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gumnut-logic · 3 years

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It was late.

It had been a very long day.

A very, very long day.

Scott had been held back at the danger zone by bureaucratic nonsense and a CEO throwing a fit over a couple of Thunderbirds parking in his carpark and the resultant damage to a nearby building.

The insensitivity and self-involvement had John reining Scott in over comms. It wasn’t like he was going to hit the guy, really, no matter how satisfying it might have been. But it had been a gruelling and messy rescue digging people out of a collapsed shopping mall.

He and his brothers had been digging for hours.

Eventually he had to call it and had sent Thunderbird Two back to base.

He had intended to follow shortly after, but…obstacles.

It was just past three in the morning when One streaked into a hover above Tracy Island. The shift to vertical flight was smooth and mostly subconscious. Scott felt his ‘bird in his bones.

As he lowered her through the gap left by the pool, a dim light from the lounge told him he wasn’t the only one awake.

He had his suspicions who it might be and that only had him working through post-flight faster.

It could be Grandma, but chances were it was Virgil waiting for him to come home.

He didn’t always do this. Only after the difficult ones.

And this one had been far from easy.

Scott hurried up to the locker room and, shucking his uniform, washed the sweat and grime from his skin. It felt good to be clean, an extra step further away from the tragedy they had left behind.

He didn’t bother getting dressed other than to throw on some pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt. he would check on his brother, possibly grab a quick bite of food and a drink, and then hit the sack.

The house was quiet as he made his way to the lounge. No doubt Grandma and Virgil combined were a force that saw the younger Tracys safe in bed. Virgil likely then turned on his partner in crime and bundled her off as well.

He was determined like that.

Sure enough, a quiet step into the lounge and he found his brother in their father’s chair.

Asleep.

Dark curls let loose from their product by a long-ago shower were a hastily combed mess on his forehead as Dad’s chair held Scott’s brother as if it were its owner. The worn upholstery cradling worn out rescue operative ever so gently.

Scott’s bare feet made little sound as he stepped across the hardwood floor. It was a warm night. The open windows let in a soft breeze off the Pacific laced with the honey scent of flowering pōhutukawa trees.

Virgil muttered and shifted in his sleep.

The sound drew Scott’s attention back to his brother. The desk lamp was the only source of light in the room beyond the starlight far above. The moon had already set and outside was almost as dark as it got, the ocean murmuring in the distance.

There was paper on the desk.

Scott didn’t use much in the way of paper himself. Most of his work was digital, often holographic and as ecologically sound as he could get it.

Virgil, however, did keep a stash of different surfaces to art on in his studio. Paper was one of them. Obviously, some had made it out tonight.

Pencil sketches covered the white sheets. Eyes, half drawn faces. Gordon popped up in one corner, a familiar smile on his face. Thunderbird One had her grapple out and was lifting something half-drawn.

He found his own face staring out of the paper. His drawn self was obviously angry and glaring at a faceless head.

Scott arched an eyebrow at the obscenity scratched into the cartridge under the non-person creature.

Virgil had obviously not been happy that Scott had been held up.

There were other words on the page amongst the drawings. Virgil doodling and possibly venting in the process. Even Scott could see the emotion drawn in graphite.

He sighed.

As if agreeing, Virgil snorted and tried to turn over in the chair, a manoeuvre that wasn’t recommended.

Scott caught his brother under his arms as he tried to slide off the leather upholstery.

He earned a grunt for his efforts. Bleary brown eyes opened and stared up at him. “Sc-t?”

“Hey.” A soft smile. “You planning on camping out tonight?”

Another grunt and his brother tried to right himself in the chair. “You took too long. Why didn’t you sic John on ‘em?”

“I did. But not until tomorrow. John needs his sleep as much as you do.”

“Yes. Yes, he does. Tol’ him.” Virgil’s eyes drifted closed again and he began to sink back into the chair.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to bed, little brother.” Scott gripped Virgil a little tighter and pulled him up and out of the chair.

Various limbs pinwheeled a little and Scott ended up with his arms full of dopey brother, but he got the man on to his feet.

Virgil grumbled into his t-shirt and Scott let off a snort of a laugh. His biggest brother was hopeless when his sleep was disturbed. It was an ongoing source of prankdom – at the risk of the perpetrator’s life.

Hell, Gordon had managed to draw in a second pair of eyebrows on Virgil’s forehead once – while the man was supposedly awake and nursing his coffee.

The double-eyebrowed death monster that had resulted once enough coffee had been ingested was of legendary proportions. Grandma had literally roasted Gordon alive and a ban on markers on anyone’s faces had been instituted for all eternity.

Gordon was a multitalented artist, however, and simply switched mediums.

The honey had Scott blowing a circuit.

But dopey Virgil was a familiar and smile-inducing feature of the Tracy household.

Scott found himself grinning.

“Shuddup.”

Well, at least Virgil had managed a couple of neurons worth of thought.

Scott’s smile only got wider.

Virgil groaned and pushed his brother away and stumbled a little. “’M gonna bed.”

“You do that.” Scott had to stick out a hand and steady him as he wobbled into the side of the desk. “Need a hand?”

That triggered some incoherent grumbling that threatened bear territory. Scott couldn’t help himself and just grinned more as Virgil teetered away in the direction of the elevator.

The fact Scott had to save him from falling into the sunken lounge was probably a sign that the answer to his question was a definite ‘yes’.

A hand on his brother’s elbow prompted more grumbling, but the elbow wasn’t yanked away and by the time they made it into the elevator, Virgil had pretty much faceplanted himself into Scott’s shoulder.

The grin turned into a fond smile as he hit the button for the residential levels.

“You neeb togoto bed too.” It was muffled by the sleeve of Scott’s t-shirt.

“That’s the plan.”

“You bedda.”

Scott wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Or what?”

More incoherent grumbling.

Scott pulled him in a little tighter as the elevator doors opened.

It was like leading a zombie down the corridor, though Scott could easily empathise. He was looking forward to his own pillow as soon as he saw Virgil to his.

A yawn escaped.

His brother looked up as if the medic had bypassed his brain and booted in safe mode. “You need sleep. Go to bed.”

He gestured towards door to Virgil’s rooms. “After you.”

Virgil frowned. “You first.”

Scott rolled his eyes and, reaching around his brother, activated the door and, with a little manoeuvring, manhandled Virgil into his rooms.

“Hey!”

His hand returned to his brother’s elbow and he marched him into his bedroom, amid protests.

“You need to look after yourself.” Virgil finger was jabbed into Scott’s breastbone.

Was it possible for a human to have one half of his brain awake and the other asleep at the same time? Apparently, some birds could do that. Gordon had gone into great detail that year they spotted some migratory waders landing on their beaches mid-transit.

In any case, Virgil obviously wasn’t all there as Scott backed him up against the end of his bed and pulled back the covers. Virgil continued to nag Scott to bed with varying levels of coherence. Smiling, Scott gave his rambling brother a gentle nudge and their gentle giant went Gulliver, flat on his back.

“Scott?!”

The eldest yanked up the covers and muffled the outraged mutterings. “Yes, Virgil?”

But his protests began to fade away and, as Scott pulled down the covers a little and tucked them in, he realised Virgil’s eyes were already drooping again.

Dopey indeed.

He brushed curls off his brother’s forehead. “Sleep, Virg.”

“Mmm, Sco’, go bed.”

Softly. “I will.”

“Mmmhm.”

Scott couldn’t help but smile a little more as Virgil drifted off.

A final touch to his brother’s hair and Scott straightened, his body creaking enough to remind him, that yes, he needed his bed as well.

He slipped quietly out of Virgil’s room and secured the door. A glance down the corridor, a thought, and he walked quietly down to check on Gordon.

The last he had seen of his fish brother had involved sad eyes and concrete dust. A quiet step into his rooms and he found Gordon as he had suspected he would.

The aquanaut was tangled in his sheets and throttling his pillow.

There was a frown on his face.

Much practised manoeuvring and he managed to straighten the Fish out and untangle him from his bedclothes.

Half asleep protests were halted by a plushie squid that awake Gordon would claim to his death never left the mantle above his bed.

Scott knew better.

His little brother quietened, falling into a deeper sleep.

After that, Scott couldn’t help but check in on Alan. It was probably a fortunate thing, because opening the door found Alan asleep in front of it.

The littlest Tracy had a history of wandering in his sleep. Scott had it checked out and it was directly related to early childhood trauma. Which one was a game of pick one.

It was managed, but occasionally it flared up. One of the most common symptoms was climbing out of bed and sleeping on the floor. Sometimes, the piece of floor chosen was a little inconvenient.

Scott was just happy the piece chosen wasn’t a balcony. Five and now Eos had been tracking Alan while he slept for years and issued alerts if he should wander too far.

Scott slipped into the room sideways and, with cracking knees, lifted his little brother off the floor.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Alan shared his sleep type with Virgil and slept like the dead. So, it was easy to move him over to his specially plush rug and snuggle him up with a pillow and quilt from his bed.

Alan muttered something about Virgil pulling him up, possibly something to do with the day’s rescue.

Scott reached out and touched Alan’s cheek.

His little brother mumbled his name and leant into his hand.

Scott blinked. The emotion that suddenly gripped him was just a sign of how tired he was.

Letting go, he pushed to his feet and slipped from the room. In the corridor, he closed his eyes and leant back against the wall for a moment.

One to go.

He tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. “Eos? You there?”

“Where else would I be?” Despite the smart-ass remark, her voice was quiet. Something she had learnt the hard way.

He ignored the comment. “John’s status?”

“John is currently in REM sleep. No signs of nightmare. Pulse regular, respiration as to be expected, body temperature 36.7 degrees Celsius. John is well, Commander.”

Scott let out a breath. “Thank you, Eos.”

“You’re welcome. Kayo and Mrs Tracy are asleep in their rooms, as is Hiram. Which is a concern, if I may say so, because he left Max on the ceiling.”

A blink. “Again?”

“It would appear so.”

Scott groaned. “Keep him out of the hangars this time.”

“I will try. But you know how he is.”

A grunt and Scott pushed himself off the wall. “I’m going to bed.”

“Good. Virgil was adamant you do exactly that.”

A frown. “Or what?”

“He said ‘or I’ll knock his ass out and drag him there myself’. His tone seemed humorous, however, John said it was a half-truth.” A pause. “Which half, I’m not sure.”

Another grunt. “Both halves, most likely.” To stave off a round of questioning at that, Scott quickly followed up with, “Tracy Island out.”

The house fell quiet after that and he let his shoulders drop, rolling his neck as he made his way to his own quarters. In his rooms lay freedom. A moment where he could just be himself, relax and sleep.

Sleep.

The door clicked shut and exhaustion caught up with him. It was a matter of steps to his bedroom, a modicum of the last of his energy to shove the covers aside, and he let himself fall face first into his pillow.

His body melted into the mattress.

It had been a shitty rescue, but his family was all home, safe, uninjured and resting.

He could let go.

