#and like I do need to branch out more right and make basic acquaintances. That's a social goal of mine

[corset]

Socializing actually does make me feel better but it's so difficult for me....I wish I had a button to turn off how easily irritated I am by people. I don't even know WHY it happens either. I sit there and try and pick apart certain things, and some of it I can figure out (usually has more to do with me than them i.e problems with shame, which I can address and do something about), but some of it is like. Do I just not like people??? I feel like I just don't like people even though I want to. I can't do anything about that part! Point is I just wish socializing wasn't such an annoying and grand undertaking 9 out of 10 times.

[datawyrms]

Half a Decade Late

Valerie was finally promoted to the main headquarters of the Guys in White. There she finally comes face to face with Phantom, who disappeared five years ago, locked in a cell. For Phic Phight 2021, @lexosaurus' prompt!

Nothing proved ’harder workers get ahead’ was only a capitalist lie than the absolute hassle getting promotions within the GIW. Of course she’d gone right to them for employment, it was the only organization large enough to actually pay people that took her resume of ghost hunting seriously. She had experience, actual knowledge and even her own gear but had still spent years getting jerked around to various small operations, basically just using her to train all their useless recruits while still just considering her a ‘fellow’ field agent. It wasn’t like she had the option to quit in protest, no one else was in the market for ghost hunters. As far as most people knew ‘ghost intelligence’ was just a joke cover story that the agents were very attached to. They didn’t want any more Amity Parks, so if she wanted to live somewhere new and still do her job...these guys were it. She’d been very clear, she wanted to be in the main office, where everything happened. That didn’t stop them from constantly assigning her literally anywhere but the actual headquarters. Maybe they finally ran out of other places, she still half expected to get stopped at the door and be told about a new field mission they absolutely needed her on immediately. It didn’t happen. Valerie Grey finally got to clock in as an Ecto Containment Officer at the main branch. Where they kept the strongest creatures, developed the new anti-ghost equipment and did more than just splattering a ghost down to nothing. Sure, she liked a good ghost obliterating, but it got boring after a while. There were only so many ways a ghost could beg for it’s useless afterlife before it became white noise. It didn’t stop any new ones from showing up, or tell her anything new. Just got rid of one pest, permanently. That wouldn’t help explain some ghosts, the powerful ones that showed up again and again. It wouldn’t explain the one that stopped showing up either. There was no way that life ruining ghost just got ‘bored’ and vanished without notice. It was still out there, plotting something. She just knew it in her bones. She had to be ready for it. There were traces of that ghost, hints of his ectosignature that she came across in the field, he was still out there. The GIW was just a means to an end, she didn’t trust them to be ready alone.

Sterile corridors and simplistic signs were expected, but even the break area was doing its best impression of a frozen tundra. Fantastic for morale? Probably not. Made the coffee pot easy to spot, at least. Even if she preferred to avoid the stuff in uniform. It stained too easily, and just made her wish for her red battle suit. She took a cup to at least have an excuse for her scoping out the place, she could pass it off to someone once she got to the containment area. A quick double check that everything was in place at the mirror before heading right back out to the winding halls. She wasn’t going to be late, she didn’t have time for that. Maybe a red tie was against protocol, but no one had been stupid enough to bother her about it yet. Judging from the deferential nods from her latest coworkers, that wouldn’t be changing. No one who worked here couldn’t know who she was. The only Ghost Hunter who got out of Amity Park without getting corrupted by the ectoplasmic monsters. It was a shame, Jack and Maddie Fenton used to be a serious force for humanity. Five years ago they suddenly flipped the script, denouncing their work and calling for peace with unreasonable fiends. Their daughter Jazz likely had something to do with it, but Valerie had her own theories. Danny, her friend and once boyfriend had gone missing around that time. Leverage to ensure the Fenton’s ‘good behaviour?’ The whole thing reeked of ghosts. To think she might have gone the same way. Back then she was actually listening to the pest, starting to really consider them a ‘good’ ghost. Like that was actually possible, when he’d just been playing to emotion and her own desire to give up in fighting a dangerous foe over and over. So much for that. That monster showed it’s true colours, sure enough. Something the GIW never bothered to look into, even as she wrote report after report about the incident, how unlikely it was for the Fentons of all people to change that drastically without constant possession. Not worth the resources, even when it was easy to see what tech was built on the foundations the couple had laid. They were throwing away so much to focus on little outbreaks of ghosts instead of making more of a lasting change. Stupid. That was what the funding was ‘meant’ to go towards, as if helping the Fentons would be less productive than making a slightly different ectogun.

She almost hoped there would be a problem, just to prove this is where she should have always been.Even if it seemed distinctly unlikely. She had to swipe to get into the lab, then yet again to actually get to the cells. Or the ‘vault’, as if the higher ups wanted to pretend the creatures in there were inert materials instead of cunning and dangerous beings. Even though they had someone posted at each door, and someone on guard inside as well, herself today. To get acquainted with the place mostly, she had more than enough training on ‘proper handling’ procedures.

“Hey, you can swap with me today, if you want.”

Valerie blinked, eyebrow already raised at the posted guard’s suggestion. “I can handle watching caged ghosts.”

They had the sense to look embarrassed, taking their hand away from the oversized ectogun to loosen their tie- which was tied rather poorly now that she got a better look at it. “I’m sure you can, it’s just, well.” They wouldn’t stop fidgeting with their tie now, eyes checking that no one was really paying attention to the guards. “H0G02 is awake today. No one likes those days.”

“Then all the more reason to get used to it early.” She didn’t give them time to sputter another excuse, swiping her card and striding past without another look. As if people should be worried about a captive ghost being awake. Maybe some of the people here never got a spine before joining up.

It wasn’t as cold as she expected it to be. Or as dark. It was actually brighter, thanks to the extra row of fluorescent lights. On some level she expected the room to reflect the monsters kept here, a shadowy icebox of a space. Of course it wasn’t. These were defeated creatures under human control, of course their cages would be bright and clean, the air warmed for human comfort. The ghosts might not like it, but why care what they wanted? It wasn’t like there were many to begin with, mostly green oversized vermin with blank red eyes. Most had the sense to cower back as she walked past, but a fair few didn’t even twitch. Calling a ghost of all things lifeless was foolish, but it was the only word coming to mind...she had to focus. She didn’t pity these things. Why so many creatures though? The real dangerous ones, the most monstrous ones were the ones that could play human, the ones that had conniving minds that only worked to cause destruction and terror. These were just feral things, annoying but hardly more impressive than a coyote when you knew what to do. Half of them she’d barely rate above ‘feral cat’. A light near the back flickered. Strange. When it flickered a second time she was already releasing her helmet to pull it on. Not nearly as easy as just willing it on, but at least she could carry it in a pocket without needing to rely on some ghost’s power. Three steps and her gun was ready, not that she expected to need it. Really, she worked on autopilot, legs still moving as she stared at the largest glass cage at the back of the room. Or more accurately, at what was in it.

“Oh, newbie. ‘Sup.” The ghost rasped out, blank green eyes watching the ghost hunter. A teenaged boy with a shock of white hair, a black jumpsuit, but the voice of a seventy year old chain smoker. Just sitting in a painfully bright cell, watching. Not exactly as she remembered him, but close enough.

“You.” The disgust was easy to voice, even as her brain struggled to catch up. He was here? Looking practically exactly as he had when she was still a soft hearted freelancer?

He only gave a sputtering laugh at the aggression. “Me? You’re not that mad about the light, are you? I’m bored, Tie.”

“What are you doing here?” That wasn’t the important question really, she should be more concerned that he apparently was able to manipulate light fixtures from his cell...but she’d been hunting after this ghost for five years. Protocol could go shove itself up the director’s ass.

“Same thing I do every day Tie, being some government property!” His laugh was wrong, not from amusement like she remembered. A desperate cackle that didn’t fool anyone. “You new enough to still have your soul in there?”

“Answer the question, Phantom.”

The smirk slid off the ghost’s face. “Wh’ad you call me? Like I’m only calling you Tie cus the red sticks out, I can call you Shooty if you don’t like it, newbie.”

The response made her insides run cold. It had to be Phantom, and the terrible sense of humour was just like him- but the ghost wasn’t quite right. What was this? It couldn’t be some copy of the ghost kid, could it? “I called you by your name, ghost.”

“Never heard of em.” The ghost crossed his legs and looked away, apparently bored of the person holding a weapon. “What day is it?”

Surely he was playing around. “What do you think your name is, then?”

He didn’t take his attention off the ceiling, looking more bored than anything.“Day first, Tie. Gotta know how much of a head start I’ve got.”

“Like you’re in any position to bargain.”

“Hm? Whatcha gonna do Tie? Let me be unconscious for a few hours? Scary. Day first.”

There was the Phantom she knew, snide and sarcastic when he really had no business being so. “I could do worse than that.”

“Doubt it. You gun grunts gotta listen to the freaks out there, remember?” His shoulders shook with a silent laughter, but it looked more like spasms. “No more mishandling the goods, yeah? Day Tie, comeonnnnnn”

Since when was he so interested in the calendar? Not to mention how weird it was how he kept referring to himself...and pretending he didn’t know his name. “It’s Monday.”

That got his attention, the casual rocking halting as he looked at her again, disturbingly still. “Monday, really?”

“Lying is your thing, not mine.”

He grinned. “I like you Tie, so you’ll probably be fired in like a week. Maybe it’s the red.” The tension left the ghost completely, she hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he’d been sitting until his spine relaxed as his elbows rested on his legs. “Pretty sure I’m H0G02. Least that’s what all your creeps call me.”

There was no way Phantom of all ghosts would call himself ‘H0G02’. He had to be a mimic of some sort, a ghost that modelled himself on the once well known Amity Park menace. “You like me because I told you it was Monday? Seriously?”

“I like the Mondays more than you, if that helps.”

“Not particularly.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” He was watching her again, more curious than anything. She shouldn’t be glad to see a spark of something in those eyes, but he was far less creepy this way.

“What’s so great about Monday? You’re a ghost.” She didn’t really care. She should be asking important questions. She was just...playing along to see if it really was Phantom. That didn’t stop her for being grateful for the helmet.

“Monday is the farthest day away from Friday.”

“Wouldn’t that be Saturday?”

“It hasn’t been Saturday or Sunday for...like four years? Those days don’t exist, I think you humans made ‘em up to prank me.” Phantom shrugged, sounding completely serious. Not even a hint of amusement or a grin. “Pretty good one, all you new guys keep it up.”

He was going to be completely useless if he kept saying nonsense. How could he be useful in finding out what happened to the Fenton’s son if he couldn’t even talk about the days of the week sensibly? “Fine, what’s so bad about Friday then.”

“Ohhhhh, you’re really new, Tie.” the ghost flopped onto his side, bored of sitting up apparently. “You know, the day they keep me around for? That day.” He wasn’t quite still, his right shoulder moving very, very carefully. Hiding something.

She didn’t have the patience for this.“What are you hiding there.”

“Tie has good eyes. Gotta remember that.” Phantom muttered, getting onto his back, a blue shard of ice melting off his arm.

“You don’t really think that some ice would help you out of there?”

“Out?” He looked mystified by the suggestion, but that could more be seeing his face upside down. “That glass doesn’t break for anything, I should know.”

Which didn’t explain why he’d been trying to hide the fact he’d made ice at all. He knew it too, but apparently playing stupid was still one of his favourite tactics. “Knock it off and just answer me.”

Phantom’s frown didn’t change, green eyes staring intently at her helmet as if hoping to see through it. “I could show you why?”

It didn’t sound like a threat. “Sure, why not. It’s gonna be a long day.” If it was? Then she’d show him that she wasn’t someone he could mess with.

Ice wrapped itself around the ghost’s lower arm alarmingly quick, a wickedly sharp blade of ice with serrated teeth jutting from the scrawny arm at an awkward angle. It was practised, something this ghost must have done often in all the time he’d been gone from her life. Yet it was so different from how Phantom usually chose to fight. That was a weapon to tear and maim, not to shock, stun or bruise. It looked wrong on him. The idea that this ghost wasn’t Phantom at all only grew more credible with that thing on his arm, even if ice powers were to be expected. His eyes flicked back to green, still fixated on her as he lifted the arm and stabbed down hard. Right into his other arm. Didn’t even blink.

“What are you doing!” She couldn’t remember the last time Phantom had ever been frightening on some primal level. This- with the disturbing snap of bone as the edges of the blade caught and tore made her hair stand on end. “Stop that, Phantom. What’s wrong with you!?”

“Cancelling Friday.” Phantom was laughing as the blade melted away into the pool of green rapidly spreading from his self inflicted wound. “I said you’d probably get fired Tie.”

“Forget Friday you idiot, cover the wound so you stop splattering everywhere!” He was just a ghost-a ghost messing with her. A ghost she’d fought with and had heard scream in pain. This...thing wasn’t him. Her heart didn’t care what her mind thought, insisting he needed help.

The ghost sat up, his left arm holding on by a shred of his suit before splattering into the puddle, but the left behind stump stopped dripping almost as quickly as he’d lost the limb. “Aw. Maybe Tie does have some soul left. You actually sound worried.”

“Of course I am! You slashed your arm off!”

“So?”

He didn’t seem to be in pain. If it wasn’t for the mess of green and the lack of a limb, she’d almost say she imagined it. Why did she care? “You wouldn’t do this sort of thing.”

“Uh. Yes I would? You just saw me do it. I’m down for an encore.”

The idea just made her feel ill. “Don’t.” Did she want this to be Phantom or not? “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well I’m down an arm. So the coats are going to be very whiny about how much ectoplasm they can get out of me.”

“You must have felt that.”

“Sure. Isn’t nearly as bad as when they start ripping as much ectoplasm as they can out of you. Every single Friday.” He actually rolled his eyes, like she should just know this.

Why did they bother keeping Phantom around if they just wanted ectoplasm? He might be strong, but no ghost had limitless amounts. They’d just fall apart and stop existing. That’s why the weakest ones never even left the Ghost Zone, they couldn’t survive without constantly being around the stuff! “What makes you so special then? Not your attitude.”

“I’m just lucky enough to make my own ectoplasm. Who knew food was easier to get then high grade ectoplasm? Not me.” His remaining arm pointed to her weapon, his smile stretching. “Bet ya your weapon’s fully powered from Fridays. Yours and every other thing they use in this hellhole.”

“Ghosts can’t do that.” The lie was absurd. It went against everything they knew about ghosts, even before food entered the equation.

“Y’know, Tie. I think I knew a ghost hunter that wore red once.” the ghost’s eyes went unfocused, unmoving as he looked listlessly into space. “It’s a good colour.”

“You knew me. Quit fooling around with this not remembering crap.” Valerie threw her helmet aside, no longer caring. She had to know who this ghost really was. She had to know if everything he was blathering about was a lie. So what if it wasn’t ‘safe’.

His eyes didn’t change. “Y’know how hard it is to remake a brain? Cut me some slack Tie…”

“I mean it. Look at me Phantom. If you’re the ghost I know, you can stop pretending to be something else.”

“You lose the details. Arms and legs are easy. The brain though? Way too hard.” He kept rambling to himself, not reacting even as she put a hand to the glass to get his attention. “Y’know how many times they’ve cut it open? I don’t. I lose track after like. Eleven. Maybe. Pointy Shoe said my best was fifteen but I sure don’t remember that.”

She wanted him to just stop talking. She wanted this ghost to be some strange creature she didn’t know. To not have the only possible link to someone long lost a shattered husk. “Phantom. Do you remember the hunter in red’s name?”

He finally blinked. “I’m not this Phantom guy, Tie.”

“Okay, whatever, forget that part. The ghost hunter in red, what do you remember?” She insisted, knocking again in hopes it would keep the ghost’s focus.

“Wish I’d told em something.” he held up his gloved hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t remember what that something was, don’t ask.”

So he was Phantom? He couldn’t be. That was so non-specific it could be anything. “You never explained how you’re the only ghost that can make their own ectoplasm.”

“It’s in my name Tie! Come on. Thought you guys were smart or whatever.” He did a very awkward one armed attempt at crossing it, eyebrow raised. “The H? The feeding a ghost food thing?”

She didn’t really get the whole naming scheme they used here. The fact it mattered wasn’t making her gut unclench either. “What about the H?

“Hybrid? Might have been Human. That might have been a joke.”

Valarie’s mouth was drier than any desert when he said it that easily, that casualty while kicking his own arm aside. “You’re saying you aren’t all ghost.”

“Yup. Not yet! Trust me, I’ve tried,” the bubbly high pitched laugher clawed out of the ghost at that. “I tried so much. Guess it’s another thing I’m a failure at, eh Tie?”

Something told her not to ask. She had to know. Five years she waited, five years apparently knocked Phantom clear from reality.“Does Danny Fenton mean anything to you?”

He just laughed harder at the question. “Really Tie?”

“Yes, really.”

“That’s the name I scream at em. Don’t know why. Feels good though.”

“Is it your name?” Had he had contact with Danny? Been part of whatever made him go missing from everyone’s lives? He couldn’t be, there was no way.

“They get reallllll angry when I say it is.”

There was no way the GIW had a human captive for five years. There was no way Phantom could be the Danny she knew. The ghost was just lying. He had to be, she desperately needed him to be. “Were you fused with a human or something? Got stuck when possessing someone?”

“Nah. Been like this before I got here, pretty sure. You can check your fancy gear though. There’s some non-ghost DNA in it. Lucky lucky me,” he lay back down in the mess of ectoplasm, ignoring how it clung to his hair. “Thanks for the Friday off! I hate those.”

There was no reason to need air. Talking to a ghost she didn’t even like shouldn’t make her feel like she was being crushed under a boulder. Panting for air, outside the room would make her look pathetic and weak, but she needed the space, needed to be away from that...mockery of a ghost.

“He does that to everyone. He’ll repeat the whole thing in a week or so, but he’s a really good copy the first time you see it.” The guard gave a comforting word, apparently unsurprised by her sudden unscheduled departure.

Oh, there would be no ‘next time.’ Not if he was right about her weapon. But she nodded instead, letting her ‘coworker’ think she was just overwhelmed. Even if all she could think of was how many ways this place would burn if that ghost- that thing had been a human once. She was good at telling when ghosts lied. Phantom didn’t sound like he had. No matter how much she tried to convince herself he did.

[angelicmichael]

living after midnight

Brooke Thompson x Montana Duke

Summary: Brooke and Montana get a bit intoxicated and get a bit carried away while going night swimming. Based off this post I made a week ago hehe

Words: 3.1k+

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and also vague mentions of weed, stripping (no nudity tho LOL), lotssss of sexual tension, lots of fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, weird yearning angst for like .02 seconds lmao

A/N: Hey guys, sorry if this is random but I got random inspo for brotana so.. here this is lmao. Believe it or not I did try to make this under 1k words but.. I got carried away so I’m sorry that’s it’s long 😭. But the fic happens sometime after Brooke and Montana meet but before any camp redwood fuckery happens lmao. Anyway I hope y’all like this!! This is also probably the fastest I’ve ever written a fic so I hope it’s atleast decent haha. Anyway enjoy <3

A gentle breeze danced against Brookes exposed skin. The midnight air cold on its own regard but it seemed to blend perfectly with the extensive heat that radiated from the bonfire she sat in front of.

The night was entirely pitch black. The moon was vacant from the sky, leaving the only source of light to come from the giant fire that sat at Brookes shoes.

It was admittedly a bit unsettling being in almost the total darkness, especially with how many girls had recently gone missing in L.A as of late but the beer in her system had mostly put those thoughts to rest. Plus, being with three men and Montana was also reassuring. Even if she didn’t exactly know Xavier, Chet or Ray that well but.. she knew Montana.

It was nearly impossible to forget about how they met.. in the girls locker room in the showers and well; it’s not as if things were any less weird now. Showers or not.

It’s not as if Brooke and Montana were best friends or super close, because that definitely wasnt the case; but they weren’t acquaintances either by any means. The weird tension and ‘playfulness’ that lied between them ruled out being friends.. or that’s Brooke liked to think anyway when she had one too many things to drink. Like now.

Her legs twitched a bit restlessly; content at the ambience that surrounded her but not content with her current state of being. Like how she knew she should be enjoying herself, drunk, not caring about particularly anything at all but instead all she could do was fucking care. Her thoughts were purely infiltrated with Montana and it was embarrassing, to say the least but now that she was intoxicated there was really no harm in fighting it. No matter how annoying and taunting those thoughts truly were.

After all, Why should she not think about how nice it would be to feel Montana’s hands (which she knew had to be soft and delicate) on her waist and down her back? Why should she not think about Montana’s soft lips moving against her own, a few strands of her bleached hair (which definitely had lost it softness due to excessive over bleaching) brushing up against her face accidentally?

That was a rhetorical question; because she knew exactly why she avoided those type of thoughts on a normal day to day basis. Not because it would make things awkward between them but because it was beyond fucking painful to imagine scenarios that would never happen.. Never.

