#Another phone doodle so that's why colours might be odd

[pawsandsuch-office]

Little sailor Tome time!!

[hollywooduniversityalumnus]

1. burning glances, turning heads

He really should know better, Margot thought, to expect that his class would be paying attention on a Friday afternoon before the long weekend.

As Professor Hunt, the surliest yet most accomplished educator to roam the halls of Hollywood University, all but threw Lance Sergio out for being extremely obvious about taking excessively filtered selfies during the lecture, she took the opportunity to lean over to Addison, poking her with the eraser end of her mechanical pencil. The blonde, as if being suddenly woken, started, causing her gel pen to make a squiggle just off the doodle she was mindlessly making on the edge of her paper.

“What?” Addison asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Margot shrugged. “I’m bored.”

“I think we’re all bored,” Addison teased. “But at least some of us are more subtle than others.”

She nodded towards the front, where the professor had turned his attentions to Jenni Whitman, whose open laptop screen displayed one of the trashier celebrity gossip websites. Beside her, Bianca Stone surreptitiously slipped her phone into her pocket and bowed her head over her notebook, as though trying to commit the blank pages to memory, and Shae, another of Bianca’s friends, panicked and stuffed her phone in the front of her shirt, making a strange lump in the fabric.

As Jenni, too, packed up and took her leave at his insistence, Professor Hunt returned to the lectern, his jaw tense.

“While I understand that you are all incapable of delaying gratification long enough to pay attention in my class, I maintain my zero-tolerance policy for distractions. It would do the rest of you well,” he gritted out, “to not force my hand any more than it’s already been.” His eyes slowly took in the remaining pupils sitting in the hall. “Do I make myself clear?”

The lecture continued.

As he began a diatribe on romantic comedies, Margot turned back to Addison and gestured for her to look at her notebook. Addison subtly glanced down as she pretended to stretch, reading the message written on the corner of the page in very, very light pencil lead strokes.

Do you think he’s ever even seen a rom com?

Addison smirked and turned the page on her notebook, scrawling her reply in much more perceptible pink glitter ink.

Not on purpose, if at all.

Margot suppressed a laugh at the thought.

Like, maybe he sat through You’ve Got Mail thinking that it was about the postal service?

Or Mystic Pizza being about a magical pizza.

Or Crazy Rich Asians being a biopic.

Or-

“I thought I made myself clear.”

The two girls jumped in their seats, hearts pounding, expecting to find the frowning professor looming over them. Luckily for them, his attention was on Shae, whose poorly hidden phone in her shirt had become quite the spectacle, as the screen lit up behind the thin fabric and an instrumental snippet of a Top 40s hit blared from behind the buttons.

“Out,” Professor Hunt snapped. When Shae didn’t immediately move, he all but yelled, “Out!”

Dear God, she thought, this lecture is never-ending.

She was one of perhaps sixteen students left in the hall. Many others, including Bianca, had either flown the coop during the mandated fifteen-minute break, or were not-so-nicely asked to leave by the increasingly tense professor. She had flirted with the idea of beginning her long weekend early, too, but she knew she was already on thin ice with Hunt (to be fair, when isn’t she?), and she might as well learn something anyway. She didn’t have anything to do or anywhere to be. Unlike many of her classmates, she wasn’t heading home for the long weekend, and her plans for the next four days were most likely going to be a cycle of sleep, catching up on the show Chris recommended, and getting takeout.

“. . . and that is why we're discussing the decline of the romantic comedy, a genre that relies all too often on an unbelievable formula. Miss Sinclair?”

Addison’s head snapped up. “Yes, Professor?”

“Kindly give us an example of a trope commonly seen in romantic comedies. I am assuming you are familiar with them.”

“Y-yes,” Addison said, twirling her fuzzy-capped gel pen with her fingers. “Um, in, um, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, the two leads often fought and got on each other’s nerves but fell in love with each other anyway.”

Professor Hunt nodded. “Thank you, Miss Sinclair. A topical example of an overused trope. How often have you seen the two lead characters spend most of a movie fighting with each other, only to end up together in the end because of some ill-established passion? Far too often, I’d assume.”

As he droned on, Margot reached over and patted Addison’s arm. “Good job.”

The blonde returned the smile, relieved to have survived the encounter. “Thanks, I was dying inside.”

“Real love is nothing like that,” Hunt said, sneering. “Real love, the kind that exists outside of a cinema screen or five-dollar DVD bin, is not a predictable, clearly laden path with a clear and promised conclusion. Expecting a happily ever after in a relationship is naïve at best.”

“Who hurt him?” Addison mumbled to her.

She poked Addison again with her pencil. “Can you imagine someone loving Hunt? Or even dating him?”

“No! It'd be like dating an angry bear. It’d be a miracle if they lived to tell the tale. I heard he's single, unsurprisingly.” Addison shook her head.

“He probably has crazy high standards. Do you think he has a type?” She bit her lip, assessing her professor from afar. Though his modelling days were far behind him, he still maintained a well-kept, impeccable appearance that often made her wonder what he would look like without the constricting suits he wore like second skins. His features were both manly yet delicate, as if the world had taken its sweet time with perfecting his visage. And his jawline . . . sharp enough to cut glass. He was definitely not lacking in looks, talent, or drive, which was what made his being perpetually single all the more intriguing, though his personality made it understandable.

“Yeah, if perfect is a type. Like, someone with a model hot body, a mind as sharp as a stiletto, and a Hollywood career that's skyrocketing.” Addison giggled.

She tapped her lip with the eraser end of her pencil, thinking. “So, a fictional person.”

Addison leaned into her, eyes glimmering with amusement. “I bet it'd be like getting graded all the time. He'd be judging your outfit, insulting your conversation, critiquing your kissing technique! ‘Too much tongue. You call that a kiss? Kindly remove yourself from my sight.’”

She chuckled. “‘You’ve got to do better than that if you want me to feel anything other than complete and utter monotony.’”

“‘I've seen more believable kisses on The Bachelor.’”

The laugh that bubbled out of her was loud enough to capture the attention of the very man they were emulating. His eyes narrowed as he spotted her quickly trying to clamp her mouth shut.

“Miss Schuyler! Is something amusing? Perhaps you'd like to finish off my lecture on the difficulty of realistically portraying love?” he asked.

She straightened in her seat. “Sorry, Professor.”

“. . . And in conclusion, once a genre full of heart, the majority of romantic comedies have descended into farce bereft of true emotion. Class dismissed.” The professor strode over to his desk and began the necessary routine of shutting off the projection screen. As he did, the rest of the class stood up, stretching, and began packing their things away. Excited voices began eagerly discussing their plans for the weekend.

Thank God, Margot thought. The never-ending lecture was over. Let the weekend-

His eyes met hers, a pointed gaze. “Except for you, Miss Schuyler. Come see me. We need to talk.”

. . . Shit.

Addison touched her arm. “Do you want me to stay back, too?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she said, patting her friend’s hand. “You go on ahead. Don’t be late for your bus. I know you’ve been looking forward to seeing your mom.”

Addison grinned. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

“The least you can do,” she teased.

Addison’s smile waned. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on campus for the weekend? My mom said it would be no trouble at all for you to visit.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, I’ll be fine. With almost everyone going away for the long weekend, I’m going to indulge in using up all the hot water. Maybe even sit at the good table in the coffee shop. Wild stuff like that. Thank you, though.”

“Well, then,” Addison said, smile returning full-force, “I’ll be on my way. Good luck! Hope you don’t get into too much trouble.”

She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “Don’t worry about little ol’ me. I know how to deal with him.”

Addison nodded and took her leave, one of the last of the classmates to exit the hall. Gathering up the rest of her things, Margot stuffed them into her tote bag and made her way up to the professor’s desk, where he was busy rifling through his own bag and muttering to himself.

“Just one second,” he said, placing a few handfuls of odds and ends from the depths of his bag on the table.

She nodded, more fascinated by the things that he seemingly carried around with him. Of the many things on his desk, she noted a mini Rubik’s cube, a slip of paper with very faded ink that might have been a receipt or a movie ticket once, a cellophane-wrapped green-and-white mint, three expensive-looking pens of various colours and sizes, and a tube of plain blue Nivea lip balm, identical to the one she had in her purse at that very moment. While the label on hers had faded from usage and being flung around inside her bag, his looked brand new.