So he did.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #nuttyfic reblog #a bit recent I know #but it is fluffy #and has sleepy Virg

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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ok i have an inbox full of prompts, but i was making valentine’s day plans & all of a sudden felt very inspired to write some valentine’s day gallavich! featuring uncle mickey, homemade cards and a lot of domestic fluff- i’ll probs have a part two up sometime this week!<3

It was a lazy, slow-paced Sunday afternoon at the Gallagher house. Mickey had been lying on the couch passively watching trashy reality TV for god knows how long—and apparently at some point he’d fallen asleep, because now the TV volume was just a low hum, and he was being woken up to the startling crash of the kitchen back door slamming shut, and the rustling of shoes and coats being taken off and discarded by the front door.

“Alright Franny, let’s set this stuff up on the kitchen table.” Mickey heard Ian’s voice sail across the room, his eyes still closed to block out the cheery sunshine teeming in the living room.

Mickey tried to doze off again, attempting to block out the bright light infiltrating his eyelids, but it was no use— whatever Ian and Franny were doing, murmuring and clanging in the kitchen, there was no way for Mickey to escape the sound now and drift back into his sunwarmed sleep. He begrudgingly shoved the scratchy crocheted blanket off of his lap, stretching as he rose and stumbled into the kitchen.

He wasn’t expecting the carnage that he saw when he turned the corner; the kitchen table was covered in an explosion of sheets of multicolored construction paper, all reds and pinks and whites, with tiny multicolored stickers and tubes of glitter and shiny ribbons arranged and spread wide across the countertop, scattered with glue sticks and pairs of scissors and an exploded box of crayons. There was a small mountain of cut-out hearts piled high on the table, smattered with glitter-glue and blocky handwriting.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, taking in the scene. “What’re you two Picassos up to?” he asked drowsily.

Ian looked up, his eyes light. “Look who’s awake!” He gestured at the table emphatically, like it was Christmas morning. “Isn’t it great? Me and Franny grabbed all this stuff at the dollar store for less than ten bucks. The glue sticks definitely kind of suck, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

Mickeys eyes scanned to Franny, who was hard at work trying to cut a shape out of a piece of red construction paper, her brows furrowed in concentration. Ian kept chattering on as he unwrapped another sheath of the paper.

“Debbie left Franny with me since some rich lady called her with a weekend handywoman emergency that popped up at the last minute, so now I’m helping Franny make her valentines for school.”

Mickey scoffed. “Fucking valentines?”

Ian rolled his eyes as he contentedly started to glue together two pieces of paper. “Yes, Mickey, valentines. You know, those nice things that normal people give to each other on Valentine’s Day, along with a box of chocolates or some shit and a note about how much they love each other—”

“Yes, I know what they are, smartass. Don’t know why you didn’t just buy the little cardboard ones at the store though.”

Ian smirked, his eyes still focused on the paper beneath him that he was smudging glitter on. “Yeah, well. Franny wanted to make them, and I thought it’d be kind of fun.”

Just then Franny gasped triumphantly, raising a lopsided and crumpled paper heart up for Mickey to see. “Look, Uncle Mickey! I cut a heart! Uncle Ian showed me how!”

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, who had a sheepish look on his face. “Didn’t know you had so many hidden talents, Gallagher.”

Ian flashed a grin. “I used to be really into art class in elementary school, what can I say.”

Franny looked up at Mickey with wide eyes. “Do you want to make valentines with us? We have to make twenty-seven, because that’s the number of people in my class.”

Mickey faltered. Sitting here gluing fucking glitter to pieces of paper was not exactly what he’d had in mind as his plans for the weekend…

“Uh. That’s okay kiddo. I think you two’ve got it covered.”

Franny seemed to readily accept Mickey’s answer, instantly looking downward again and grabbing a fistful of crayons from the table to continue enhancing her masterpiece. Ian, on the other hand, tore his gaze from his own valentine.

“Oh c’mon Mick, you don’t wanna help?” Ian asked, his voice goading and his eyebrows raised.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.” He turned, walking over to open the fridge and grabbing a beer from the top shelf.

“C’mon, just one valentine. Franny can show you how to cut out a heart shape, right Fran?”

Franny nodded vigorously. “Yes, I know how!”

Mickey took a swig of his beer and sighed. “Jesus, fine.” He pulled a chair between Ian and Franny, slowly scraping it on the linoleum, and then perched on the edge uncomfortably. “Alright Franny, show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, so the first thing that you have to do is pick which color is your favorite. What’s your favorite color?”

Mickey had taken another sip of his beer, and now he sputtered slightly. “I don’t know Franny, you pick for me.”

Franny’s face melted into a pout. “But you have to pick, Uncle Mickey, it’s your favorite color!”

Ian bit back a laugh, his eyes still bright and cheerful. “Yeah, Mick, c’mon. What is your favorite color? We’ve never gotten this deep in our relationship before.”

Mickey gulped again from his beer can and flipped Ian off in the process. “I don’t fucking know. Never thought about it before.”

Franny held the stack of construction paper up to Mickey. “Look! There’s red, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and green—”

Mickey cut her off. “Uh, give me a green one.”

Ian smirked. “Green?”

“Fuck you, it was the first color I thought of.” Of course, that wasn’t really true—if Mickey needed to have a favorite fucking color, it was obviously going to be green, like the green eyes that met his gaze every morning and were the last thing he saw before he went to sleep at night— even if he would never be caught dead admitting that sappy bullshit to Ian.

Ian looked like he was holding back a smile. “Right,” he mused. “Hey, Franny, pass me a blue paper? Cause y’know, that’s my favorite color.”

Mickey gently shoved Ian in the square of his chest. “You’re being fucking soft.”

Ian let a crooked smile burst onto his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Mickey leaned back in his chair, holding the piece of thick green paper in front of him appraisingly. “Okay Franny, what’s step two?”

Franny stretched her body across the table to reach for one of the strewn pairs of scissors. “Now, you fold the paper in half, and then you cut out the shape of half of a heart, like this.” She drew an example of the curved pattern on the backside of Mickey’s paper with the tip of her finger. “And then you unfold it and it’ll be a perfect shape!”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Mickey took the scissors from Franny’s grasp, and held them up to the paper. It was just a fucking half circle with a little indent at the top— this wasn’t going to be too difficult. Ian and Franny went back to being absorbed in crafting their valentines, while Mickey started to botch and slash at his piece of construction paper.

When he was finally satisfied he unfolded the shape, the outer shell of the paper falling away. It was… well, it was kind of a heart, with two slanted sides and a wonky top half. It looked more like a blob attached to an angle than anything else.

Ian looked up from where he was doodling on a glittery heart and snickered.

“That’s uh… that’s a good first try, Mick.”

Mickey slammed the piece of paper down onto the table. Fucking arts and crafts, he was never good at this shit even when he was little—he fingers were always too fumbling, too clumsy for him to make anything delicate and pristine. Ian’s hands should have been as ungainly as his, but instead they were quick and nimble, smoothly cutting perfectly-rounded circles and gluing neat lines of glitter.

Franny noticed that Mickey was done cutting his shape. “Good job Uncle Mickey! Now you just have to draw on it, and put on stickers and glitter.”

“Yeah Mickey, let’s see those artistic skills.”

Mickey aggressively flicked some flecks of glitter from the table in Ian’s direction, then picked up a crayon and gripped it with an iron fist. What the fuck was he supposed to draw? This was a valentine for kids at Franny’s school, the fuck did kids like anyways? He started to draw some sort of stick figure, but the arms were too long and the head was too small, so he tried to color over it and make some sort of tree or some shit…

As Mickey scratched at the paper, he looked over at noticed suddenly how content Ian looked—how blissed out and settled he was, just running a crayon over the colorful paper and shaking bits of glitter onto pools of glue. If Mickey was being honest, he hadn’t seen Ian this light and happy in a while; he’d had a hunch in his shoulders for months after the wedding and the pandemic and all the minimum-wage job bullshit, the shadows of expectation hanging over him and causing a deflated weariness in his gaze that was impossible to ignore. But right now, Ian looked like he was having as much fun as Franny was, practically vibrating with satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on his drawing and reaching to place his completed valentine in the growing pile.

Mickey snatched the paper out of Ian’s hand, slightly crumpling it around the edges. “Wait a second. How the fuck did you do that?”

The valentine was immaculate, the heart symmetrical and traced in a thin outline of glitter. In the center of the paper there was a perfect little cartoon of a dog in a top hat, with an air bubble that read “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ian shrugged. “Watched a lot of cartoons when I was little. And I’ve always kind of liked to draw.”

Mickey shoved the valentine back in front of Ian. Goddamn perfect fucking husband who’s good at fucking everything. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, suddenly losing all motivation to play along.

Ian smirked, then reached to rest a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck. “Giving up already?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Ian’s smile just widened. “Here, how about I cut the fucking shapes and you glue stuff onto them. That’d still help me and Franny a lot, right?”

Franny nodded. “It’s okay Uncle Mickey, I was bad at cutting the shapes too at first.”

Mickey huffed. Okay, so maybe he was horrible at this shit, but the least he could do was suck it up for Franny’s sake. “Fine,” he muttered, and grabbed a glue stick and a bottle of glitter.

A few minutes passed and they settled into a comfortable silence, enveloped in the sound of the scissors gliding and Franny scribbling on paper.

Suddenly, Franny looked up as Mickey reached across the table to grab a pad of stickers.

“Hey Uncle Mickey, what do you and Uncle Ian do for Valentine’s Day?”

Mickey didn’t really know how to answer that question— he darted a glance over at Ian, trying to signal as much. Could you ruin the spirit of Valentine’s Day for kids in the same way you could fuck up Christmas? “Uh, nothing really.”

Ian chimed in. “We used to like Valentine’s Day when we were little like you Franny, but now that we’re big we don’t really celebrate it. Right Mick?”

“Yup.”

Franny’s brows were furrowed again, this time in contemplation. “But. You love each other, right?”

“Sure, Franny. But we don’t need a special day for us to remember that,” Ian explained.

Franny seemed appeased enough by that answer to resume her drawing. “You don’t give each other valentines or candy or anything?”

Mickey almost laughed. Of course he and Ian had never celebrated fucking Valentine’s Day; if he was being honest, he didn’t remember even really thinking about Valentine’s Day before now, other than it being a day when Mandy came home crying in middle school because the boy she liked didn’t ask her out, or buying all the half-priced chocolates in red and pink wrappers at the drugstore a week later with his brothers. With all the shit in his life the past few years, frilly fucking holidays like Valentine’s Day were just… not on Mickey’s radar.

But maybe— maybe this year was different. This year, for maybe the first time in his life, Mickey felt secure and steady in a way that he never had before, like the ground was solid beneath him and wasn’t going to cave in at any minute. He had a fucking husband that he loved—why couldn’t they celebrate Valentine’s Day like a normal goddamn couple? Ian didn’t seem to be too bothered that they both didn’t give a fuck about the holiday, which was all the more reason to catch him off guard. He kept pressing stickers down onto the construction paper, his mind starting to churn.

By the time they’d made the twenty-seven fucking valentines, Mickey had made up his mind; this year, he and Ian were going to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

part two here!