The smell of the fire and the sounds of the wood crackling, which was far too dry and poorly stacked (neither Xavier, Chet or Ray could build a proper fire to save their life), helped bring Brooke out of her thoughts and bit more into reality. So did the gentle sway of the tree branches which she could see in her peripheral vision, since they were right on the cusp of a forest that cut off to a beach. Ocean waves which slowly dragged across the sand were also soothing to listen too, albeit distant over the sound of Brookes friends screaming and laughing and being heavily intoxicated over what was more than just alcohol and weed.

Brooke reached down and swiftly grabbed the beer can which was previously lodged upright in the sand. Lifting the can up to her lips and cringing and unconsciously tensing up as she swallowed until the can was nearly weightless - wiping her mouth with the back of her hand just to see-

“Montana?!” Brooke nearly yelled. Both alcohol and temporary shock making her speak way louder than what was realistically needed.

Montana, who was previously standing several feet away with the boys was suddenly seated right next to Brooke on the log with no warning. Probably having moved over while Brooke was poorly chugging the alcohol she hated.. but she couldn’t help but to notice that their thighs (as well as basically their entire sides) were touching as she tried to wipe the alcohol that had embarrassingly dripped down her front in a frenzy.

Chet and Xavier looked back at them from a few feet away as they smoked what Brooke knew had to be a joint. Briefly laughing and giving the pair of women an amused glance before turning around and immersing themselves in whatever conversation they were previously having.

Brooke sheepishly met Montana’s gaze, feeling her cheeks grow nearly unbearably hot at the awareness that she was now being watched.. studied almost.

“Sorry,” Brooke added with a giggle.

Montana responded with a slight upturn of her lips; amused with Brookes actions not because she found it necessarily funny or pitiful, but for the sole reason that.. it was cute and endearing that Brooke couldn’t really hold her alcohol for shit.

It made her unique and different from everyone else Montana acquainted herself with. People that Montana had to basically learn to keep up with.. but Brooke on the other hand was different.. She was a breath of fresh air, and that’s why Montana assumed she was so attracted to her (besides her looks, of course).

Montana tried her best to ignore and not be bothered by the fact that Brooke was wasting perfectly good alcohol by wiping it off herself (alcohol that Montana wouldn’t necessarily mind licking off Brookes lips.. or her neck, or really anywhere else off of her). Instead focusing on how suffocated she felt here.

It wasn’t necessarily anyone’s fault. After all; she loved Chet, Xavier and Ray dearly but.. they were also undoubtedly preventing anything from happening between her and Brooke.. and that needed to change.

Montana huffed. Her deep brown eyes quickly flickering at the flame and then Brooke before speaking.

“Im bored,” she announced. Suddenly standing up and not letting her eyes break the gaze she suddenly held with Brooke.

Brooke responded with a simple hum. Her jaw quickly dropping once she noticed that Montana’s bright red nails quickly darted down under her own shirt. Hooking the material under her fingertips before quickly raising the shirt up and over her head. Throwing it back somewhere behind the log Brooke still sat on.. somewhere where Brooke was almost certain Montana wouldn’t be able to locate later.. which was probably done on purpose.

Brookes jaw still stayed ajar when she saw Montana’s hands automatically fly down to the small jean shorts she was wearing. She could do nothing but watch as she saw the button unhook- wait.. what exactly was happening?

“Montana, what are you doing?” Brooke asked with a laugh.

Brooke tried her best to fight the urge to look at her friend who was now well.. in her bra and underwear, out of what she was trying to convince herself was respect, but it wasn’t working. She knew for a fact her cheeks had to burnt bright fucking red; she tried to laugh off the feeling but Montana still stared.. her smile slowly growing wider until sudden laughter momentarily broke the tension again.

Brooke and Montana both looked behind them just to find the boys laughing and whooping as well at Montana’s sudden lack of clothes.

Brooke smiled back at them but it only lasted a second before she found herself overtaken with a emotion she never really felt around Montana before.. was it jealousy?

Just the sight of them staring at Montana (who obviously didn’t give a fuck, or was thriving off the attention more than anything) was enough to make Brooke stand up.

“Go swimming with me?” Brooke suddenly proposed. More than certain that her sudden impulsivity was coming from the alcohol more than anything.. it had to be, right?

Brooke looked Montana in the eyes again as she watched the other woman’s expression suddenly change at her words; looking utterly shocked and.. maybe a bit thrilled.

“You want to go swimming?” Montana nearly sneered, her tone reeked off utter disbelief, “and what are you gonna wear?”

Brooke laughed at what the other woman was implying. Her dark brown eyes slipped down to admire the rest of Montana’s body that she dared not to look at previously. Only looking for a second at the matching cherry red set that Montana wore. A bra which was most definitely too tight and cut a bit small, along with a thong with sat a bit high on her hips which only accentuated her figure even further.

She didn’t have time to think; her eyes darting back up to meet Montana’s which she knew were watching her.

“I’m not going naked-“

“You don’t have too. It’s not like their gonna see us anyway once we get away from the fire. Here.”

They both spoke in hushed whispers. Weirdly paranoid that maybe the boys would overhear and wanna join which- was something they both clearly didn’t want, although unspoken.

The distance between them was minimal enough due to alcohol (and other substances in Montana’s case) running high in their systems. Making personal space something that was now nonexistent.

Montana extended her hand out to Brooke to take. She quickly grabbed her hand, hoping desperately it wasn’t sweaty from how close they were to the fire and also.. just from the situation she was bound to find herself in. But due to Montana’s reaction (or lack thereof) she knew she had nothing to worry about.. sweaty palms or not, she knew Montana wouldn’t judge her. No matter how insane the circumstance; Brooke always felt safe around Montana. That’s why she supposed she was currently following her into the pitch black - her vision getting more and more sparse as they walked away from the fire and into some nearby trees that framed the beach..

“Are you sure they can’t see me?” Brooke asked, trying her best to look through the trees and see if any of her friends happened to be looking but - she couldn’t really make out anything besides the subtle outline of her surroundings which included Montana.

“They can’t see you. Relax,” Montana said with a giggle. “Now do I need to help you undress? Your taking forever and I’m hot- and it’s not like I haven’t seen you wearing less-“

Brooke tried her best to look offended and shocked by her reference to how they met. She knew that normally with nothing in her system she would’ve easily sidestepped Montana’s ruthless flirting but.. something felt different about tonight. After all; why should she keep trying so hard to resist something they both felt? And it wasn’t like anyone could see them anyway..

Brooke quickly turned her head to where she knew Montana was and stepped closer until they were barely a foot apart. Her feet nearly stumbled on Montana’s from the proximity; biting her lip to prevent herself from stupidly giggling once she felt hot breath on her cheek.

She grabbed Montana’s hands which first held hers back limply but briefly held hers tighter before Brooke directed her hands on her shirt.

“Take it off,” Brooke uttered. Her voice barely audible but not quite loud enough to be discerned as a whisper.

Montana didn’t hesitate as she quickly took Brookes shirt off, barely feeling the soft fabric against her fingertips before she quickly threw it behind them into the forest. Montana didn’t wait for Brooke to say anything before her fingers were quickly undoing the button and the zipper of her jean shorts which were only thrown somewhere in the forest as well (hopefully near her shirt.. Brooke could only hope).

Brooke tried her best to not look bothered by her sudden lack of clothes but she also knew that was purely idiotic since they were in the pitch black.

Nevertheless she looked down at herself, trying to discern whether her figure was actually visible or not but Montana grabbed her hand again. Making her gaze snap upward as she led her out. She knew they were going out to the water now; the sand under her feet and the fire now visible from a distance as they continued to go out. The sand becoming more grainy and nearly painful to step on as they got closer to the water.

Brooke quickly looked over her shoulder before she took the first step in - still holding onto Montana’s hand. She quickly glanced to see if any of the men they had came with were watching but surely enough they were still talking and laughing as if they didn’t even notice they had gone missing.. and they probably hadn’t given how fucked up they were.

Perfect.

She continued to hold onto Montana’s hand as she went further and further into the water; not phased by the sudden coolness she felt as the water wrapped around her legs.. submerging her further and further until they both finally stopped. The water lapping around Brookes waist, and well, nearly Montana’s chest since she was a few inches shorter than Brooke.

The water seemed to be a perfect temperature despite them being at the ocean; and the rocks had since disappeared under their feet and changed back into soft sand which also made the current situation a bit more enjoyable.

Brooke tilted her head back a bit, worried momentarily that her hair might get wet but it was worth it. It was absolutely breathtaking.

The night sky which previously looked completely black and void of any light whatsoever was now painted with what looked to be a million stars.

“Do you see this?” Brooke asked.

“What, the stars?” Montana answered, her voice holding a bit of amusement to it and almost as if she was trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah,” Brooke affirmed with a nod. Still keeping her gaze fixated to the night sky.

“What about them?” Montana asked.

The water rippled a bit as Montana started to a take a few steps closer towards Brooke, dissatisfied at the distance between them.

“Nothing. I just- it’s beautiful. I never do things like this,” Brooke responded, tilting her head down to make eye contact with Montana as she finished her sentence.

Montana smirked.

“Never?” She asked with a laugh. “C'mon. I’m not wet enough, let’s go deeper.”

Before Brooke could protest, Montana grabbed both of her hands and pulled her deeper in the water.

“But I didn’t bring a towel!”

“Your not gonna need one. We can warm up by the fire, remember?”

They continued to keep wading until the water almost spilled over Montana’s shoulders. The water barely touching Brookes collarbones but getting some of her hair wet regardless.

She hesitantly let go of the other woman’s hand in the water, intent on using her hand to help her gain balance since a few rocks were still on the ocean ground but - the exact opposite happened.

Brooke didn’t even have time to gasp or scream before her left foot quickly slid on a random rock that just.. of course.. had to fucking be there. Her hands quickly landed on Montana’s shoulders; the rest of her body accidentally falling into the other woman’s but she only felt Montana’s hands suddenly grab gently at her back. Holding her in place against her body.

Brookes eyes instinctively closed shut but when she slowly opened them and reluctantly lifted her head higher up (silently cursing herself for accidentally getting her hair almost entirely wet now) she noticed.. how close they were to each other.

Her nose was only centimeters away from Montana's shoulder.. which meant-

“Are you okay?” Montana asked softly, speaking unintentionally right next to her ear which made a shiver run up Brookes spine.

“Mhm,” Brooke responded.

She rose her head up further - her vision fully black now due to closing her eyes so tightly and being disoriented from slipping, but she knew from hearing Montana’s voice that she had to be close. Very close.

Moving her head a bit to the left.. almost microscopically, not wanting whatever ‘this’ was to necessarily be clumsy but she knew she didn’t necessarily have a choice in the dark.

“What are you doing?” Montana continued to whisper.

Brooke couldn’t help but to smile and let out a giggle that made her sound far more drunk than she actually was. She knew exactly where Montana’s lips were now due to her speaking. Thank god.

“You’ll see.”

Brooke leaned in slowly. Briefly bumping noses before catching Montana’s lips with her own. The feeling so heavenly and overdue - not enough but simultaneously far too much to take in all at once.

The taste of dull, gut wrenching beer started to flood her mouth. It was all that Montana basically tasted like.. that and a bit like smoke but Brooke didn’t mind. If anything it made the feelings of infatuation temporarily stronger. Brookes nails started to pierce the other woman’s back; wanting nothing more than to just have.. more. More of Montana; her taste, her hands, her touch.. the feeling was both pathetic but impossible to fight any longer.

The mere thought that this was something she was previously holding herself back from having was almost laughable but- that would be something to think about for another time.

Montana’s lips softly broke from hers.

“Eager.. aren’t you?” She teased.

Brookes eyes still refused to adjust but she knew Montana had to be grinning.

“Sorry.. I just-“

“Don’t be sorry. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Montana said lowly.

Montana suddenly leaned in with no warning. Her hands softly grabbed Brookes shoulders; leaning in to pull her bottom lip with her teeth.

After she let go, the feeling to kiss her again was strong but.. she thought of something better. The thrill of the chase was something Brooke always enjoyed, after all.

Brooke took a few steps back suddenly before quickly heading for the shore. Not really going that fast at all due to the resistance of the water pushing up against her legs but she laughed regardless.

She could hear Montana laughing and calling her a jerk in the distance but it was all just noise at this point. Her voice, the water rushing, the fire and their friends (which grew gradually louder as she approached) all started to sound the same.

Maybe the alcohol was finally kicking in.

Even though Brooke definitely felt tipsy, she still felt nervous the closer she got from being fully submerged out of the water. Maybe it was due to the fact she wasn’t certain what was going to happen at the fire, or if their friends had even heard anything but she knew atleast now she would have Montana. Exactly how she had Montana was something to be determined later, but as she finally stepped out and away from the nearly black ocean waves and ran up to the fire to go wait for Montana - she was comforted by the thought that things would now never be the same and forever would be different between the two of them.

Which had to be a good thing; right?

Taglist: @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakescoven @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @king-with-no-crovvn @melodylangdon @littledemondani @celestialrequiem @sojournmichael @ritualmichael @waitinvain @twilightzone24

Let me know if u would like to be added or removed to the taglist hehe

[lovelivingmydreams]

A might have been part 2

Okay listen. If you really believed for even a moment that I was going to make an alternative past for @kingcreativityau where King got to be friends with baby instinct/fear and write all the way up to the split and then not include everything that happened after... Do you guys know me at all? My brain will not be sattisfied with this narative until i have written at least up until the return. And if there ever comes a time where the og comic comes to a conclusion, you better believe I’ll write how all of those events transpired in this alternate version of the timeline. So like it or not, at least two more parts are coming. So there. Enjoy!

part 1 here

A friendship for the ages

Creativity blinked in confusion. What… What was he doing? He looked up and saw… Himself? “Wow, you are just like me!” they chorused. They looked at each other stunned for a moment before they burst out laughing. They got up and shook hands. “Creativity,” they introduced themselves, laughing once more. “Wow, no kidding,” they snorted. “King?” a broken voice wondered. Both looked up. Curious about who spoke. Someone about their height took a step closer, pushing away from a smaller boy. Wait they knew this guy right? The name was at the tip of their tongue. “Not me. Is he talking to you?” they both wondered, looking at each other. “Guess not,” they shrugged. But King did sound familiar, though it didn’t quite feel like them. “I call Prince!” the one in the red cape declared. “Why?” The green caped one pouted. “Because I was first to call prince!” the prince reasoned. “Oh… That makes sense. Then I’m duke!” duke grinned. They turned to the boy, both grinning widely. Seemingly unaware of the atmosphere surrounding their appearance. Prince stepped forward proudly. “I am Prince!” he announced with a bow. “Nice to officially make your acquaintance.” Because they did know him didn’t they? Why was it such a mess in their heads? “Duke!” the other cackled. “Duke, dukey!” he giggled then. “I’m dukey,” he exclaimed with glee. “This… Is quite the unexpected turn,” a taller boy with glasses said. “Unexpected? You killed king! And all you can say about it is that it was unexpected?” The familiar boy cried, making the tall boy flinch. “Fear, kiddo…” the shorter boy soothed. Fear! “Oh! Fear! You are Fear!” Duke shouted, jumping up and down as he pointed at Fear. “You are our friend right?” Prince added. Fear looked up at them, tears still in their eyes. “Why are you sad? Whom must I slay?” Prince asked. “Yeah! We’ll make them poop their pants!” Duke added. Fear took a step back and shook his head. “You stay away,” he sobbed and took of. “Fear!” the little boy with glasses pleaded. The twins looked at each other. “What did we say?” “Fear simply needs time to ‘mourn’ your previous form. He’s highly emotional, it was to be expected that he would not respond well to such a big change with no time to mentally prepare. Let him have his tantrum. He’ll be back soon,” the tall boy stated firmly, adjusting his glasses. The boys wanted to believe him but both he and the little guy who introduced himself as Morality and the other as Logic cast worried glances in the direction Fear had ran of to. Sometimes they’d disappear in that direction and come back looking sad. Prince and Duke got to know the mindscape and, more importantly, the imagination fairly quickly and both agreed that Thomas was the most amazing person in the world and deserved everything he wanted. Sure Duke could be a bit gross sometimes and Prince could get a bit egocentric and too caught up with his own thoughts. But they were doing well. Logic was frustrated though that neither had interest in homework. And Morality seemed upset that they didn’t care much for playing with the other kids. Not even Thomas’ brothers. Well that was their problem really. The twins had each other. There was one side they were interested in though. Fear. The ‘tantrum' as Logic called it had still not blown over and everyone seemed worried. So, deciding to investigate to satisfy their curiosity they went looking for him. They knew what direction to go in. The others had gone to talk to Fear a bunch of times since he left. All they had to do was walk in the direction they went until they found him right? The walk was long, but eventually they saw a big willow. No Fear though. Was he in the shadowy part of the mind? “Stop!” The twins froze and looked at the willow. Had the tree just shouted at them? “Hello?” Prince called. “Leave me alone!” They knew that voice! The twins ran up to the tree and pushed the branches out of their way and froze. Fear was sitting up in the higher branches, hood pulled over his face and four spider legs springing from underneath his clothes. He looked down and six purple eyes lit up in the dark. “I said go!” he growled. A yellow snake slithered up from a hole in the tree wrapping itself protectively/comfortingly around his figure. “That is so cool!” Duke grinned getting himself a jab into the ribs from his brother. “Fear. We… We just wanted to know why you don’t want to be our friend. Did we do something?” Prince asked gently. “No! I’m keeping everyone safe. People who are nice to me get hurt.” “That isn’t true fear…” the snake hissed gently, surprising the twins. Fear glared at the snake. “Isn’t it Deceit?” he growled, making the snake recoil. “Thought so. Just… Go with them. I’ll be fine,” he muttered as he curled in on himself and wrapped his legs around himself like a cage. “That’s a lie. You aren’t fine,” Deceit objected. “Is he… Is this because we aren’t king?” Prince wondered nervously. For all his grandness he was terrified of falling short. He didn’t want to be less wonderful than this King person. If he wasn’t as good or better than the original, what was the point of him existing? “This has nothing you do with that! Just leave me alone!” Fear growled hiding in his hoodie. The snake sighed and came down, turning into a teen boy. Duke whistled impressed, while Prince looked away. Something about the scaled half of the boy's face made something in his gut twist. It felt like guilt. But he’d never met this side. What could he have done to feel this way? “Maybe you two have more luck,” Deceit muttered as he left the shelter of the Willow. “Finally,” Fear huffed. “Now if you two would kindly go back to the central consciousness and get back to work. Thomas needs you two too much for you to waste time on me.” Prince rolled his eyes. “As if. Logic is making homework and if we try to have fun now we’ll get yelled at.” That caught Fear’s attention. “You aren’t helping?” he asked confused. “Why would we? Homework is boring,” Prince scoffed as he put a hand on his hip and made a gesture with his other as if to indicate how obvious his statement was. “Yeah, we only ‘get in the way’,” Duke chipped in. Sounding like he was quoting Logic. Fear rolled his eyes. Honestly. “Have you not been listening to anything Morality’s been teaching you?” he asked. “I am a prince! I know good from bad!” Prince objected, sounding rather insulted. “Not about being moral… Has Logic been showing you around then?” Fear wondered. He had assumed Morality would take up the role of care taker. But maybe Logic had taken up the task of instructing the new sides in the ways of the mindscape? “Showing us around?” Duke wondered as he and his brother exchanged glances. “Wait… so they just… Expected you two to know what to do?” Fear asked shocked. “What is there to know? We are creativity. We found the imagination and that is that,” Prince huffed. Though he was intrigued by the idea of more, he wasn't going to admit to being I’ll informed. Fear jumped out of the tree and took them both in. “You’re not lying to get me to come back are you?” The confusion on the twin’s faces must’ve been enough. “Fine,” Fear surrendered grumpily as he started walking to the central conscience. “I’ll show you the basics, but then I’m kicking Logic’s behind in gear and heading back home.” The twins protested, but were secretly excited. They’d needed someone to actually break their ties when they disagreed. To actually listen to their stories and give input other than almost blind praise or cold analysis. Not to mention the fact that they had known him as a friend when they woke up while the others had been mostly strangers in their eyes. That had to mean something. Surely he was a fun playmate. When they saw the stress bunnies for the first time they were absolutely delighted to have something to hunt. And surely enough, Fear was enjoying himself too. Fear showed them how to make learning fun for Thomas and he even showed them that playing was more fun with others. And though he insisted he’d leave again soon, and avoided the others for a good while, he stuck around. Prince and Duke soon discovered just how far Fear was willing to go to keep them safe. During the first nightmare Fear encountered with them he defended them fiercely. Actually almost injuring himself. The twins were shocked by this and took better care to make sure Fear didn’t endanger himself for their sake again. “You aren’t really going back to the willow are you?” Prince asked one day, almost timidly, though he tried his best to sound casual. Fear shifted. The twins knew how to work with the others, they understood what to do with stress and worries and fears, they knew who to turn to when trouble arose… But he could find a million reasons not to leave them and he knew why. He had grown attached to them. He’d tried not to. It felt like a betrayal to King and he still worried he’d loose them right when he got comfortable with the new situation. But he couldn’t leave their side now. “Nah. I don’t trust you two not to burn down the mindscape without me keeping an eye on you,” he teased. Prince scoffed and gave him a push. Duke just shrugged, because honestly? He would definitely cause chaos and destruction if Fear didn’t redirect him every once in a while. Fear knew that if he was staying he should talk with Logic and Morality. “Padre! Teach! We got someone here who wants to talk to you,” Prince announced. The two sides turned and the twins made way to show Fear was with them greeting both sides with an awkward wave. Morality gasped and clasped his hands in front of his face. “Kiddo! Are… Are you back to stay?” he asked carefully. “I mean… I’ll stay out of the way if you want. I just… Yeah, I’m back. Those two need babysitting and neither of you are up to that it seems so…” He felt two fists push at his shoulders and chuckled. “You know I’m right,” he grinned. Then he looked up at the two sides he’d been rather rude to. “Listen, I’m still not happy about you guys not including everyone in the decision. But Princey and Duke don’t seem to be upset with you two. Not really, so I can’t be either. You tried to do what was best for Thomas. I can’t be mad about that. I just… I was afraid to let you guys back in I guess.” Fear couldn't meet their eyes. He was sure they hated him by now. He'd been pushing them away and…

Suddenly he was tackled in a hug by Morality.