After brushing those items back into his bag, he placed a stack of papers on the desktop. Among them, a bright slip of paper poked out, much smaller than the rest, and made of a thicker, textured material. Curious, she pulled it out until she could read the tiny lettering.

5th Annual Los Angeles Charity Masquerade. Admit one (1). $250 admission not including fees/taxes.

She’d never been to a masquerade. She imagined they were just like that scene in Labyrinth, with David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly spinning around the room, surrounded by people in grotesque masks that partly concealed their identities. Big poufy dresses and suits with coattails. Drapery and curtains and mirrors. But an LA soiree version of one probably meant champagne by the bucketful and crudités carried around by masked waiters. Perhaps live music, performed by musicians forced into formal wear, and maybe they were even masked as well. Was everyone there, guest or not, required to wear one? Were masquerades that strict? Do people who wear glasses have to-

You’re getting distracted, she told herself.

“A masquerade ball, huh? That sounds romantic.” She leaned against the desk, smirking at him. “And here I thought you were completely against the concept of romance.”

“Only someone delusional looks for love at a charity masquerade ball,” he replied scathingly. “It's a charity event and an obligation. I'm expected to attend, but there'll be no one worth talking to. As usual.”

“No date, huh?”

His eyes narrowed. “A date would require me to spend the entire evening there. I can't imagine anything worse. I'll be leaving as soon as I've made my donation to the cause. But I didn't call you up here to discuss my social calendar, Miss Schuyler. I wanted to talk about your behaviour in class. I thought, after seeing nearly all of your classmates get removed from the hall, you’d know better than to provoke me. I want to make it absolutely clear to you that it is unacceptable to disrupt my lecture. Save your chit chat for your own time, understand?”

She swallowed hard, feeling heat on her cheeks from his gaze. “Yes, Professor.”

He nodded once. “Good. You may go.”

As she left the hall, phone in hand, her heart was thumping in her chest from excitement. But not from the weekend finally starting.

She’d never been to a masquerade, after all.

But first, she’d need a dress. And shoes.

Without her stellar roommate and fashionista friend by her side, she felt entirely overwhelmed as she flipped through the overflowing closet Addi had insisted she make use of. Though she hadn’t told her the whole truth – just that she was attending an event that required formal wear – Addi had been thrilled to break up the boring bus ride with some advice.

“Not too much cleavage,” Addison said, her voice tinny through the phone speaker. “And not short, either. Knee-length or longer.”

“Do you think I’ll need gloves?” she asked. “Like Cinderella?”

Addison hummed. “Maybe. Pack a pair of elbow length white gloves in your bag, just in case. Oh my gosh. What bag are you bringing? It cannot clash. You hear me? Cannot.”

“Addi, I don’t even know what dress I’m wearing.” Margot frowned at her phone, balanced atop a stack of textbooks on her vanity. “I’m standing here in my underwear trying to figure this out. I’m pre-bibbidi-bobbidi-boo here.”

Addison’s laughter rang out of the speaker.

“I’m serious, Addi. Maybe I shouldn’t go.” She bit her lip, thinking of the money she’d spent on a ticket, money that might’ve been better spent. She was lucky that there were even tickets available. But that was beside the point. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“What’s a bad idea? Having a good time? Attending a charity event? Making career-defining connections? Come on.” Addison giggled. “Maybe you’ll even meet the love of your life there.”

“Right.” She flipped through the racks, eager to find something, anything . . . and then she saw it. A strapless, silvery blue ball gown, tight at the top but not overly cleavage-baring, that flared out at the waist to a full, silky skirt that would definitely conceal whatever shoes she would wear. She pulled it out of the closet and unzipped the clear garment bag to admire it. It was a princess dress if she ever saw one. Turning back to the phone, she quickly requested the voice call turn to a video.

Seconds later, Addison’s tired faced filled the screen. “What is it?”

Brandishing the dress out with a flourish, she ignored that she was standing in little more than a bra and panties as she showed the dress for her friend’s approval.

The gasp she heard confirmed her selection.

“You’ll be so stunning! A real-life Cinderella,” Addison said.

“Yeah,” she said absentmindedly, running her hand over the smooth fabric, already envisioning the makeup look she’d pair with the outfit.

“Except-” Addison narrowed her eyes in her best stern Hunt impression. “If you lose one of my shoes, it would be best to leave the country.”

Her taxi finally reached the front of the line, and a footman waiting on the sidewalk opened the door for her. She stepped out in her beautiful ball gown, giving the footman a grateful smile as he closed the door after her. Taking her time ascending the steps in her heels, she met another footman at the door who, after looking at her ticket and corroborating it with the guest list on a tablet, handed her a mask with ribbons.

She stepped into the hallway leading to the ballroom and found a mirror where she could put it on. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was more than pleased by her last-minute glow-up. As Addison had her closet, she had her vanity, stuffed to the brim with makeup products that she used to make herself look as chic as possible. After adjusting the mask to fit her face, she smoothed a layer of lip gloss over her lined lips and smiled to herself.

With this mask, I could be anyone . . . well, anyone smokin' hot, that is, she thought.

The ballroom was packed despite its tremendous size. Decorated Regency-style, it dripped with decadence, glass, and shine. Gold chandeliers tipped with crystals dangled from ceilings with painted murals, and tables spilled over with decadent food and sparkling drinks in crystal flutes. Famous actors and big names in the industry, though shrouded by masks of varying hues and designs, gossiped at the edges of the room, while couples danced and twirled on the floor. As she envisioned, masked waiters masterfully navigated the room, offering bite-sized treats that made her mouth water just looking at them.

After making her way around the room, taking in the splendor, she came to a stop near a pillar and sighed.

“This is incredible,” Margot said aloud.

“Isn’t it?”

She turned her head, surprised to see a man with a dark blue mask eyeing her from where he sat by the nearby bar.

“Come sit with me and let’s talk about it,” he said. The invitation, though innocuous in its wording, made her uncomfortable.

“Um,” she said. Her mind, which was usually buzzing with quips, did not offer her an out.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” he pressed, voice a little too firm and sharp for her liking. “I won’t bite. Come here.”

She swallowed hard at his leery gaze, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “I-”

And then she felt it, a hand circling around her elbow, and she was not alone. She tilted her head up to appraise her saviour, who was looking down at her with a smile. Her saviour, tall and silver-masked, looked and spoke to her as if he knew her.

“There you are.” He led her to the other side of the bar, all the while chattering loudly as though they had come together. “Nearly lost you in this crowd.”

She knew that voice. Knew it quite well, in fact. She’d heard it in lecture halls, offices, in her nightmares and dreams, and in places unexpected.

This was one of the latter now.

He gestured to a pair of empty seats, and she gratefully took one. As soon as she was comfortable, he turned his head to look over at where that man who had been speaking at her sat. Then, he leaned against the bar, standing over the other empty seat, and picked up a half-empty glass, presumably abandoned by him when he came to her rescue.

“You should be careful,” he said sternly.

For a moment, she thought he recognized her, and she prepared for the lecture that would undoubtedly come.

“Even charity events attract the lecherous,” he continued. “You’re very welcome, by the way.” A smirk played on his lips before he took a sip of his drink.

“Thanks,” she said, for she had no clue what else to say.

He nodded once. “Do be careful with yourself. You’re bound to attract some unwanted attention. It would do you well to keep your head clear so that you may avoid future encounters. You can’t expect someone to come to your rescue every single time.”

“Nor do I expect rescue at all,” she replied. “I am no damsel in distress. Though, I guess, I kind of was for a second there, huh.”

He laughed. It wasn’t sarcastic or mocking. A genuine laugh that made him tilt his head back ever so slightly. She’d never heard him laugh like that before, but now that she had a taste, she wanted to hear it again and again. It was so unlike him, the caustic and cold professor she knew. It made him even more attractive.

“At least you’re honest.” He tilted his head at her. “I prefer to be honest.”