#my bbys definitely do not seem the type to celebrate valentines day #but i had to make them try lol #lmk if u are interested in a part two!#gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ian and mickey

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amomentsescape · 4 years

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Request: Would possible to do a one where the reader is the new sketch artist that starts developing feelings for ed and leaves little doodles on his desk. Which leads to Ed catching her in the act of leaving another doodle and the last one was her asking him out. @sirlsplayland

A/N: I hope you like it! Oddly enough, Ed doesn’t tell a riddle in this one.

Doodle Confessions (Ed Nygma x Reader)

You grew up your whole life with an interest in art. It started with the smallest doodles in school during a boring class. Eventually, it escalated to full on portraits of your favorite things. And now, you still love it with a burning passion.

After moving to Gotham, you decided on a career path that would allow you to help the greater good while also sticking with your love: a sketch artist.

Your first day was a little nerve wracking to say the least. The moment you stepped foot into the GCPD, you felt your heart practically humming at the pace it was beating.

It wasn’t just the new environment that worried you. There was a big part of you that was concerned you wouldn’t be what they wanted. What if your talent wasn’t as good as you hoped it was?

These worries instantly flew from your mind when your eyes landed on him.

Edward Nygma.

You had, obviously, done your research before your first day. You got to learn a bit about the department and most of the people that worked there. It helped alleviate some of the anxiety since you got to know your situation a little bit before you went into it.

And here he was.

He was quite handsome in an unconventional sort of way, which you didn’t mind. He looked as intelligent as he was, and you couldn’t help but notice the little twitch of his lip as he focused on the microscope in front of him.

You felt your own lips begin to curve into a smile at the sight of him.

You always loved people when they weren’t trying to be something else. Ed was in his most natural state: focused on nothing but the work before him.

You decided to keep walking incase someone noticed you soon. It was your first day, and the last thing you wanted was to be the “creepy sketch artist” that couldn’t stop taking in the aura of Ed Nygma.

However, you could not get the image of him out of your mind. The small lines around his eyes, the way that one piece of dark hair wouldn’t stay put with the rest. It was all too perfect to not put on paper.

Since it was a rather slow day, you decided to start on the sketch right away.

It took all of two hours to complete. For the amount of detail that went into it, you were happy with the way it turned out.

You couldn’t help but admire the sketch. A smile formed on your lips as you took in each line and shadow that was created on the paper. Your hand was smudged with pencil lead and eraser shavings coated the desk, but the mess was worth it to you.

You were quickly taken out of your trance when you heard the sound of talking slowly becoming louder down the hall.

You closed the sketch pad as fast as possible in hopes that the person heading your way wasn’t going to your office.

The figure finally rounded the corner and you felt your stomach twist at the sight.

Edward Nygma was struggling to get a free hand out to open the door. His arms were practically filled with files, pens, papers, and a cup of hot coffee.

He continued to speak lowly under his breath. You could barely make out a few words at first, but then you realized that he was reciting a riddle of some sort. It only brought more warmth to your thudding heart.

You continued to watch as he struggled at the door, trying to fight the anxiety eating away at you.

Finally, you stood and made your way to the man, grabbing the door knob and lightly pushing it open.

“Oh, thank you. I appreciate the-”

He suddenly ate his words as he looked at you.

There was a slight gray smudge on your forehead and a piece of hair that wasn’t quite long enough to stay behind your ear. But he swore that the sight before him was something that he had never seen before.

“I- um. Are you... new here?” he practically spit out. He mentally cursed himself for seeming so awkward.

You made eye contact for a second but became too nervous under his gaze.

“Yeah, I am!” you responded, maybe a little too happily.

You two shared a few more brief introductions before you headed back to your own office.

You couldn’t believe that out of all places, his desk happened to be the one right across the hall.

You tried to scan over your papers in hopes of looking busy, but you couldn’t help but raise your eyes every once in a while, taking in his features from several feet away.

Eventually, he got up to go somewhere else, giving you a slight wave as he walked past.

You gave a small wave back as you suddenly noticed the time on the clock.

Your shift was over.

You began to pack your things away until your sketch pad caught your eye again.

Maybe I could leave him something? Just to make his day.

It took you a moment to think about what you wanted to draw him.

The idea to leave him a little doodle was kind of random to you, but he seemed like the type to appreciate these small actions.

You thought back to the steaming cup of coffee that was in his hand and the quiet riddle he seemed to be memorizing.

Why not combine the two?

You quickly sketched out a coffee mug, adding a little coffee riddle under the doodle as well.

You stepped out into the hall briefly, looking around to make sure he wasn’t anywhere close.

Once you felt it was safe to do so, you stepped into his office and set the piece of paper down, feeling quite accomplished.

This ritual of yours became a regular occurrence after that.

Every day, he would leave his office at the same time, offer you a wave and a smile, then be on his way.

Your doodles started out as rather innocent and playful. However, as time went on, you realized that the messages you placed with your sketches were becoming more honest.

Some talked about how his smile was the brightest one you had seen, or how his small jokes made your heart flutter.

Each small confession came with a drawing that only grew in complexity and personal expression.

You tried blaming this honesty on the fact that you were becoming more comfortable with the sketches. However, deep down, you knew it was something more.

As your time at the GCPD became more consistent, so did your interactions with the smart man.

You two would have brief discussions every day. Some talk of weather, some talk of interests, but a lot of talk about each other.

You got to know the little things about Ed. The way he quirked his nose up when he laughed, how he dislikes loud chewers in restaurants, and how riddles were a passion of his.

After weeks of this on going game, you became a little disappointed.

You felt that you two had a nice little friendship going. However, he never once mentioned the sketches that you left on his desk every day.

You knew that he probably didn’t realize who was leaving them, but you figured that he would have at least mentioned it to you by now. Especially because you felt like you two had grown quite close.

Your patience finally broke, and you decided to just shoot your shot.

The anxiety was bubbling inside of you all day, but you did your best to hide it around him.

When the time finally came to end your shift, you found yourself panicking a bit.

No inspiration was coming to mind for that day’s doodle. You didn’t know what to draw, nonetheless say to him.

You flipped through your sketch pad in hopes of striking some inspiration. Your eyes began to become out of focus as the constant flutter of paper became rather hypnotic.

Your eyes suddenly widened at the final image in front of you.

The drawing of Ed that you had created on your first day at the department stared back at you.

It hit you that this would be your last doodle to him. You wanted him to see how you saw him.

You carefully tore the sheet out of the sketch pad and tried to think of something to write.

You finally decided that a riddle wouldn’t convey what you wanted. You chose to just be upfront and honest with him:

Ed-

I couldn’t help but admire you from afar, but I think now I should let you know the truth... I hope that maybe you’ll feel the same. I have fallen for you over these last few weeks, and I would like to get to know you on a personal level- more than just work friends.

-(Y/N)

You sighed at the small confession on the paper. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

In your haste and worried mind, you didn’t think to look down the hall like you normally would have.

As you went to place the paper on the desk, you didn’t realize that a figure was standing in the doorway behind you. The sudden break in the silence pulled you back to reality rather quickly.

“It was you?”

You spun around and felt your face go hot at Ed’s confused expression.

You opened your mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. You were utterly speechless at the predicament.

Ed continued to look at you, waiting for some type of response.

You finally broke out of your shock and let out a sigh, your gaze falling to the ground.

“Yeah, it was me.”

You cleared your throat as you tried to calm your racing heart.

“I just thought that they could make your day. But I don’t know, it seems really silly now.” You raised your hand to the back of your neck, scratching at it slightly.

“I didn’t know what to do though. It started out as a nice sentiment, but it quickly changed to something more. But I didn’t think it affected you much because you never mentioned them,” you finished.

You managed to finally bring your eyes back up to his, noticing that his face had softened quite a bit.

“Open the first drawer of the desk. The right one,” he suddenly responded.

You furrowed your brows a bit but did as he asked. You reached out and pulled the drawer open, only to be met with a pile of papers, all of them being the doodles you had left him.

You didn’t know what to say in that moment, you simply looked back up at him again, hope swelling in your heart.

“I kept all of them, (Y/N). You have no idea how much they meant to me.”

He offered a smile that you reciprocated in return. You nodded a bit and remembered the paper that you were still holding in your hand.

He seemed to follow your eyes and slowly raised his arm out to you.

“Do you mind?” he asked gently.

You simply shook your head and carefully handed him the drawing, feeling the nerves pick back up in your chest again.

You watched as he opened it, his eyes scanning over the words in no time.

His gaze remained on the page for a while longer though, his smile becoming wider.

“I didn’t think I was quite worthy of such artistic beauty.”

You shook your head again and let out a gentle breath.

“Edward Nygma, I hope that one day you’ll begin to see yourself the same way I do,” you practically whispered.

He looked back up quickly, his face growing a faint blush.

There was a moment of hesitiation. He seemed to be contemplating something in his head, the blush already painted on his cheeks becoming darker with each passing second.

He began to make his way towards you, your face twisting in slight confusion.

Once he was only a small distance in front of you, he placed a soft hand on your cheek. You instinctively leaned into it, noticing him give you a look that was practically asking for permission.

Instead of answering, you simply closed the gap, your soft lips meeting his briefly.

As you pulled away, you felt a small chuckle vibrate in his throat.

“I was hoping the drawings were from you,” he sighed.

#gotham edward nygma #edward nygma x reader #edward nygma #ed nygma x reader #ed nygma imagine #Gotham #gotham headcanon #gotham imagine #gotham x reader

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nerdypanda3126 · 4 years

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It’s Complicated - Ch. 1

What happens when you cross a black cat, a designer, a guitarist, and a fencer? The answer is it’s complicated. Chat Noir stops by to help Marinette with her design block, but when he discovers the design is for Luka he has to figure out why that bothers him. Surely it’s because she’s a very good friend, right? Meanwhile, Marinette struggles with letting Adrien go and figuring out why Chat Noir is suddenly acting so differently...

This story takes place shortly after Miracle Queen, so everyone’s still a little confused.

Read on Ao3 Ch. 2

Chapter 1: Design Block

Marinette groans as she scribbles over yet another design, and rips yet another sheet of paper out of her sketchbook, crumpling it before tossing it to the ground among the many others. Nothing is working. This piece has to be finished by this weekend so she can give it to Luka before he goes onstage with Kitty Section, but she can’t even get a vision of what she needs to be sewing. Her head is too full to think straight.

“Maybe you should take a break?” Tikki asks, floating hesitantly in front of her. Marinette considers it, but then she shakes her head.

“One more try, Tikki. I promise.”

She bends her head back over her sketchbook, letting her thoughts flow onto the page. She keeps Luka’s stage character, his colors and his mask, in mind as she draws. Her mind drifts to the small smile he gets when he plays. The bright blue of his eyes when they flick open to glance at her in his audience. The songs he’s played for her in the few moments they’ve had together. He always manages to play the song she needs to hear.

When she looks down at her work, blinking out of her design trance, she finds that she’s covered the paper in hearts. Oh no. This can’t- she doesn’t- it’s not like that. She takes a deep breath. His voice echoes in her mind.

You can be yourself with me, you know. Just yourself.