“Oh kiddo. Of course you're welcome back!”

“Indeed. Though you might not have been talking to us, we have noticed your efforts. Or was I to believe that the twins suddenly got interested in assisting with schoolwork on their own?”

Fear shrugged as best as he could while still being embraced by the heart.

“From what I heard, yeah? I mean you guys seem to expect them to just know how things work.”

Logic nodded. “I see. Well we did attempt to explain at first, but we failed to communicate with the twins properly.” It had been puzzling to him why the twins couldn’t just follow his instructions. He would have to ask Fear what he’d done to get them suddenly interested in helping out. But almost overnight Logic had gone from overseeing the homework by himself to having two eager assistants making Thomas excited to learn again.

Morality finally let go and grinned up at him. “Guess a dad can sometimes learn a thing or two from his son,” he teased. Recalling how Prince had suddenly started to include his family and classmates in the stories he and Thomas made again. How Duke’s unfiltered curiosity started branching out to other people as well. How had Fear done that? Fear rolled his eyes. “Whatever short…” the teasing remark was cut off as Fear looked Morality up and down a few times. “Did you get taller?” he asked perplexed.

He was sure Morality used to be a head shorter than him. But now the difference was less than an inch.

“Um yeah. I guess…” Morality mused waving his hand above their heads in fascination. “I didn't really notice. Gosh. Maybe I’ll end up taller than you. Wouldn't that be something?” he chuckled.

Fear just shrugged dismissively.

“Nuh uh! We'll be the tallest!” Prince declared. “Just you wait!”

“Fear is going to be a midget forever though!” Duke chuckled.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Fear frowned.

In answer the twins flanked him and he could see they were both taller than him. Not by much, but enough that he couldn't deny it once he paid attention to it. Of course. Even when he was no longer the youngest he was destined to be the baby of the group. Well better remind the twins why he's called Fear then.

“You have five seconds,” he smirked.

“Huh?” Duke wondered.

“Four seconds, “ Fear grinned as his eyes lit up with a violet shine.

“Duke run!” Prince urged and the two took of. Fear chuckled for a few seconds before he let his spider voice echo through the mindscape. “One, Here I come.” And then he took off after the twins.

“He’s a little different isn't he?” Morality mused worriedly as he listened for the sounds in the mindscape, relieved to hear nothing but laughter fill the metaphysical air. Fear was just playing.

“As was to be expected. Fear held a strong attachment to king. More so than either of us. I don't think that I would've been able to convince him to help me stage a coup so to speak if it had come to that.

That loyalty and attachment has now transferred to the twins in some measure, but that does not replace what he had with King. The roles seem to have switched though. He is the caretaker now, though the twins seemed ready to fight on his behalf when they first formed…” Logic summarized looking into his notes. He’d been cataloguing the changes in the Thomasphere after the split and how they correlated to changes in Thomas’ over all wellbeing for future reference.

“They are more equal now,” Morality noted. “Fear wouldn't have dreamed to initiate such a game with King, or to say anything suggesting he needed help. I think… “ Morality frowned. There was no way to say this without sounding terrible. “They might both be happier like this. King… he would want this for Fear,” he decided. King cared for Fear almost as much as he cared for Thomas. It was out of concern for them that he’d asked them to do this. He might not have expected this outcome, but he would understand right?

“So long as the progress of the past week keeps up, Thomas will greatly benefit of the situation.” Logic supplied.

Morality let out a sigh. Thomas would be fine and Fear would fully forgive them with time. And then they could build on this new foundation. He would make sure his family stayed happy. That was his job. He was the dad after all.

It was only a matter of time before the twins would run into Deceit. Especially since the Dukes ideas were unpleasant to Thomas more often than not. Fear usually managed to get Duke to use his ‘inside voice’. Sometimes Prince would notice Fear was getting uncomfortable and reign his brother in. But that couldn’t last forever.

“What is going on here?” Deceit wondered as he walked in on the trio. Duke paused in his rambling and Prince looked up from where he and Fear were sitting on the ground, his arm around the nervous side’s shoulder while Fear had been curled up in a ball trying to block out the images Duke was planting in his head. Once he saw who it was though Prince looked down, he still didn’t like looking at that scaled face.

Fear looked up and went from comforted to comforting. He didn't know what happened, but he did know that for some reason king had changed Deceit and Prince had inherited some sort of phantom guilt.

“Snake-face hi!” Duke on the other hand found it amazing.

“You’re clearly the charmer of the two,” Deceit drawled. Fear was pretty sure that some of his change in attitude had to do with him spending so much time with Dee right after what everyone just called ‘the split’.

He had simply rubbed off on him. “Hi Dee,” Fear smiled tensely. “Fear, good to see you out and about,” Deceit smiled warmly. It was odd. When King first discovered Instinct, he’d been sure he wouldn’t like the new side. He didn’t like how excited King already was for a new friend. And by all accounts he should’ve stayed away from him, but he just couldn’t help but feel a bond with him. They both had a job that wasn’t particularly fun to do, both had parts of them the others disliked. And they both took King’s split hard. Not that he had told Fear of the latter. What was the point? And King hadn’t wanted Fear to know anyway.

“Yeah, I guess you were right. I couldn’t hide away forever,” Fear smiled tensely. “What seems to be the problem here?” Deceit wondered. Something had called him here after all. He knew he couldn’t avoid talking to the twins forever, but he had pretended he could. And now he had to make a stellar first impression. Great. “Oh… Did I do the thing again?” Duke wondered. He didn’t get why the others got upset over is suggestions so much, but they did and he tried to not be too much. But now he really was just having some fun. He wasn't saying Thomas should do anything. He was just making pictures.

Still, Fear was clearly upset. “It’s… It’s fine. You can’t always help it,” Fear assured him. Duke looked around and noticed an abundance of stress bunnies and kittens and puppies, most of them slightly more grotesque than Fear’s usual were. He liked it. But why hadn’t Fear gotten rid of them yet? It wasn’t like him to let them roam free for long.

“Want some help with those?” Deceit wondered as he gestured around. Fear looked at the dozens of creatures and let out a tired sigh. “I’ll get it. Just… I need a moment,” he muttered. “Very well. Duke was it?” Deceit asked. Duke nodded. “I need some help maintaining the Willow. Would you be so kind?” Fear frowned. What? Duke just jumped up with a big smile. “Of course double D!” he grinned. “Wonderful. Fear, Prince, you don’t mind if I borrow him for a couple of hours right?” he asked. Fear looked at Prince who just shrugged. “If he’s okay with it. But he will come back after right?” The prince asked tensely. “Of course. I’ll send him straight to the imagination even,” Deceit bowed before leaving, the Duke following right by his side, ranting about one thing or another. Fear looked at Prince. “You sure you are okay with this? You two haven’t been apart since… Well. Ever.” Prince shrugged again. “I… I think so. We don’t have to be together all the time right?” Fear shrugged. “I guess not,” he allowed. They weren’t one person anymore after all. Fear tried to remember that, but it was still strange sometimes. “I’m going to round up those guys,” he announced as he got up. Prince followed his example. “Want some help with that?” Fear hesitated, he didn’t usually ask anyone for help. The point was that he’d deal with them alone right? He'd just told Dee he could handle it… “Morality says that friends should be able to count on us to help them. So… I want to help,” Prince insisted. Fear smiled at that. “Yeah, sounds fun,” he allowed. As Deceit promised, Duke returned to the imagination after a few hours. All the shadow creatures had been dealt with and Duke was back to a level of crazy Fear could handle. Thomas had not been negatively affected by Dukes mood after he went to the back of the mind it seemed. The twins started going off on their own more often after that. Duke tended to venture to the willow to chat with Deceit for a while, while Prince remained on the front of the mind at all times. Fear wandered between the two. He couldn’t really handle not seeing either for too long. Still things started to get to a new sort of normal and Morality and Logic became more and more convinced every day that they’d done the right thing. Everyone was happier now. That’s what Morality thought, until he found Fear, sitting in a corner of the mind by himself. Which was unusual. “Heya kiddo. Where are the twins?” he wondered gently as he knelt down. He was a good inch taller than Fear by now. Which made Fear officially the shortest of the group, a fact the twins loved to tease him about. “Duke is at the willow and Prince is fighting a dragon or a witch, I don’t know,” Fear shrugged, his eyes shimmering. Had he been crying? “Ok… And why are you here all by yourself?” If Prince was fighting something, Fear would usually stick close by just in case. And sometimes that was indeed needed, though Morality and Logic both wondered if Prince occasionally just liked having Fear save him and fuss over him afterwards.

“I… It just hurt too much today,” he whispered, a sob breaking free. Morality felt a sharp pain in his chest. He knew what Fear meant and he couldn’t believe he never picked up on this. Of course spending time with the twins was hard on Fear. “Oh Kiddo… Do you want a hug?” Fear didn’t always allow physical affection. This time however he seemed to be really in need of some, because he almost immediately latched onto the fatherly side and started sobbing. “I care about them, I really do! But I miss him so much!” he tried to explain. “Of course. Loving them doesn’t take away how you felt about him. I think those feelings actually make each other stronger. Remember what he said? That it didn’t matter what name you used, you’d always be his friend? This is sort of like that,” Morality assured him. “I… I know… Most of the time. But sometimes I feel so bad for liking them, and then I feel bad about feeling bad…  What if that never stops? I don’t want to hurt them!” he pleaded “It’ll get better. There will be bad days, but it’ll get better. I miss him too. I know it wasn’t the same as it was for you. But he was important to me too.” “Sorry, I… I didn’t mean-” “No kiddo, that’s not what I meant. I was just trying to say that I understand. And I’m here to listen. Okay? Just come to your dear old dad whenever you need to okay? I’ve got you.” Fear let himself relax into the embrace and cry the tears he’d been holding back for months. He didn’t notice someone was watching them. Morality did though, and he tried not to let the accusatory glare get to him. Deceit could think of this what he wanted. Morality was just trying to look out for his kids. Things got a little better after that. Fear was more relaxed when hanging out in the back of the mind, the vague memories of being an incorporeal instinct not as haunting as they once had been. He got even bolder in his banter with the twins. He was also a bit more comfortable with letting them be without him from time to time. And he got a bit braver when it came to confronting the uglier parts of the past. “I’m just saying. If you ask them they’ll probably change you back,” he insisted as he laid down in the patch of grass underneath the willow. The twins were doing a school project with Logic and he had chosen to catch up with Deceit who still didn’t come up to the central consciousness except to retrieve Duke when needed.

“I don’t want them to change me back Fear, drop it.” “Then why are you hiding away all of the time?” Fear countered. “I know Princey is kinda awkward around you, but that won't get better if he never gets to know you. And the others will warm up to you. I'll have your back remember? No matter what happened between you and him, the twins deserve a chance don't they?” Fear pointed out. Deceit sighed. “I suppose you have a point… And Duke isn’t horrible company,” he allowed. Fear smiled and they both started debating over something Thomas' teacher did that week. The subject laid at rest. Deceit never did ask the twins to return his face to normal. He felt it was fitting honestly. A permanent warning to everyone of what he was. Princey slowly relaxed around Deceit as the later visited the central consciousness more often. And once again things in the mindscape improved.

[rrickgrrimes8]

Normality is Death

Chapter Twelve ~ TS-19

masterlist

The next morning, Rick woke up, his eyes catching the bright lights of the room, which immediately blinded him. As he tried to hide away from them with a blanket, he soon realised that his head was banging profusely, which just added to his problems. Bravely, Rick lifted his head out of the blanket attempting to power through the pain, only to see the emptiness of the room. Right away he felt a surge of panic force through him but settled realise that they were, in fact, safe and protected by the C.D.C. Rick sat up grabbing the clothes he'd left lying around, still somewhat fearful that he wasn't with his family. 

Jacey watched from the table they had all sat on the night before as her father shyly walked into the busy room. 

"Hello," he addressed them all, really feeling the effects of his hangover. 

"Morning," Dale cheerily greeted making some of the adults groan. 

Jacey laughed at them before returning her gaze to her father, "Morning dad." 

"Morning, princess," He gladly returned, scruffling her hair and taking the seat next to her. 

"Are you hungover? Mom said you would be," Carl giggled. 

Rick sighed, taking a sip of water, "Mom is right." 

"Mom has that annoying habit," Lori stated as a matter of fact. 

Rick looked down at the table to the bottle of aspirin, only slightly paying attention to Glenn and T-dog's conversation, "Where'd these come from?" 

"Jenner," Lori answered. 

"Could you help me, please?" Rick sweetly requested from his wife after attempting to open it a few times. Lori did as he asked, opening the bottle easily, surprising Rick, which caused Jacey and Carl to laugh. 

"Your back still hurting?" Rick said to his daughter, which she nodded to, remembering how the pain had surfaced this morning more brutal than the day earlier. 

"What's wrong with your back, Jace?" Lori looked to her daughter, who just shrugged, not wanting to get into it. 

Rick took another pill out of the bottle for Jacey, passing it over to her, swallowing it immediately, "Thanks, dad." 

Soon after Shane walked in, much like Rick just had, grabbing the coffee pot and a cup, "Hey." 

"Hey, you feel as bad as I do?" the officer queried. 

"Worse," Shane now sat at the table, next to Jacey, which was another empty space. Lori visually tensed at his presence which no one seemed to notice except Jacey. 

T-dog walked past the group dishing out the eggs to different people and instantly noticed the scratches Lori left that littered Shane's face and neck. "What the hell happened to you? To your neck?" T-dog exclaimed. 

Shane did his best to make a puzzled face and looked around, "must've done it in my sleep." 

"Never seen you do that before," Rick appended, still unaware of the situation between his best friend and his wife. 

"Me neither," he started before bitterly looking at Lori, "Not like me at all." 

Jacey watched as her mother's attention shot down to the food, ignoring Shane. She wondered what he could've done to make her mother so uncomfortable but reminisced on how Lori had said that Shane had upset her the night before. 

Jacey had also yet to say anything about what had happened the night before in the bathroom. She didn't exactly know what they could do to help if she was honest. It wasn't like therapy was an option anymore, and besides being honest about her hallucinations would just add to the stress of the group. How would she even say it? She felt as if she couldn't just tell the whole group that she saw her dead friend last night and watched as he reenacted his final moments. It would sound crazy - well, it is crazy, she told herself. 

When Jacey looked up from her plate, she realised the extra presence in the room of their new acquaintance, Doctor Jenner. He walked in, wearing the same clothes he did the day before smiling softly. Shane and the man exchanged pleasantries as he sat down with the rest of us, tucking into the eggs that T-dog made. 

"Doctor, I don't mean to slam you with questions first thing-," Dale began before Jenner cut him off, "But you will anyway." 

"We didn't come here for the eggs," Andrea deadpanned. 

Leading us all over to the main room, Jenner looked at us all and said to VI, "Give me a playback of TS-19." VI did as he asked, projecting a mess of data or rather that's what Jacey saw it as. Seconds later, the image on the screen changed to one of a brain accompanied with an abundance of information and a large timer filling the bottom of the screen, "Few people ever got a chance to see this, very few." 

Staying close to his sister and parents, Carl asked, "Is that a brain?" 

"A very extraordinary one," Jenner spoke softly to the young child, "Not that it matters in the end. Take us in for E.I.V."  

"Enhanced internal view," VI repeated, processing the request. The display shifted into a view from the side, everyone watched mesmerised. The computer zoomed in further pinpointing a part of the screen that held a large state of colour. "What are those lights?" Shane asked the man as the picture became more detailed. 

"That's a person's life," Jenner stated, Daryl looking around the group confused on what the hell was going on, "Experiences, memories, it's everything. Somewhere in all that wiring, all those ripples of light is you- the thing that makes you unique, what makes you human." 

"You don't make sense ever?" Daryl leaned back on the desk behind him, annoyed. 

"Those are synapses," Jenner told him, "Electric impulses in the brain that carry all messages. They determine everything a person says, does or thinks from the moment of birth to the moment of death." 

"Death? That's what this is, a vigil?" Rick called out. 

"Yes. Or rather the playback of a vigil," Jenner put, dejectedly. 

Andrea walked forward, closer to where Jenner and Rick stood, "This person died? Who?" 

"Test subject 19. Someone who was bitten and infected... and volunteered to have us record the process," the doctor said, before speaking to VI once more, "VI, scan forward to the first event." VI did this, causing the brain to zoom back out the colour that once graced the image gradually was overtaken by blackness. 

"What is that?" Glenn blurted the surprise and curiosity getting the better of him. 

"It invades the brain like meningitis. The adrenal glands hemorrhage, the brain goes into shut down. Then the major organs... Then death. Everything you ever were and ever will be gone." Jacey's eyes stayed glued to the screen, to the person that was tested on. What happened to them, whoever they were, was the same thing that happened to Addie, to Mitchell and to that kind old man. It threw her into a state of morbidity. They died in so much pain indirectly because of her. They had their body shut down, their brain too all because of her. Tears began to fall freely, which came as second nature to Jacey now as she didn't even bother to wipe them. Jacey continued to watch the screen ignoring the chatter amongst the group, some regarding her, which she was happy to shut out. 

"The resurrection times vary wildly. We had reports of it happening in as little as three minutes," Jenner continued, looking at Jacey for a moment and then back to the screen, "The longest we heard of was eight hours. In the case of this patient, it was two hours, one minute... seven seconds." 

I wonder how long it was for Addie she darkly thought. 

Suddenly, the majority of the display began to change darkness branching off further, but a red streak down the base of the brain spawned. 

"It restarts the brain?" Lori inquired. 

"No, just the brain stem. Basically gets them up and moving." Jacey watched the back and forth between her father and the doctor discussing what happens to the person, "Dark, lifeless, dead. The frontal lobe, the neocortex, the human part - that doesn't come back. The you part. Just a shell driven by mindless instinct." 

"That's the part of me that you killed," A voice said to her from her right. Jacey jumped at the sudden voice, the voice of yet another deceased. She closed her eyes, not daring to look at her. 

"Go away," she whispered, trying to not draw attention to herself. 

"It's funny, that's what I said, what I screamed when you got me killed. All I wanted was them to go away! For them to leave! All I wanted was to live, but you took that from me," Jacey brought her hands over her ears, "Why didn't you save me Jacey? Why weren't you there? I needed you, and you left me. You left me alone to die. Just like you did with Mitchell." 

Attempting to distract herself from the booming voice, Jacey turned to the group to listen in to their conversation or even to see if they could hear her too, but Addie's voice stopped her. 

"Leave me alone, please," she whimpered softly. 

"God, you're so selfish, Jacey. How didn't I notice that when I was alive? First, you leave me for your family. Second, you get me killed. Third, you then kill me once more. And now when I'm here, alive, wanting to talk to you once more, you want me gone! You begged me to come back, remember? I don't want to be here. I don't want to be anywhere near you. I'm only here for you!"  

"Stop ignoring me!" Addie violently slammed her hand on the desk closest to Jacey. Yet still not drawing the attention of the others. Now the girl finally looked at Addie, but it wasn't her Addie, it was the dead, monstrous version of her. The version Jacey had killed. The walker jumped to Jacey, ready to take a chunk out of her neck. 

Gasping, Jacey pushed herself away from her, subsequently knocking into Daryl as she did. 

"Watch it," he spat in his gruff voice. 

"W-what? Y-you didn't see that?" Daryl looked at the girl confused, seeing nothing around that would warrant that sort of reaction. 

"What do you mean, kid? What should I have seen?" Jacey shook her head, moving away from Daryl still panicked, "You okay?" 

"M' fine. Jus' fine," She assured him, still out fo breath but glad to see no trace of Addie around. 

"Dr, Jenner," Dale started, really taking Jacey out of her hallucination and back to reality, "I know this has been taxing for you and I hate to ask one more question, but that clock... it's counting down. What happens at zero?" 

"The basement generators. They run out of fuel," Jenner told him. 

"And then?" Her father asked, who thankfully had not seen what had just happened. Jenner ignores him and walks out of the main room, unable to meet any of their eyes. "VI, what happens when the power runs out?" Rick called to the machine. 

"When the power runs out, facility-wide decontamination will occur," VI responded. Promptly following VI's reply many of the group, including her father, ran out. 