“I like that.” Sitting up a little straighter, Margot added, “Honesty's refreshing. One thing I've learned since I've been here, in Hollywood I mean, is that too many people are willing to lie to your face or cheat to get ahead.”

He glanced at his watch. “Is that so?” He killed his drink and then levelled his gaze with hers. “And you’re not one of them?”

“No,” she said, then thought better of it. “Not yet, at least. Not if I can help it.”

“So, you want to get ahead.” He finally lowered himself into the seat beside hers.

He gestured to the bartender for a refill, and she took the opportunity to order herself a drink. The bartender nodded at them and turned away.

“I want to be a household name. A famous actress.”

He leaned forward, close to her. “Here's some more truth for you . . . everyone here wants to be something. But not everyone here is going to succeed.”

Stubbornly, she said, “I will.”

“You're brash, naive, and overly confident. I used to be that way, before. . .” His smirk waned, then disappeared altogether. It was clear he was not mentally in this room anymore.

She wondered what he was thinking about.

The bartender slid his scotch refill to him, then delicately placed her drink on a coaster in front of her. He picked up his glass and took a rather large gulp.

“. . . Ahem. Excuse me. I'm Thomas. And you are?”

Honesty’s refreshing, she had said just moments earlier. Too many people are willing to lie to get ahead.

She truly didn’t want to lie to him, not now. But she also sensed that revealing herself now would mean that she wouldn’t get to keep talking to him like this or hear that laugh.

And, honestly, what good would come out of angering him after he’d been so kind to her?

“Someone who doesn't like to reveal all her secrets.” She smiled coyly, taking a sip from the paper straw in her drink. “It's a masquerade ball, after all.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “You don't have to be so coy. I don't need a name to figure out who you are. Or anyone in this room, for that matter.” Turning so that he could assess the crowd around them, he nodded towards different masked guests. “Timothee Chalamet; his hair is distinctive, as is his stature. Charlize Theron; note the regal way she carries herself, much like several of her most notable characters. Adam Driver; tall, kind of awkward gait, a low voice that carries over the crowd.”

“Very impressive, Thomas,” she said, trying out his name on her tongue. It was sort of strange to refer to him so casually, but she’d have to adapt if she wanted to keep this going on.

He took another sip, clearly pleased to be right. “Told you, didn’t I?”

Though she enjoyed the game they were playing, she decided to really test him. “Here’s a harder challenge: do you know who I am?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I've been wondering that the moment you arrived. Something about you is familiar, almost loathsome, yet at the same time, forgive me, attractive.” He tilted his head. “You’re not going to tell me who you are, are you?”

Though her heart was pounding, she kept it cool. “Maybe at the end of the night. Unless you're planning on leaving early. Are you?”

“No.” He broke eye contact with her long enough to get the bartender’s attention, and he gestured for another refill. “No, I’m not.”

At some point, in the midst of their conversation, the music had noticeably gone softer and slower. He finished his drink and sighed, placing the glass onto the countertop, but just as he was about to request another refill, she captured his attention with a hand on his arm.

“We should dance,” Margot said, springing out of her seat. “Care to join me?”

He hesitated, and her glossed lips pouted.

Then, slowly, he rose from his seat, all the while maintaining eye contact with her. He straightened his tie and gave her a smirk.

“Do try to keep up,” he teased, buttoning his suit jacket before offering her his arm. They slipped through the crowd, the guests not dancing parting for them as easily as water. As soon as they reached the dance floor, he took the lead, taking her in his arms and guiding her. She was slow, cautious. He watched her fight her instinct to look at their feet.

“If you're nervous, this dance will be over before it even begins,” he warned, though his grip on her tightened.

She pulled him closer, emboldened by the drink in her system and the fact that he didn’t know who she was, and smiled up at him.

“Do I seem nervous, Thomas?” she asked.

He smiled. “Not at all. I’m surprised. You’re not completely horrible at this.”

She batted her eyelashes. “You say such charming things.”

They both laughed as he whirled her around the room.

She didn’t know how long they’d been dancing for, but she knew they were being watched. The crowd of dancers had thinned considerably since they had first arrived on the dance floor, and now many spectators lined the floor, watching with increasing interest as she and her partner weaved around the other dancers, doing increasingly interesting moves at his lead.

Her heart was pounding, the music was building to a crescendo, and he spun her around the dance floor faster and faster.

Don’t puke, she told herself. Do not do it. Your reputation will not recover. Not with whoever’s in attendance, and certainly not with Thomas.

His voice came from somewhere to her right. “Keep to my tempo, or you'll fall behind.”

He spun her out and away from him.

The world beyond the dance floor seemed as if was moving in slow motion, while she was stuck on fast-forward. She felt like she was one of the fairy toys that spun around and around in the air, aimless and free, before meeting a wall or piece of furniture and clattering to the floor. She braced herself for impact.

But then her hands connected with his again, and the crowd that had gathered to watch the dancers applauded as he pulled her back into his embrace.

“You learn quickly. I wish you were one of my students,” he whispered in her ear.

Her stomach, which had felt so light just moments before, now felt heavy and twisted.

“You’re a teacher,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “I teach at a local university.”

“How . . . nice.” It was the best she could come up with at the moment.

After she had become too dizzy from the spinning, he escorted her off the dance floor with an amused smile. He led her through the ballroom and out onto a private balcony cordoned off by a thick dark velvet curtain. Taking her hand, they stepped closer to the railing, into the cool evening air.

After giving her a long look, he let go of her hand and slowly removed his mask. The silver-lined blue barrier fell away to reveal him. He looked even more handsome up close, with a shy smile on his lips and the bright light from a single lantern hanging above them illuminating his debonair features.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

She took a deep breath, stunned by seeing him so unguarded, and even more handsome up close. “Not at all.”

The ocean waves below were muted by her heartbeat. Above them, she noted the sun setting, the sky becoming an ombre canvas of oranges, reds, and pinks. It was truly a stunning sight, but her gaze kept coming back to him. Still smiling, he reached out and took her hands in his.

His voice was husky, low. “You are definitely the best part of the night. I wasn't expecting to meet someone like you. I can sense something about you, a connection . . . I never thought I'd feel this strongly about someone I just met, but I can't seem to stop myself.”

She felt as though she was not breathing. As if she might never breathe again.

Moving even closer, he circled his arms around her waist, tilted her head up, and leaned in, eyes closing just before they made contact.

She was surprised by how sweetly he kissed her, how delicately he held her, as though she would slip away in the faintest breeze. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to him until they were nearly inseparable. She thought she could hear fireworks somewhere, and wondered if she was only imagining them, but when they finally pulled back from the kiss, she saw flashes of colour illuminating his face in vibrant hues.

“Thomas,” she said breathlessly.

And then his mouth was on hers again, pulling her closer still, until his back was against the wall, and her hand was on the back of his neck, holding him to her. She felt his fingers on her back, just above the silk of the strapless dress, and she shivered and pressed herself tighter to him.

“Please,” he whispered raggedly once they separated again. “I have to know who you are.”

Margot stilled.

He reached around her and began tugging on the ribbons of her mask. She watched him closely, letting him untie the knots, savouring what very well may be the last moment she would have with him like this. 

The mask fell away from her face, and she watched him recognize her, watched his eyes widen and face twist in betrayal and anger before he stepped back and pressed a hand against his mouth in horror. Her blood ran cold as his eyes narrowed and his expression hardened to one of complete disdain.

“Margot? How - how dare you?” he gasped. “You – you – I cannot believe this! You lied to me! You deceived me! You seduced me! How could you?”

His rejection, though expected, pained her in ways she couldn’t even describe. As though his words were branding irons, burning his hatred into her flesh.

“You’re the last person I wanted to see behind that mask,” he spat. “You, of all the people in the world.”

He kept hurting her, hurting her, like he didn’t care. And perhaps he didn’t, now that he knew the truth.

“I can’t believe I - Dear God, I kissed a student.” He leaned back against the wall, forcing himself to take deep breaths to keep himself steady.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she watched him denounce her in every way possible. Even though he’d bragged about being able to identify anyone, he didn’t expect her, didn’t even cross his mind to guess her, and for some reason it hurt her more than anything else.

