plastered on his sleeve rather than staying where it can’t be ripped away.

I left the update pretty bare/practically empty of any thoughts the two are having. If I showed them these panels would be stuffed to hell but yall are filling in the blanks nicely. You and Kiku have your analysis, lil bird pickings of updates and it always get me goofy happy agegrgquahahhe

Also I’m grabbing a bagel, the morning summons

#asks and replies

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onyichii · 15 days ago

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Annecy & Ankama

I am at the ANNECY ANIMATION FILM FESTIVAL in Annecy France.

I watched the first 10 mins of wakfu season 5, welsh & sheddar, and etc.

All i have to say is...

Wakfu - I think they showed the scrapped version that had nothing to do with the Brotherhood of Tofu. It was interesting and a nice build to the world. I think it would make for a good mini seperate series.

Welsh & Shedar - It was very anime styled. Personally, I like the original Ankama art style (xaxaxa style). It sticks out when put next to modern Japanese anime, but with this style, it looks the same as the others. I don't really watch anime so I have not much to say. Not a big fan of the story structure (some sequences felt dragged). For anime lovers, it could be interesting, but I will not be tuned in.

Morkishen - This looked fun. It was a comedic-action about a skull guy who wants his own dungeon. There is a iop in the series (of course). I can see this as a short (like the mickey mouse shorts—no more than 4 mins) NOT as a full series.

We also got a QnA after the showings. There are a lot of questions I wanted to ask like…

According to fans online, there is a lot of inconsistency what do you have to say about that?

Wouldn’t the Sadidas be okay in the great flood since plants adapt over time?

Even without the eliacube/eliasphere would you agree that Amalia and Yugo would be a powerful couple since they both wield magic. Given that Yugo can manipulate Wakfu couldn’t he essentially even combine powers with Amalia essentially well

People say that the woman in Wakfu, Eva and Amalia aren’t written well. If Wakfu was never cancelled back in 2009-2011 would we have gotten a more developed storyline for the girls. Would we have learned more about Amalias mother and her influence. How much story was axed? And would you consider doing another manga to fill in those gaps? To better show if Eva even wanted a family, to better show the romantics of yumalia, to give us more papa Ruel.

However, instead I asked,

With the budget, is there plans for a new opening sequence given that an new opening theme has been produced?

The answer to that is

Yes, there will be two introductions. That is according to the person who translated for me (since I don’t understand French either).

I was nervous, and panicked okay. Maybe someone can ask that last one if it hasn’t already been answered (which I’m sure it has).

I got to speak with the Japanese team and they were cool! I wish I got her IG. I did get their signature so when I draw something over it, I'll post it on Twitter.

If the Catsuka dude was there, he probably got all the details. So hopefully he was there and will spill the deets but I think he was elsewhere.

I think this will be my last festival/convention/expo. I am no longer into them like I was 6 years ago. It was cool getting to see Ankama up close. I filled my inner nerdy-teen-girls dream as much as I could. I can close this chapter of my life.

The next time I go to one of these, I will have to be invited.

#annecy #wakfu #ankama

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gemapples · 6 months ago

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my new year's artwork won't be done until tomorrow, but i at least wanted to make a little post celebrating it before it turns! see you in 2025 ❤️

going into a personal ramble about my year under the cut. im mostly just talking to the void but feel free to read if you want!

this year has been. wow. if i had to put the definition of an emotional rollercoaster it would be this year for me

so much happened, yet so much DIDN'T happen simultaneously?? i don't really know how to think tbh 😭 i think above all i'm relieved it's over and i get to (hopefully) have a fresh start again

i got a lot accomplished this year. i graduated and got a degree which is a huge thing!!! i went for and accomplished lot of difficult things i had to do that i wouldn't even think about considering last year, and i feel my mental health has been beyond improved from it. last year i took note of how i consistently put myself in a box to make others happy, and i noticed i significantly improved in regards to how i see myself and made sure to put my own health first. there's still MUCH more to work on, god, and i've still been struggling with it, but i've been taking steps and that's all that matters to me. i want to continue taking better care of myself next year