She glances at her screensaver: a picture of Adrien she couldn’t bear to take down. She touches her fingertips to his bright smile. Her heart twinges. Hard. She still sees him in class, of course. And that has gotten easier. They’re still friends, after all. Alya isn’t a fan of this new plan, obviously, but she respects it. Marinette has noticed that Alya has subtly been rearranging their hangouts. She appreciates the thought, she really does, but she does miss Adrien. Maybe she should invite him to the concert this weekend.

Her eyes travel to the hiding spot where she’s tucked the Miraculous box. Boys should really be the last thing on her mind. She tears the page out of her sketchbook with a sigh and crumples it, throwing it behind her. She’ll clean this mess up and try again tomorrow.

When she looks around for Tikki, the kwami isn’t anywhere in sight. It’s not normal for her to just disappear unless –

Chat rakes his claws against the glass of her window. The sound makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she grits her teeth as she gets up to let him in.

“Why do you do that? You know I hate it.”

“And that’s why I do it.” He grins rakishly as he steps inside, spinning his baton over his palm before he latches it to his back. She slumps back into her desk chair. He wouldn’t be here unless something were bothering him. She can hold off going to sleep a bit longer.

Chat’s brow furrows when his boots hit the floor and he sees that it’s littered with her failed attempts. He moves to pick one up out of curiosity.

“Chat, don’t. Seriously, it’s not good.”

He smirks as he smooths out the paper, but she’s scribbled out every design she’s tried, so she knows he can’t see what she was working on. He picks up another from the floor, but it’s the same result.

“Design block?” He tilts his head at her and one of his cat ears flops over. She nods, then curls onto her desk chair, setting her chin on her arms. “Maybe I could help? I know a thing or two about this stuff.”

“Maybe? I don’t know,” she says.

“What are you trying to make?”

“Menswear.”

“Have you ever done menswear before?”

She shrugs. She’s not going to mention the mound of gifts she’s made for Adrien that are in the chest behind him, still waiting to be presented. Mostly accessories. “I’ve dabbled.”

“Well, talk me through it.” He crosses his ankle over his knee and leans forward. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s supposed to be stage wear, but also something that could be casual.”

“Who are you designing for? Like, who’s your guy?”

The tips of her ears heat up when she thinks about the hearts she hadn’t meant to draw. “I don't think I should tell you. You might know him.”

“Oh, so it’s a specific ‘him’, then?” Chat asks, his cat ears perking. “Who is this ‘him'?” She starts to stammer an excuse, but he waves her off. “Just throw me some adjectives.”

“Well…um, he’s…nice.”

Chat’s lips quirk in amusement. “I can’t help with just ‘nice’. Keep going.”

She pauses to think. Chat and Luka have met a few times now. But it's not like Chat knows him well enough to guess who it is off a vague description. It should be safe. “He’s laid-back. Quiet, even though he has a lot to say. Patient. Perceptive. He keeps his nails painted black. He likes Jagged Stone, and he plays the guitar. And he’s sweet. Very sweet.” She hadn’t realized while she was talking that she had started smiling, and her cheeks are starting to burn.

“Luka,” he breathes, “you’re making something for Luka.”

She tries to hide her surprise. He got it on the first try. How well does Chat know Luka, anyways? No, don't think about it, that's dangerously close to identity territory. She clears her throat. “Um, yeah, it’s for Luka. The band is performing this weekend.”

Chat stands from the chaise and paces to the other side of her room. She’s seen him irritated a few times now, and she can tell by the tense curve in his shoulders and the way his tail is flicking around his calves that something she’s said has bothered him. She watches him as he seems to try to get ahold of himself. It only takes him a moment or two before he drops into his feline crouch and sidles back to her.“So, this design, it’s for a concert?” He’s slipped into his professional problem-solving tone, like when they’re brainstorming how to defeat an akuma. She can’t place her finger on why she finds this odd.

She hesitates before she answers. “Yeah, just the band and a few friends. Nothing big. Kitty Section usually draws a crowd along the banks of the river, though. I thought that maybe I could make something different for Luka to wear on stage. Something more him.”

She can’t bring herself to mention that she also wants to thank him for being there for her. She had broken down in his arms when everything had fallen on her shoulders and he held her and told her it would be okay. She hadn’t known how much she needed that until he gave it to her. The least she could do is make him something thoughtful.

Chat has recovered only slightly. He picks up another of her crumpled sketches off the floor and starts to smooth the wrinkles open with the pads of his thumbs, lingering on the corners. Her pulse speeds up when she notices it’s the one she had been working on right before he walked in. At least there’s actually an attempt at a design on there for him to look at. Hopefully he doesn’t tease her too much about the hearts. He runs a hand over the paper, tracing her wispy pencil marks and probably trying to make sense of it.

“It’s a jacket?”

“I was playing with the idea.” She knows her cheeks are turning bright red. “I thought that might be the easiest for him to work into his stage costume. If he wanted to.”

Chat nods, reading her fabric and color annotations. “It’s a good idea. I like this here, the hood you had.”

“I got that off of those hooded character towels.” Her blush is deepening every second he holds that paper. She tries to take it out of his hands. He hasn’t said anything yet about her doodles, but she knows it’s coming.

He catches her wrist, taking the paper back from her, and a grin spreads across his face.

“Chat, give that back.”

“Nope. I’m going to take it home and frame it.” He jumps up out of her reach when she lunges for the paper. “These hearts are for me, right? Or are they for Luuuuka?”

Yup, she knew that had been coming. She tries again to get the sketch away from him, but he’s too fast, keeping it just out of her reach.

“Will you autograph it for me? I want to keep it for when you’re famous.” He clutches it to his chest as if it’s precious to him. She can see the challenge in his eyes. For a moment neither one of them moves as they size each other up.

Then Marinette tackles him, catching him around his midsection and throwing him down to the chaise. He wraps an arm around her as they fall, still trying to protect her even when she’s trying to fight him. Typical. She grabs for the sketch as she rolls away from him, but Chat wriggles it out of her grasp. Quicker than she can follow, he’s up into a crouch position on the chaise, the sketch dangling from his claws. Taunting her.

She lunges for it again, but he jumps back, his feet landing on the floor on the other side of the chaise. With an impish grin, he holds the sketch above his head, to the full extent of his reach. She refuses to jump for it. He knows he’s won. She can see it written across his face, that victory grin and his bright eyes.

“You’re supposed to be helping me!” She picks up the pillow from the chaise and throws it at him. He dodges it easily, laughing.

He clears his throat, his smirk still lingering. “Alright, alright. So, something special for the stage, but casual enough to wear regularly. Laid-back like he is, but that makes him stand out.” He lists the criteria off and glances down at the sketch still in his hands. She’s surprised at how much he had actually been paying attention. “It’s a tall order,” he says.

“He’s a tall order.” Marinette slaps a hand over her mouth as the words leave her. The response had flown out of her before she thought it through. She knows she’s blushing all the way to the roots of her hair. Chat’s eyes can’t possibly be any bigger.

There’s an awkward pause between them. Strange, considering nothing has ever been awkward with Chat before. He blinks at her and clears his throat again, coughing to cover it. His cat ears flatten against his head and his belt tail droops.

“Uh, it’s late. I… I should go.” He lays her crumpled sketch on her desk next to her. “I think you should go with this. It suits him.” He gives her a small smile before he slinks up the ladder to her skylight and pulls himself onto her balcony.

She’s too stunned at his sincerity for a moment to follow him, but when she does, he’s already run off into the night.

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #lukanette #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #luka couffaine #angst with a happy ending #it's complicated fic

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meme-loving-stuck · 3 years

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Genuine art critique etiquette! CHEAT SHEET edition

If you're intimidated by big servers or IRL art circles because you don't know the social norms for stuff, look no further! I've got some tips here from 5+ years of art classes and personal experience in art related spaces online & IRL.

Feedback vs. Critique*

BOY is this a big one- yes, they are two different things! Because art interpretation is subjective and all that, both can be positive or negative, opinionated or constructive, but TYPICALLY feedback tends to be more opinionated and critique SHOULD be more about constructive, objective things.

Feedback

Positive Feedback: "I like how you did [visual thing or message about the art that you think looks good or speaks to you personally]!"

Negative feedback: "I don't like how you did [visual thing or message about the art you dislike or think looks bad]"

So, feedback is your opinion. You can have positive or negative opinions on any piece of art!

Critique/Criticism

Positive Critique: "The [measurable art or design element such as line, balance, etc] of this piece is great!]

Negative critique: "The [measurable art or design element such as line, balance, etc] here looks a bit off, or could use more practice"

Again, critique can be positive or negative, BUT it has to be from an analytical, objective, and/or academic point of view, or it's not critique. If you're leaving negative critique, be prepared to also give them specifical examples of techniques they could try or what worked best for you.

When is feedback appropriate?

Again it depends on what type of feedback! This is why we differentiate. As a general rule: depending on the setting, usually people don't want to hear exclusively negative feedback.

Why? Depending on the space you're in, people could say they're open to feedback because they're just starting out and want encouragement! This doesn't mean you CAN'T give negative feedback at all, but if you do, you should include either positive feedback or critique as well. If you're only saying what you personally dislike about it, it can be rather discouraging and perceived as rude.

With positive feedback it is different! If someone isn't specifically asking for critique or feedback, usually it's appropriate to give POSITIVE feedback on something that has been shared or posted publically. Even pointing out something small that you like in a visual work can make an artist really happy! It could be something they struggled with or worked hard on.

If someone has specifically asked for feedback, it may be hard to gauge whether or not they want opinions or critique. It's a good idea to ask whether they want to be critiqued on how to improve, or if they're just looking for opinions.

When is critique appropriate?

Generally speaking, unless you're in an academic setting or otherwise have a "group critique" going on, it is ONLY appropriate to give critique when REQUESTED BY THE ARTIST.

There is less leeway here with positive critique as well. Unless an artist asks, they may not want to be graded on their art at all! It is extremely impolite to leave unwanted criticism in most casual art circles such as online sharing and group messages.

This goes double if they don't ask for ANY feedback or criticism and just want to share their work, OR only ask for feedback on a work-in-progress sketch, and you decide to critique, say, their linework (on a sketch there probably is no focus on linework!). At that point, it isn't constructive, and can be perceived as very rude.

Similarly, if an artist requests critique, it may be unhelpful to only leave positive critique or opinionated feedback; they are asking specifically how they can improve the type of art they're sharing. So again, you can leave positive feedback or criticism, but try to include some objective critique as well to help them improve.

*One last thing about critique: I avoided the word "criticism" because people tend to conflate "constructive criticism" with "my opinion on this and how you SHOULD be doing it". This is incorrect. If you are NOT EDUCATED in the visual arts, and you don't know the proper terminology for elements of art or techniques, maybe look into it! Otherwise you're just giving negative feedback, not constructive negative criticism, and you will be seen as an ass.

How to talk to less experienced artists in general?

Big rule of thumb: Do not talk DOWN to younger or inexperienced artists. Don't talk to someone like they're 5 just because they dont paint like Da Vinki Vinci.