“Some part of you might’ve known it was me,” she said indignantly. “You were bragging that you-”

He let out a caustic laugh at that. “Why would I want you to be someone I despise? Someone I don’t respect? I’m disgusted with you and myself.”

And that was all she needed to hear.

Pushing past him, she covered her face – and the tears streaking down them – as she rushed out of the gala and into the night.

The taxi ride back to the dorms was awkward, mostly because she spent the entire ride sniffling, trying to hold back her tears, and using up the Kleenex the driver kept a box of by the rear windshield. After tipping him, she sprung out of the taxi and didn’t stop running until she was safely back in her room.

It was there that Margot allowed herself to fully break down. In that beautiful princess dress, she flopped onto her bed and sobbed, hugging herself tightly, letting out all the anger and frustration and pain that she felt at being so heavily and heartlessly rejected by him. She cried for the way he looked at her. Sobbed at the beautiful moments they shared that were now tainted by the conclusion of the night. She ached for what could have been and wept for her naivete.

A part of her knew that there was no way anything could’ve come from it. But she’d let herself fall into the fairy tale, accepting him as her stand-in prince for the evening, and felt charmed by their conversing, their somewhat playful banter, and the compatibility in their dancing skills. And the kisses they shared . . .

Though her chest and throat ached from crying, if she closed her eyes tight enough, she could still feel his mouth against hers, languid and sweet in its kiss.

There was something there. She knew it.

It hurt her to know that, even if he sensed something too, he would never acknowledge it.

Twenty minutes away from the Hollywood U dorms, Thomas Hunt sat on his bed, still in his suit from the masquerade, drinking scotch straight from the bottle. Two pairs of masks lay beside him, one slightly more rumpled than the other from its owner stepping on it as she ran from the private balcony.

Setting the bottle down on the bedside table, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, forcing himself to think back to the beginning of it all, pushing past the haze the alcohol left in his head.

He’d spotted her the moment she walked in and had kept an eye on her since she began making her way around the ballroom. And, from the sounds of the men sitting close by him, he was not the only one who had noticed her.

The dress she wore made her ethereal, like she’d stepped out of a dream. The shiny silk that hugged her frame before flowing to the floor, coupled with her demure yet entrancing makeup and the awed look in her eyes from behind her mask, set her apart from the rest.

He took a large gulp of his drink and loosened his tie.

She got closer, and one of the wolves made their move.

As if by an unknown force pulling him forward, he found himself walking up to her, his mind struggling to catch up with his actions as he offered her a way out of the clearly unwanted interaction.

“There you are.” He led her to the seat he had previously occupied and was pleased to find that one of the men had taken flight upon seeing them interact. She sat down and looked up at him curiously, as if wondering why he had saved her from being potentially preyed upon.

“You should be careful,” he said. “Even charity events attract the lecherous. You’re very welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

He knew that voice. The sincerity of the gratitude, tinged with sarcasm at having to reply at all.

She seemed not to have recognized him. He wondered how long it would be before she did. Though the mask concealed some of her features, with his close proximity he was quick to identify her by other things that gave her away, like her high cheekbones and dark tresses she’d pulled into a half-up hairdo and, now, her distinctive voice.

He felt tempted to call her out on it and send her on her way home, but at the same time, he wanted to know where this would go. Revealing what he knew would mean that he wouldn’t get to keep talking to her like this.

And it was a masquerade ball, after all.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[panic-and-procrastinate-writing]

Chapter 11: A Heavy Decision

Warnings: Eating disorders, Mention of self harm, Depression, Anxiety

The day after was, something else.

You laid there, sheets pushed to the end of the bed in the atrociously hot summer night, and stared at the blank ceiling.

How did such a blank space manage to capture what you were feeling so well?

It was one of those days, when your head was too empty and your heart was too full, and you couldn’t decide on what to feel.

Probably because you were scared to start thinking.

But after yesterday, you thought it would be better to think and feel nothing at all, than to spiral and hurt yourself in the chaos of unwanted feelings.

You sighed as you listened to the noise floating in through your open windows, and closed your eyes as a saxophone player on the street below was playing a calming and peaceful tune.

You felt the aura that the tune carried with it, and the players feelings were put into every note that they created.

They were happy.

They didn’t have much money, even though they had been playing for at least an hour now, but they were still happy.

Because they were doing what they loved. Creating music and feelings with every breath into their instrument, and you felt everything that they did.

It was with that sweet fact that you found enough energy to get up and actually start your day.

*

You stood in the shower, the cool water gently beating your skin, and massaging away the stress within you. You scrubbed at your body, desperately relishing in the comfort of feeling clean and no longer being sweaty.

You really did hate summer.

But as you stood underneath the spray of the shower, your face immersed within the water, you still felt… empty.

It wasn’t true of course. You weren’t empty, just, unsure of what to feel. And until you could decide, there was nothing in your head.

But in your heart…

You shook your head underneath the water, almost like you were psychically shaking out the negativity.

You wouldn’t think about it. You wouldn’t think about Nevaeh, and you wouldn’t think about her, or anything that made the hole in your chest any bigger.

You knew you would spiral if you did. And you couldn’t afford to spiral, or to panic. Not after those panic attacks you had a couple days ago.

Sighing tiredly, you grabbed the shampoo off the window sill, and began to wash your hair.

This was going to be a long day.

*

You stood in the kitchen, and stared at the jam jar on the counter.

To make a sandwich, or not to make a sandwich.

That was the question.

Her voice hadn’t been loud that morning, and she didn’t speak the night before. Did she speak yesterday?

It was hard to remember yesterday without wanting to cry about it.

You sighed again, and braced your arms against the counter, and hung your head. How the hell were you going to get through today without breaking down?

All you were trying to do was to make a sandwich, and yet you still couldn’t get it out of your head.

Neveah was so angry…

“NO!” You slammed your hands down on the counter as you shouted, desperation controlling your every thought and move, but still, you were unable to think about anything else.

You didn’t want to think. You just wanted to be.

Why wasn’t that enough?

*

You sat in the living room, a lemonade with ice in hand, and watched the news channel.

According to the weather lady, it was going to be a heat wave this weekend, so it was a good idea to stock up on ice and sun cream. And according to your senses, she was right for once.

It had been mild so far, this summer in Gotham. It had occasionally been humid or had the odd day that felt like it was going to burn your skin off, but it had still been mild.

Except, it was about to get worse.

And you hated it.

As you continued to watch the news channel, the cameras changed from the weather lady to the two main reporters back at the news station, where they continued to inform the public of the current news.

The current news about the murderer.

You held a bated breath and watched with horror as the reporters informed the public of the newest developments in the case, and how several people online and in social media had begun to crack the message within the flowers.

It was stupid to think that with such a public presenting of the victim the message could remain a secret.

Of course there would be people who would recognise the flowers. Of course there would be people who would piece together what they mean, and of course people would understand what they meant to the victim.

And now nobody would care.

Why would they? She was a cheater after all. Lots of people would think she deserved what she got.

And maybe she did deserve to get punished. Maybe she did deserve to be taught a lesson to not be greedy or unfaithful.

But not like that.

Not with 6 spears sticking out of her body, slowly killing her, torturing her until her last moments were nothing but pain.

You sighed a desperate sigh, so tired of feeling horrible.

Why did they have to do that?

Now nobody would care.

*

You sat on the floor of your living room, the small storage closet wide open and several paintings surrounding you, all packaged and boxed up, ready for being posted.

But there was a problem.

There was nobody who could go to the post office and send them off.

Because Nevaeh was mad.

You put your head in your hands and sighed with defeat, so tired of being… tired.

You were stupid to think you could go through this day and ignore everything that happened yesterday.

You needed Nevaeh.

Why did you think it was a good idea to push her away?

Because she couldn’t get involved in the case.

But you needed her.

But she couldn’t get involved.

But…

You ran your fingers through your hair and breathed, trying to remain calm despite the building frustration at the conflict that was tearing you apart.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear up everything in the room and then yourself, hoping that maybe, just maybe, there would be an answer within the left-over pieces of yourself.

But you were too tired to try, especially when you knew there was just no point.