on the downside though.. a bunch of personal stuff i had no control over happened in july and to put it in a way, i was scared for my life. it's settled now, and even got better, but i haven't been that terrified in a very long time. it was so difficult for me to cope with and i'm very grateful it's not something to worry about anymore, but i would be lying if i said i wasn't scared for what horrific event next year will bring for me. i noticed the past few years, something awful happened that made me seriously question, doubt or even straight up hating myself :') and i'm not looking forward to experiencing that again next year in the slightest. but at least, i'll try to get better at it

i've felt pretty disappointed and unhappy with my art this year as well, for whatever reason. it was mentioned to me that it could just be burnout (i HAVE been drawing more consistently than i ever have throughout this year, especially due to college, which makes sense) but whatever i try to do experimental-wise, i just can't be happy with it. i think the major reason is the way i've been shading, because i might be instinctively holding myself back. i don't want my art to be too eyestrainy or give people headaches by looking at it obviously, but i feel like as a result i've been making my art feel too "muddy" for my liking. so! i decided one of my new years resolutions will be to be way more spontaneous with the way i use colors and try not to put that box on myself. one thing i can say is, i tried a Lot of new things with art this year, including working on complex backgrounds, putting in way more effort into pieces enough to be full illustrations, etc etc. and i hope to break a ton more boundaries next year too. regardless, i can't thank you enough for your continued support. it seriously means a ton to me. i know i repeat myself a lot but i always mean it

hopefully 2025 will bring us more kirby too! we haven't had a full year without a new kirby game since 2021, and even then forgotten land got revealed! so i get the feeling something HUGE is coming. also looking forward to pokemon legends z-a too (im insane over it). and the hypothetical manager magolor plush. <- copium.

thanks for reading, and i hope 2025 is a fun, enjoyable year. hopefully it'll be nice to us

~ mac ❤️

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iphoenixrising · 4 months ago

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Hi! I just wanted to send you a message, firstly to wish you a happy new year! And secondly just to say that you’ve been providing incredible and free works of art for nearly a decade (probably longer, but it’s been nearly a decade since I first followed you!!) and I just wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the tireless work you’ve put in. I hope writing has been as much of a joy for you as reading has been for us! Wishing you a wonderful 2025 :))

Hi babe.

Ah, thank-you for the loves! It's so amazing to think you've been with me that long, you know? There's many of the fandom peeps that text me or send me messages that have literally been there since the first Tim Drake fic went out. My daughter was still a baby back then and she's in sixth grade now and is almost as tall as I am tbh. Crazy how much time has passed.

And, you know, the years I haven't been writing much because ah work and other interests as I finally spread out my fanfic wings to devour content rather than create, I still come back here and be amazed at the amount of fics and ficlets and stories and half-baked headcannons people are still finding and enjoying today. In the shitshow the US has become in the last year, it's a welcome feeling to know some of the depressed and down-trodden can find some kind of comfort in ass-kicking vigilantes, Doctors with hobbies, Omegas that can only run from what they need for so long, the real feeling of Welcome Home, the owfucks and attitudes and steamy accents, the birds that can only go forward - never back, the absolute slimy creep Ra's can turn out at the most inopportune moments, the array of named concussions to make them seem a little less bad, infinite cups of coffee and Grape Zestis, the cliffhangers that might never get finished, and a plethora of other things hidden in the dark niches of this blog.

Hopefully, someday I'll go back for my MA in Creative Writing and get out of Tech to do this, or a version of this, in real life. But, until I do, I might as well share just a bit of the next installment of the TimDick (maybe TimDickJay...?) Sentinel/Guide au, right?

Hm, why not? You can check it below the cut ;)

After turning down any attempt of his Sentinel to contact him (i.e. actually duck and dodging said stalkery behavior he is intimately familiar with), it all comes down to the basics less than a month after the disastrous discovery in a hotel room right after he'd played Wayne Enterprises CEO with the likes of Lex Luthor–

who will always and forever be King of the Douche Canoes, seriously

– the breakout at Black Gate is the most all hands on deck that's happened in Gotham in the last year.