Absolutely do not leave exclusively negative feedback unless they've asked for it, do not give exclusively negative critique even if they DO ask for it; include something you found well-done about it as well. They may want to improve, but they don't need to be insulted or harshly graded even in academic settings. We need encouragement in order to grow! No matter how old we are.

Think about when you were younger and inexperienced and how you wanted to be interacted with.

Stop calling everything "cute". If you have a hard time interpreting if the artist was specifically trying to do a "cute" or "small" piece or doodle, stop saying it. lmao. This is like a borderline microagression in art spaces. Again, imagine being younger and taking a LONG time to do something that'd be a 'doodle' for you now; you'd be kinda pissed if someone had said "Cute!" to your 8-hour full page drawing. It comes off as incredibly condescending, especially from artists who do 'better' art than you.

That's about all I've got but yeah!! Go forth and don't be perceived as a dick in your art spaces 👌

#BLOGGING LOUDLY #long post #artist spaces #art etiquette #artist critique #ALSO yes i used the word critique instead of criticism because of that distinction i wanted to make #i know its a verb i know its the wrong word i know i know #lit majors come for me after you read my shining letters of recommendation for employment by all of my lit professors

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klaus-is-the-real-number-1 · 5 years

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This Is How It Feels (number five x reader)

A/N: i made it into a fic,, like a highschool au,, hope you enjoy like,, idk, u know them typical fics where its like ‘i dare you to graft them’ or ‘pretend to date’ and then then end up liking each other or,, i dunno. I got pure carried away sorry.(ok so i made some names up for people so, your best friend is: Beth and Beths older brother is: Dante) i havent proof read sorry :(

spazclaiire said: hii could i request headcanons or a fix of excuses five has used to hold your hand or ‘four times five had an excuse to hold your hand and the one time he went for it’ please? thank youu

words:3350

Books weighed down your arms as they spilled over the threshold of your carrying limits, they were heavy, a mix of ring binders and oversized textbooks were making you sway like a drunk man. People barging past in steady streams didn’t help your balancing act either, stumbling every few seconds hoping that the library got closer quicker.

Swinging open the door to the library your eyes scan the room for the table you and your friends usually sit at and by ‘usually’ you actually mean every single break you get, whether its just for 5 minuets or the full hour you get for lunch or free periods. The table in question even had all your names written on the underside along with other random scribblings and doodles. You make eye contact with a few people on your table as you get closer.

“Y/n, I’ve got some tea to spill, and it involves you!” Beth excitably suggests. Beth always had some new tea to spill, she was a see all hear all person, it also helped that her older brother was in the year above and in the group of the schools self proclaimed ‘bad boys’. She always knows what they’re planning, the who, what, why and where, she had it down to a T.

Speaking of ‘T’, any tea involving you wasn’t good, there had been drama circulating about you before and it took long enough for that to die down. You sigh, hoping it’s got nothing to do with the group of ‘bad boys’. “Go on then, spill.”

“Five Hargreeves has his eyes on you.” Of course, Five was the year above and one of the smartest students in the entire school. The only reason he even knew who you were is because his best friend is Beth’s brother and you were in his AP physics. He was also classed as the fittest boy in school with the worst reputation yet the cleanest slate.

“For god’s sake, why?” The last thing you wanted was for Five to actually care about who you were, he was a heart breaker, something that you just didn’t need.

“I’m not too sure, I haven’t heard much about the plan, but there is a plan so just be cautious. He’s probably after you because you’re fit.” You smile at her words. “Are you in the art building for lunch again?” You just nod in response.

You had been spending an increasing amount of time in the art buildings, it was just a soft and aesthetically pleasing environment to be in and it meant you’d actually get your work done. You could sit and draw for hours but with how hectic life was the art buildings was a safe getaway. So at lunchtime that’s where you found yourself, aimlessly painting the view out of the window, fields and trees and streams filled the canvas. You were in your own world, minding your own business.

“Your painting is really pretty, but not as pretty as you.” There it was, not only half a day after being warned about Five Hargreeves he was already trying to chat you up. He was leant against a wall behind you, scanning your figure and the painting. “And I was here thinking you were just a brain and a pretty face.” It was a pitiful, low effort attempt and a half-arsed compliment.

“What do you want, Hargreeves?” It may of sounded harsh but you didn’t want to deal with his bad attempts at flirting.

“Harsh much,” He jokingly placed a hand over his heart. “Listen I need a favour, all you have to do is walk out of this building holding my hand and pretend to date me for about 2 days maybe.” A shockingly fake smile spread across his face as he held his hand out.

“So let me guess,” You tapped your finger on your chin, mockingly thinking. “I’ll pretend to date you, you’ll win some sort of bet and then the best part is when you tell everyone we shagged then you dumped me right after!” You returned his bittersweet fake smile. “I’m going to have to pass Hargreeves, I’d rather not be apart of one of your silly little games.”

With a tut, he turned around to leave the block not before having the last word. “You’ll fall in love with me eventually y/n, they always do.” You could help but to scoff as he walked out of the room, he was too cocky, all the years he always had any girl he ever wanted to drop at his feet but not you.

Time ticked away slowly until it came to AP Physics, it was a brutal way to end the day often ending with being completely worn out. You were concentrating on rearranging the equations that needed to be used, it was going well until a piece of scrunched paper landed where you were writing. You simply brush it to the side and continue with your work, you had a faint idea who it was from seen as Five sat on the opposite side of your table of 4, ideal, you know.

“y/n.” His foot playfully tapped yours, causing you to roll your eyes. “Open it.”

So you did, only to be met with the more than classy words ‘my offer still stands ;)’ You couldn’t believe it, looking him in the eyes you pretended to ponder his decision, swiftly followed by tearing the note up and sliding it back over to him. Fives mouth hung open, you smugly go back to what you were working on.

Five was relatively quite for the rest of the class, resulting in it going much quicker than it normally would. He would sometimes answer questions but other than that there was no more chew from Five. In a blink of an eye it was time to go home to rest and recuperate from a long day of lessons, to prepare for the exact same the next day, the same as you do every day.

Five paced around his room, he hadn’t lost a bet yet and he wasn’t going to start losing them now. It was a simple bet, make y/n fall for him. Five didn’t particularly want to follow through with this bet, it wasn’t fair on y/n seen as she hadn’t done anything wrong to Five. Dante had only made Five do the bet as he knew Five used to have a slight thing for y/n, it was almost comedically convenient that Dante’s younger sister was best friends with y/n, Dante couldn’t help himself whenever y/n was around his house with Beth to make a comment about it. But despite all this, he couldn’t lose the bet.

The next day, Five had a plan, he knew that in AP Physics the teacher was about to set a new project to be completed in pairs, so naturally he went straight to the teacher. “Sir, for that paired project I really think I should work with y/n, we’d work so well together.” He practically begged his teacher.

“I’ll think about it Five, but if I do place you together, please make an effort to improve your behaviour. It’s your last year and you have such great potential, don’t waste it.” The spiel was met by a roll of Fives eyes followed by a muttered ‘sure’. Five regularly got this talk all the time, everyone says that he needs to focus his academic knowledge into something, anything, but he’s just not motivated by anything. Everything had either been invented or is being invented so there was just no point in trying.

The weekend drew closer with every ticking minuet, teasing you with every small movement of the hands, counting down like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. You were sat in your last lesson, AP Physics, took your seat and took out your supplies. You lazily observed as the rest of your class walked in, you gave and received a few smiles to and from various classmates until last person the last person in, Five Hargreeves, he waltzed into the room with confidence oozing from him.

Before Five had a chance to speak the teacher was already up and writing the title on the board ‘electromagnetism’. As soon as the words appeared on the board a collective groan of despair was heard throughout the room.

“So,” The teacher started, clearly enjoying the sudden drop in mood. “I know how much you all love electromagnetism, so what were going to do is work in pairs to create a powerpoint and a poster covering all the aspects of electromagnetism!” The room livened up a bit at the prospect of working with a friend, that was until the teacher continued. “I have put you in pairs, so listen in as I call the pairs out and then move next to your new physics partner.”

People moved about the room to sit next to their project partner, you listened closely to hear who you’d be partnered with this time. “Y/n?” “Sir.” “You’re with Five Hargreeves.” You see Fives face light up as he slides his books across the desk the the seat next to yours, the smug grin never leaving his face once.

You begin to write down what you had to do for the presentation, feeling Fives eyes stare into the side of your head. “So over the weekend can you do as much research on magnetic flux, flux density and field strength and I’ll cover BH curves and permeability, does that sound good?”

“Why don’t we just meet up over the weekend and make a start together?” He nudged your elbow, your pen run up your page, ruining the word you were writing.

“Can’t. I’m working all weekend.” Which was met with a small ‘o’ from Five, he turns way and messily scribbles on a sheet of paper and then slides it back over to you.

“Well if you can’t meet up this weekend then at least have my number.” You slightly smile and fold the piece of paper up and slip it into your notebook. Before Five could slip in another word the bell rang, signalling the end of the day. You say your goodbyes and begin the walk home, it was a fairly long walk home maybe reaching around 30 minuets but it was always a pretty sight to walk through the woods during the spring, pink petals from the cherry blossoms littered the ground, colouring the dull world waking up from winter.

Once home you stared at the crumpled paper with Fives number on it, also noticing the smaller scribbled snapchat username. It felt like a smarter decision just to add him on snap for now but save his number in your contacts, just in case. As soon as you added him he accepted within a matter of seconds, followed by a picture message ‘hey x’ it read. You simply send a picture back of your blank wall and place your phone down, you let a small laugh as your phone buzzes again.

Sitting at your desk, you pulled out your books and your laptop to make a start on the physics work. You just couldn’t help but check what Five had responded, clicking his name you were met with his face in a pout. You respond with a picture of you sticking your tongue out, which got a response quickly. This stream of photos carried on until the early hours of the morning not even realising the time and that in a mere 6 hours you had to go to work, you send ‘night’ to Five and place your phone on the side, a small smile on your face as you drifted to sleep.

Five laid awake, considering calling the bet off all together. Hours of talking to y/n only felt like minuets, Five wanted to get to know y/n on his own terms not on the terms of a bet. He shouldn’t of accepted the bet to begin with, his competitiveness got the best of him.

The weekend went far to quickly for your liking, mixed with work and school work. Five was also non-stop messaging you throughout the weekend, he found a way to talk to you about everything and anything, often sending long video messages of him walking round his giant house, you could always hear the shouts of his siblings in the background.

Monday nights were the one night of the week that you enjoyed, Monday was movie night at Beth’s house. The night usually went that straight after school you’d take over the living room, bringing out the blankets and extra pillows, you would both then decide what films to watch and what food to get. Once that was all done you’d both bunker down and start the movies, getting ready for a long night.

About halfway through the first movie Five and Dante slowly made their way into the main room, stealing some of your pizza before sitting down on the sofa to join you. Five took a seat next to you while Dante sat on an armchair, Five pulled your blanket so it was covering both of you, leaning back into the sofa you could feel physically how close he was to you and it was driving you mad.

Beth caught your eyes and wiggled her eyebrows, you responded by sending a cheeky wink with a joking smile. As the night moved on and the movies continued, you and Five slowly moved closer throughout the movie marathon, it couldn’t of been helped, you were both like two magnets.