You weren’t going to find any answers tearing yourself apart.

And it hurt.

It always hurt.

You didn’t want to hurt.

Taking another deep breath, you tried to focus on something else.

You had to find a way to fix this.

Nevaeh was furious, and she would continue to be until you helped someone, or told her you were already helping.

But since you couldn’t tell her, you had to find another way.

But you didn’t want another way.

You sighed again, falling back and landing on the floor with a thump, spreading out and letting yourself rest, desperately needing it.

You had to think of another way.

You had too.

Your neighbours? Maybe, but you didn’t like that. It felt iffy. You had never actually spoken to them at all, you had no opportunity too, and so turning up out of the blue and asking them to drop off several large paintings that were all very important to you and your life seemed…like a terrible idea.

Not to mention you wouldn’t even be able to actually leave your door way, so you would have to sit at the door way with your door open all day wating for them to come outside on the off chance they might be feeling generous enough to actually drop them off.

You sighed again, running through several more reasons why your neighbours weren’t the solution you were looking for, when your phone pinged.

You moved your head to the side to look at it, wondering what it could be.

It sounded like a notification, rather than a message, so you didn’t feel any immediate dread.

But you were in a weird head space, so you weren’t sure if it was a good notification or a bad notification.

Unable to be bothered to actually get up, you crawled over to your coffee table like a slug, and checked your phone.

Still laying stomach down on the floor, you unlocked your phone, and saw that your music app had suggested a couple new songs for your ‘art playlist’.

Huh. They seemed like pretty good songs.

You did need a break from thinking so much…

Standing up with a groan, you waddled over to your bookshelf, and picked up your most recent sketch book that you drew in. Sketching was a lot friendlier than your horrific nightmare fuelled paintings.

Collapsing on the couch with your pencil case and sketchbook, you flipped through it to your most recent sketches, and paused when you found several doodles of the vigilante.

Hmm. The Red Hood. You sighed as your head fell back, thinking of him.

He hadn’t come by yesterday, so he was probably going to come back tonight, since he did need to drop off a new burner phone.

Hopefully he was. You really wanted to see him again. You needed something to make you feel better, and he usually made you feel that.

Sighing, you clicked play on the new songs, and began to sketch. You didn’t wanna think about what it meant when you managed to finish several pages of nothing but him.

*

The vigilante knocked on your window at midnight, stepping off the fire escape and into your living room, where you were laid on the floor again, surrounded by stationary that had spilled from your pencil case.

You had put the paintings away earlier when it became clear that you weren’t going to be able to come up with a solution any time soon, and instead swapped them for your markers and other art supplies. And you were doing pretty well inking and colouring your sketches before he came around.

“Feeling creative tonight?” He asked, standing next to you, looking down and trying to peek at your work. You could feel his curiosity, and how badly he wanted to see your art, but all the drawings were of him.

That was far too embarrassing, so with a light chuckle, you shut your book and started to gather up your pens to put them away. There was no way he was allowed to see those drawings.

“Something like that. How are you doing?” You replied as you stood up, pencil cases in hand and sketch book underneath your arm.

“I’m alright, got some new information on the case, along with a new phone for you. What about you?”

“I’m fine.” You said as you walked over to your bookcase and slid the sketch book onto the shelf, and then tried to slide the box of markers on top of it. Except, you were tiny, and Jesus Christ why did you buy such a tall bookshelf?

You yelped as you felt the vigilante come up behind you and take the box from your hands and put them in their place at the top.

You were frozen on your tip toes, his chest right up against your back, trapping you between him and the bookshelf and Christ why were you blushing?

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked again, his automated voice closer than you thought was necessary and doing ungodly things to your brain. Ahhh! What the hell was happening!?

“You seem really tense.” He remarked, gently holding your shoulders and pushing you down off your tip toes, making you even smaller against him.

Oh God, oh fuck, oh God-

“Is it because of the fight you had with Nevaeh?”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

Mood instantly killed.

You sagged beneath his arms, and leant back against him, his strong body never giving way and letting you rest. You sighed and dragged your hands down your face as he squeezed your shoulders to comfort you, and you blushed a little harder in your hands.

God, you needed to get a grip. Yes, touch was new and unfamiliar territory, but he wasn’t going to hurt you. He was just trying to comfort you. Everything was fine.

“Everything’s fine. I’m just… dealing with it. I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet.” You answered tiredly, gently placing your hand over his, a gesture to show you appreciated him being there.

He hummed behind you, and then let go and walked away, taking off his jacket and placing it over the back of the sofa and sitting down.

You turned around to follow him, except, your jaw dropped before you could.

Jesus fucking Christ have mercy on your soul.

You didn’t realise how, ahem, toned, the vigilante was. Apparently, the leather jacket hid how much muscle he had, and with it out of the way, you got a lovely full view of, well, everything.

Glorious bulging muscles all wrapped up in a skin tight t-shirt, sweat darkening the shirt and making the muscles more accentuated, and even some small beads of sweat dripping from underneath his helmet, falling onto his chest.

You took a deep breath and turned around, desperate to get a grip. He was your friend, not a piece of meat!

“You good?” He called out when he noticed you hadn’t moved.

“Um, uh, ah, yeah, yeah everything’s fine, I just need a drink.” You fumbled out, quickly pacing to the kitchen to get something cold.

Grabbing an iced latte from the fridge, you chanced a peek at the Red Hood. He was spread out across your sofa, his head tilted back and resting, obviously feeling exhausted from the humid air.

Hmm. Turning around, you grabbed a mini electric hand fan from your junk draw.

That would make him feel better.

Walking over to the sofa, you finally sat down, and offered him the electric fan.

He stared at it for a minute, before smiling gently underneath his helmet and taking it. He turned it on and tilted his head back, aiming the fan at his throat, where it was clear he was suffering the most.

And apparently you were suffering also because Goddamn, the sweat sliding down his throat was sinful.

Taking a deep breath to calm down, you said “What new information you got?”

Hopefully the case would keep your mind preoccupied and away from any distracting thoughts.

He sighed as he thought about his answer, and then said “You spoke to Oracle yesterday, right?”

You hummed in agreement as you peeled the lid off your iced latte, taking a sip and placing the trash on the table.

“Right, well the targets name is Malcom Valetta, a standard officer who mostly just patrolled. When they found him and questioned him, he clammed up, didn’t say a word, so they let him go home. Had no choice with no real proof. No offence.”

“None taken.” You replied.

“But then he came in today, and confessed everything. Told the commissioner about how he had been taking bribes for months now, and how he had been looking the other way and ignoring this rich woman’s dirty business. Her name is Catherine Whites.”

“He confessed everything? Why?” You asked, perplexed.

“Said there was someone following him home last night. You wanna take a guess on who it was?”

“The murderer.” You didn’t like the dread that was starting to pick up in your stomach. Damnit. The Hood was supposed to keep you company and chase away the bad shit, not bring it with him!

Sighing, you sipped more of your latte as you listened to him continue.

“I mean it could have been, and if you say it was then you’re probably right. But yeah, Valetta got scared, and now the police are chasing down this Whites woman to see if she’s a possible lead.” He finished, sitting up a little and stretching.

“But this lady, Catherine Whites, she doesn’t have anything to do with the murderer.” You pouted, curling your legs up underneath. The police were going in the completely wrong direction.

“You’re probably right, but the police aren’t looking for the murderer, they’re looking to see why one of their own is supposedly being followed home, and Whites is the only lead they have. There’s nothing that actually connects the previous victim and the new target, so they don’t think it’s this new killer.” He explained, his robotic voice doing nothing to comfort the dread still growing in your stomach.

You groaned as you threw your head back, becoming increasingly frustrated with this case. It was going to be impossible to stop the bad guy if everyone kept running around like headless chickens.

“Okay, so everyone’s being fucking stupid, now what? Is he at least going into protective custody?” You asked, exasperated.

The vigilante chuckled at your potty mouth and frustration, but answered your question.

“Yeah, he’s gonna be protected. He’s been fired though, and he won’t work with any government service again, and should be doing a year in prison. But it depends if he helps or not with taking down Whites, and if he does help then it could make his trial go a little easier and he could get less time.” The Red Hood continued to explain, adjusting the fan and pointing it a little lower on his throat.