Since several members of the Rogue Gallery teamed up to set the explosives, well, every Bat is expected to set-up in Gotham, and Red Robin, for as much as he's stayed the fuck out of their business in the last year, finds himself already in the city for a few meetings with Lucius about next quarter when the night sky outside Wayne Towers lights up with the very familiar symbol.

"Dammit," he breathes out, pretty much aware he could just ignore it. Considering Nightwing, the Red Hood, Batgirl, Black Bat, Robin, and B were all in the city tonight anyway.

(What's one more body between the people of Gotham and the baddies? Well, depends on the body, doesn't it?)

Lucius gives the usual suffering sigh he gives Brucie Wayne when the other mask falls away and leaves the vigilante behind.

"I guess we can pick this up tomorrow," the head of R&D tells him idly, scrolling through text alerts on his phone while Tim visibly reins himself back in to the new line of motherboards going into their medical cradles for military aid.

Tim just stays quiet for once because even though Lucius and Tam both know the big secrets, it's still not something they talk about unless a thorough sweep for bugs has happened in the last thirty minutes.

(Ninjas suck sometimes. #facts)

"It's fine. We still have a few more things we can cross off the list–" Tim starts, jaw tight when he turns away from the familiar symbol, when some things still fucking sting even though he's been doing his level-best to move the fuck forward.

Lucius hums at him and holds out his phone with a tight smile.

The quick update on Gotham's Track the Crime Spree app shows him exactly what's going down, and his truly epic facepalm is the loudest thing in the office.

The Batcomm he hacked is on mute, voices in his ear to keep up with the criminals spilling out of Blackgate and swarming the city. Not to mention some of the classics had a hand in making it happen.

The initial plan changes when the Bats start calling dibs on bad guys, throwing out their locations, heading toward the more-than-usual amount of mayhem.

He doesn't throw in on the convo, instead starts picking off the small fries that just happened to be more concerned with escaping and hiding than doing a fair amount of damage the second they hit Gotham proper.

(Really noobs)

He's running through alleyways, easy, fast, and furious to take down the low-level escapees with quick double zip ties for wrists and ankles, not even really working up a sweat.

He leaves the big times to the official night crew, deals with the small fries and enjoys the burn in his thighs as he runs.

Batgirl spots him, yelling out something before he's off again, not interested in some kind of reunion.

(And her low level shields make his back teeth ache with how vulnerable she is, how much she needs someone to strengthen them for her, how he could do it without working too hard... Dammit, the Guide in him is drawn to her with those pesky instincts he's been trying to get under control.)

His first big bad of the night comes in the form of–

Condiment King.

And just.

This guy.

He really wishes he had the time to enjoy witty banter and a long, drawn-out fight with some heavy hits. Anything to stop him from the low-level buzz on the edge of his shields he knows is Nightwing. He zip ties Buddy Sandler to a light pole and his backpack of condiments to another, he gets one good one before it’s time to move on.

“Well, I relish the win, but you and the rest are going back to jail. See ya next crime.”

Then he’s off, shooting a grapple, taking off into the night.

Mortimer Kadaver was already kidnapping a victim, and he gets a satisfying crunch when he breaks the guys nose after a look at the torture implements in the back seat of the stolen sedan. The citizen takes off without a look back, completely ignoring him to wait for the police.

He jumps on another stolen car, riding a few blocks at breakneck speed before he punches out the driver’s side window and steers the car himself.

(It’s fun when the low-level thugs don’t know what’s going on. “How are you not driving?!” “Tell the hand in the window to give me the wheel back!”)

He doesn’t get thrown when brains kicks in and the driving thug slams on the brakes, but it’s a close thing.

Instead, he’s trying not to smile when they tumble out the other side of the car on unsteady legs. It’s an easy KO when the city is literally going to shit over the comm in his ear.

Things get real when O calls everyone in on the West side where the bigger, badder B is apparently ready for a round 2 of the “break Batman’s back” challenge.

(It’s the worst possible time for that guy. The flash of memory, of being Dick’s Robin for the short stint, of working with him while Bruce had to train his body again to take on the mantle after Jean Paul had to admit defeat. The best times, the most painful memories. All of it swirling in his chest with the buzzing on the edge of his senses getting sharper, cutting into his shields. All the bullshit stories about True Pairs and here he is, tempting the bond with things like proximity and ass kicking.)