The final scene in The Breakfast Club was playing, both Beth and Dante had already fallen asleep, you felt Fives hand touch the side of yours. You slightly push your hand back against his, welcoming the warmth as his touch, your reaction invited him to link his fingers with yours. Light from the TV bounced off the features of his face, defining his angled lines of his face, you couldn’t deny that he was handsome, very handsome.

The screen of the TV turned dark as you used the remote to switch it off, a dim glow of the moon shone through the open windows, the moment was romantic, overly romantic but it was the sleepiness making you ignore the voice that was screaming that he didn’t mean it, he had an end game and you couldn’t forget that.

You pulled your hand from Five and lean over to Beth and lightly shake her shoulders. “Beth, its 20 past 1, I think it’s time to go to bed.” She responds by making some unclear noises and began to sit up, you smile and stand up pulling her with you. You spare a glance back at Five before continuing upstairs, unable to stop the tingling feeling in your hand.

Eventually, you had to meet up with Five to work on the physics project, you both hadn’t spoken since Monday night. Well not exactly, Five had been messaging you a lot but you just hadn’t been responding because all you could think about was if he had a possible end game. You didn’t want to get played by Five.

You heard soft steps getting closer, you look up to meet Fives eyes. “Hey.” He spoke in a soft voice in the quiet library. He pulled a chair out from besides you and sat down, pulling his textbooks out of his bag. You both made small talk during your work, it was a nice atmosphere in the library, a nice atmosphere between you and Five with no looming pressure after what happened Monday night.

A breeze drifted through the large room, causing you to break out in goosebumps and shiver. You decided that morning that you could just wear a T-shirt with no jacket as the sun was out, how wrong you were when dark clouds swarmed over.

“Do you want to borrow my hoodie?” Five asked, but he was already taking it off to give to you.

“Oh no Five it’s okay, it’s my own fault I forgot my jacket. Anyways what would you wear?” Despite how cold you were you really didn’t want to borrow Fives hoodie, he would be just as cold as you were.

“No please y/n, take it. I’ve got an extra jacket in my locker anyways.” He pushed his hoodie into your hands. You could tell he was probably lying about it but you sheepishly took his hoodie and put it on, it was warm and you couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

You mutter your thanks, a warm flush coming over your face as you continue to work on your project until your next lesson. Once the bell rang, you both left to opposite directions, you completely forgot that you had Fives hoodie on until you sat next to Beth in english to be passed a scrap piece of paper with scribbled writing ‘That’s not your hoodie???’ you smile at the sheet and just write back ‘Five’s’

You didn’t see Five for the rest of the day until you got a message during the last lesson. ‘meet me near math class at the end of the day x’ It wasn’t a question, he was telling you. You send an ‘ok’ and continue with your lesson, constantly distracted by the ticking arms of the clock, counting down it’s last minuets.

As the clock strikes 3 you make your way to the math department, you were fighting against the tide as everyone rushed to get out of school. As the crowed begun to thin you saw Five standing outside the maths classroom, standing hoodie-less. He made his way towards you, smile present on his face.

“Where’s this jacket that was meant to be in your locker?” He just laughs and shrugs his shoulders.

“I mean my hoodie looks better on you than it did on me so I don’t mind.” You smile at him and begin your decent through the school. “So I was thinking we could just like, go for a walk? It’s just nice spending time with you.”

You both aimlessly wandered around town until finding a small cafe to reside in when the weather started to turn, Five had a black coffee and you had a hot chocolate. The room was filled with noise from others in the cafe and also from the outside world that couldn’t reach you in your own little world.

“Five, not to sound daft or anything but are you still trying to do this for the bet or are you being genuine?” You didn’t want to sound harsh but you were still unsure if this was genuine or just an oscar winning act.

“y/n,” He reached over and took your hand. “I called the bet off just before Monday night, as soon as I came to the school and saw you I knew straight away I wanted to be with you.” He ran his thumb gently over your knuckles. “I know you wont trust me right away but I want to make you trust me, I want you to feel the same way about me as I do for you.”

“Okay.”

All it took was that one word to kickstart your time with Five. It started small, handholding any chance he got, he seemed to always need to be close, holding and hugging you. He was so affectionate and almost touched starved, begging like a stray puppy. Five slowly gained your trust and love for him, he had an infinite amount of hoodies and oversized T-shirts, truth be told you were pretty sure Five just loved to see you in his clothes.

You and Five were cuddled up on your bed, he was running his fingers through your hair as light cut through the curtains, lighting the room in a heavenly glow. Five placed a kiss on the side on your head, pulling you closer as he did.

“Y/n, I think I’m in love with you.” You smile and lean into his embrace.

“I think I’m in love with you too, Five.”

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terror-that-flaps-in-the-evening · 5 years

Text

Words and Scribbles

The first time Launchpad had to go out on an adventure with Mr. McDuck and the kids after he and Drake started dating, he left Drake a coloring book and asked him to do his daily colorings for him. Drake had really done his best before that to shrug his shoulders and say, “Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine here alone.” He’d been so nonchalant about it - telling everyone who asked that yea, he’d miss his boyfriend, but he’d be fine. He wouldn’t worry.

The coloring book was the straw the broke the camel’s back, however. Drake, despite telling everyone who asked him that, no, of course he wasn’t going to cry when Launchpad went out of town indefinitely on one of Mr. McDuck’s crazy, life-threatening, potentially world-ending adventures. He was a grown adult, and he could handle being alone for a few days, weeks, months, whatever it took.

He was a grown adult who was trusted by his boyfriend with his coloring book for the duration of an indefinite trip. Drake knew that Launchpad loved relaxing at the end of the day by scribbling away at the pictures inside - he knew the weight that was being handed to him in between the covers of such a simple and childish gesture.

So, yeah, Drake Mallard was a little bit of a sobbing mess the first time his boyfriend left home to go out on an adventure with his other family. For an hour after Launchpad left, Drake lay curled up on the floor in his living room, clutching at the coloring book that was left to him and wishing that he could call Launchpad.

He was pretty sure there was some sort of rule on airplanes that all cell-phones had to be turned off, though. At least on the commercial flights he’d taken. He wasn’t entirely sure if Della and Launchpad followed those same customs, but he certainly wasn’t going to endanger quite literally everyone he really knew just for a phone call to a duck that had only been gone for an hour.

Drake wasn’t completely useless, however. So, after only a few hours of moping about, Drake managed to drag himself off the floor and into the kitchen, where he promptly started tearing up again as he realized that he was making himself a dinner for one. Sure, he’d gotten a lot of his cooking out of his system when he was meal-prepping for Launchpad, the kids, Mr. McDuck, and Mr. McDuck’s niece and nephew, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t still have it in his heart that he should be cooking for at the very least himself and his boyfriend.

Drake ended up making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and practically throwing himself in one of the dining room chairs - which gave a dangerous creak from the force of which he plopped down. New dining room furniture, he noted, was something he needed to work on once S.H.U.S.H. started paying him…

Once he had devoured his childish dinner, he realized that he had a much more childish task to attend to. Drake flipped open the coloring book, tracing the crayon lines that had already been colored in by his boyfriend with his fingers, letting his mind drift to all the times that they’d been laying on the couch together, watching Darkwing Duck while Launchpad scribbled away.

He flipped through the pages slowly, admiring each and every page, despite the ultimate simplicity that the nature of the activity dictated. It wasn’t until he got to the first uncolored page that his heart dropped out of his chest once again as a piece of paper floated down out of the coloring book. He picked it up and read,

“Heya, Drake! This is Launchpad, obviously. I am writing here as instructions. You have to follow them. That’s the rules. They’re easy, because I don’t like hard games. Just color for me, like I said before I left (Thanks past Launchpad!). Then after you color, you get another paper. From me. Launchpad. Get coloring!”

The note was written in crayon, with alternating colors featuring some of their favorites and some random splashes of color. There were little scribbles and doodles all around the note, some of which looked vaguely like hearts that had been half scribbled out, then redone. A few of the longer words had a few crossed out versions in front of them, but no matter because in Drake’s heart, it was the world’s best piece of literature. Drake took the note over to the fridge, placing a Darkwing Duck magnet over it to hold it in place.

As childish as he felt doing it, Drake grabbed Launchpad’s box of crayons, curiously labeled “Launchpad’s! Do not eat!” Drake made a mental note to ask Launchpad if someone else had tried to eat his crayons before. Drake picked out a plum purple and began to darkly color the outline of the train that was sprawled out on the page in front of him. Once he’d finished his dark outline, he lightly colored in the body with varying shades of purple, creating what he’d call a work of art compared to Launchpad’s wild scribbles - not that he disliked the fact that Launchpad just went wild on the page with the pack of crayons. It was cathartic to watch his boyfriend do, and it was comforting to have that piece of him here now that he was out in the air somewhere, on the way to adventure.

The first day after Launchpad left, Drake went to the coloring book as soon as he woke up, very tempted to unfold the note that lay on the next page (Labeled, “No peeking!”) before he finished the coloring of the lion that lay on that page, but Drake knew that Launchpad’s first question would be whether or not he followed the rules, so he managed to hold back his eagerness to hear from his boyfriend.

Once he finally finished coloring the lion with an unfortunate thorn in its paw (Drake had added the splinter and a tear to the drawing - for dramatic effect!), Drake eagerly slipped his finger under the fold in the paper and flipped it open.

“Day one of no Launchpad. You must be sad. I know I am. In between being scared for my life, that is! Adventures are crazy. I am probably being very brave right now. You are probably being very brave too - being Darkwing alone. I am going to buy you a sooveneer.”

Drake made a mental note to tell Launchpad how to spell souvenir. He also made a mental note to tell Launchpad just how much this entire thing meant to him. It felt like he might not be entirely alone, what with Launchpad’s good natured-ness still there to envelop his heart in warmth. Reading the note, he could hear his boyfriend’s voice echoing through his head, and he could practically picture him laying on the floor in the McDuck manor garage, tongue stuck half out as he scribbled away notes and carefully folded them into little origami triangles to hide in the coloring book.

Each day only made Drake appreciate the gesture more and more. On day three (After coloring a picture of a pond full of fish, to which Drake drew in a shark), the letter read, “Things are probably getting rough on my end. I say they’ve gotten in three arguments by now! I’ll keep count and we can see when I get home! Have you caught any good bad guys? By good, I mean bad. By bad I mean extra bad. Extra bad-baddies. The mean kind. Answer here _______________. Tell me about it when I’m home.”

Drake scribbled away his answer in the small space provided, telling a story about a particularly rude villain that he arrested - he had gotten called a creepy cosplayer while he was in the process of tying up the guy. Drake drew a little picture of him, taking the liberty of adding devil horns. He made sure to leave the picture colorless, so Launchpad had something to do when he got back. Drake added the note and his own addition to his fridge collection. Another day closer to having his boyfriend back.

Day four was a coloring sheet of a small duck strumming away at a guitar. Drake wrote the notes for the Darkwing Duck intro above the guitar and drew a little smiley face. “Let’s Get Dangerous,” he wrote above the picture after he finished coloring it, proud of his handiwork for the day. He’d earned the next note.