You tried not to stare.

“Is Catherine Whites really that bad?” You asked, not fully understanding how much trouble Malcom Valetta worked himself into.

“You tell me. What are your senses saying about her?”

You sipped your latte as you thought about it, the cool liquid soothing you from the humidity, and helping you focus.

“She doesn’t seem like a nice person. Actually, she seems like a horrible person. She doesn’t care about anyone at all and will do whatever it takes to get what she wants, bribery being the least worst thing she’s done.” You were confused as to why he asked you what you felt about her, but you amused him anyway.

He hummed in thought, his brows scrunching in thought as he tapped the side of the electric fan, turning it up. You weren’t really sure how to continue the conversation, so you sat there and let him think.

“Do you know if she’s ever murdered anyone?” He asked suddenly, and you hated the way you knew the answer.

“Not directly, but I think, sometimes, she’s a made threat that’s gone too far. And she covered it up.” You didn’t need to say anything else, the truth was out there now, and he knew it, and he wasn’t going to stop hunting her until everyone else knew it too.

But Catherine Whites was a problem for another time.

People like Catherine Whites were too greedy to go anywhere else other than a suffering city like Gotham, where the rich could exploit the poor, and so she wasn’t going anywhere.

And she may have caused a few accidents, but she never brutally murdered someone and hung their corpse from a tree.

Which is why you had to focus on the murderer. Because he was brutal and sadistic and psychotic, and serial killers didn’t usually stop unless they were stopped.  

You had to catch him and soon.

Sighing, you took a gulp of your latte this time, needing the sweet boost that caffeine usually gave you. Your coffee wasn’t quite finished yet, but you put it down anyway, the condensation on the cup making your hands all pruney.

Looking around the living room while The Hood was deep in thought, your eyes landed upon the art closet, and the several packaged paintings peeking out of it.

You wondered… No, that would be ridiculous. But… no, no he wouldn’t. Would he? Maybe…

It couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

“What are you thinking about?” The Red Hood asked suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Oh, uh, nothing. Well, actually…” He stared at you patiently as you fumbled, and eventually you decided to just say “Ah, fuck it. Listen, I got a hell of a lot of paintings that need to be delivered to the post office and sent off to different buyers so I can get paid, but with the whole, you know, not being able to leave the house thing, I can’t drop them off. I was wondering, if maybe, you would…”

“Send them off?” He finished your sentence for you as a light blush dusted your cheeks when you nodded.

You weren’t used to asking for help.

He thought about it for a bit, and then said “Why don’t you just hire a courier?”

“Huh?” You stared at him with mild confusion, having no idea what he was talking about.

“You seriously don’t know what a courier is?” He asked with surprise, tilting his head. You shook your head no.

“A courier is a person you can hire to deliver something to one place or another. The more cash you pay them the more specific you can make the delivery.” He explained patiently, adjusting the fan again.

“Oh.” You said meekly. “I didn’t know you could do that. Nevaeh always used to just drop them off for me.”

He hummed next to you, not sure what to say to that, but making sure to let you know he was listening.

You sighed as you tilted your head back, tired of the constant depression eating away at you.

“I’m guessing she isn’t going to drop anything off while she’s mad at you, right?” He said, still looking at you.

“Right. But I can’t fix this. I can’t change her mind. I thought we had gotten past it but she still wants to help people, and she still wants to use me to do it.”

He sighed next to you, and then said “Yeah, that’s a problem.”

“I mean, what am I supposed to do? I can’t tell her, I can’t include her, I can’t trust her. I- I just don’t know what to do.” You vented as you clenched your fists together and gritted your teeth, feeling hopeless and frustrated.

“There’s nothing much you can do. You just have to wait and hope that she eventually gives up, otherwise you will just have to keep pushing her away.” He said rather drearily next to you.

“Wow, that’s some really helpful advice, makes me feel much better.” You replied with snark, curling up into a ball and resting your chin on your knees, hugging yourself.

He sighed again before saying “I’m sorry Doll. I’m not the best at this. Comforting people and offering words of hope or wisdom. It’s not my thing. All I can do is give you the truth, and the truth is that your gonna get hurt a lot, and your gonna have to keep pushing people away to keep them safe and the investigation uncompromised.” He said bitterly, turning away from you and slouching on the sofa, upset by his own words, even though they were true.

Jesus, is this what this life was? Unending loneliness and constant hard work to distract you from it?

“Listen,” He began, and you turned your head to look at him. “This life is hard, okay? And it’s only going to get harder, but you have to remember why you started. Because you wanted to help people, and you wanted to change your life and not be afraid anymore. But if it’s putting that much of a strain on yours and Nevaeh’s friendship then you can back out and I can never come back.”

You stared at him as his eyes looked straight into yours, and you could feel the emotions that were attached to every word. There was compassion and sympathy, but there was also a longing. A desperate wish that you would tell him he was wrong and that he should stay.

He didn’t want to leave and never come back.

And you found yourself hating that idea too.

“I don’t think you leaving would fix this to be honest.” You started, and turned your face away so you could stare at the wall and not at him. He was too distracting.

“I mean, Nevaeh wants to help people, and wants me to work with the police or something, and I can’t do that. The only reason I can work with you was because of the weird circumstances. Nevaeh doesn’t know about you, so you’re not the problem. The problem is that I can’t trust her.” You finished with a sigh, and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling and silently praying for an answer.

You jumped when you felt his hand on your shoulder, giving you a comforting squeeze, and you gaped at him with a blush.

God you wished he would stop being so nice, it really made you stupid.

But you calmed down and smiled at him, placing your hand over his and whispering a “Thanks.” under your breath. You were so goddamn grateful he was there.

Hell knows where you would be without him.

“Well, things might only get tougher with Nevaeh, but I’ll always be just a call away if you need me Sweetheart.”

You blushed a little harder with the soft feelings building inside you, and squeezed his hand, unable to speak, afraid you were going to ruin the fragile but soft atmosphere.

Taking your hand away from his, and him letting go of your shoulder, you both dissipated into a comfortable quiet, unsure of what was going to happen next, but unafraid with him by your side.

*

You typed in the password, Oracle_1, and the small black chat box popped up.

The vigilante had left a little past 2 am, and you tried to sleep, you really did, but there was just too much in your head.

(And your heart.)

You decided to seek out someone else, for a second opinion on what to do about Nevaeh, and since there was only one other person you could talk to, you had hoped that Oracle would be awake at 3:46 in the morning.

- I know it’s pretty late, but are you awake? I’m kind of having a crisis right now and need some advice. –

You were prepared to wait a while, thinking she certainly wasn’t going to be up at the late hour, but was pleasantly surprised when you saw three little dots in a floaty cloud appear soon after.

- What kind of crisis? –

Sighing, you began to type.

- It’s Nevaeh. I spoke with Red Hood earlier, and he caught me up with the case, but I ended up venting about how frustrated I was because I couldn’t explain to Nevaeh what’s been going on and I’ve been forced to push her away. I just, need to know if I made the right choice. Do you think pushing her away is the right choice? –

You sat with shaky fingers hovering over your keyboard and pressed send, terrified of her answer.

This was it.

This would decide if you were destined to be alone forever.

She took a long time to reply, but when she did, it made you pause.

- That’s a tricky question. Pushing people away is tough, and it hurts, but that’s not the same as cutting them off. I guess, it depends what kind you mean. –

What did you mean? You didn’t want to cut Nevaeh off, but with the way things were going, it seemed like it was going to reach a nasty conclusion and she was never going to speak to you again.

You tapped the edge of the laptop in frustration, unsure exactly what to say and what to do.

- She’s angry because she wants to help people, and she wants to use me to do it. But she wants to go to the police, and I obviously can’t do that, but if I don’t show her that I’m already helping people then she might act out on her own and cause the police to come knocking. Or she might just never speak to me again. I don’t know what to do. –

She already knew the situation, but you hoped that by saying it clearly would help present a clear solution.

You doubted it would though.