He hits the top of the water tower to check out the sitch, trying to stay out of sight, out of the way of the main family doing their things while Bane is hepped up on venom and swatting at Robin and Black Bat like flies.

No one has to say it while calling out strategy, but it’s a pretty obvious distraction play. Keep the Bats busy while the bulk of baddies get ghost. It’s classic Bane, really.

Since the venom is highly flammable and there’s a lot of vigilantes he doesn’t want to face, he does the next best thing - makes a plan.

It easy to drive KG Beast and the Baffler right up his grill without ever being seen by the Bats as the three big baddies smack into one another on the down swing of some stunning blows.

A combination of smoke pellets, knockout gas, and bo to the back of the head puts them out for the count in a move even he didn’t think was crazy enough to work.

Slam dunk. It’s buy two and get one free day.

Even better, Black B and Rob were back far enough to miss him through the smoke even though his rebound was a top notch move even for a season vigilante.

Which is why it sucks when Polka-Dot Man actually gets the drop on him because honestly, that guy. He does deliver a stunning back kick to put the B-lister down, but it does make him see double for an important enough second.

“Daw, takin’ alla the fun outta my night, Pretender,” the Red Hood drawls from a rooftop above him, the glint off shiny .45s too bright in his spotty vision. “Nice a’ ya ta actually show the fuck up fer once.”

“Honestly,” he banters back while the woozy sensation fades to a low grade headache, “how many asses in spandex does one city need?”

He gets a chuckle rather than a bullet to the head, so that is most certainly a win.

The drawback of gaining attention of the Red Hood, however, is the lack of duck and dodge that really is part of his new pseud.

Hood literally throws him over a shoulder and dives off the Wallstone Apartments while Red is still reeling from the blow, bellowing out when a meaty arm clamps on the back of his kicking legs in a very subtle warning.

“Leggo!”

“My ass. Stop yer squirming, fucker.”

“How about we compromise. Let me go and you can kick someone else’s ass?”

“Nice try. Like I dunno who yer really running from?”

“I’m fighting crime, not running you asshole!”

“Sure, sure. Ya know what they say. De Nile ain’t just a river in Egypt.”

“I don’t even live here anymore!”

“Oh? Can’t wait ta tell B ya just said that, Timmer.”

“I’m not his responsibility, didn’t you get the memo?”

Wind in his hair over the bad section of bail bondsmen and sleazy villain insurance. The plan forms while Red Hood arches his back to throw them both high in the air before the second grapple *zings* and latches on.

“I said th’ same thing at one time. Ya already know bout that shit, an’ how B didn’t give one fuck ‘bout what I hadda say.”

“The difference is you’re actually part of the fucking family, Jason!”

“Mmhm. Keep onnit, Replacement. M’comm is gettin’ alla this, n’ ya know it.”

“So what? No one’s bothered giving a crap so far!”

Did he get hit with a truth serum or is this just the concussion talking?

(R - Randal, Randal the concussion is awful and he should really stop this messy truth shit no one needs to hear.)

“Come off’n it, Timmy. Like ya don’t already know B gotcha tracked within an incha yer life? Think he just gonna let the smart one run off wi’ Shiva fer fuck’s sake?”

Even with Randal being a pain in the ass, Red has a terrifying moment of panic. They know. They all know.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, sure. Tell that ta Dickie why dontcha? I ain’t seen ‘in that pissed off inna hot minute.”

“He already knows-“

“Does he really now? Why don’tcha tell ole’ Jace all ‘bout it, hm?”

His voice through the synths sounds very not inviting.

“Randall is a fucker and he needs to lay off,” which has Hood laughing even if he doesn’t know what Red means by any of it.

They land it with a jolt — right in the middle of a brawl.

Which is just about the speed he really needs right now anyway.

Black Bat swings by with a screaming escapee dangling from one hand by his ankle while she smiles under the stitched-up mask and gives him a happy wave. The comm in his ear hasn’t fallen out so he knows the others are spaced out, corralling the others with the help of GCPD.