“Heya! It’s LP again. I’d hope you know that by now. Today is a scavenger hunt. Or, sort of. Just go to the bedroom, and go under the bed. Or, look under the bed. There is a box that says, ‘Launchpad’s Do not Eat,’ on it. It has something for you. Miss you.”

Drake resisted the urge to run to the room immediately - instead he took the time to pin up the note alongside the first three. By the time he made it to the bedroom and dug the little shoebox out, he was shaking with anticipation. He opened the lid, and his jaw dropped. Within the shoe box was one of the few pieces of Darkwing Duck memorabilia that he had not managed to obtain yet - the classic Darkwing Duck slippers that went for hundreds online. Drake felt himself tearing up again as he put his feet into the cute little cartoony versions of his childhood hero.

On day five, Drake woke up with his entire body aching from the fight with a few of the Beagle Boys he’d had the night before. Usually when they woke up after a rough fight, Launchpad would massage his back for a while, he’d massage Launchpad’s back, and then they’d make breakfast together. Instead, he hobbled out of bed and made himself some toast. He immediately got to coloring, eager to see what awaited inside. He took his time filling the drawing of two ducks riding a tandem bicycle, trying to add features to the two to make them look more like him and Launchpad. He wasn’t sure how successful he was, so he ended up just labeling them in the end. He eagerly unfolded that day’s note, ready to hear it sounding out to him in his boyfriend’s voice in his brain.

“LP here! Mr. McDee said it’d only take a little bit, so maybe I’ll be home soon. Here’s a Hamburger Hippo coupon I saved for you. Get yourself dinner! I miss you. Or, I will miss you. I am Launchpad from the past. OooooOOOooooOoooo, spooky!”

The entire letter was surrounded in drawings of clocks and little ghosts. There were also a few of what Drake could only assume were supposed to be ghost clocks. Drake’s fridge was starting to look more like an art museum than a fridge, but he wasn’t complaining. Each time he saw the letters that peppered his fridge, his heart started fluttering all over again. He couldn’t wait to see Launchpad again - the second his boyfriend came knocking on his door, he’d get attacked with the full force of a flying, climbing, scaling hug that would no doubt end up with Drake clinging to Launchpad for hours.

Day six was laundry day. Usually they’d end up having a sock fight when they were trying to fold the clothes. Instead, Drake folded the clothes in record time with a sagging heart. His heart fell even further when he saw the coloring scene he had for the day - it was a sock. Who puts a sock in a coloring book? Drake made a mental note to look up who in the world designated the drawings that went into this coloring book so he could have a word with them. Once he finished, he eagerly grabbed the note that was stuck in that page, unfolding it to see,

“Laundry day. I probably need laundry day. Jungles don’t have washing machines. Fun fact. From Launchpad. Your boyfriend. I will throw a sock to say I miss you. In the future, not now. I am past Launchpad. Throw a sock for me too. Miss you,” Drake grabbed one of the pairs of socks he’d just folded, ripped the two socks from each other, and hurled one of them as far as he could. Somehow, it landed on top of the fridge. At least when he would have to ask Launchpad to get it down, he’d have proof that he was following the rules… Drake pinned the note up on the fridge, and continued on with his day.

Day seven. A week had passed. Drake found it hard to believe that he hadn’t heard Launchpad for a week. He hadn’t seen him for a week. He saved the coloring and note for that day until right before bed - wanting to cherish each second that he could of looking forward to it. As he was coloring away at the picture of the day - a monkey hanging from a tree (Drake was adding bananas to make it more fun), he heard a knock at the door.

Drake thought he must be hearing things - no way was Launchpad back so soon! He carefully closed the coloring book and lay it on his bed, somehow managing to fight the urge to just toss it and sprint to the door. He felt his legs turning to jelly as he walked to the door, wearing the slippers that his amazing boyfriend had somehow acquired for him.

Drake just knew that the moment he opened the door, it would turn out to be the mailman, someone who had the wrong door, an assassin sent to kill him, anyone but --

He swung the door open and felt his heart stop. There he was. Launchpad McQuack, in the flesh. Drake ran full force into the mountain of a man, who immediately picked him up to swing him around. “Don’t ever leave again,” Drake mumbled through his tears into Launchpad’s chest. He took in the scent of the man - how he’d missed that strange combination of baby shampoo, oil, leather, mustard, and a slight cologne-y smell.

“I missed you,” Launchpad squeezed the air out of Drake’s lungs, but it wasn’t something Drake was going to complain about - on the contrary. He didn’t want this hug to ever end, because it felt like the second the hug was over he might lose his boyfriend to adventure again. He couldn’t let that happen again, he loved every second he had with Launchpad. He--

“Launchpad?” Drake pulled his head back just enough to give his boyfriend a quick peck before burying his face in Launchpad’s chest and saying, “I’m in love with you.”

Maybe it wasn’t quite the opportune time for his first confession of love, but damn if it didn’t feel right. He felt Launchpad’s hug increase in power to a dangerous, spine-cracking level, and he felt like he was hugging just as hard back.

“I love you too, Drake,” Launchpad said, with tears in his eyes, “I love you so much.”

“I hope you know that you’re bringing me along on your next adventure,” Drake said, nuzzling into Launchpad’s chest. “I mean, what adventure wouldn’t benefit from famed superhero Darkwing Duck. And what day wouldn’t be better with the man I love?” Drake felt his heart skip a beat as he said those magical words again. Who knew that seven days without the man he loved would really awaken the awareness of that love in him?

#launchpad mcquack #Drake Mallard #drakepad #darkwing duck #ducktales2017 #ducktales #Fluff #LizardWriter

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bluepenguinstories · 4 years

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Remoras Full Chapter VI: Ultraviolet Reyes

Quixotic. That was one way to describe both of them. But not in the traditional definition of the word, but rather what should have been the definition: delusional, wild in their midlife crises.

But that’s how it always was, wasn’t it? At least, ever since I’ve known them. One day I showed up home from school, and there my older sister was with a strange man who she claimed to have dated since high school. That man introduced himself as “Ray Sunshine, at your service” and then took a bow. He then contradicted Sunny, saying they hadn’t known each other long, and the two of them laughed before giving a different story about how the two met. That should have been the warning sign right there.

“Mom already thinks you’re ruining your life,” I told Sunny. “Not going to college, coming and going as you please. Do you really think that’s any way to be?”

“Oh, Violette,” Sunny laughed it off. Of course she did. Ray, on the other hand, said, “don’t be quick to judge. Though rest assured, I’m every bit as much trouble as she is.”

I scowled.

“Yeah, you look like trouble all right.”

Later on, I would receive texts from Sunny saying how she had been busy raiding tombs and breaking into high security places. Then she mentioned exploits on Ray’s part, which included scamming rich people and doing deals with underground crime organizations. Did neither of them know that texts could easily be traced? No, maybe they knew and were just messing with me. That also seemed right up their alley.

Or maybe they know and want a chase. That’s also just like them.

Either way, I tried to be the model child. I felt like most younger siblings had that one older sibling that they had to compete with. Well, in my case, my job was easy as my grades were fine, I stayed out of trouble, and I managed a degree (that I often thought of as useless) in graphic design. As I waited for clients to come in, I worked part time at a convenience store. Over time, I managed enough money for an apartment for myself.

Growing older hadn’t hindered them, rather, they kept up their fantasies and built up a life that should have never been. Although I heard bits and pieces from the texts and letters (yes, Sunny sent letters. She said it was just, “dreamy” to send letters to people, whatever that meant), I was glad to be ignorant of most of their exploits.

Did I resent them? My sister and her husband? That was a hard one to answer. For I was both grateful to them when they offered for me to raise their daughter, but also resented the cause of their offer.

“I was never fit to raise a child,” Ray told me. He was a classic case of someone I couldn’t tell whether I liked or resented. He was the type to act so friendly and charming with everyone, but also had that double-edged sword to him of being someone who never seemed to take anything seriously. Lofty goals, and the worst part was, that he actually accomplished them, most of the time.

If I recall, he smiled as he opened up his greeting with that. Then again, he could have shown genuine sorrow, but my memory had him saying such a thing with a smile, as anything else seemed out of character for him.

“What do you mean?” I asked him. He and Sunny never came to visit, so I was perplexed by the visit alone.

Sunny, who had been behind him, stepped forward, and Ray moved out of the way, as if to give her the spotlight.

“I know we’re putting you in an awful position, but Ray and I talked things over.”

“What are you talking about?” I stood confused.

Always like that, never changing. Couldn’t come out with their intentions right away, had to preface it with something vague and dramatic.

“There was an accident. We were out in the snow, that’s all. We didn’t anticipate any wolves coming. No, more than that, we didn’t anticipate our poor depth perception; we thought it was instinct, muscle memory. That upon the first hint of danger, we would rush to her aid.”

“Her aid? Is Elodie okay?” Things became clearer, which made my heart rush. What kind of danger did they get that child into?

“Yes,” Sunny nodded. “She is now. Her condition could have been much worse. We stopped her from getting mauled, but her face is still scarred. After her recovery in the hospital, we kept her at home, but then she started getting feverish. The doctor said it may have been an infection from the attack. She has trouble breathing now and her voice is a little weak, but she’s still the same angel she’s always been.”

My nerves began to flare up, and I might have brought myself to a fever as well, if I didn’t explode on them. Instead, through fumes, I spoke:

“None of this would have happened if you two hadn’t been so careless!”

“I know…” Ray replied as he looked down.

“We thought it wouldn’t be so bad, y’know?” Sunny added. “We’re both so strong and capable together. We thought ‘how bad could it be with a kid?’ Believe me when I say that if we could go back and fix our mistakes, we would.”

“I’m not arguing that! But what you should have done is never had a child in the first place if you weren’t able to take care of her!” It felt like a self-inflicted wound at the moment. Like I didn’t want to say that, even though it felt like it needed to be said.

“I agree,” Ray stepped in once more. “One thing just led to another and before we knew it, we had a child. We already lived there and thought she was adorable, so we didn’t just want to give her up. At the time, we both figured that it wouldn’t be so bad and for her first few years, it wasn’t, either. All it takes is one mistake, however.”

“One mistake that nearly cost her her life!” My fists shook, but through all the commotion, I failed to notice Elodie, who had hidden herself behind some bushes, too shy to face any of us. What caught my attention was the top of her head, sticking out, as she peeked up from the bush.

“Elodie, dear, you can come out,” I softened my voice in a feeble attempt to sound calmer than I really was despite the fact that she must have heard everything.

She stepped out. “Hi,” she greeted, her voice hoarse, almost inaudible. Was that how she would speak for the rest of her life? I wasn’t sure.

I should have been glad she was alive at all, but all I could think about was how incensed I was with the couple in front of me.

“Why did you come to me?” I asked, doing my best to keep calm in front of their child.

“We didn’t want to give her up to a stranger for adoption, but we felt she would be safer with someone else. Coming to you felt like a fair compromise. You’re someone we can trust.”