[jinned]

reading the stars | jimin

snippet: it’s Jimin’s birthday and what better way to celebrate than by telling him all about his astrology chart?

pairing: jimin x female reader

genre: fluff

au: slice of life, established relationship

rating: pg

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none!

a/n: this is a birthday gift for my lovely friend @parksfilter​!! Kenz, you are such a sweet soul that has blessed my life. I hope you enjoy this little fic and that you have the best day! today is your day! thank you for being such an amazing friend to me and I hope that you’ll be in my life for many more years to come!

“Where are we going?” Jimin huffs behind a pile of blankets tickling at his nose. The air is crisp and cold tonight, not unlike any other night really, but tonight, it feels more alive.

“Hurry up and you’ll find out!” You call behind you, unable to hide the giant smile growing across your face.

You and Jimin have been dating just a little over four months now, and things have never been better. Normally, you’re not the type of girl to celebrate every single “monthiversary”, but tonight is slightly different.

"The perfect way to end the perfect birthday!" Jimin smiles blissfully as you both trek up the hillside.

"You literally just asked where we were going not even two seconds ago!" You laugh, transitioning the picnic basket from one hand to the other. This hill is a lot steeper than what you remembered from last time you were here a few weeks ago. Hair is flying out of your ponytail and into your face as you desperately try to mask your heavy breathing.

"The stars are out, the moon light is shining, and I'm with you. It's already perfect." Jimin smiles at you and leans in for a quick peck on your lips, which requires you to maneuver around the armfull of blankets.

Pausing on the hillside, you melt into his kiss, wishing it was longer. But there is plenty of time for that later. For now, you need to get to your destination.

After a few more moments of walking, you finally round the curve of the hill and reach your spot.

"Ah, finally!" You groan and jog over to the flattened ground. There's a large maple tree with leaves sprouting new orange spots, some quivering with the anticipation of falling soon. You motion for Jimin to place the blanket down further away from the tree, so that it'll be in the background to where you’ll be sitting. You were hoping more of the leaves had fallen so that you could sit beneath it and view the sky between the skeletal branches, but this will do just fine.

Once the blanket is placed, Jimin promptly jumps down upon it, opening his arms to accept the picnic basket, which you hand over willingly.

Inside, there's sandwiches, some of your favorite chips and crackers and a small slice of cake you got from the bakery down the street from where you live. You figured it would be too hard to lug around an actual full sized cake. There's some fun candles tucked tightly in your pant pocket that you're just itching to light for your boyfriend.

The food disappears fast as you both laugh through full mouths, sparkling cider even coming out of Jimin's nose after you tell the world's lamest joke.

"You're so..." Jimin coughs, trying to contain his coated bubbled laughter, "you're so stupid. How are you still this funny after months of us being together?"

Smirking, "That's the beauty of my charm. It never fades."

Jimin shakes his head at your humble response, looking up at the sky and getting lost in the stars.

"Weird to think that people spend their whole life studying those small specs of light, huh?" There's wonder in his eyes, a look not so foreign to you now.

You sit back and look up with him. "Right? I can't believe that people still deny astrology is real even though it's literally based on the stars themselves. There's science backing it all up."

Jimin makes a clicking sound with his tongue, moving his mouth sideways as he adjusts his sitting position. "I don't blame the skeptics. Astrology is so...weird. People base their whole identities around it and believe in horoscopes as if some stranger actually knows them."

"But, you just said people dedicate their lives to the stars. Isn't it kinda like, the same thing?" You crumple up your sandwich wrapper and toss it back into the basket, a little nervous that instead of celebratory, the conversation is becoming more stiff. The edge of the blanket looks enticing to fidget with, but you choose to stare at your boyfriend instead. His eyes look beyond the hillside thoughtfully, flicking his gaze up to the stars ever so slightly. Lip raw from gnawing on it so often, Jimin continues to grab at his bottom lip with his teeth, gnawing softly and slowly as he ponders over his next few thoughts.

"It just feels so...out of reach I guess. Kinda like magic."

"People are scared of it because of how real it feels. And it's different." Calmly, you scoot a little bit closer to Jimin and rest your head on his shoulder. Instantly, he leans his head on top of your own and it’s a comforting, familiar feeling that puts your previous anxieties at ease.

"I didn't know you were so passionate about astrology," he states.

"We've been together all these months now! How could you not have known? I swear I talk about it all the time."

"I guess you have mumbled a few words under your breath about random strangers before,” he chuckles, “I didn't really understand and always forgot to ask." 

You laugh, leaning away from Jimin as you do so.

"That's me publicly guessing what someone's sun sign could be! Like, when there’s a girl at the mall looking back and forth between two of the same shirt in two different colors? Classic Libra sun. Or when you hear someone laughing loudly and everyone just naturally gravitates towards them? Gemini sun or Leo sun."

Jimin stares at you with large, confused doe eyes.

Thinking for a moment, it finally hits you why he's staring at you this way, "you don't know what a sun sign is, do you?" You cry out in frustration. Jimin just casually shrugs and takes a sip of his water.

"Do you even know what your own sun sign is?" The surprise is overtaking all of your other emotions. This is pretty basic stuff that most people know. Nowadays, people know which hogwarts house they belong in, their MBTI, and their sun, moon, and rising signs. Hell, it's in almost every girl's Instagram bio.

Sighing louder than normal, you wrap your arms around the side of Jimin's shoulders and squeeze him tightly. "This was supposed to be your birthday date night, but now it's a lecture. Before we have cake you will learn your astrology chart."

Jutting out his bottom lip, Jimin stares at you with wide pleading eyes, like a toddler asking for a toy in the store.

"But...it's my birthday," he says in his overly cute child-like voice that is nearly impossible for you to say no too. Your eye practically twitches with the thought of telling this adorable boyfriend of yours no.

Yet, you hold strong, shaking your head quickly while shutting your eyes- the only true way to combat his adorable pleading gaze.

“We are doing this right now and if you do well, IF, then your reward will be the cake.”

Groaning, Jimin rocks back on his tailbone, his criss-crossed legs going up in the air as he holds tightly to his knees with his hands. 

“Fine,” he gives up, “let’s get this over with.”

With newfound energy, you reach into the picnic basket and pull out your pen and notepad- which you have with you at all times for instances just like this, then you roll onto your stomach with your phone in your hands. “Okay, so there’s this website I use, it’s super helpful, it’ll show you your entire chart and even has paragraphs breaking down each planet placement you have, basically breaking down your personality for yourself!”

Jimin matches your position, brushing his shoulder up against yours before leaning his head there.

“Okay, you were born in Busan, right?” You start typing before you even finish asking.

“Right.”

Okay and then what time were you born?”

“I don’t know.”

You playfully smack him on the shoulder with your notebook. “Jimin!”

“Is this something normal people equipped in their wallets or something? Their entire birth charts and hospital records? How about I give you my social security number next?” He quips back, unable to hide his playful smile.

“No,” you laugh, “but you should know what time you were born!” An idea pops into your head; you clutch Jimin’s arm and shake him slightly.

“Call your mother!”

Scoffing, Jimin replies, “right now? Y/n. It’s almost 2am. My mother would have a heart attack if I called her at this hour.”

“But it’s important!” You whine.

“Is it really?” He’s still laughing, and this small voice in your head hopes you’re not annoying him too much.

The wind blows softly around you, shaking the leaves on the tree in the back. Telling yourself that yes it is a bit ridiculous to try to call his mother at this hour, especially because the relationship is still fairly new so you haven’t had much time to truly get acquainted with her.

“Fine. We can learn about your sun and moon signs tonight. But, tomorrow morning, we are finding out what time you were born so we can get your rising sign!” “This is all gibberish to me.” Smiling fondly, you pick up your dark pink glitter pen and uncap it.

“By the end of the night, you’ll be an expert. Now, let me break it down for you.”

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

© all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, translate, or repost. Jinned 08/10/20

[imagines-by-rose]

New Recruit - Part 1

Hello, again! Thank you all for the positive responses to my first fic, it means so, so much. I hope you enjoy this multi-part work!

Summary: Y/n is brought into Kingsman as Lancelot after the events leading to Roxy’s death, and Eggsy is furious. As the two work together to stop a notorious jewel thief, however, attitudes change - and feelings develop.

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Genre: Angst w/ a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Death

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hated this. He hated her.

Well -- what she represented, at least.

He especially hated how much she reminded him of her predecessor. God, she even looked like her! This girl -- y/n, he remembered -- was the new Lancelot. Finished basic training with flying colors just last week. Just thinking about it made him scowl. She had no idea who’s place she was standing in. What right did she have to just waltz in with what he could only assume was pride? It was hard enough when Harry was killed. Now Roxy, his Lancelot, was murdered. And not two months since that damn explosion took her life, some new recruit is assuming her place? He just couldn’t stand it.

“Kingsman really doesn’t waste any fucking time, huh?” The bitter thought struck him.

“Galahad,” Merlin’s call of Eggsy’s codename fuzzed with an electric static through his eyeglasses. “You’re to join Lancelot and myself in the briefing room in five minutes. We’ve got a mission for you two.”

Oh, great.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Eggsy stilled when he heard somber voices from behind the briefing room door. Curious, he leant his ear against the doorframe, trying not to make a sound.

“I can only imagine how hard this must be for you, y/n. I want to thank you personally for joining Kingsman on such short notice, given the circumstances. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Merlin. That means a lot, really.”

Curiosity gave way to frustration. What could Merlin possibly have to console y/n over, of all people? Oh, sorry about the rushed training regimen, usually new recruits get ten days instead of seven. Is he serious? Merlin’s comforting Roxy’s replacement? She didn’t even know her.

Unbelievable.

Having heard enough, Eggsy roughly opened the door, abruptly ending any conversation. Y/n seemed timid at the sight of him, looking to her hands and twiddling her thumbs.

She looked pathetic. Eggsy wondered how someone like her could even become an agent at all.

He sat with a huff, surprised to see an outstretched hand before him.

"You must be Eggsy," she smiled politely. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm y/n y/--" 

"It's Galahad."

Her hand faltered. "I'm sorry?"

"Address me as Galahad, agent." His voice sounded cold, even to him.

A simple "oh" was all she said before taking a seat.

Eggsy didn't miss the look of disapproval on Merlin's face. It made him feel like a scolded child.

Who was he? His mum?

He supposed that was a bit harsh, but Eggsy was nothing if not stubborn. He crossed his arms indignantly and looked away with a roll of his eyes.

The air was awkward as Merlin went over the details of the mission. Eggsy wouldn’t look at y/n in the eye. She was obviously uncomfortable, shifting in her seat whenever her attempts to lighten the atmosphere between them were refuted.

“This," Merlin tapped his clipboard, prompting a photo of a woman to appear on a screen behind him, "is Svetlana Ivanov. She's stolen several priceless jewels worldwide; the rarer the better. Though she came close, Ivanov failed to steal the Hope Diamond from the Smithsonian a few months ago. The Statesman saw to that mission."

Eggsy whistled. "Well that's impressive, innit? Goin’ after the Heart of the Ocean, an’ all?"

Merlin appeared unamused, but the mirth in his eyes betrayed him.

"Do you find attempting grand theft impressive, Galahad?"

Eggsy shrugged, a smug grin on his face.

"We’ve received intel that she plans to steal the Centenary Diamond from the Tower of London. There will be a gala held to honor the 39th anniversary of its unveiling, the guests at which will all be patrons to the exhibit. You two will pose as a newlywed couple whose families contributed handsomely to the museum - anonymously, of course."

Merlin handed each agent a black folder. "These reports contain Ivanov’s photo, as well as those of the philanthropists with whom we expect you to socialize. Attached to each photo is a dossier containing enough personal information about the attendees for you to appear acquainted. Commit them to memory; we don’t need you drawing unnecessary attention. Understood?”

Eggsy made a noise of disapproval, clearly unimpressed with the assignment. “You’re jokin', bruv. Newlyweds? With her?” Eggsy gestured at y/n. “Are you taking the piss, Merlin? She’s only been here a week and you’re gonna make us pose as newlyweds?”

The calmness in Merlin’s voice did little to mask his anger. “As you know, if you’ve got a problem, Eggsy, you may address it to me in private.”

Y/n risked extending the olive branch once again. “Eg--" she paused, catching herself. "Galahad, I know I’m new, but I’m a fast learner. I promise I won’t let the mission down. If you’re uncomfortable, we could get to know each other first? It might help us act more convincing. You’ve been here longer than I have, I’m sure you could help--”

Eggsy shot up from his seat, furious.

“Just fuck off, Lancelot! If you’re trying to chum up to me you can leave it out, yeah? You’re not Roxy and you never will be, so stop fuckin’ tryin'!”

Y/n sank into herself, her gaze falling to the floor.

“For fuck’s sake, Eggsy! Would it kill you to be a decent human being for five minutes?”

Merlin’s outburst grounded him. Eggsy turned back to her, his rage ebbing into a shame that gripped his chest. Y/n wasn’t crying -- she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction -- but the hurt in her eyes was unmistakable. Eggsy suddenly felt very small under her upturned glare. Her face twisted into a snarl, fists clenched at her sides, chest heaving.

She was livid.

“Y/n, I’m sor--”

“Don’t!” she spat. “Don’t you dare talk to me, Galahad.” Her voice growing more severe as tears began to swell in her eyes. “If anyone knows that Roxy -- that my sister is irreplaceable, it’s me.”

Eggsy’s eyes widened, his shame sinking deep and cold into his stomach. Now he’d really fucked up. He could only watch as y/n -- Roxy’s sister. Fuck! How did he not know? -- threw the door open and stormed out of the room.

He had to fix this.

“Care to tell me what the fuck that just was?”

Eggsy sank back into his seat, head in his hands.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath.

“Aye. A flaming heap of it, looks like.”

Merlin sighed and placed a comforting hand on Eggsy’s shoulder. “I know you miss her, Eggsy. We all do. But the world isn’t going to wait for us to finish mourning. Kingsman has a responsibility to uphold, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“I know, it’s just--” he sighed. “Seeing someone replace Roxy so fast…it was like she was being erased. I couldn’t stand it.”

Merlin’s hand gave Eggsy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know it looks cold to find someone to assume Lancelot’s position so quickly. But I assure you, Roxy will never be forgotten. You’re a testament to that, just as Harry was to your father.”

Eggsy’s lips tightened.

“What you’re feeling is shared by every Kingsman when an agent is lost. But we have always kept going. No one wants to know what could happen if we don’t press on.”

Eggsy rose from his seat. Merlin was right, as always.

“You’d better go sort this out. The mission is in two weeks and I need you both to be at your best.”

Eggsy nodded, heading in y/n’s direction before stopping at the door.

“Thanks, Merlin. I owe you one.”

“Anytime, lad.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I hope y’all are liking it so far! Part 2 is currently in the works, so I’ll try to get that out when I can.

‘Til next time!

[plus-size-reader]

Control

Logan Howlett x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1335 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Professor X needs someone to keep an eye on Logan when he's at the academy, and who better than Magneto's daughter?

———————————————————————————————————

Logan had made it perfectly clear, in the short time that he had been at the academy, that he had a hard time following directions. There was no way to be sure what he was up to at any given time and Charles knew that he was going to have to do something about that.

Logan was far too strong to deal with mentally, even for someone like Charles because he was so stubborn.

No, if he was going to have any control, he was going to need some kind of physical grasp on Logan, and there was only one person for the job.

You had been in his care for quite some time, after you’d chosen to leave your family in favor of what you believed was right.

Your father, Magneto, the very man everyone feared, had made a choice. He had become someone you didn’t recognize, and it wasn’t long at all before you made your way to the academy.

Sure, you weren’t exactly a fan of humans or their treatment of your kind but you knew that there had to be a better way to deal with them. After all, genocide was never the answer.

You thought that if anyone knew that, it would have been your father. However, that wasn’t the case. He believed that mutants were the superior race, and all others were unnecessary

So, you made your home with Professor X and the other mutants at his school for the gifted.

They were your family now, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do for family…

At least, as far as you knew.

“Are you sure Professor? that seems like a terrible idea” you reasoned, confused at why he would want you to take such an active role.

Usually, you just helped out around the school.

However, Charles had no doubts about what was happening. One of the only things that you shared with your father was your mutation, the ability to control metal.

An ability that they needed right about now.

You knew that.

But you couldn’t help but be unsure.

What the professor was asking of you was a tad unethical and you were having a hard time dealing with it. After all, you had the ability to stop Logan in his tracks if he tried to leave but it would be against his will.

You just weren’t sure how different that was from what your dad used his power for.

“Trust me Y/N, this is only until he gets used to being here...for his own safety” he assured, knowing that was going to be the thing to change your mind.

If Magneto was really trying to use Logan for something, it could be dangerous. In a way, you’d be helping him by making sure he didn’t leave the school grounds for a while...just until it all got figured out.

At the very least, you could get to know him.

“Okay professor, I’ll do it” you decided finally. You knew that Charles could make you do what he wanted if it came to that but it meant a lot to you that he would let you decide for yourself…

Like he always had.

You could only hope that you’d be able to do the same for Logan when the time came.

~

At the time of your first meeting, Logan had yet to meet the man they called Magneto. However, he had heard enough about him to understand that he was the bad guy…

Which explained why he was less than enthusiastic about meeting you.

As far as he was concerned, you were basically the enemy, whether you had decided to be yet or not.

“It’s nice to meet you Logan, my name is Y/N” you introduced, holding a hand out to him, which he made a choice to ignore. Whether he trusted you or not, he wasn’t a hand-shake kind of guy.

It just wasn’t in his nature.

Still, he gave a brief nod in recognition before you continued.

“Professor asked me to show you around, to get you better acquainted with the whole place” you hummed, knowing that he would likely ignore you, or tell you off.

Instead though, he nodded again, much to your surprise.

You had been prepared for a lot of different reactions, but that hadn’t been one of them.

The first place you took him through was the main hall, that branched off to the classrooms and dorms alike. It was more of less the heart of all activities at the academy.

So naturally, it made the perfect first stop.

If there was one thing that you felt summed up the academy, it was this area of the building. Still, Logan didn't seem at all impressed by it.

"What is it?" You wondered, catching a glance of the sour face he was making. There was definitely something wrong but you were no mind reader, he had to tell you what was up if you were going to fix it.

You couldn't do anything about the things he didn't tell you about.

"It's too stuffy in here" he grumbled, glancing around the room with disdain in his eyes. For whatever reason, this wasn't enough for him.

You just had no idea what would make him happy. This building was an antique and a marvel to behold, but he didn't seem to care at all. Clearly you were going to have to work a little harder to impress him.

"Fine, come on" you suggested, heading toward the door with a sigh. If it was too stuffy indoors-you could take him outside.

Maybe the courtyard would be more Logan's speed.

It wasn't until you made it all the way out the door that you realized the man wasn't following you.

Luckily though, it was an event that could be easily rectified. With a twist of your hand, the man was dragged to your side-against his will. You didn't really believe in using your power unless you had to but it was clear that Logan was going to make you break your own rule.

He just refused to humor you.

"I said come on" you shrugged, finding humor in his bad mood, thought you were quick to cover it. Charles had made your assignment very clear, you just had to keep an eye on him and you intended to do it.

...Even if he insisted on making it more difficult than it had to be. 

“You aren’t the only one who finds the academy a little too ‘cozy’, so the courtyard is rather popular with the students” you continued, letting the man walk of his own free will once you decided that he would. 

Logan was stubborn, but he was learning that this was the situation he was in, whether he liked it or not. The least he could do was try to have a good time while he was stuck here. 

Besides, it didn’t hurt that his tour guide was a rather attractive young woman who didn’t let him get away with his usual bullshit. 

...He had always liked that in a woman. 

“And you like to hang out here?” he asked, shocking you at his voluntary commentary, mostly because he wasn’t complaining. As far as you could tell, Logan rarely opened his mouth unless he had something to grumble about. 

Still, you nodded. 

“I do. Why? Is that a selling point, because there are more places around here that I enjoy that I could show you” You joked, only half kidding as you walked alongside the path, with the large man beside you. 

The whole seemed much too mundane for his taste, but you could tell that he was also having a better time than he was willing to let on. 

One thing was for sure though, Logan was going to make this whole place a lot more exciting than it was before his arrival. 

...You were sure of that.

[miyu-hyperfixates]

Random post-canon/backstory MDZS headcanon #3

After spending so much time with LSZ, WWX got a lot of opportunity to learn more about his adoptive son. So he often asks LXC, LJY and LWJ stories about LSZ’s childhood. And so he learned about  the influences of the adults in LSZ’s life and how it affected his personality and behavior.

For example, while his gentle and diplomatic personality obviously came from the influence of his equally diplomatic uncle (no example needed to be mention, it was pretty obvious seeing as LWJ has all but appointed LSZ as his spokesman), one could sometimes still spot here and there the tiny bits of pure stubbornness that were all LWJ. 

During the period where LWJ had been bedridden due to his injuries, LSZ was only allowed to visit him once a month [in an utter bitterly mirror of what happened with Madam Lan]...  Except that LSZ despite not remembering his past had separation issues and was absolutely anxious at the idea of not seeing LWJ often... So in the beginning LQR would panic anytime he lost sight of LSZ who apparently was very good at disappearing on him, only to find him later in the Jingshi, snuggled beside a sleeping LWJ. 