So, the fight is on a little more than he originally thought.

But still, the burn feels better than the low-grade concussion and the pulsing heat of Sentinels (of his Sentinel), close by. He knows Jason’s shields are fractured, held together by pure stubborn will. He knows Steph is a few blocks down, whooping it up with her shields scarily open for her senses to reach far enough out to track stragglers. B is held together the best of them all, but Dami is developing his senses now and his control is sporadic at best.

Punching the shit out of thugs takes some of the weight off the knowledge, doesn’t completely distract him from his own instincts, but distracts his brain just enough.

Leg sweeps, palm to the nose, kick to the back of the knees, a spinning whirlwind of ass kicking, back-to-back with Hood, spit blood when he takes a hit, clench his teeth when he feels the strain on Nightwing close enough to make his skin burn with it.

His chest is heaving by the time the groaning pile of bodies is down for the count and the red and blue is lighting up the night on their way. He scrambles for a grapple gun while Black B and Hood are finishing up the zip ties. But when he points it the way he wants to go, his finger won’t squeeze the trigger.

“Clean-up’s goin’ all right,” Hood reports, nudging his shoulder with the hand still holding the .45. “Lookin’ like B’s gotch some a’ th’ bomb residue ‘case ya wanna get in on that, nerd.”

“Like you’re much better,” Red rasps out, grapple in his lowered hand trembling, the pounding in his head worse than any concussion.

He knows what this is, the only thing it can be.

“Mmhm. ‘Least I don’t need a fuckin’ engraved invitation ta come back ta the Cave.”

Red’s head whips around, the whiteouts on the mask narrow in a who the fuck are you talking to? kind of way.

Hood crosses his arms over his massive chest because the guy knows when he’s feeding someone a line.

Welp, since everyone already knows apparently.

Right in front of the helmet, Red Robin shoves the grapple back in his belt and deactivates the right gauntlet with his left hand. The helmet cocks to the side in question, but Red moves with fluid grace and speed, even with Randall riding his cape, and slaps his palm on the only bare skin available, on the side of the Red Hood’s neck.

His instincts jump immediately and reach out to the dangerous cracks and crumbles in the Red Hood’s shields, the painful red throbbing of shields crumbling.

He might hear a noise out of the synths, might imagine it because what does Jason Todd owe him really?

But it’s easy, just like putting together the pieces of evidence from a crime scene. The fractured plates protecting Hood are hot to work with, a sharp sting across his brain pan (something that could be from the Pit or be just natural Jason Todd, zombie Sentinel extrodinaire), eases down with the pieces coming together, strengthening, forming a stronger metaphysical shield to give Jason a measure of peace from his own overwhelming senses. It’s a the relief of relaxing a clenched fist after the fight.

The reason Sentinels need Guides.

(Well, there’s more to it than just that, isn’t there? And Red’s brain can’t help but flinch back to those dreams, to a voice in his ear and hands on him — Guide mapping, his dream Sentinel whispered against skin.)

Red doesn’t manage to stop Hood from sinking to his knees in the aftermath, downed criminals, things on fire, GCPD almost on top them, and Black B nearly vibrating out of her mask next to them, hands hovering and afraid to touch.

Instead, he feels the reverberation of that deep noise coming straight out of the Red Hood’s chest. The relief under the constructed shield thick between them while they stand in the middle of the street.

That growling purr is almost enough, almost enough, to stop him from turning on his heel.

But the gloved hand snags the hem of his cape stops him in his tracks. his eyes blow wide behind the whiteouts and he sees a second of Hood's emblem before his literal savior, Cass, snaps him up and throws him over her shoulder before she takes off.

The night takes a turn for a "what the fuck?" when he and Black B take a few pauses to double team some of the baddies when the Red Hood loses them close to Robinson Park.

Things got more dicey when N spots them taking out Joyful Noise before the sonic blaster destroys yet another pointless sculpture. The comms erupt in a whole lot more noise in the shit show his "duck and cover crime fighting" night has devolved into.