- I’m stumped myself. Are you sure you can’t trust her? –

You paused as your fingers hovered over the keys, unsure of what was holding you back, but you found yourself unable to immediately agree with her.

Were you really sure?

Were you really unable to trust her?

Were you really just going to give up trying to trust her and keep her around even though your connection had apparently been severed?

- Yes. She broke our promise, how can I trust her to keep another one? –

There was something screaming at you in your head, telling you that you were wrong, but you ignored it.

How could you trust her? You had proof you couldn’t.

- Then I’m sorry, but you just have to let her go. She can’t get involved, and she can’t get in the way. –

Fuck.

You knew it was coming.

You knew there was no way out, and that there was no happy ending.

You knew, and still, you stupidly hoped it would be okay.

You were setting yourself up for failure, and you were a stupid pile of shit.

‘Pathetic’

You chuckled cynically as her voice perked up, and you quickly typed - Thanks for the advice, goodbye - to Oracle, before shutting the chat and the laptop.

Of course, her voice would decide to speak now, when you were about to begin an episode of self-loathing.

‘You’re so stupid sometimes.’

“Yes, yes I am.” You said out loud, climbing into your bed and hiding under the covers, tears so close to spilling already.

‘Stupid and pathetic.’

[sagesparrow394]

Some Juicy Outtakes

Some extra scenes based on my fanfic Blueberry Body, which can be found here!

Warning: Gore? Body Horror? Blood? I don’t know which one applies the best.

Logan jolted awake at the sound of his phone’s alarm. He always set an alarm on his phone for this exact reason, in case he fell asleep while working and needed a wake-up call. He groaned and let out a yawn before fumbling his hands across his desk, trying to find his glasses amongst the mess of papers.

Wait... Hold on... While, yes, Logan’s vision was blurry, he could still see colour. And, for some reason, his hands appeared to be not his regular skin colour, but bright blue.

He fumbled for his glasses faster, unease bubbling inside him. Finally, he felt them in his palm and pushed them onto his face.

His arms and hands were a rich blue colour.

Logan’s mind swam with questions, but he could hardly think straight with the buzzing of his phone’s alarm. He leant forward to grab it from where it was sat on the window sill, only to find he couldn’t quite reach it, something obstructing him from leaning all the way forward.

‘C-c’mon...’

Finally, he grabbed the phone, and he turned off the alarm. He leant back in his chair, letting out a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes and pinched himself, hoping it was a dream and his arms weren’t actually such a bright pigment. However, when he pulled his hands away from his face, they were still blue. But that wasn’t all.

Logan’s eyes drifted down in order to see what had been stopping him from leaning forward and grabbing his phone. However, it seemed there was no object in the way. The thing that had actually been obstructing him had been his own stomach, which was bulging outward.

Logan stumbled to his feet in shock, pushing himself out his chair and staring down at his stretched shirt. He hesitated before giving his belly sharp poke, causing it to make a faint sloshing sound.

He ran to the full-length mirror in the corner of his bedroom to take in his full appearance. On top of the swollen stomach, his entire body – not just his arms – was the bright blue colour.

Wait... blue skin... stomach filled with a liquid of sorts... Oh dear god.

As Logan realised what had happened, he couldn’t help but scream.

*     *     *     *     *

Logan stared around the room Roman had brought him to. It was plain: white walls, grey floor. It was large and empty.

‘So, why exactly have you brought me here, Roman?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to do something about that belly of yours.’ Roman gave Logan’s stomach a small poke, causing it to let out a sloshing sound. ‘We’ve gotta get that blueberry juice out.’

‘And how are you going to do that?’ Logan asked.

‘Simple, just do what they do to Violet in the book: juice you!’

‘Juice me?’

‘Yeah, y’know, squeeze all the juice out.’

‘And how exactly are you planning on squeezing the juice out?’ Logan inquired, slightly nervous given how painful it sounded. ‘I’m guessing you’ll copy the process in the book?’

‘Well, I would, but then I’d have to spend a lot of time and concentration creating an elaborate juicing machine and that would take way too much time,’ Roman explained. ‘I figured that maybe it might work to just...’

‘Just what?’

Roman summoned a baseball bat. ‘It’ll hurt, but it should work.’

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking from Roman to the bat. ‘Are you serious? Do you actually want to hit me in the stomach with a bat?’

‘Yes...?’

Logan sighed, rubbing his temple. ‘Fine. Fuck it.’

‘Okay, hold still...’ Roman raised the bat and slammed it into the logical side’s stomach. Immediately, Logan choked on juice which he vomited up, spitting it up onto the ground.

‘There! I knew it would.. work...’

Roman trailed off as gurgling sound came from Logan’s stomach. Then, suddenly, it started swelling, making up for the lost juice and then some, so he looked he was 9 months pregnant.

‘What did you do?!’ Logan yelled, pressing into his belly.

‘I-I don’t know! Let me try again...’

‘No, wait- !’

Roman whacked Logan again with the bat. Once again, Logan threw up a bunch of juice, and once again, his stomach swelled, this time so he looked like he’d swallowed a beach ball. His knees looked close to buckling under the extra weight. Roman swore under his breath before raising the bat again.

‘One more time! I’ll get it right this time!’

‘Roman, don’t!’

‘But I have to fix this!’

‘No you don’t, you’re just making it worse!’

‘But I have to make this right! I have to! I fucked up so badly, I can’t just leave you like this and be faced with the guilt of what I did every time I look at you.’

Logan sighed. ‘I understand you want to help, but this is not the way to do it. Look at me!’

Roman bit his lip, trying to think of another solution. Suddenly he thought of an idea. But it was really really really risky... But what other options were there? He put his hands behind his back, summoning the object he needed. ‘Logan... I need you to stay perfectly still okay?’

‘Um... oka- ‘

Roman ran forward and slashed his samurai sword across Logan’s stomach. Logan let out a scream of pain, collapsing to his knees as juice poured from the large gash. Tears streamed down his face as his stomach emptied, first of juice... then blood started pouring out.

‘Shit... SHIT!’ Roman started panicking. ‘What do I do, what do I do?!’

‘What the fuck’s going on in here?!’

Roman looked up to see Deceit stood in the doorway. The prince had never been more relieved to see the snake. He ran up to Deceit, grabbing him by the collar.

‘Oh, thank god! Deceit, you have to help! Logan’s gonna die if we don’t do something!’

‘Okay, I have no idea what’s going on, I can’t really fix this if I don’t know,’ Deceit replied.

‘Logan’s stomach was cut open, no time to explain the rest, we just need to patch up the slash before he dies of blood loss!’

Deceit sighed, obviously annoyed that he was not getting the full story. However, he grabbed Roman’s hand and ran up to Logan, placing a hand on the blue side’s shoulder. They all disappeared and ended up in an operating theatre.

Deceit lifted Logan and led him on the surgical table. He then clicked his fingers, and his outfit changed into a sterile surgeon’s one.

‘You’re lucky I was the one to find you two. Due to Insanity’s... well, psychotic tendencies, I had to train myself to do various operations so that none of us Dark Sides died,’ Deceit muttered as he injected Logan with anaesthetic so he’d fall asleep.

It was only then it struck Roman how odd it was that Deceit, a Dark Side, was helping Logan, a Light Side. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but Deceit seemed to read his mind.

‘I need logic in order for my lies to be grounded in reality. If he dies, my lies will no longer be convincing.’

‘So, Logan’s gonna be okay?’ Roman asked. ‘Patton’ll kill me if something happens to him...’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Deceit responded. ‘I’ve performed an operation similar to this one before. Insanity and Lethargy got into an argument a few recently, and it did not end well for Leth.’

‘Okay...’ Roman nodded, biting his lip. ‘What exactly is the procedure?’

‘I’ll sew the gash in his stomach to prevent loss of anymore blood. I’ll then he’ll be given a blood transfusion to replace the lost blood. He’s lucky we all have the same blood type.’

‘How long should this take?’

‘Quite a long time, and he’ll need time for recovery,’ Deceit explained. ‘However, Logan and I actually worked together in creating this room in the mindscape. He informed me that we could make it so time moves faster in this room. It took some effort, but we did it. A day in here is a minute out there.’