After the tenth times basically LQR gave up on lecturing him and just let him live in the Jingshi. [By the way what LQR didn’t know was that LXC had been purposely helping LSZ sneaking away, because he’s still fucking bitter about their childhood and didn’t want his nephew to grow up like them]  

According to LJY, LSZ was also prone to bouts of mischievousness though it manifested in such a way that most of the time no one ever see it coming and even if they did, they never directly connect it with LSZ (even when LSZ pranked them right in their face). It used to drive LJY crazy when they were kids but now he just finds it hilarious, especially since he realized that LSZ seriously lacked self-awareness on that matter.

Because whenever LSZ planned to prank someone or break the rules, he’d copy the rules two times preemptively. And he thought that the teachers/people in charge were aware of it and so when he inevitably got caught for pranking someone/breaking the rules they won’t add any punishment because LSZ had already punish himself. That’s the argument LSZ gave to LJY whenever the latter mocked LSZ about never getting into trouble even when he wanted to. 

And so, to prove his point, one day when they were something like ten or eleven, LJY had thrown LSZ’s stash of self-punishment right in front of a senior and casually said “Sizhui was the one who gave a small stash extra-candies to the shidis. He disciplined himself accordingly, please verify his work.” And the senior’s reaction was to laugh and shake his head, “You really don’t need to find such excuses to copy rules, we all know Sizhui loves to copy rules on his free time! Sizhui is such a diligent disciple, don’t be ashamed of what you like to do.” LSZ: ...... LJY *laughing his ass off and vindictively pointing at his best friend*: See! It’d probably take befriended demonic cultivators or fierce corpses for anyone to notice you did something wrong and punish you! [Jingyi has super prophetic powers, fight me]

Of course when WWX learned about it he laughed his ass off, patting LSZ on the shoulder and telling him how proud he was. WWX: I was afraid that growing up with the Lans would have make you all mature and all... But I’m so glad there’s still some of that little shit who used to con Lan Zhan into buying him toys in you. LSZ *with a straight face* : Wei-qianbei, if you don’t stop laughing I’ll add a dozen cups of salt in your chili oil... WWX, narrowing his eyes: you’re bluffing. LSZ *smiling serenely*

About like two weeks later, the entire Gusu Lan sect saw WWX making a weird dying noise right after eating a bit of his spicy dish and then coughing and rushing to gulp down a whole barrel of water. All the while cursing, while LSZ just sweetly smiled in the background and LJY patted him on the back. LJY: See, Wei-qianbei, I told you, right in the face, and you still didn’t saw him coming.

What came as a surprise to WWX is that apparently, sometimes seemingly out of the blue [but not really, you just needed to notice the warning signs] LSZ would almost totally forego the “good and sweet diplomatic route” and immediately jump into the “still polite but with a cold and very sharp edge that will stab you one hundred times where it hurt most”.

LSZ has a very distinctive line when it concerns disparaging words or attacks towards his family and whoever he considers his friends and well.... As all of his acquaintances are pretty much badasses, he usually doesn’t really feel the need to intervene, they can pretty much fight their own battle themselves... But if he even feels the slightest hint that his friends/family are unsettled then he’d immediately plant himself like this huge mountain right between whatever threats and his friends/family and then - regardless of whom he’s talking to - he’ll cause a huge scene where he’ll demand a public apology.

LJY used to be bullied when he was a kid because he was too loud and brash and didn’t know how to act like a Lan at all [I hc that LJY’s parents are actually both Lan, coming from two different branches, which technically makes him the most Lan to ever Lan]. And whenever it happened LSZ would come to his rescue, standing right in front of him. Then he’d proceed to list all the rules that the other party had broken before ending with “Please apologize to Jingyi and then go to Hanguang-Jun for discipline.”

After hearing about those, WWX felt a strange pang in his heart without really knowing why... For some reasons, LSZ’s behavior just seemed very familiar.

It’s only when he himself witnessed one of those as LSZ defended JL that it clicked. It was JYL... LSZ was acting like WWX’s shijie.

So it turned out that LWJ had raised LSZ in a way that he thought WWX would have like his son to be raised. And whose values and behaviors better than WWX’s beloved shijie? But the thing is, LWJ didn’t really know much about JYL personally... The few things that he knew was what he heard from WWX: she was gentle, caring, made the best lotus root pork ribs soup ever, loved her brothers very much and that was about it. 

But  LWJ did witness the Phoenix Mountain scene.... and boy did it made a lasting impression in his mind. And that’s what he ended up teaching LSZ too. [ Small LSZ of course didn’t know that the person in LWJ’s story was JYL but he still thrived to emulate that amazing person]  

[elaraves]

A Humble Gift

Elara Ves walked alone with her Ghost through the decaying European Dead Zone. The sun shined brightly down upon her back, providing warmth in the current chilly climate. She continued over an overgrown cement roadway, past abandoned cars from a long forgotten era lying along it. Elara kicked a few stray pebbles below her feet, enjoying the small joys of being outside the Tower. She looked up to the tunnel she was approaching to see a familiar figure covered in darkened armor, sitting leisurely in wait on the rubble stacked on one side of the opening.

“So he made it,” Question muttered to her, “It’s kind of weird seeing him not at… well you know..”

“Why wouldn’t he come, we’re acquaintances now after all. We shared drinks to toast our victory last week,” Elara quietly responded from behind her equipped helmet.

“That was nice… It felt good finally having something to celebrate, even for just a moment. I don’t think I’ve seen you two at such ease.”

Elara smiled faintly, before returning to her neutral expression.

“I just wish he could have shared it with others too.”

They continued walking in silence, but Elara knew he agreed with her. The figure noticed their arrival and stood from his temporary post. Elara waved gently to him, faintly noticing his Ghost happily twirling into view beside him. They both turned to each other, most likely to converse as they patiently waited for her. When the two finally converged, they shared a firm mutual handshake.

“Glad you could make it,” Elara said.

“Well.. I have a lot of free time now,” the figure joked, his normal voice slightly distorted by the voice modulator in his helmet, “Now, what’s this “surprise” you have for me?”

“Follow me.”

Elara held a hand out below her Ghost and gave a soft nod. A beautifully crafted sparrow flashed into existence at her side. She threw a leg over the seat and turned to face her ally.

“Guess we’ll catch up with you,” his Ghost commented.

“What do you mean?” Elara teased.

She extended her palm to the space between them, a simple undecorated sparrow appearing beside her. She wished she could see his face past his helmet, but the giddy movement of his Ghost worked for now.

“She’s an older model. I used her briefly before upgrading, so I figured you’d have more use of her,” Elara said, “Feel free to decorate her how you like, she’s your’s.”

“Thank you,” her ally’s humbled voice said.

Elara waited a moment for him to get on and look over the control panel.

“I lied though, you’ll need to catch up,” she said, immediately pulling back on the throttle of her ride.

Her sparrow roared to life flying forward under her calculated guidance, leaving only a trail of light and dust behind. She weaved effortlessly down the darkened tunnel, bobbing back and forth around more destroyed cars and caved in architecture. Up ahead the light from the end grew larger before her, until she skidded to a halt outside the archway in the open air. She quickly looked behind to make sure her ally was following, to see them in steady pursuit behind. He was just being a bit more cautious, trying to get a feel for his new ride.

Elara turned back and continued forward over the grass, rock, and past the long abandoned encampment. Up ahead she found a familiar, partially destroyed attempt at a bridge over the gaps in the cliffs surrounding her. When she got closer, she lined up her sparrow and pushed it into the highest possible speed. There was a moment of weightlessness and adrenaline, as her sparrow flew up and over the collapsed section, before touching down upon the soil of the other side. She skidded to the side as she turned the nose to the left, and came to a soft halt just up ahead before a naturally-occurring rock formation. She turned to watch for her companion as she dismounted, letting the engine come to rest below her. Following her example, they flew less gracefully over the gap, coming to a more bumpy landing.

“Now there’s something you never thought you’d see,” she chuckled softly to her Ghost.

Her ally came to a hard stop beside her and let their arms fall off the handles.

“It’s just a short walk up ahead,” Elara’s voice broke the silence between them.

Elara allowed Question to transmat her sparrow as she climbed over the rock to continue down the path before them. He vanished from sight after finishing, and Elara’s ally and his Ghost followed suit.

It had been a while since Elara was last in this area, having been busy for months on her own in the field. She allowed herself to fondly take in her surroundings, now that it was quiet. Normally she’d be too busy to appreciate the trees and the accompanying hardy flora growing around them and at her feet. A few birds flew off the branches from overheard, chirping as they moved in unison. Elara stopped when she reached the end, a rocky ascent standing before her and a forced opening to a man-made structure inside to her right.

“What’s that?” her ally questioned, looking over the mangled debris that was scattered about.

“Oh, that’s one of the Black Armory Forges. I can explain a bit about it later, but it’s not what we’re here for,” she answered, before beginning to climb the rocky cliff face before her, “This way.”

With the combined use of her climbing and Warlock jumps, Elara had no trouble scaling above to the top plateau. Her ally had no trouble either, but relied on some of their calculated leaps inside of floating. Elara extended her arms forward to what she had waiting for them, once they both safely reached the top.

“And here we are,” she said.

Before them sat a neglected structure. Areas that had collapsed in or been destroyed were boarded up like rough patchwork, along with all of the windows on the first level. Vines clung around the outside walls and choked at least one side entirely. Nothing special stood out about the building, but it was at least standing with a roof intact.

“That’s an.. abandoned building?” her ally said confused.

She moved towards it and gestured with a wave for him to follow. “Not just any, come on.”

She leisurely walked up to the door standing in front of her and turned the knob on it. The two stepped inside, darkness encompassing them. Both of their Ghosts appeared at their sides to provide a light source, and Elara moved further in towards a piece of heavy equipment at the back wall. She flipped a few switches and the warm lights around them came to life. She hit another button and messed with a knob to turn on the makeshift heating elements. Elara removed her helmet and sighed softly in relief, before moving past her ally to set it on a countertop in a tossed kitchen area. She reached up to one of the many cabinets missing a door and pulled a pair of granola bars from the small stash of rations in it. She jumped up and sat atop a series of crates stacked along the wall beside her.

“Here, catch!” she said, holding one of the packaged bars up before tossing it over to her ally. He caught it mid air without issue, and sat at a tall chair on the other side of the counter facing towards Elara. Elara opened the packaging of her’s, and watched him as he set it down in front of him and moved his hands to remove his helmet.

The familiar glow of his golden eyes fell upon his gear. He brushed his raven-colored hair back into a comfortable place, the stray white streak following his fingers. The newly appointed Guardian, who still went by the name Crow, looked up at Elara.

“What’s all this?” Crow asked, the dull white tattoo across his face crinkling in confusion as he gestured at his surroundings.

“You like it? Figured you needed a new place as an option, since you’re not working for Spider anymore. I wanted it to be an upgrade, one that doesn’t stink and that you don’t have to fight Taken to get to,” Elara answered, before taking a bite from the bar in her hand.

Crow took a moment to look around. It was pretty dusty and barren. An old couch was pushed against the wall to his right with mismatched bedding dumped over it. A large wooden table with a few accompanying chairs sat in the middle of the space. The only carpet was a small rug to wipe your feet at the door and an average squared mirror with a crack in the bottom corner was nailed off-center on the wall behind him.

“I- I don’t know what to say.. Thank you,” Crow said, turning back to face her again.

“No problem, it’s the least I could do as thanks for your help with the Wrathborn,” Elara responded, “You’ve got all your basic amenities along with rations, tools, and supplies in these crates.”

Elara patted the crates she was sitting on to show what she was talking about.

“Oh and there’s more here,” she continued, shoving the last of her food in her mouth before jumping up to her feet.

Crow watched as she walked past him again, and stood before following her down a set of wooden stairs to a lower level of the building. Elara flipped a switch to turn on the light and continued to the bottom. There were mainly more scattered tools and books on a few tables, but there were also the two things Elara was most excited for Crow to finally have. Before them sat a clean bed, with various colorful pillows and warm bedding. A large white banner with beautiful golden and blue designs used for the Dawning event was hung on the wall it was pressed against.

“Thank you Elara, you are far too generous,” Crow softly remarked, his eyes still admiring the banner.

“Yeah well there’s also space upstairs, so if I need some place to “hide out” once and awhile, don’t be surprised if I crash here unexpectedly. That’s what this place was beforehand, a quiet place to come and think. Oh, and also to watch over the Forge occasionally,” Elara commented, “There’s not much traffic anymore though, and I haven’t seen many Eliksni this way in some time, not that that’d be a problem.”

“You care to explain this “Forge” now?”

“Right!” Elara almost shouted, remembering she never told him about it, “Come on, let’s talk as we unload the crates. I’ll take you in after for a little tour.”

Crow nodded in agreement, and followed Elara, as she walked back up the steps to the main living area.

[aminiatureworld]

A Light in the Storm

Ship: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: Panic attacks, passing out

Premise: Jaskier, having just joined Geralt, is excited for new adventures. Unfortunately for him panic strikes at an inopportune moment, and his adventure, not to mention his relationship with the Witcher, is thrown into question.

Author’s Note: The ending might be a bit brusque, but I thought that going on would be a bit irrelevant to the core of the story, as well as to the development of the characters. I might release the rest of it as an epilogue, tell me if you'd like that!

If you want to know the true story this is based off, as well as if you wish to read my thanks to those who've read my most recent fanfiction before this, please read the endnote. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

Ao3 link in reblog

          If Jaskier had to decide the worst part of losing mobility in basically one’s entire body, being unable to even sit properly, much less climb or move about, was probably the worst bit of it. Lying down, hissing in pain as he propped up his elbow in a way that hurt less, because a baseline of pain was a given at this point, Jaskier lay his head back upon the pillows and wondered where it all went wrong. Not that he didn’t know, he knew the exact moment everything went wrong, and it was the first time he’d ever seen something get struck by lightning.

           He’d been about twelve at the time, and it’d been an offshoot building for one of his parents’ manors. Lightning had struck the wooden roof, and the fire torched the whole thing to ground, as well as a wing of the greater manor and about half of the gardens. The whole family as well as the servants had run outside in a panic, and it was hours before the blaze had been put out. The memory had seared into Jaskier’ss brain, as had the unfortunate side effect of panic attacks which, in the worst cases, resulted in him passing out.

           Of course such a handicap at least had the benefit of being easy enough to hide. The odd thunderstorm, though it set his heart and mind racing, usually didn’t result in something as drastic as fainting, most panic attacks didn’t. So when he’d set off with his new witcher friend, or whatever Geralt was calling them, Jaskier didn’t consider the possibility that one such attack might surface. Besides, he wasn’t a teenager anymore, surely he’d grown out of it! Unfortunately for Jaskier, hubris is not, in fact, stronger than fear.

           They’d been up in the mountains when the troubles really started. The first flashes of lightning had set the hairs on Jaskier’s neck straight up, but counting it the storm seemed a good thirty miles away, and surely it would all be okay. His tentative optimism had been destroyed pretty quickly however, and when Jaskier saw a flash of lightning, willowy and branching like an infernal tree, he knew that it was a matter of time before the panic caught up with him. “Geralt…” he called out to his companion.

           “Hmm?” Came the familiar reply. Normally Jaskier thought the Witcher’s reticence to speak was vaguely hilarious, and definitely adorable, but in that moment he felt sure that, had he also been on horse, Geralt would’ve been two seconds away from getting strangled. Gritting his teeth and attempting to keep his tone light, Jaskier pressed on.

           “I think we ought to find shelter, wait for the storm to ride itself out. The thunder must be unpleasant to witchers, no?” He looked at Geralt, who was glancing towards the storm, the storm whose growing strength seemed directly congruent to Jaskier’s panic, and silently pleaded that he’d said something of some sense, that he might be able to save his pride before he lost it forever.

           “It’s far enough, it won’t bother us. Besides,” Geralt glanced back at Jaskier, a vague smirk painted on his face, “Roach and I have both seen and heard much worse.”

           “Of course you have.” Jaskier muttered to himself, realizing that the possibility of a simple escape was simply not going to happen, and wondering if he could just willpower himself out of the situation. Surely he could tell his brain to just… not? Continuing on the mountainous trek, and flinching every time he say a flash of lightning out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier almost thought that he might be able to make it, for they were about to turn away from the highest cliffs, and thus the unobstructed view of the storm, when another flash of lightning, this one seeming must closer, hit a group of trees, which promptly burst into flames.

           “Geralt…” Jaskier gasped out, for the familiar feeling of heat was rushing to his head and the world was beginning both to fizz out of his vision, seeming mosre and more like he’d been dunked underwater.

           “Jaskier?” Geralt shifted in his saddle. Jaskier stumbled forward, almost losing his footing, his knees seeming to go out beneath him.

           “Alcohol-” He managed to make it that far before some unseen obstacle hit the tip of his boots, and, listing slightly to the side, his eyes closed and he was enveloped by heat.

           Jaskier came to, feeling quite groggy, lying on his back, his arms bent around his head. He immediately felt the return of the hot, floating feeling, and closed his eyes, waiting for the cool, open air to come back to him; only then would he be safe. Attempting to sit up after the first few cooling moments, Jaskier found he could barely do such a thing before immediately having to bend over again, as everything around him swam.

           “Jaskier!” The voice came to him belatedly. Too weak and unsure to look up Jaskier gave a short “uhm” back, assuring Geralt that Jaskier was, indeed, alive. A wineskin was shoved into his face, the pungent smell snapping a bit of the heat and static back, and Jaskier grabbed onto it, drinking deeply, despite the taste being, charitably, something akin to piss. He gasped for air after a few seconds, the confusion slowly wearing off, but the adrenaline still too prominent for him to care much about his situation, at least care any farther than the battle to keep awake, for he’d truly failed to fight it off the first time.

           “How long.” He croaked out at last, still staring down, his head in his arms. He was vaguely beginning to register the stinging pain, which surrounded his left elbow, right knee, right shoulder, and various parts of his hands.

           “Five minutes or so, eight maximum.” Jaskier sighed, but he was grateful that the man hadn’t simply rode off, leaving the poor bard to, well, Jaskier wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure what to do now, unwilling to ask how much damage this whole thing was going to do to his new relationship with his companion. For, as he was quickly becoming aware, Jaskier had just presented a most embarrassing scene, and, almost in preparation for Geralt’s inevitable scorn, embers of resentment began to flicker.

           “Sorry I inconvenienced you like this.” He knew his tone probably sounded like a whining old man, or perhaps a wchild who’d shouted for a bit too long, but everything was beginning to hurt a lot more, and Jaskier could barely find the energy to raise his head up, much less deal with such complicated things as the breakdown of a barely started acquaintance. “I’ll be fine now.” He gingerly stood up, but the panic attack was gone, as suddenly as it’d arrived, and Jaskier found that he felt perfectly fine. Ignoring Geralt’s questions and gruff assurances that they could wait, accepting only to ride on Roach for some time, Jaskier quickly had them setting off again, wanting nothing at the moment but to find someplace where he could sleep for twelve hours, and dreading nothing but what would inevitably happen after that.

           When a town had finally been found and they’d arrived at the stables, Jaskier realized that maybe he should’ve just walked. Bending his knee hurt like hell, but it was the slightest movement of his left arm that had his nerves screaming in pain. Stiffly swinging his right leg over, Jaskier fell out of the saddle, and probably would’ve hit the ground, if Geralt weren’t there to catch him.

           “You need to get a doctor.” Geralt’s voice seemed even gruffer than usual, and Jaskier fought the urge to roll his eyes.

           “What I need first and foremost is a bath, and to rebandage everything again, do you witchers not use regular herbs to fight infection? Or is it a liquid diet for you all.” Lifting himself up Jaskier gave a short “thank you” to Geralt, before walking off, or attempting to at least, his pathetic hobbling goin the speed of about 0.005 miles per hour. His pride was smarting, now that the danger of a relapse was next to none, and the stares of the townspeople hardly helped one bit. Scowling, Jaskier stared at the slight step that one needed to cross to get into the inn, but before he could screw up his courage to get his leg up he was suddenly hauled up off the ground, and straight into Geralt’s arms.

           “You need a doctor.” The Witcher reiterated, and this time Jaskier said nothing, silently admitting that Geralt did have a point, even if it was one that the bard would rather not admit. His arms both flaring, not to mention his dangling knee, every step Geralt took had Jaskier swearing in pain, and slightly worried that he tumble out of the other man’s arms. Thankfully Geralt seemed an expert in carrying wounded people, and even managed to grasp under Jaskier’s arm, to his great relief. Ignoring the stares, it wasn’t every day a quiet village saw a man with silver hair carrying another man who looked like he’d just gotten the shit beat out of him, Jaskier closed his eyes, and silently wondered how fast the Witcher was going to drop him once the danger had passed.