(He's not going to focus on how his head is just a little sore instead of Randall being a right pain in the ass, isn't going to think about the implications here. He can't focus and keep moving through the baddies if he has a sane moment to wonder if it was that easy because he also...Jason-)

They manage to evade the Bats (mostly), ignoring the cajoling and usual back-and-forth once they realize Red Robin is part of crime time.

Cass does him an absolutely solid, driving them to his other, other underground bunker, letting him hang his head against her back while the air hitting them reeks of smoke, burning plastic, and gasoline. He doesn't get the underlying tinge of metal, blood, and fear -- that was from Jason's head while those shields were coming together nicely.

(When he's a full continent away, he'll have him moment of panic, but until then, Cass is totally not addressing the very obvious elephant in the bunker.)

She stays for post-patrol snacks, producing a family-sized box of Cheez-Its and some Alfred sandwiches that are somehow still cold.

They do the usual throwing off sweaty top layers, domino and mask, stare at two episodes of The Office with Zestis from the mini-fridge in the corner.

One-handed signs while they chew, hit a quick patch up job, and the night is finally over.

Cass checks the Batchat to make sure everyone made it out of the city after one hell of a night and gives no reply to the questions about Tim, much to everyone’s dismay.

The next shift of GCPD is coming on, so the city is secured for another day. She produces a backpack and changes into soft leggins, runners, and a hoodie he's pretty sure is Bruce's.

Tim does a good job on her knuckles, and she gives him a kiss on the forehead, makes him promise to stay away from screens and not to sleep for a few hours yet.

After she takes off, he breathes out a long, breath, collapses on the overstuffed couch a minute before going to the lower levels, thinking about catching up on paperwork before he's got to meet with Lucius again. A nice shower, some coffee, and he could do some work, take an actual moment --

("True Pairs, an honest Sentinel and Guide relationship, can include sharing such effects of injuries.")

He shakes the thought out, rolls his neck, and picks up his discarded utility belt, trying to find as many things to divert his attention to as possible.

The door to his lower levels slides silently open under his fingerprint and an intensive alphanumeric code, but some premonition sends a familiar chill down his spine, the vestiges of the old Robin instincts.

#winter answers #with the thing #sentinel/guide au #dicktim #dicktimjay?#who knows?#guide!tim drake #sentinel dick grayson #sentinel jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #cassandra cain #cass cain saves the day #best big sister vibes #we can't have nice things #not beta read #thank-you for the loves babe

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 23. Pear Trees

Summary: Benedict wasn't a passing fancy. Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Words: 2,005 Listen to: 'Losing My Mind' -by Betcha A/N: I promise it's the last dramatic chapter besties, we're moving to Genovia and Genovia's plot is FUN -Danny

Dear Diary,

The pear trees are starting to bloom. I'm spending most of my late afternoons promenading in our garden to revel in their scent, pondering what I can do to make my training more adequate to our present times.

Mum has a few ideas, but I would like to bring something of my own. If only my mind could cooperate and let me have useful thoughts instead of reveries concerning something long over...

Benedict divides his attention between the nonsense his fellow artists are doing in their intoxicated state and the sketchbook in hand, an abstract draft he's been working on for days and still can't satisfy him.

"What are you doing, curled up in that chair like a sulking crow?" Calls one of his friends. "Come have a taste," the man offers him a small bag.

Benedict huffs dismissively at the offer, though not in a way that could be seen as rude—only glutted. "I'll pass, gentlemen. I need a clear head if I want to make any sense of this blasted commission," he sighs, glaring at the paper.

One man, a jolly, bug-eyed fellow named Gustave, waves at his sketch drunkenly. "You're new to being favoured, that's what. Rich folk don't care if you do a good painting, they'll say it is merely because of how much it cost, and everyone will agree because it's art, and they don't get it."

"Is that supposed to motivate me?" Benedict raises a brow.

"Go to Hyde Park and sketch a horse; the lords go mental over manly beasts."

"Just like you, Marcus," Gustave teases, earning a burst of laughter from the group. "You could always paint the Queen's residence. If it's Royal-related, they never dare to show disappointment, even if they want to."