‘Wow...’ Roman muttered. ‘Wish I knew how to do that.’

‘Shut up, Princey, I need to concentrate.’

‘Okay.’

*     *     *     *     *

Patton smiled as he continued to sketch in the notepad on his lap. He and Logan had decided, after the havoc of the day, to get in their onesies and relax in the common room, eating snacks and watching a movie. Logan had ended up falling asleep, head resting on Patton’s shoulder. It was an adorable sight, Roman and Virgil could confirm when they walked past the doorway and saw them.

Patton was currently doodling ideas for Halloween costumes, as it was right around the corner. He’d decided to take Logan’s new skin pigment in his stride, coming up with the plan for them to go as Ruby and Sapphire from Steven Universe.

His drawings were coming along well, he couldn’t wait to show them to Logan! Oh, but they weren’t coloured yet.  Looks like he had to go get his crayons.

As he started to go skip off to his room, he couldn’t help but pause as he passed the kitchen, from where he heard Virgil and Roman’s voices.

‘YOU WHAT?!’

‘Sssh! Be quiet, don’t let Patton hear us!’

‘I will not be quiet! I will not be calm! You almost killed Logan!’

‘SSSSSSSSSH! He’s fine, you saw him! Deceit patched him right up.’

‘Wha- D- Decei- DECEIT?! You got Deceit’s help?!’

‘Well, yeah, he was the only one apart from Logan who was qualified to perform the surgery, and Logan couldn’t really perform it on himself, could he? Look, Logan’s perfectly fine. Let’s just leave it, okay?’

‘Fine... But it doesn’t change the fact you slashed open Logan’s stomach.’

Patton froze. The words sunk in, and he turned to head back into the common room. He shuffled up to Logan’s sleeping form and retook his seat beside him. He carefully undid a couple of the buttons of the logical side’s onesie, revealing a large stitched scar across Logan’s stomach.

‘Oh... my little blueberry...’

Patton wrapped his arms around the teacher, tears welling in his eyes.

‘I promise, I’ll never ever let you get hurt again.’

Tags: @weirdonehereoops, @joygaytrash, @punsterterry, @katie-the-noble-fangirl, @pumpkinminette, @metryingtobeme, @robanilla, @nerdy-as-heck

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, redheadbecool!

June 23 - Darcy/Bruce "I like you fine when you're angry" for @redheadbecool

Written by @backwardsandinhighheels

“Cappuccino for Bruce!"

Bruce looked up from his workstation, confusion in his eyes. "You got me coffee?"

Darcy nodded, pushing the takeaway cup in his direction. "Jane and Tony send me on coffee runs all the time; I figured I'd get one for you too."

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even fluffier than before. "I, uh, don't drink coffee. Sorry."

"Whoa, what?" Darcy’s jaw dropped. "You have multiple degrees. When you heard I went to Culver we bonded over love of pulling all-nighters at Espressoholic. How do you not drink coffee?"

If anything, Bruce looked even more embarrassed. "I used to drink it. Wish I still could, but I don't think a stimulant like caffeine is the best thing for the other guy. Thanks anyway."

Darcy shrugged. "Okay, I'll get you decaf next time. No biggie.”

She was gone before he could protest further, ‘his’ cappuccino in hand.

He took a long swallow, savouring the flavour as the cup warmed his hand. Suddenly he was back at Culver, young and earnest and certain his research could save the world. When he got angry (which wasn't often) he broke pens, not neighbourhoods. People.

After a moment, he lowered the cup to see Darcy watching him intently. “Well?” she demanded.

“It's good,” he admitted, and the smile that blossomed across her face made his heart do an odd double thump he couldn't blame on the coffee. He'd always had a thing for smart brunettes. Unfortunately, the reason things hadn't worked out with Betty was exactly why he should cut this thing with Darcy before it went any further.

Instead, he took another drink of coffee.

~

“It's so nice to buy coffee for someone who doesn't leave a mountain of half-enough mugs for me to clean up,” Darcy confided over the rim of her own caramel macchiato. “Although…” She surveyed the cup he held. “All these takeaway cups can't be good for the environment. We need to get you a go cup. Or seven. You know, so you only need to do the dishes once a week.”

Bruce blinked at her enthusiasm. “Seven seems excessive. I'm sure one would be fine.”

“Okie doodles,” Darcy said. “What colour do you want and how big? No, wait, you should pick it yourself, coffee cups are very personal. How about we go and get it tomorrow, and you can try it out right there?”

“No, I trust your judgement,” he told her, feeling like he was missing something.

Darcy set down her cup and looked him in the eye. “Let me rephrase: would you like to get coffee with me tomorrow?”

Unsure how to phrase his reply, he sat there long enough that her smile dimmed. “Okay, that's a no, I guess. I kinda thought… ”

“Wait, Darcy…” he scrambled for words as she rose to leave. “It's not safe. I'm not safe.”

She looked unconvinced, “Is this about the other guy? Because I'm pretty sure you've got him under control.”

“That's here. Out there, anything could happen. There are a million things that could go wrong. You might shrug them off but I'm not so good at that these days.”

“Seriously?” She gave him an incredulous look. “Dude, you're like the chillest guy I know.”

He shook his head helplessly. “You wouldn't like me when I get angry. People get hurt. I don't want you to be one of them”

“And that's it?”

At his nod, Darcy sighed, and he felt like the biggest kind of bastard as she took another sip of coffee to hide a wobbling lip. “Okay,” she said, giving him a tremulous smile. “I better go check on Jane.”

It's for the best, he reminded himself as she left. He gulped down the bitter dregs of his now-cold coffee and dumped the empty cup in the trash.

~

Darcy inspected the row of go cups and frowned. She might be hurt and mad, but she wasn't buying any more coffee in disposable cups. Unfortunately, that talk with Bruce hadn't included what type of go cup he actually wanted. Well, there was an easy way to solve that. She pulled out her cellphone and asked JARVIS to put her through to Bruce’s lab.

“Darcy?”

“Hey Bruce!” she forced a smile into her voice. “What colour cup did you want, again?”

“I-”

The rest of his answer was swallowed up by an explosion from outside that blew the windows in and sent Darcy crashing into the display. Groaning, she rolled to her knees and peered outside. Chaos reigned as a small army of robots filled the street. A squad peeled off to march into the bank next door as the others spread out, dragging pedestrians to the middle of the street.

Darcy stifled a shriek as a metal hand clamped down on her shoulder, hauling her through the shattered window and dumping her beside a shellshocked business woman. She eyed the robots surrounding them, wondering if her beloved taser could take enough out to run… where?

A roar shook the streets and Darcy had enough time to sigh in relief before one robot was scooped up by a familiar green hand and used to scatter the others like bowling pins. The whine of Iron Man’s repulsors sounded above her head and a robot exploded in a shower of sparks. Shielding her face from the debris, she huddled against the dubious shelter of an abandoned car as the people around her scattered.

Her view of the chaos was suddenly blocked and she blinked up at the Hulk. “Um. Hi?”

“Darcy hurt?” he rumbled, and she shook her head.

“I’m fine, big guy. I think they were after the bank.”

She made a shooing gesture with her hands. He hesitated, then scooped her up, depositing her in a nearby store before bounding off to rejoin the fight. Having nothing better to do, she sat back and waited for the sounds of battle to die down.

~

He found her in the ruins of a cafe, dirty but looking otherwise unharmed. Her face brightened as he stepped inside and she held something out to him.

“I found you a go cup,” she announced. “The owner said I could have it at a discount.”

The man hiding behind the counter gave him a shaky smile but he only had eyes for the woman in front of him. “You’re still getting me one of those? You’ve just seen what I can do.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You think I’m turning down a cheap go cup?” Standing, she tucked her arm into his and patted his chest. “The explosion wasn’t your fault. Neither were the robots. All I saw was you being a hero, as usual. How did you get here before Tony, anyway?”

He ducked his head, studying the pattern on his borrowed shirt. “We might need to replace one of the windows in my lab. I heard the explosion through the phone and … got angry.”

Darcy laughed. “Well, I like you fine when you’re angry. Now, you wanna get some coffee?”

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!