           The apothecary, for there were no real doctors in a place like this, made quick work, and even quicker examination of the bard, and soon Jaskier was given his promised bath, before being shuffled into a rough bed, pillows propping up his leg, left arm, and head. His hands had also been bandaged, the apothecary having asked what kind of cat Jaskier had gotten mixed up with after seeing the cuts in his fingers. It would be a while before he’d be back on his lute. It was that, more than anything else, which frustrated Jaskier, for even after his hands healed there was still the matter of his elbow, having been dislocated and badly bruised, which resulted in most movements, even bending, being impossible before and now, the apothecary having set the bones back into place, incredibly painful. Music was everything to Jaskier, and the thought of how much time he’d have to spend away from it put him in the blackest of moods.

           There was another thing that kept Jaskier from drifting off to sleep, no matter how much his body screamed at him to rest. That, of course, was the matter of Geralt. So far the Witcher hadn’t said much. He’d listened to the apothecary’s orders as to how Jaskier was to rest, before silently carrying him back to the inn, his only words being to the man behind the bar, asking for a room and hot water. After helping Jaskier strip and bathe, something the bard would never stop feeling embarrassed about, Geralt put Jaskier to bed, before walking out the door without another word. Nothing more than half an hour could’ve actually passed since then, but to Jaskier the minutes felt like hours, and enough time had passed for him to live out a variety of scenarios on how Geralt’s leaving was going to go. Jaskier at least hoped that Geralt would tell him, rather than perhaps just ditching him to ride off in search of less pathetic companions.

           Eventually Jaskier must’ve fallen asleep, for after what seemed merely like a blink of the eye the world had suddenly turned to night, and Geralt was back, with a wide variety of supplies, which crowded the table in the room. The Witcher himself was staring down at Jaskier, who attempted a small smile, one that the Witcher didn’t mirror. He looked as stone faced as ever, but he was back, and that had to count for something, right?

           “Geralt-” Jaskier began, but the Witcher shook his head, before walking over to the table and picking up something.

           “Poultice, for the cuts on your hand. It’ll bring the swelling down, and hopefully prevent infection.” He reached out his free hand, and Jaskier tentatively placed his own hand in Geralt’s palm. Unwrapping the bandages, Geralt spread out the slightly warm onto the bard’s palm, and Jaskier sighed, for despite the heat it did indeed seem to be drawing out the pain.

           “Glad you know something of herbs.” He looked to Geralt, who smirked slightly.

           “We witchers don’t solely rely on, what did you call it, a liquid diet?”

           “Well thank the gods for that!” Jaskier exclaimed emphatically, before growing serious, for if they had to part, he’d rather it’d be on his own terms. “You don’t have to stay with me Geralt. Thank you for bringing me here, for your help with the innkeeper and the herbs, and stripping me down to my braies…” he paused, hoping that his face wasn’t as red as it felt, or at least that Geralt wouldn’t take much notice of it, “but I can take care of myself now. I know you weren’t thrilled to have my company in the beginning, and that a witcher can’t very well take on a companion liable to faint at every passing storm. I cannot blame you if you leave, but I’d like you to at least give me notice, that way I’ll not expect you back.” Realizing he’d been speaking so quickly he’d forgotten to breathe Jaskier choked out the last words before a long intake of breath, followed by a sigh. He looked at the Witcher, who was staring back, brows furrowed slightly.

           “I’m not leaving you.” The words were short and brusque, and Jaskier was beginning to feel irritated. Why was the man making this harder than it already was? The last thing Jaskier needed was pity nannying.  

           “Damn it Geralt I’m bruised, not paralyzed. I’ll be perfectly fine in a day or two, and good as new in a few weeks!” Pulling his hand out of the Witcher’s his elbow grazed the mattress, and Jaskier let out a hiss of pain. Rearranging himself, Jaskier then turned back to his companion, who now was most certainly annoyed, as was evident from the frown contorting his face.

           “Last I checked perfectly fine people aren’t hurt by pillows. I’m not leaving, and that’s final.”

           “You say that now, but what about when I’m better, huh Geralt? You really expect me to think that you won’t leave the minute I can walk? There’s no point in pretending otherwise, so stop trying to act like your plans for staying go past a week!” Jaskier felt he’d probably said too much, but he’d already collapsed in front of Geralt. Whatever dignity he’d had in regards to the Witcher had definitely disappeared the moment he’d required reviving after a thunderstorm.

           “Do you think so little of me and my kind as that?” Geralt’s tone was gruff again, half incoherent by hurt, gravelly and low. “I’m going to abandon you in the middle of fucking nowhere. And I’m not going to listen to you throw accusations at me. If you want me to leave I will, but I’m not going to act out your twisted scenarios to save your pride.”

           “This has nothing to do with pride!” Jaskier burst out, though he wasn’t being entirely true, for indeed there was a part of him that smarted at the idea of Geralt knowing about how badly he reacted to storms, that resented the idea of adventures being thwarted by a single incident such as this. Geralt was evidently as unconvinced as Jaskier, and simply raised an eye. s

           Trying to find better words Jaskier sighed. His head was pounding by now, and he wanted to do nothing more than go back to sleep, for starting this conversation now seemed like a horrible idea. “I want to keep traveling with you,” he restarted, “but I don’t want either you or myself hampered by this. I joined you because you smelt of adventure, remember? I’m not about to be coddled, or for you to keep me out of pity while you secretly resent my presence. Or for you to leave me in town every time you go out. If I wanted that I would’ve stayed home.”

           “I won’t do that.” Geralt replied. “And I wouldn’t give up the Path for your fear of storms. But I also won’t simply leave you. I won’t coddle you, and I won’t abandon you. Happy?”

           “And if there’s another storm?”

           “Then I’ll load you up on liquor. Isn’t that what you were asking for before you fell?”

           “It does help.” Jaskier admitted. “But are you sure you’d be willing to jump through all those hoops? I don’t want you to resent me.”

           “I am. And I won’t.” The answers were as simple as the assurance he wasn’t going to leave, but this time Jaskier felt slightly hopeful, not to mention wildly lucky and a bit in disbelief.

           “Why?” He ventured, for he had to know, had no illusions that Geralt was the kind of man who would do this to anyone in need. Not the same man who decked Jaskier in the stomach the first time they met.

           “Because I want to.” Geralt replied, before turning towards the table, a sign that the real answer wasn’t going to be revealed anytime soon. Content with that Jaskier let his head loll back on the pillows and once again drifted off to sleep.

End note: Two days ago I passed out in a parking lot after getting vaccinated (get your shots y'all I've passed out before but am still up to date) and decided hey when life gives you lemons! Due to the unfortunate state of medicine in the Witcher universe I changed shots to lightning. Coincidentally earlier this summer a transformer (the electricity kind) was struck by lightning and two garages and a house burned down on my block. Write what you know, amiright?

My deepest thanks to the 10 people who liked/reblogged my last fanfiction. I realize it was a bit of an incoherent music rant, so I'm so glad that at least some people found it enjoyable. You guys are the best!

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #380

“so tear me open, but beware: there’s things inside without a care”

What do you want more than anything else? Good health, on both fronts. Have you ever tried coconut water? No, but I've heard it's gross. Who was your first love? My first "real" boyfriend, Jason. Have you ever been to a convention? (comic, YouTube, etc.) I've been to a reptile convention. Have you ever done a first aid course? No. What internet browser do you use? Well, I typically use Google Chrome, but because it hasn't been loading webpages for me, I've been using Microsoft Edge lately. Are you addicted to any energy drinks? No; I don't like energy drinks. How often do you see your mother? Every day, because I live with her. Do you like croutons in your salad? No. Are you the one who vacuums your house? Mom and I both do it. When was the last time your living room furniture was rearranged? It hasn't been rearranged in this house, but arranged when we moved in. What company do you get your internet through? Suddenlink. When you were little, did you like watching Cartoon Network, Disney, or Nickelodeon more? Disney tops 'em. I didn't watch very much Cartoon Network. If you have siblings, when was the last time you saw them? I see Nicole usually every Wednesday because she eats dinner with us. I haven't seen Ash in a little while. Misty and Katie both visited the house pretty recently, and I haven't seen Bobby for a few years. I really miss him and his son. How many cars does your household own? One. What’s your favourite meat? Chicken or pork. What’s the best amusement park you’ve ever visited? Disney World. How old were you when you got your first car? I've never had my own car. What colour is your shampoo? White. Are you listening to music right now? If so, what’s the theme of the lyrics? "Pet" by A Perfect Circle. Manipulation of a child would be my guess. What was the last thing you had to eat? I had cookies 'n cream yogurt. Are you picky about brand name for anything? Probably for some things, but nothing's coming to me right now. Do elevators freak you out? Yes. The idea of getting stuck freaks me out. Are you still in touch with your best friend from high school? No. Have you ever visited any celebrity gravesites? No. How do you feel about archaeology? I think it's very fascinating. How do you find new music to listen to when you want it? YouTube recommendations, usually. What is your favorite thing to do on The Sims? I only played the animals one, in which case I loved breeding them to see the babies, haha. Do you have any tattoos? Ye boiiiii If yes, is there any meaning behind them? All of them. If no, do you want any? What would you like? N/A Have you dyed your hair more than once (and different colors)? Oh yeah. Which hair color you’ve had has been your favorite? Red. Your favorite place to be aside from your home? Sara's house, haha. If you were stupid-rich, would you ever actually want a mansion? Nah, I don't need that much space. And I'm not really into hiring a maid or something to clean the place. Did you ever sit alone at lunch in school? Yes. I was usually too shy to "force" (as I saw it) my way into other's space, so I really only sat down with friends or acquaintances if I was asked. What is your least favorite beverage? Probably cranberry juice. Do you shave up past your knees (if you shave your legs)? If I shave, yes. Any old home remedies you use when you’re sick? Just sipping ginger ale. Do you like fruits or vegetables more? Fruit, definitely. Who was your last text message from? Sara. What was your first job? Sales associate at GameStop. Do you live near any volcanoes? Nope. Where does your best friend live? Illinois. How many people have you truly fallen IN love with? Two. Has anybody ever called you a tease? Yes, but only by my then-boyfriend, and he only meant it playfully. What about kinky? No. What’s your favorite bird? Probably barn owls. Have you ever been high? No. Who did you last confide in? My mom. How many keys are on your keychain? One. Where was your mom born? New York. Do you know how to tap dance? I took many years of clogging classes, which is very, very similar; the shoes are just a bit different to create a unique sound. Have you ever seen your siblings naked? My little sister and I used to bathe and take showers together as little kids, plus she is literally shameless and has walked into the living room looking for a towel after a shower on many occasions, haha. I actually don't think I've seen my older sister naked. When eating string cheese, do you dive right in or just peel it? I don't like string cheese. Do you have your own personal water jug? If so, where did you buy it? No. Well, Mom bought me one, but... we did NOT realize it was HUGE. We returned it, so now I don't have one. How do you get rid of your hiccups? Just wait it out and suffer. I've tried every trick in the book, and none work for me. Do you know how to take screen shots on your computer? Yes. When you sneeze, do you sneeze into your hand or the inside of your elbow? Into the crook of my elbow. What’s your ultimate favorite bagel? I really just enjoy a plain 'ole bagel with cream cheese. When you have chocolate, do you eat it room temperature? Or are you like me and stick the bar into the fridge first? I like it at room temperature. Are there any constellations you recognize just by looking at them? Well, I know either the Little or Big Dipper when I see 'em, but idk which is which. I just know one's upside-down. Which insect do you find the most beautiful? Butterflies. Moths can be gorgeous, too. What was the last thing you got very excited about? Someone is FINALLY adopting the dog this weekend. Mom and I have lost every ounce of patience with her. The family that wants her though came to visit, and they all adore her. Which Disney villain is your favorite? Probably Scar. I think he was pretty sly, plus he had a bangin' song, lol. Have you ever had a bedroom with a specific theme? Not really. Just filled with stuff I like. If you had to design a room with a theme, what theme would you choose? I would love to make a like, woodsy sort of room, if that makes any sense. Maybe like pine green walls with wooden accents and realistic decor. It'd be SUPER cool if I could build like one of those catwalk things along the walls that look like branches for my cat to maneuver along. Have you ever given money to a homeless person? No, I'm too distrustful. Have you ever designed your own Facebook timeline cover? Yeah. What is one site that closed down that you wish would come back? I used to really enjoy Dragons of Atlantis on Kabam! or whatever it was called. It transferred to a phone app that I have, but it's just not as fun. The dragons were super cool, and the artwork in general was just dope. If you have a partner, have you ever had to sleep in separate beds? If you don’t, how would you feel if a future partner wanted separate beds? I sometimes worry my future partner and I will have to have separate beds because of my nightmares/terrors that frequently cause me to lash out and basically attack the air. Sleeping separately would feel weird to me, but I'd far rather not hurt my partner. Hopefully, getting a CPAP mask really will help me. Though I don't imagine cuddling with one is comfortable. ;-; Or does having a partner even matter to you? I mean I want a partner someday, so I wouldn't say it "doesn't matter" to me, but it's not something I'm currently pitching a fit over not having one. How many languages can you count to a hundred in? Two. What is something you are skeptical about? The government lmao. What is something you find absolutely unethical? The meat industry, honestly. You look into it and it's just... disgusting, what they do to animals. I wish I could go without meat, I really do. What is something unethical you would not mind doing? Uhhhh? Is there a murder case you find absolutely fascinating? Okay so have you ever heard about or seen that video of a woman acting all strange inside an elevator at some hotel? Well, she disappeared after leaving that elevator, and some time later, residents complained about the water quality. They found her fucking body in one of the water tanks (I think that's what they're called?), and no one could explain how someone could have 1.) gotten up there and 2.) gotten the tank open to put her corpse inside. It's fuckin weird and creepy. What is an unusual item somebody you know owns? No idea. What’s the oldest TV-show you like? When was it made? Uhhh I don't know which is older, but I love I Love Lucy and The Munsters. Have you ever won a trophy for something? If so, what was it for? Yeah, sports and academic stuff. Have you ever been interviewed to a newspaper? If so, what was it about? No. Do you have a mug with your name/initials on it? No. Have you ever designed your own mug? No. Have you ever gone mud riding? No, that is not my definition of fun. I don't like being dirty. Have you met somebody that you want to spend the rest of your life with? Yes. Who was the last male you talked to? Does he have facial hair? My psychiatrist, and he does. Have you ever dressed up as a Disney character? Which one? Not to my recollection. Have you ever played chess? If so, are you good at it? No. If I wanted to buy you a chocolate bar, what kind should I NOT get? Don't get anything with coconut.

[tristanlovesthequeen]

Something Smart

Tristan Arcelona

Claire Daigle

Minding the Canon HTCA-502-01

11/30/16

Artist as Purveyor of the Contemporary Landscape

The first time I saw a representation of Salvador Dali's “The Persistence of Memory” was in a cartoon on Nickelodeon called “Tiny Toons.”  I forget the exact scene but somehow this image stayed with me and has pervaded popular culture since its inception.  Dali first came up with the idea during a after a dinner party with his wife, Gala and some artist friends.  After dinner the group decided to go to the cinema and Dali decided to hang back.  He sat at the head of the table observing a loaf of Camembert cheese and pondering the super soft texture of it.  He sat down and began to work at the painting.  It was almost complete upon the return of his wife.  Upon seeing it she proclaimed that it was a sight impossible to be unseen.

The simplicity of the initial concept of soft cheese was then taken to the next step through Dali's hyper paranoiac conceptualism and then taken even further by art critics, theorists, and historians who believed it had to do with Einstein's theory of relativity.  Later on in Dali's career he began to paint about this topic, with the advent of nuclear physics and string theory, molecular structures and DNA mapping.  This is an instance of artist creating a brand, and the symbiotic relationship between the supply chain and the demand creating new technologies, hybridized paintings, and advancement in concept.  Dali drifted between faith systems his entire life, finding sources of inspiration and exploring them, sharing his findings and experiments through the medium of art.  What started as landscape and portraiture evolved into impressionism then cubism and then his most famous surrealist stage.  This period explored the concept of dream reality and meaning of dream symbols which directly connected him to the theories of Sigmund Freud.  When criticized by fellow surrealists as purely a commercial painter, he denounced surrealism, needing only his wife Gala.  He lived a life in the spotlight through wars, moving from Europe to New York and back again.  He progressed the ideas explored in surrealism to scientific theorems and in the tail end of his career he became more of a faith based painter.

Sometimes the mythology of a painting's creation is more interesting than the painting itself.  It's reputation precedes it and therefore it achieves high levels of fame.  One such painting is “Dance at the Moulin de la Galette” by Renoir.  The Moulin de la Galette was a popular dance hall/ bar/ restaurant for the impressionists to meet in Montmarte Paris, France during the late 1800's.  Pierre Auguste Renoir had a studio nearby.  Legend has it that everyday he would carry the canvas with a friend down to the Moulin de la Galette and set up his easel.  

Renoir leased a studio at 12 Rue Cortot, in April 1875.  It came furnished and had two floors, where he lived with his brother.  He made several studies at the Moulin de la Galette.  Renoir's civil servant friend Georges Riviere writes how friends helped carry the canvas back and forth “We would carry this canvas every day from the rue cortot to the moulin, because the painting was executed entirely on the spot.  This was not without difficulties, when the wind blew and the big canvas threatened to fly away like a kite over the Butte.” (pg. 64)

Renoir used his friends and acquaintances from all walks of life as models.  He had a favorite female sitter, whose name was Jeanne and was sixteen who refused the main role in the painting but appears later in life as the main character in “The Swing.”  Instead, her sister Estelle models the pink and blue ribbon dress.

Renoir went through a period in his life where he and his fellow impressionist compatriots were penniless.  Renoir combated this period in his life by writing letters to friends asking for money, also by staying with fellow artists such as Monet.  It seemed the impressionist vision was fading with the salon show actually losing money and his artist group parting ways.  His main gallerist Durand-ruel closed his London location and it seemed that all was lost.  Famished, Renoir started painting portraits and with a stroke of luck and genius, he was able to make the acquaintance of one of Duret's friends Deudon, who was a wealthy lawyer and owner of a clothing store Old England.  Duedon comissioned him to paint a mural in his estate, a portrait of Madame Duedon and five of his finished pieces.  

This granted Renoir passage to build upon what he had been pursuing with his portrait studies to create the symphony of motion and light that we know as Bal du Moulin de la Galette.  After exhibiting, he was able to land several published reviews as was the style at the time.  However, instead of advancing his process and concept, the reviews were mostly negative, 2/6 were favorable.

Most of Renoir's paintings are figurative, all signifying spacial pictoral depth.  Some are landscape.  Now they seem highly unoriginal, the best part about them being the color and motion of brushstroke.  His model choice changed slightly over the years, yet remained mostly young white women, beginning with light red hair and progressing to black.  He undeniably had a type, at his worst remained a blank, doll-like expression.  Even in the Bal du Moulin de la Galette, his most populated painting, it looks as though the main female model repeats over and over as though she were dancing with her clones.  However, he combats this with the dappled shadows from the overhanging branches, the representation of the contemporary styles of the time, and the bright and sunny disposition of all the participants of the scene.  One cannot help but feel nostalgic for a period that would not have existed if the Impressionists had not imagined and created it.  

Advance time about a hundred years or more and we find Bruce la Bruce's movie Super 8 1/2.  This movie is a mockumentary based on a queer fetishistic porn producer's life and work.  Things have changed since the 90's, with the advancement of the internet interrupting basically every aspect of our lives.  Porn is everywhere.  This movie is reminiscent of John Waters' tongue in cheek reality.  The stars are not perfect right wing citizens, they are “underground” and rife with problems, and we see how very real they are.  The main character takes after Andy Warhol, he has taken to alcoholism and lives in a dingy room with aluminum colored space blankets on the walls.  He is always in a state of heartbreak and his relationships with his costars are argumentative and violent.  

Googie is an adventurous porn producer who finds her subjects in mysterious ways.  She finds a lesbian couple hooking up in a graveyard and casts them as her new stars.  A confessional interview shows them talking about their threesomes with strangers and hatred for hetero cis men. They like to “fuck them, and fuck with their minds.”  Wednesday and Friday describe going into clubs with a pair of scissors and cutting off straight men's ponytails.  They aren't serious strippers, they are quirky and take their sexuality and dancing with a slight humorous bend.  

The stars are full of themselves and obsessed with fame.  Their egos cause them to blow up in violent outbursts at each other and exploit each other.  The difference between Bruce la Bruce's porn and every other run of the mill porn filmed in New York or the valley, is that these stars have been given credit for being avant garde art stars. One such plot is Bruce driving an old Jaguar down a a desolate country road and hitting a hitchhiker.  He gets out of the car to check on the man who he has hit and ends up getting a blowjob when he regains consciousness.  The movie concludes with the stranger throwing up on the side of the road and Bruce hopping back in the car and driving away.

A movie directed by Googie and starring Wednesday and Friday, the two lesbian “sisters,” pictures them holding a man up with a WWII army beretta, lubing up his rear and shoving the covered pistol in his behind.  They finish him off by stripping him bare in the brush, powdering him and equipping him with a diaper.

The movie is a black comedy.  Visually it is devoid of colour. Needless to say, it is weighty in its stark portrayal of a scene that is hardly ever represented in the main stream without being over glorified.  It is an industry, much like the meat industry, that remains invisible in its process, yet is pervasive throughout history, since the dawn of photography.  It has it's parallels in the art scene, with painters and photographers alike representing models who may or may not have participated in porn shoots.  The credit goes to the artist usually, with the model being a conduit to his concept, and it is impossible to see how much the subject actually contributed to the process and final image.