Benedict chuckles. "Well, aren't you all connoisseurs of shortcuts and fine print? All those are clever ideas, but here is the issue: I want to do my best."

They groan and roll their eyes, flopping back on the chairs and rugs with fatigue. Gustave insists. "Do your best for men who can't tell the difference between shading and texture? Commissions are money, Bridgerton, and it's perfectly alright to not put all your care into it."

"If I were desperate for money, I would finish as fast as possible and take the next offer, but I have enough in life to do this for fun—and what is the point of a painting if I won't do what I like to hone my skills?"

"Professor Bridgerton, reasoning his art," a younger student called Louis teases him.

"I value my efforts, that's all. If you think it's okay to stunt your growth as an artist, do as you please. I made a promise to be good."

"To your princess?" Gustave questions slyly.

Benedict is an expert at hiding when the princess gets mentioned, though it took some practice. "My mother, actually. She's decided to let me be until the weariness of my siblings' weddings goes away. Hopefully, it'll last a year or two, and in the meantime, I won't behave in any way that makes her think I need a spouse."

"Oh, how would she know if you're slacking?"

"Isn't it enough that it would weigh in my mind?" Benedict grins.

Gustave eyes him weirdly. "Hefty thoughts in you, Bridgerton? I never thought I'd see the day. This whole renowned artist thing... I'm not sure it's meant for you."

The sound of ripped paper cuts the conversation short. Benedict crumples up the page and tosses it into the fire, glancing at the man with a colder demeanour. "Eat your mushrooms, Gus."

The group leaves him to brood in a silence he hasn't been able to escape since the season ended. Anthony and Colin are enjoying their wives, and Daphne wouldn't be a relief to have around even if she visited—she's so much like their mother, sticking her nose in everyone's business and trying to convert everyone into her married lifestyle...

Francesca and Eloise can't send letters fast enough to keep him distracted. Gregory is away at Eton, no doubt putting on the airs of an aristocrat amongst his mates. Hyacinth, who could be a comfort, is only willing to discuss with whoever ends up trapped in the same room as her for longer than five minutes dresses, possible ball invitations, and all those baby-faced suitors who will be out at the same time as she.

In short, all his family has transitioned into a new age, yet his Academy friendships feel as if they've been dropped in amber, unchanging and frustratingly comfortable in this idle state, and Benedict, after years of longing to live how he yearned for ever since he was old enough to understand himself, knows that this boredom and impatience are symptoms of a single ailing: Y/N's absence.

The idea of taking the throne had constantly been looming over you like a villain that one day would smother you with a pillow in the middle of the night, but now that you're here, you realize this is rather... lackluster.

You love the audiences with the subjects discussing petitions and problems, you meet new faces and feel a little closer to the real Genovia... but the hours spent at the Parliament drag on like snails, not because they're confusing to you, but because your mind tends to wander, and it always takes you to the same person, the same few interactions that made your body tingle just to have no real relief when you come back to the present.

Every day after your lessons, you walk around the castle's grounds, sometimes ride your horse, a sturdy Spanish mustang called Reaper, and don't return until the sun is setting. Your days are so full of activity you can hardly draw, but every day the itch gets stronger—the rush it gave you whenever you'd manage to create something beautiful was like nothing else, and yes, if you had to admit it, it's the only thing that makes you feel as if Benedict were still around.

"There you are," your father's voice startles you.

You smile, the heaviness in your heart forgotten for a moment. "Father. What is it? Did the twins cause trouble again?"

"If they had your mother and I would handle it. They're our sons, after all," he reaches out for you invitingly. "Walk with me."

You accept, happy to have company. Your dad walks you with a tender smile, but he keeps his eyes forward, a sign that something's in his mind and he'll make it known. He takes you to the archway where the pear trees end and pretends to examine the leaves in one while talking.

"You've been coming here often. Is something troubling you? If your lessons are wearing you down—"

"I'm keeping the pace far better than I thought," you soothe his worries, happy to not be lying. "I'm spending so many hours indoors that I have grown quite fond of my walks, that's all."