Eventually we see Bruce's participation in the industry drowning him in sorrow. He stumbles around the courtyard of an insane asylum in black doc martens, white pants, and a white straight jacket.  He has been exploited to no end, what was supposed to save his career, the interviews and collaborations, actually detrimented from it.  His friend describes him as losing touch with reality, blurring the line between his movies and his waking life.  We see him shellshocked on camera dropping a line of infinite wisdom and rebuking it, attempting to cover his tracks, rephrasing it as if it can be edited out of the space time continuum.

The film is filmed in low-fi black and white with almost no budget. Needless to say, it is an art film.  It documents a sub culture that concerns itself with a subversive beauty, that the mainstream is dangerous.  It takes hard work no matter what you do, whoever said being a pornstar is easy?  We see the image of a young black man on a benchpress, the director condemning him for not being able to get it up, that he has had “Three fluffers already.”  That the price of fame might be the price of your mental well being, that the more one departs from mainstream society the more danger one welcomes into their personality.  That somehow being beautiful and volatile gives you control over others, it creates a desire in them to do your will. However, it is only tolerable for a short period of time.  Misery loves company but it also attracts a certain type of self aware genius.  We are only comfortable with our avarice in the midst of a reflection, and when that reflection starts to change we are disgusted and need to move on.  We accept that life is hard and must accept the most gruesome of challenges because our ability to tolerate and moderate these events bring us a sense of personal satisfaction, the sense of grit to survive.  The fear always lies with our insecurities.  When will this life bring me under?  How much is too much?  In this industry, pain and substance abuse go hand in hand.  In theory, the dampening of the limbic system allows us to surpass the constant onslaught of painful memories.  What is actually happening is quite the opposite.  How one chooses to combat these issues or feelings depends on a personality type or a type of abuse someone has endured in the past, whether it was mental, physical or sexual.  Occasionally people attempt to welcome back this type of abuse into their lives, they put themselves in situations that repeat or glorify an abusive situation and it becomes a cycle without rebirth leading to their ultimate destruction and downfall.  Given the right willpower, resources, and technique one can break this cycle.  Life is not without pitfalls and setbacks, but only if we take them that way.  This can lead us further into space or further equip us to deal with life has to offer us.  

Ultimately society was not built to do us any favors.  The kind of free sexual rebellion that this movie introduces is somewhat refreshing somewhat stale.  It shows us that this behavior might not land us in prison, but might lead us to a sort of mental exile where we feel alien to the world.  The world has offered us an escape from mainstream only to find that we are caught in another mainstream. Crimes against humanity are rampant wherever we go and it is not until we accept them as part of our culture that we find any release.

Tony smith created the steel sculpture “Die” in 1968 with the intention of representing the “square root” of six.  It is literally six by six feet, metaphorically representing death by being six feet deep and a six foot box.  It is brooding in its intentionality, also seems to be a means to an end goal of traveling to New York.  The NGA describes the piece as “embracing the heroic and humanistic attitudes associated with abstract expressionist art of the 1950's,” however I would describe the movement as one filled mostly with a sense of white male machismo.  How could he have not noticed the gigantic black cube in the middle of Jerusalem called the Kaaba which houses the holy book of the Q'uuraan?  Millions of people flock to the religious site each year to pay homage to the prophet Muhammad.  Arguably, this is an even larger homage to organized religion and the prowess of another man of a separate ethnicity. Both cubes are homages to death, one is immensely popular and other remains a mirror of a small dying culture, we shall presume the reader knows which one is which.  

Sometimes art is less conceptual as a metaphor for what is already present in life, and turns into a science project that invigorates the future of materiality, which is what all visual art media is based.  Traditional materials are often decided by trends in the economy, sudden turns of fate determine which path is chosen and which materials will become the new norm.  What replaced the steam engine with the gasoline powered motorcar and what replaced paper made from trees instead of hemp, was usually a rich investor that decided it was easier to pollute than to create something that is sustainable and equally as useful.  What we have now is a bunch of overworked, underpaid employees that are just as polluted in their minds as the environments lakes and rivers.  

Iris van Herpen is a designer that falls into a new genre of material futures.  Material futures deals with finding a category of unsustainable or overused materiality, whether it be, organs, meat that we eat, or clothes that we wear.  She creates new fabrics that are produced using 3d scans and furthermore printed and stitched by hand and machine to create designs reminiscent of HR Giger meets fairy princess, Hufflepuff meets Slitheryn in Harry Potter fan lore. She is conducting science with the touch of a skilled wizard, producing new leather from cow cells and lightweight fabrics lighter than silk.  This technology continues to progress around the world. Her theory is not that we should be creating new wearable technologies that are stylistically unsound, meant to connect us to the outside world without bringing anything new to the physical realm.  Her textures and textiles connote that we can represent how we feel and what we have experienced through  a suit that we wear. 3D printing is becoming more accessible, to the point that people could do it “if they could only find the time.”  If Iris van Herpen ever becomes mainstream we might not find the time to leave the house in the morning, staring at our reflections, robing and disrobing again until we can find the right form to describe our ever changing mood.

As it so happens, Iris van Herpen interned for Alexander McQueen, a famous English fashion designer who has died but his name still rings on.  Before his death in 2010, he put together a show called VOSS, in which models were to reenact the mentality of being in an inpatient unit.  Models shaped like gazelles stumble around in high heels looking posh and sleek with some sort of headdress that looks as though they have strapped pantyhose to their heads.  Kate moss fumbles at the walls, which, are double sided mirrors, the audience can see in but none of the models on the runway can see out.  The models, while nice to look at, sporting some amazing designs by McQueen, are perhaps not the most interesting part of the show.  The climax comes, as the large rectangular rhombus in the center of the room comes crashing open, glass shatter and butterflies spread everywhere, fluttering about in the light.  The main character, unclear whether she is the protagonist/ antagonist, reclines nude inside the cube, sporting a gas mask with concord wings a precursor to a character in Mad Max Fury Road.  

It just so happens that this model is Michelle Olley, a London based writer and magazine editor who specializes in culture.  She was a key figure in queer and fetish culture in the 80's and 90's and has since hopped around from job to job and now works as content manager for Turner Broadcasting's Adult Swim.  On her blog, she describes the experience of being involved in the project.  The all around stress she was under and the real life torture she felt being kept in the box.

“If it weren’t for yoga I’d be in absolute agony by now. I can’t move much because moving breaks wings; my lower leg is dead after about twenty minutes on the chair. I’ve got at least an hour and a half alone in here, and that’s if the show starts on time, which of course they never, ever do. After about another fifteen minutes my right shoulder, which is leaning on a cushion, starts to ache. I’m clutching onto Stephen’s best scalpel—which I need to slash open the butterfly net that contains 250 live moths and butterflies. I’m holding the net in my other hand trying to keep it still so I don’t disturb them. The radio earpieces are throbbing—they’ve been hurting since they wrapped the bandages round them. It’s not too bad in the mask. I can breathe OK. The temperature is awful, though. They need to keep it cold in there so that the moths will remain still/placid. Cold air is being piped in, as when the lights go on at showtime, it’s going to get really hot. The cold air is giving me goose bumps and making the glue/moth parts all around my body really itchy. My head’s hot, my body’s freezing. Time to test whether they really are listening at all times. I ask Anna to turn off the air con and they agree to give it a rest for ten minutes. I have no idea how long it took to shut it off or low long it was off for, but it wasn’t enough. Before I know it, the pipes are blowing again—sending another flurry of broken wings and antennas off me and I’m shivering. Anna tells me they’re running about twenty minutes late (it was about an hour to the official start by this point). By this stage I have no idea how long I’ve been in there, or how long I have left. Time has ceased to be quantifiable. I’m too focused on not thinking about my discomfort, not getting emotional, saying warm and not thinking about the fact I was busting for a pee. I just wanted desperately to get it over with. Sometime later Anna calls to say it would be another fifteen minutes on top of the twenty (“We’re waiting for Gwyneth, who’s stuck in traffic”). Bring. It. On. Before getting in the box, I’d seen all the names on the chairs through the two-way mirrored glass. Paltrow was at my feet, next to Nick and Charlotte Knight; my backside was right to Isabella Blow, Grace Jones, Sharlene from Texas and Ronnie and Jo Wood. Could they tell I was hatching a radio mic? I’d also spotted Tracy Chapman, Tracey Emin and Jake Chapman’s names on the chairs. My early comment about “doing it for art” was coming true in an unexpected fashion...

No, it’s the art thing again. I want people to know what I just went through wasn’t a breeze and I did it for art. Yes, art. Because I believe it’s worth going through that much palaver if it creates a strong image that conveys an important idea. And I believe that the idea that we are trapped by our “civilized,” socially approved identities is massively important. It causes women so much suffering. Fear of aging, fear of not being thin enough. Fear of not having the right clothes. Fear of our animal natures that we carry in our DNA—fish, bird, lizard, insect, mammal. We’ve never had it more techno, we’ve never needed it more human. We humans living now still cannot turn ourselves into perfect beings, no matter how long we spend at the gym, beauty parlour, shops, etc.”

Sometimes it takes a whole orchestra of behind the scenes folks to get a project realized.  Sometimes it is only a handful of people who receive the credit for a massive undertaking such as this.  Why is Tracy Chapman still relevant?  Because she is involved with the culture.  And when all is said and done, however equally distributed the pain and strife of the work that was completed, we still live in a world where Benjamin Franklin is accredited with the discovery of electricity.  Perhaps McQueen would have not felt so weighed down by the responsibility of stardom if the attention received for such a project was distributed with more equity.  Michelle Olley still learned a valuable lesson in body image from the experience of participating in the project, so it seems that process can be the most important part of creation.

Haruki Murakami writes in his novel Kafka on the Shore, “That’s why I like to listen to Schubert while I’m driving. Like I said, it’s because all the performances are imperfect. A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I’m driving, I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of—that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that encouraging.”

Contemporary art seems to operate solely upon this concept, that there are continuous builds based upon the notion that everything here is imperfect.  Competition is based on this nodule that human kind has something to prove, that there is somehow something better to be strived for.  Competition within contemporary art pushes boundaries of what is conceptual, accepted, what element of art history the piece is derived from, and what new materials can be used.  Since there is no purpose in striving for perfection, it eliminates the competition within the art world.  What is left is abstract free flowing ideas.  Competition in the art world, it seems only exists within the art market.  Survival of the fittest is based on who has the latest advancement in technology “who has the biggest guns” and who can obtain the largest chunk of the economy.  Eventually people try to compensate by dumping the largest amount of money into a particular project, here size of the object, materiality, location, and finish come into play.  What is left can be impactful, just because of the immense capabilities of one particular artist.  

The Japanese synth composer Yuzo Koshiro, who is famous for his video game scores during the 90's describes this concept when being called the king of FM synthesis.  “It’s an honour for me. Though there are a lot of people who use the FM synth well. As I said before, in terms of game music... Trying to use an FM synth with MIDI had so many restrictions. I don’t think people could use the chip to its full potential exactly as they wanted. Since I made my own editor and driver, I could control everything about the chip down to the fine details. So I think that’s why I was able produce that level of sound. I definitely don’t think I’m great at making quality tones though. Being able to control every little thing freely was one of the main reasons I received that kind of praise.”  Koshiro was able to fine tune his process by using his own tools, which he developed, using his own ideal of how he saw the future.  Still, he believes the final product was not the embodiment of perfection.  He finds that the more one plays through a video game with the music that he has composed, the more the melodies grow on us.

“Is it the quiet shore of contemplation that I set aside for myself, as I lay bare, under the cunning, orderly surface of civilizations, the nurturing horror that they attend to pushing aside by purifying, systematizing, and thinking; the horror that they seize on in order to build themselves up and function?  I rather conceive it as a work of disappointment, of frustration and hollowing—probably the only counterweight to abjection.  While everything else –its archaeology and its exhaustion—is only literature:  The sublime point at which the abject collapses in a burst of beauty that overwhelms us—and that cancels our existence” Kristeva.

Kristeva's “Powers of Horror” is a long, drawn out study on the abject.  How she was able to complete such a tour de force is beyond us, which is probably why it seems so intelligent.  She was able to sustain concentration on the most unbearable subjects, and most art students, given the the task of completing the entire transcript, are unable to do so.  If there is one positive concept to be derived from this reading, it is that the abject is necessary in small doses, in order to achieve the opposite.  What disrupts and disgusts us can make us believe that there is an opposite.  That notion is described in the quote as the sublime.  

If we look at the hollowness of space as terrifying, then we see why people decide to huddle together within city walls.  We condense only to realize that this too, can be perceived as abject, and in the instance, we decide to disperse.  In this way, the feeling of abjection can flip flop, all at once describing the fickle nature of the human personality, and the lightness of being alive.

“Women artists are more inward-looking, more delicate and nuanced in their treatment of their medium, it may be asserted. But which of the women artists cited above is more inward-turning then Redon, more subtle and nuanced in the handling of pigment than Corot? Is Fragonard more or less feminine than Mme. Vigee-Lebrun? Or is it not more a question of the whole Rococo style of eighteenth-century France being "feminine," if judged in terms of a binary scale of "masculinity" versus "femininity"? Certainly, if daintiness, delicacy, and preciousness are to be counted as earmarks of a feminine style, there is nothing fragile about Rosa Bonheur's Horse Fair, nor dainty and introverted about Helen Frankenthaler's giant canvases. If women have turned to scenes of domestic life, or of children. so did Jan Steen, Chardin, and the Impressionists-- Renoir and Monet as well as Morisot and Cassatt. In any case, the mere choice of a certain realm of subject matter, or the restriction to certain subjects, is not to be equated with a style, much less with some sort of quintessentially feminine style.”

Traditionally, throughout history, most of the credit of winning has been given to men.  Credit is sometimes equated to fame, such as Alexander McQueen's stylistic designs and art shows, where there are numerous participants.  However, what equates fame?  How do we quantify how well known something is?  If something that lives in our hearts is more important than fame, how is it that we measure?  Many ideas presented in the art history canon have been proposed by women first. We see this in the example of Carolee Schneemann's “Meat Joy” and also “Up to and Including Her Limits.”  Matthew Barney used the same ideas in his piece “Drawing Restraint” several years later and arguably received more credit.  He is also referencing his “personal mythology,” which might include pieces that Schneemann has produced.  Meat Joy creates a scene where the body is abjectly presented as a vessel of meat, flesh we consume is also the flesh we destroy, and the theme of abject flesh is now popularized in contemporaries like Jenny Saville.  Where once upon a time it was popular to idealize the human form, it is now popular to debunk the myth of a perfect form and present the new ideal as a medley of body types and human characteristics, not ignoring the ever presence of the abundance of flesh, and bodily fluids.  In terms of art, the gender of the object is attributed to whomever created it, no matter how rugged or polished the piece may be.  The independence of women artists does not suggest that they did not particularly belong to a certain school or class of artists, it just means that they were not recognized for being there.  Since the presence of art history is also based upon the presence of critics and historians, the relationships between these individuals and the people they chose to represent is important too.  The interpersonal relationships amongst individuals in the art world also influence who receives a review. Ana Mendietta is mostly recognized for her relationship with Carl Andre, as Lucian Freud is mostly recognized because he is grandson to Sigmund Freud.  Not to say either is necessarily without talent, which is quite the opposite, however people are recognized mostly from their upbringing and what circles they revolve in.

Which leaves me believing something is missing within the art world and the world at large.  We all experience the sense of the void, which is a mirror of the total amount of dark matter in the universe.  There is something amiss, and we are not quite sure what it is.  The Fifth Element addresses this concept, with the notion that there is a missing element that will save the universe.  With designs by Jean Giraud Moebius and Jean Paul Gaultier, this french cult classic is one of the most visually stunning movies to date.  

The plot revolves around the main character Korben Dallas and his relationship with the embodiment of the fifth element, Leeloo.  She is a fanboy's dream, a young model actress that does not speak English, is the visage of perfection but does not have any visual or cultural preference of her own to speak of, nor any knowledge of who she is or what humans are.  Besides this general monotony, she contains an element that is activated by a particular piece of knowledge.  What Korben Dallas teaches her, is the concept of love.  This is the final unifying element in the universe, the one that clarifies the dream, and brings light to an otherwise dark place.  No matter what your belief system is, if you are a human, animal, sentient being, this rings true.  What is the essence of life, what is the point of materiality if there is no feeling there?

With my own work, I feel a sense of displacement usually rather than belonging.  A jumble of ideas are mashed together usually to bring a solution to some sort of negativity, in order to see the light shine through.  Many artists use their art as a way to connect on a broader spectrum, in this way I am no different.  I find that personally I connect best at a small scale, one or two people rather than a huge group.  Limiting options of who to talk to can create a stronger bond, as if limiting one's palate, in order to know what is truly motivating one's soul.  

With what I create, I tend to maximize my reference points.  I create a mashup of things I have experienced, usually told in the form of a fable created through symbolism of images derived from 90's pop culture.  Perhaps this is me bringing to the forefront the notion of keeping my childhood alive, by subliming memories of contemporary life.  Art can be about breaking free of limits, so my process constantly changes to remove myself from an XY axis and a grid, to constantly build and destroy, to remove anger, hate, and turn it into love.  

This semester I have learned a few things about the art world and art school in specific.  There are a few key tropes that reoccur and navigating them is mostly about the language used to describe them. For example, using the word umwelt for someone's personal bubble; using the term post humanism when someone really means Sci-fi; structuralism for patterns that repeat; anthropocene for the current affect of global warming.  Part of the interchangeability of words to describe these things has to do with the malleability of the ideas themselves.  As we saw with Salvador Dali's study of string theory, different personal views conjure up different worlds.  The study of these worlds leads us on our own personal journeys.  We envelop these concepts and let the future unfold, perhaps we use art as the mechanism to advance human kind.  I always thought of art as some kind of pseudo-science, now I can say that these things are interchangeable, art can be science, theory, personal reflection, fortune telling, and the economy.  The mythology that leads us here today can change time.  

Works Cited

Barbara Ehrlich White, Renoir His Life Art and Letters. 1984. Harry N. Abrams, Inc.  New York

NGA.gov for tony smith's die

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/08/t-magazine/iris-van-herpen-designer-interview.html?_r=0

http://blog.metmuseum.org/alexandermcqueen/michelle-olley-voss-diary/

http://daily.redbullmusicacademy.com/2014/09/yuzo-koshiro-interview

The fifth element

[karin848]

Do I Know You?

Ok, so I somehow wrote my first ever omgcp/Zimbits fic thanks to this post I saw on my dashboard the other day! posted originally by @billypoindexter

Go easy on me, as I haven’t published a fic since 2017 lol. I hope you enjoy!!

~

Read it here on Ao3

Bitty glares at the shelf of pie filling like it has personally offended him. Pre-made pie crust! The audacity! Where is the love? The effort? The patience? He sighed. One of his viewers had requested he do a video of some recipes with pre-made ingredients for students or young adults living on their own.  Bitty understands the necessity to learn some basic meals one can make with cheap local grocery store supplies from his own time in college.

Which brings him to the baking supplies aisle of the closest grocery chain to his Providence apartment, glaring at the pre-made pre-packaged pie crusts. There’s even an Oreo flavoured one, dear Lord. His moomaw would drop dead at the sight. Bitty sighs before stretching onto the balls of his feet, trying to reach a can of apple filling on one of the higher shelves.

Curse whatever he did in a past life to be stuck in this mess.

He’s interrupted in his wobbly mission by an arm reaching up into his line of sight, plucking the peach filling right off the top shelf.

“Need a little help there, bud?” The voice is a bit accented, maybe French? Bitty is bad at those, but it sort of sounds like it. It’s familiar though, and he turns to look up at the person offering him the cursed can of peach filling and realizes that he knows this man.

Oh god, where does he know this guy from?

Now, mama didn’t raise an impolite barbarian. He’s a genuine southern gentleman all right. Bitty knows he’s met this man somewhere before, and he’s not going to make a fool of himself by forgetting a name to a face. The problem is that he has, in fact, completely forgotten this man’s name.

“Oh! How are you? Thank you so much for your help, I really appreciate it!” Bitty says as he accepts the can. He scans the label and mentally flinches at the names of things that are-definitely-not-real-peaches listed inside.

The man is looking at him with a little bit of shock, a little bit of confusion as well. “Euh, well, I’m…I’m good – well – doing well.” He’s looking at Bitty with a bit of colour on his cheeks now. “How – how are you?”

Bitty tries to wrack his brain for all the different places he could possibly know this guy from. Did he go to Samwell? It’s possible. He only graduated last year after all, they could’ve had a class together and were only briefly acquainted.

“Things are going well for me too,” Bitty holds up the can pointedly before placing it inside the basket on his arm. “Just getting supplies for the vlog. Someone requested easy recipes with pre-made ingredients, and no matter how much I loath to use anything but authentic Georgia-grown peaches in my pies, I should be able to branch out to help some college kids feed themselves on their own.”