"Your drawing lessons used to take place outdoors," he remembers, "perhaps you grew accustomed. When your mother was a princess, I would call on her, and we would take long walks until dinner time..." King Nicholas glances at you, threading carefully. "Friendship is difficult to renounce, especially when the company is akin to ourselves."

"I miss drawing," you nod, thinking it will nudge your father away from his suspicions. "It was liberating, being able to put whatever I wanted on paper, whatever I felt like doing with my time..."

"What of that diary of yours? Do you still write?"

"It's not the same," you look down in embarrassment. "I can't write everything... I know that once I'm dead, people will find it—and there are some things I do not wish to share."

"But you can, in art?"

"You can do anything in art," your gaze brightens. "You can paint something and hide a whole meaning in it—like speaking a secret language."

King Nicholas regards you a moment, and then, very gently, he asks, "That painting Mr Bridgerton sent you... Is that an example of it?"

You gulp, then get very serious. "Father..."

He speaks bluntly. "Your mother might've been distracted, but most times, I can get away with standing next to her and not having to pay attention to the conversation so I can keep an eye on you four. I saw you during that first ball when you met him. I saw the way he looked at you, and that was not how a stranger acts in front of a princess."

"How was he acting?"

"Like he knew you not in the way subjects do, but as we know you, Y/N."

"We became friends swiftly, yes," you say, starting to feel cornered. You realize this is probably how Ben felt when you began poking into his private life. "He did tell me once that he admired me, and the painting was his way of showing it."

"You'd seen that painting before." It's not a question, but it still demands you to respond.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Halfway through the season. I can't recall the exact time." You look down again, a telltale. You can lie and keep appearances with subjects and parliament members alike, but you'll never grow out of giving yourself away when fibbing to your parents.

"You grew fond of him," King Nicholas states. "You don't walk the gardens looking for ripe pears—you're trying to make something bloom in barren ground, Y/N, you can't find here what he gave you in London."

There is so much sympathy in his words and expression that your eyes get misty, and for the first time in months, you allow yourself a minuscule thought: Benedict wasn't a passing fancy. "Are you upset?" You ask in a small voice.

"Depends," he caresses your cheek. "Were you reckless?"

You shake your head, blinking back the tears. "I kept things under control with such precision that now I won't ever see him again... and I think I broke my own heart as a result."

"My girl," your father says, pulling you into a tender hug. "If you decided it was the right thing to do, then so it was. Your heart will heal."

You sob quietly. "I think I might've loved him if I could've." You cling to your dad. "But I know I can't."

He rubs your back in gentle circles. "Walk your grief for as long as you have to, my sweet. Until it tires out."

"Until it dies," you sniff, stepping back and wiping your tears.

Eloise comes back after six whole months away. She's eager to see her family and hand out parcels, but half an hour has barely passed when Benedict shows up disheveled and grumpy.

"About time," he greets her. "You know how long it takes to plan a journey with no specific date of return? It's going to take us a week at best, and by then, the season invitations will have started, and you'll be lucky if our mother says yes to even a week away from London society—"

"Hello to you too," Eloise replies with a grin. "Eager, are we? Are Hyacinth and Gregory no longer fun—I suppose not, now that they're in such a tiresome age..."

"Eloise, can you please focus?" Benedict presses sourly. "You're the one who wanted to run off to Genovia, and yet you're in no rush to secure this trip!"

"Oh, Mother will say yes. It hasn't been a year since Colin and Francesca married, and now Pen is withchild, and Kate is bringing home the future viscount. She'll be happy to be left alone to dote on Hyacinth—been a while since she had a child this eager to enter society."

"That... might be true," Benedict slows down for a moment but quickly returns to his anxious state, pointing at her in accusation. "But the weather acts up during this time of the year and—"

"Good heavens, would you listen to yourself?" Eloise laughs. "You're sounding like Anthony, talking about weather and whatnot. Be honest, brother, you're eager to see the princess again, even if it's just in passing."

"I will throttle you—"

"Eloise!" Their mother and Hyacinth have returned from their calls and rush to greet the girl with open arms, interrupting their conversation.

They take Eloise away in a whirlwind of excitement, leaving Benedict with a buzzing in his head that sounds eerily similar to your voice.

Next Chapter –>

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