The man adjusts his own basket, hanging mostly empty in his hand, only item obtained so far is a pack of Vitamin Water and some protein bars. Maybe he’s an athlete? Bitty was sure he met all the guys on the hockey team. Heaven forbid this handsome man be a former member of the dreaded lacrosse team.

“You make pies?” Now that Bitty’s heard him a bit more, he’s pretty sure his accent might be Canadian? He sounds a bit like Ransom whenever he’d come home from a break.

Bitty laughs. “Lord, I don’t know anybody who’s spoken to me for more than a few minutes and doesn’t know I bake. I was hoping by now with the cookbook coming out that more people had heard of the vlog. Though I guess I wasn’t showing that to many people when I was at Samwell.”

The man perks up. “You go to Samwell? Or…went to Samwell?”

Bitty pauses and squints back up at the dark-haired man. Well. Not former classmates then. He realizes he may just have to bite the bullet on this one.

“I’m sorry…Where do we know each other from again?”

The man blinks quizzically down at Bitty. Bitty stares back. Both parties proceed to get trapped in a somewhat awkward silence, neither quite sure where to go from here.

“-Know each other?” The man asks. Lord, this guy is a little helpless, isn’t he? Bitty sighs. He sure is handsome though.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been trying to remember where we met. I thought we may have shared a class at Samwell together, but apparently not. Sorry for my rudeness, I swear I’m usually much better at remembering peoples’ names!”

“Uhm – I’m – Jack,” he holds out his hand for Bitty to shake. Bitty takes it graciously.

“Nice to see you again, Jack! Sorry again, I’m Eric. Eric Bittle, although I usually go by Bitty. It’s a nickname from my time playing h-” Bitty’s hand freezes as everything clicks into place. “-playing hockey. It’s a hockey nickname. Oh my god, you’re Jack Zimmermann.” Bitty pulls his hand back like he’s been burned. “Oh goodness, we don’t actually know each other do we? Oh Lord, I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry! I thought I recognized you, and I didn’t want to be rude of course. But, oh goodness, I didn’t realise I recognized you from being a famous hockey player. Didn’t realise I know your face because you won the Stanley Cup last year!” Bitty slaps his hand over his mouth. It doesn’t hide how red his face has gotten with his growing mortification.

Jack Zimmermann, top scorer for the Providence Falconers Jack Zimmermann, won a Stanley Cup in his first year of being drafted Jack Zimmermann, Bitty may-or-may-not have seen posters of this man’s face for sale at Target Jack Zimmermann, is shyly scratching at the hair on the back of his neck. “Eh, it was a team effort, yeah?”

Bitty flails a bit. “I bet this was so weird, I’m being so weird, I’ll just – let me let you get back to your shopping – goodness. So sorry!”

Jack waves his hand dismissively. “No, please, I – this was – this was fun. I liked talking to you.” Bitty watches Jack’s ears begin to burn red. “Uhm, if you want. I’d like to-” Jack fumbles to get his phone out of his back pocket. “I’d like to hear more about this – this – vlog? Of yours. And did I hear something about a cookbook?”

Bitty slowly takes Jack’s phone as its handed to him. “Oh. Um, yes. Just some recipes I’ve created. A lot of family heritage, some tips to help young adults survive on their own. Hence the,” he lifts the basket on his arm slightly, “You know.” Bitty stares down at what looks to be a default iPhone background. Is this phone new? Bitty imagines one could probably purchase a good number of iPhones with the salary of a professional hockey player in the NHL. “Did you, uh?” He waves the phone a bit. “Me?”

Jack smiles a bit and Bitty is suddenly sure he must be dreaming. “I’d like to get your number, if you’ll allow me to have it.”

Oh.

Oh!

“Yes, of course! Yeah, let me just-” Bitty quickly pulls up the contacts and enters his information in a new profile. “Here! Here you go. Thank you! Ah-” Bitty wishes something would spare him from this torture. “Not – thank you doesn’t – I mean. It would be lovely, to be able to talk to you again.” Bitty hands Jack his phone back and works up a non-hysterical smile.

Jack gazes down at his phone with something akin to wonder. He places the device back into the pocket of his shorts and meets Bitty’s eyes. “I’d like that a lot…Bitty.”

Bitty blushes. “Well, I should probably let you get on back to your regular grocery shopping then. And hey, if you ever need advice with baking! You’ve got my number.”

Jack nods. “I’ve got your number.”

Bitty turns on his heel and makes his way down towards the end of the aisle. He’s stopped by Jack calling his name right as he’s about to ‘round the corner.

“Hey, uh, Bittle!”

Bitty halts and turns his head back to look at Jack. “Yes?”

“I don’t know if you’re doing something this Friday, but I know you mentioned playing hockey and, well,” Jack takes a step forward. “We’re playing a home game that night, and if you’re free, or if you’ve got a couple friends who’d be interested,” He scratches the back of his head again. Bitty is hopelessly endeared. “I’d like to offer you a few tickets to the game, if you’re ok with that?”

Bitty grins. “I would love that, Jack. Thank you”

Jack nods quickly and strides away. He’s gone when he turns behind a display of some brand of cereal or another. Bitty smiles softly and heads toward the fruit aisle to restock his supply for the blueberry scones he’s got planned for later this week. He feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. Bitty takes it out and glances at the screen.

He smiles.

[sootbird]

Hey Rox, random question. How can one learn to draw? I mean, I got the whole take a pencil and a paper and practice everyday but I mean, after doing that you understand proportions, light, perspective? Naturally? Just by practicing everyday?

Artists telling people just to practice art and not giving them any solid starting place is a bullshit cop-out and something I’ve probably said at some point, but I’m going to rectify it now by giving you a comprehensive guide to starting art.

Some people may disagree with me (and honestly I recommend asking other artists this same question to see what they say and what you yourself agree with), but I think no matter what kind of 2D art you want to make, you should start with traditional, realistic drawing or painting. The reason for this (aside from anecdotal evidence of it working for me) is that learning to draw things that occur in real life gives you a foundation for branching out into different styles or media down the line. Even if you want to draw cartoons or anime, learning realistic drawing will help you, because it will familiarize you with the complicated shapes that more cartoony drawings simplify or exaggerate. For example, if you learn to draw a realistic nose, then you can see different ways to turn that realistic shape into a simplified version of itself. Practicing realistic art can also help train your eye and get you accustomed to different techniques such as line quality, shading, color theory, composition, and various types of art materials, or media, as I will probably begin referring to it as.

So, the next step is to figure out how the hell to start learning to draw realistic stuff. I will help, using written descriptions, tips, and videos I have found online to help you.

First off is Materials/Media.

You can make art with practically anything. Anything from the humble paper and pencil to the most expensive and high-end art supplies. You can burn a piece of wood in a fire for a bit and then use the charred end to make marks with. You can use mud to paint with. You can dip your toe in ink and use that as a paintbrush. My point is that you can really get creative with it and I think creating art should be a joyful experience, not a painful one.

Art supplies can be very expensive, so for beginners I really do recommend a paper and pencil. Not a mechanical pencil either, but one of those wooden ones. They work well for drawing because you can use both the point and the side of the lead to make marks with. I also recommend getting a good eraser. My favorite kind are the grey kneadable ones, because you can squish them into any shape you need for any particular area that needs erasing. I’ll link to some on Amazon later on.

You can practice pencil drawings on lined paper (I have a whole lot of sketches I did in high school that are just on lined paper), printer paper, cardboard, etc, or you could invest in a sketchbook. Cheap sketchbooks are pretty easy to find, like they have them at my local grocery store, but you can also find them online for fairly cheap. Sketchbooks are made of different paper depending on the media (drawing materials) that you’re using. Paper intended for pencil drawings tends to have quite a fine grain for smooth blending, whereas paper in watercolor sketchbooks is rough and absorbent to suit the wet medium. You can get a sketchbook with any paper you want, really. I’ve done pencil drawings on pastel paper before, because it was the only paper around, and it still looked nice, just different than it would on finer grain paper. What materials you choose to use depends on the look you’re going for, and you’ll figure that out more with experience.

To start with, just grab some paper and a pencil and start making marks on it. See how many different looking marks you can make on the paper. I’m not really talking about shapes persay, but literal marks with the pencil. Thin lines, thick lines, scribbles with lots of pressure or just a little bit of pressure. Scrape the side of the pencil along the paper and see what it does. Try blending the lines with your finger. Just take some time to play with the material without getting hung up on creating anything. Do this sort of experimenting with any new art material you’re introduced to. The first thing you should do with a new tool is acquaint yourself with it, and that’s what this is doing. Get used to how the pencil feels in your hand and what motions feel comfortable with it. Keep in mind that you don’t have to hold the pencil the same way as if you were writing. Often if I’m shading with a pencil, I will hold it with all of my fingers around it and use my thumb to put pressure on it.

Now, shading.

Shading and mark making go together, because shading is basically using the marks you’re making with your pencil or pen to indicate lightness vs. darkness. To practice mark making and the techniques that are used for shading, I recommend watching this video and drawing along with the exercise. The artist uses pens in it but you can do it with pencil too! 

When you’re ready, you can start trying to shade basic forms (shapes). Shading gives a two dimensional shape a three-dimensional look. It turns a flat circle into a sphere. Once you learn how to shade basic shapes, you can pretty much figure out how to shade just about anything. For example, once you learn how to shade a sphere, you know how to roughly shade a head! And what is an arm if not a cylinder? A nose if not a pyramid?

There are lots of videos online for practicing this. Here’s one that’s pretty good.

This is where I recommend starting. Once you are more comfortable with that, here is a list of things that you can look up and try to get a handle on, in what I think is a pretty alright order.

Perspective (one-point, two-point, three-point)

Value, Tint, Shade

Drawing negative space

Foreshortening

Composition

Drawing from life

Color theory

It would take me a very long time to outline all of this stuff, which is why I’ve given you that list of stuff to look for online. There are a lot of great resources out there and I recommend searching for them and comparing them. I can’t go into depth on everything right now because there’s a LOT of stuff, but I hope the little outline I gave you will help give you a foundation and know where to look and what to look for! If you have any questions about specific stuff, feel free to come and ask me about it and I’ll try to help.

Here are links to some cheap art materials on Amazon:

Grey kneadable eraser

Sketchbook for pencil

Pen set

There are lots of other listings for stuff like this online, so do check around for what you want! The ones I linked are just options.

I hope this helped! Thank you for the ask anon, and good luck!

[capricornus-rex]

A Path I Can’t Follow (3)

Chapter 3: If Stone Could Speak | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It was a matter of life and death—the question is, should it be the life of many or one, the death of many or one? Cal Kestis makes what ought to be the biggest and hardest decision of his life as he is pitted with a question of high stakes and morals. He descends to the Dark Side and becomes an Inquisitor. A choice he openly made for the sake of saving you, even if you didn't know you needed it until it was too late.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

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3 of ?

You and Cal were warming up to the Varan the same way the creature is doing to you. Ever the curious one, BD-1 lit up its scanners and skimmed the whole creature’s body. It flicked its tongue in reaction when it saw blue light shining in its eye.

BD-1 trilled excitedly as soon as he finished the scan, as if insisting Cal to read the data entry right away.

“Alright, buddy, I’ll check it out later!”

“Alright, Cal, see if you can tame this beast,”

Razh called on another Varan, its color was slightly lighter than yours—almost a rather dark gray like stone than obsidian black. This one, however, was less docile than the one you got to befriend. It was wary, cautious, and evidently anxious in the presence of a stranger. It was trying to shoo Cal away from itself, when it saw that Cal was persistent in approaching it—albeit slowly and steadily—it began to back away, tugging at the reins in Razh’s hand but Razh gently went against it, calming it down and reeling it in  closer to Cal.

“She’s rather the shy one!” Razh chuckled, unfazed by the wild bucking of the animal.

BD-1 trilled a panicking tone.

“Yeah, I don’t call that shy, too!” Cal concurred.

It took Razh a few good tugs of the reins before the Varan stopped its bucking, though it hasn’t fully calmed down yet, still cautious of Cal’s presence and scent.

“It’s okay…” Cal cooed, repeated it a number of times until the giant reptile was acquainted with his voice.

He approaches the animal slowly, lifting one foot in front of the other as steadily as he can; he times the moments where he can extend his hand—to close the distance between the Varan’s muzzle and him—and the Varan decided to calm down and see how this goes, croaking and bleating in reaction to Cal.

“There, there,” he said in a calming, hushed tone—he’s already at a finger’s length from the animal.

Finally, his hand plants onto the Varan’s muzzle. The reptilian purred so loudly that the flap under its jaw vibrated, in a certain point of view, it would sound like this Varan was saying “Hello” to Cal—there was a sage-like feeling to its sound. Suddenly, its wariness melted away. It voluntarily stepped forward to Cal, asking for more pats and he was very happy to oblige. The great lizard bowed its head lower, showing its forehead, as if telling Cal to pat it there.

“Nice to meet you too!” Cal chuckled as he cradled its tapering, pointed muzzle in his hands.

Razh decided to teach you and Cal how to mount and ride a Varan. With the first lesson done—which is getting acquainted with the animal—the next one was mounting it. Both Varans were already outfitted with complete riding equipment: saddle, bridle, and reins. You followed Razh’s instructions exactly the way he tells you: hook one foot into the stirrup while clinging onto the knob at the end of the saddle, then finally propelled yourself up until you’re fully mounted.

The Varans were startled when you and Cal mounted them, but you quickly calmed them down with pats on their broad necks.

“I think you won’t have any trouble in steering them,” Razh said assuredly. He mounted his own Varan and led you out of the enclosure.

Like a child, your heart skipped a beat as the Varan started to gait. The three of you rode out of the town’s walls.

“Rule of thumb: never hold onto the reins when mounting, they’ll bolt away the moment you do—and one can never catch up to a Varan.” Razh guided.

“We’ll remember that. Thanks.” Said Cal.

“Alright then, give a little kick on the side of its belly and we should be on our way. Hyah!”

Razh’s Varan reared as it croaked and then sprinted away, the two of you followed suit and felt the first-time thrill of riding such a creature. The reptilian steeds galloped so fast that the warm, humid wind blew right through your hair. You kept your grip tight on the reins as it ran, following Razh’s lead.

As always, you and Cal were neck-and-neck with another. Though it wasn’t a race to begin with, the two of you exchanged childish grins—calling for a little game, but neither of you initiated it. Cal saw you burst in cheer, your laughter as fleeting as the wind, an excitement that is innocent and pure, he smiled to himself.

What I would give just to always see that smile. He thought to himself.

The Varans easily traversed the harsh terrain of volcanic rock, they expertly dodged the geysers that spewed out scalding vapor. Climbing uphill levels was a breeze for these creatures—more so while having riders.

Razh stopped at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a mountain range. You and Cal reined in your mounts as you looked to the same direction.

“This is as far as I can go. Can you take it from here?”

“You’re not coming with us?” Cal said, quite startled.

“I can only lead you to where you need to be. This is your mission, not mine. Your temple should be within that mountain range, take the Varans along the path there.” Razh points to the corner right where a path can be seen by the ridge.

“Thank you. For everything.” You and Cal remarked gratuitously.

He turns his mount around, before leaving, he bides, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Razh left the scene, his Varan kicked the dust as it walked large strides until it gained momentum for a gallop. You turn your face from your gracious host disappearing in the horizon to the jagged row of rocks that is the mountain range. Cal’s Varan trotted close to you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just a spooky sight is all,” you brushed off.

“Come on, I’ll ride close to you,”

The two of you propped the Varans forward, steering them to the path downhill that trails along the ridge of the cliff. The great lizards were indeed agile runners, they can tread even on the narrowest of roads. When you took a turn down the path, the entrance of the temple was already in sight, although there was still some distance to be covered; and yet, that same feeling you had upon arriving to Magyon came back to you—this time, it returned to you violently like a tidal wave.

The Varans reduced their pace to a relaxed trot, your heads stuck to the view of the temple as you walked along the road.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you muttered.

“Yeah, me too,” Cal added. “This is definitely it.”

“There’s something else,”

“What is?”

“I feel like we’re being watched,”

“Nonsense. It’s probably just the other critters,”

“Possibly,” you said, still uncertain and unassured by Cal’s remarked.

Meanwhile, peering through binoculars, a Purge Trooper stationed in a vantage point on the clifftop has noticed you. He pressed a button on his gauntlet.

“They’re close,” the Purge Trooper uttered in a husked voice due to their helmet.

“Good, we’ll be expecting them,” a male faceless voice, sinister and stern, answered through the Purge Trooper’s commlink gauntlet.

The closer you got to the temple, the more noticeably uneasy the Varans were—for the rest of the ride, this was the only instance they became noisier, constantly snorting and bleating in every step.

“Even they can sense it,” you point out.

“I don’t understand. It’s a Jedi Temple but… there’s a faint trace of the Dark Side,”

“You don’t think…?”

“No,” Cal refused to even think that Empire has reached this point in the planet. “If they did, then Razh and the villagers should’ve told us right away, the moment we came into their town.”

The 10-foot creatures skidded their claws against the soil, reared and stood on their hind legs as they made their distinctive chitter. You were already a few feet away from the main entrance of the temple. You tried to direct them forward but they fight it.

“They’re anxious, plus they’re too big to squeeze in,” said Cal, petting his Varan’s head, the animal looked left and right—as if it cautiously searching if there was a predator.

The two of you dismounted the Varans, tethered them to a stout but dead branch sticking out of the cracks in the rockface.

The path to the entrance was a broken one, too; having the need to jump across gaps of stairs that have been broken off and eroded—it’s basically like your training session back in Bogano earlier—and climb moderately high heights. Now that you and Cal were ever closer to the temple, a burdening weight rode on your shoulders, a feeling that neither of you can’t shake but only accept as its presence dominated.

“Okay, I really have a bad feeling about this. I can… I can sense it,” you shuddered.

Cal clutched your hand, gave a quick and tight squeeze.

“Hey, we’ll go through this together, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The great doors of the entrance remained ajar, though the space was enough for the two of you to shimmy through. As you emerged from the crack, you disturbed the dust that was resting on the limestone walls and floor, the musty aroma of the temple wafted in the air, it made you sneeze.

“Bless you, sweetie,” Cal chuckled, beguiled by your adorable sneeze.

“Thanks,”

With the temple in full view, it was just as vast as the Zeffo tombs you’ve visited. In fact, this temple alone is the size of two tombs put together! There was an eerie splendor in it, the extravagance was breathtaking, a mysterious beauty shrouded in ruins. It was astonishing, but also frightening.

You couldn’t keep your head down as you surveyed the high ceilings and walls of the temple. The once intricate carvings and frescoes on the walls have lost their luster, even the ceilings had been decorated with paintings and writings, though their clarity has been dulled by the erosion of time; to the untrained eye, they are nothing but ancient writing, as dead as the structure itself—but you could recognize some old Jedi runes carved into the rock.

Treading carefully and cautiously, you finally bow your head down and kept your eyes off the images on the walls. You went forward, realizing that you’re standing on what ought to be the second level of the temple, given that you had to take the stairs—or lack thereof—at the entrance. The center of the temple was a circle, four directions branched out of it—west, east, north, and south where you came from.

Stepping closer to the banister, you examined the proximity of the second floor, a broken-off portion of the railing led to what seems to be a stepping-stone bridge made out of the fallen pillars of the temple; both the eastern and western paths have crumbled as well, one misstep and it would cost you a cracked skull if you landed on the floor, you’d have to be lucky to have landed in the water—though you’re not sure how deep it could be.

“It’s just like Bogano,” you remarked.

“Except it’s spookier,” Cal added.

“Yep, sure is,”

“Okay, you go first. I’ll be right behind you,”

The bridge up ahead seemed to be intact—at least, most of it. The path was basically a set of stepping stones, from the looks of it—they appear brittle and would crumble at the slightest step. You nimbly hopped and skipped through, and then prepared yourself to cross the next one. Cal followed right behind you, gaining enough momentum for him to speed through, but at the second step, the rock under his feet started to crumble and swerve, causing him to lose his balance.

The second step eventually crumbled upon Cal’s weight and he went down with it as it collapses to the first floor. The impact disturbed and splashed the algae-ridden water that pooled the first level.

“CAL!!!” Your call echoed across the temple.

The water was murky but you were able to spot something red. Cal resurfaced and gasped for air as he splashed about the water. From your perch, you sigh in relief.

“Cal, are you okay?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine! I’ll have to circle back. Go on ahead and I’ll meet you there,”

Cal got himself back up his feet and waded through the knee-deep water until he got to dry land.

“You okay, BD?”

The little droid chirped in response.

“Okay, that’s good…”

Cal surveyed the area. He has landed into the foyer. The base of what ought to be a statue has been reduced to a stone’s throw. There were two doorways on either side of the stage-like spot in the front, and there were passages that led to who-knows-what-and-where. BD-1 hopped off Cal’s back and skittered across the room, scanning everything he can find of value in terms of data—more stone carvings depicting events, deteriorating tapestries whose colors have faded into the water, and the little critters that have made this place their home.

“Come on, BD, we gotta back to [y/n],”

BD chirps happily, strongly agreeing with Cal.

“Now, all we need is to know which leads where,”

The droid trilled in a low, long chirp as if conveying uneasiness while in agreement with Cal.