“I’ve never raised a kid before…”

Of course. In my mind, all I could think was “they’re dumping their responsibilities on me.” Yet I didn’t refuse. Thoughts cried out to me, warning me that I was being manipulated. But in spite of the warnings, I didn’t refuse.

“Yes, I know we’re putting a lot on you,” Sunny began.

You can say no, my inner voice spoke.

“I would be happy to,” were the words that came out instead.

Maybe it was because I had a desire to raise another human being, but never desired to conceive, and never really gave said desire much thought, so I never quite pursued it. Was it possible that those two could sense that desire in me and took advantage of it? That was possible. But perhaps I too was taking advantage of them by taking Elodie in, as if I believed I could show them how much better of a parent I was than them.

In truth, I knew nothing about parenting, either.

Elodie made her way in with a couple of bags in hand. She saw the sofa and was quick to plop on it, bags to her side. I, meanwhile, stood in place, next to the door, the implications of the responsibilities I took in not yet dawning on me.

“How long will I be staying here?” She asked me, unprompted. I didn’t even get the chance to say “make yourself at home,” or anything that. More shocking was how clear she spoke, even through the hoarseness of her voice, as if she were more articulate than her age would suggest.

She might already know the answer to her own question.

“As long as you need to,” I answered with a smile. It was hard to tell her the truth, that she may be living here until she’s able to move out. Rather than ready, I could have said that she could stay until she wanted to go. She could stay all her life, well into old age and I wouldn’t have objected. Maybe I just wanted some kind of company.

“Will they ever come visit?”

“If they wish to.”

“Is it because they’re mad at me?”

“They’re...they’re not mad at you,” I tried to reassure her.

“I feel like they don’t want to see me.”

I sat on the sofa next to her and looked at her. Unsure what to say, I shook my head and smiled.

“They do.”

She looked down.

“Hey,” I tried to cheer her up. “We can still have fun. I’ve got board games, video games, uh...games.”

She shook her head.

“No?” I was confused.

From out of one of her bags, she grabbed some sheets of paper and held them up to my face.

“Oh! You like to draw!”

She nodded, as she flipped through each sheet of paper.

“Oh! Wanna check something out?”

I got up and motioned for her to follow me into the hallway, where my ‘office’ was (really, it was in my bedroom and a computer desk with a desktop in the corner).

“Why are we in your room?” She asked.

“Hold on,” I leaned over and set everything up. I did a little doodle with the stylus, then moved aside for her to see.

“Whoa!”

“Yeah, you can draw on it. Try it out.”

She ran over, almost tripping over herself, as she got in the chair and tried out the drawing tablet. I was glad to see her so excited about something.

“By the way, what would you like for dinner?” I asked, while she made squiggly lines in different colors.

“Not now, I’m drawing.”

I blinked, then let out a chuckle. “I meant later, silly.”

“Oh. Um. Spaghetti? No. Cheeseburgers.”

“Cheeseburgers it is.”

“No. Um. Macaroni.”

“I’ll let you think about it,” I smiled, then closed the door. As soon as I walked back into the living room, I positioned myself on the couch and began texting:

Me: I didn’t know Elodie likes to draw.

Ray: Oh yeah. Drawing, painting. She’s quite the artist. Hang something on your fridge sometime ;).

Me: Do you know anything about texting? What’s with that winky face? And why a period after? You’re so bad at this.

Ray: Maybe I am, maybe I’m not ;).

Me: Fuck you.

Ray: Fair. Very fair. Say, have you guys had dinner yet? I’m not good at timezones.

Me: You were here just a few minutes ago. No, we haven’t.

Ray: Right. Must be the jet lag. Well, whenever you guys have dinner, ask if she wants to help. She loves to cook.

Surprised, I went back into the room and saw her still scribbling away.

“Do you want to help with dinner?” I asked.

“No.”

Ray, you fucking liar.

“Oh, okay. Just figured I’d offer.”

“I can make spaghetti,” she added. “And, um. Shrimp gumbo.”

“That’s quite impressive. Do you like to help cook?”

“I helped dad and it was fun. But I’m…” she yawned. “I’m sleepy.”

She set the tablet on the desk and lowered her head onto it, as if it were a pillow. It didn’t take long for her to get to sleep. I was about to smile and just let it happen when the thought popped up in my mind that she could end up drooling on it.

“Okay, okay, I think it’s time for bed,” I went over to pick her up, a feat I didn’t expect to be as difficult as it was. Who knew that another human could be so heavy?

The room in question was a guest room. Emphasis on ‘was’, as it would be her room from that day forward. Rather simple of a room, really. Just a queen sized bed, a nightstand, and a dresser.

Maybe over time she’ll add stuffed animals or decorate it in some way. Make it more hers.

Later in the evening, we settled on grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. I still got her to help in some capacity, as she shredded the cheese. While we sat and ate together, I tried to think of things to say.

“Do you want to start school?”

She shrugged.

“Well, we’ll give it a few days for you to settle in, then we can figure it out. Sounds good?”

She agreed to that, and a little after we finished eating, I bade her goodnight. Then, rather than take to my bed, I slouched over on the sofa.

“What am I doing? I’ve never done anything like this before and now I’m raising someone else’s kid. Is my house really suitable? Can I really do this? Can I…” I yawned, then passed out.

Just a few days later, she agreed to go to school. It was easy enough for her to start, with her only being six. There were some difficulties at first, which led to accommodations needing to be made. While not apparent at first, she was easily fatigued, and when it happened, she was allowed to be excused from school early and come home. Aside from that, there were her breathing troubles, which she must have been aware of, as the teacher would say she didn’t speak much.

Turned out it extended past the accident: at night, Elodie would snore. Not a usual cause of concern, but it would start sounding heavy, with coughs. It was not long after found out that she had sleep apnea, and we got her a CPAP machine.

In spite of such challenges, we made it through. Her room ended up becoming adorned with various paintings as well as print outs of drawings she made on the tablet.

Four years had passed and she was in 4th grade, and it was hard to believe that looking so far back, I would manage this long.

There was one day that has lingered on my mind, although looking back, the events weren’t of major significance. It started sometime in the middle of Elodie’s summer vacation. She would be starting 5th grade soon.

Our day started out pretty routine, as I sat on the couch early in the morning and went through email after email from indecisive clients, or some who wanted to go back on paying me. I grit my teeth, grinned and bore it, or rather, I ground my teeth and cursed under my breath as I tried to negotiate with them, but with a few of them, I just gave in, being too exhausted to put up much of a fight. Some of those pieces were already done and I sulked as at least in a few of their eyes, my efforts were good, but not enough to pay me for them.

Damn it! Say something! Demand they pay! You need that money! You put in all that time and you just got –

“Are you OK?” Elodie’s voice tore past my thoughts. I turned to her.

“How long have you been out here?” I asked, rather than the obvious, “yeah? Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been eating cereal,” she replied.

“Oh, good morning. Did you sleep well?” That was probably for the best. To change the subject and hope for the day to turn around.

She shrugged. In case I didn’t get the message, she then said, “I guess so.”

“Good,” I replied, then was about to turn back to the screen in front of me when she spoke up once more:

“Are you going to answer my question or not?” It came out almost like a growl. It startled me, but I didn’t think of her as mean. Sometimes she could get really demanding and get mad if you didn’t explain things to her. I didn’t know which parent she got it from, as both Sunny and Ray struck me as easy-going people.

Or maybe you don’t know them very well, came one thought. No, that wasn’t right. I at least knew my own sister. I knew the kind of trouble she got in and the tricks she played. I could only guess what tricks Ray had up his sleeves, but he wasn’t blameless, either. In fact, maybe he was worse. Still, like it or not, those two really were meant for each other, and I didn’t mean in a good way. There were times when I was little and mom would come home to find donuts she had bought for herself and left out eaten, or her flower vase broken, and I knew in my heart Sunny did it, but Sunny would pin the blame on me, and rather than defend myself, I would just say that it was an accident, even though I knew better.

Did I defend my sister out of the goodness of my heart? I didn’t even think I meant to defend her at all. Being as young as I was, it could have been that I believed that I really did do those things, and I just forgot. But damn, I sure fell into that trap a lot, time and time again.

“Hello?” Elodie asked again. While I was lost in thought, she grew more impatient.

“Yes. Sorry. It’s just annoying people. They’re not worth fussing over.”

Can it be that she got her attitude from me? I thought, but that didn’t make sense either. At least not in my mind.

“We should go out somewhere,” she suggested.

I looked up. “Where do you have in mind?”

“Anywhere. You need to go out. You’re stressed and it’s bothering me.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I waved my hand away. “I just need some coffee and I’ll be fine.”

“Well I’m bored and I don’t know what to draw.”

Was that what it was? It wasn’t for my sake, but for her own? Well, that was the case, then sure. We could go out. I really didn’t want to, but I usually took her places when she wanted to go. Usually just a park would be fine, and she’d sit in the grass and draw. It would be harmless to take her on a short drive and back, and maybe it would help ease my mind just a little.

It was a rather warm day out when she saw a nail salon and said she wanted to check it out. That struck me as a little odd, but I decided to oblige.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve passed by over a thousand of these places,” I pointed out. She never really struck me as someone into those kinds of things. I certainly wasn’t, anyway.

“Thousand and one. That must mean it’s a lucky one.”

I shook my head. “If you say so,” then parked the car as we both went inside.

Once inside, we were greeted by the receptionist, someone with big poofy pink hair and in her 40s. “First time?” She looked at Elodie.

“Mhm,” Elodie hummed and nodded her head.

“Well, what can we do for you two?”

Good question. Why are we here? I looked around. Busy day, it seemed. Crowded. I wished for an excuse to leave.

“Just a manicure for me,” I answered, not giving it much thought.

“Can I have purple nails and starry patterns?” Elodie asked the receptionist.

“I think we can work something out,” she smiled.

We both had to sit and wait our turns. Busy day and all. Besides, we didn’t have an appointment. When we were finally called forth, we were seated next to each other, Elodie to the left of me. To the right of me, was some oddball woman being unruly.

“Stop shivering! It makes it hard to concentrate!” The person doing her nails scolded.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be shivering so much if the A/C wasn’t cranked so damn high,” replied the unruly woman, although her voice sounded a little playful. Me, I looked up at the ceiling.

Is the air conditioning really that high? Well, it is a hot day outside, so maybe it’s necessary.

“Or maybe,” her voice turned sly. “I’m shivering because of how cute you are.”

“Shush. You’re going to make me blush.”

“All part of my evil plan.”

What kind of place did I walk into? I gulped.

That time, I looked over, not content to eavesdrop. The one getting her nails done was a tall, muscular woman with short, light blue hair. Meanwhile, the one taking care of her looked like an agitated young lady with a bun in her hair, possibly in her early 20s.

“Like what you see?” Her voice was rather low and breathy, but still had this playful air to her.

Lost in the scene, I failed to notice that she was looking right back at me. Startled, I leaned my head back. Her slight tan skin, her thick eyebrows and full lips. Those same lips creased to form a sly smile, and it was at that moment where I felt like looking any further would prove dangerous.

“I...uh...sorry. I should mind my own business.”

“Hey. What’s your name?” She spoke up again. I did my best not to look, not even through my peripheral vision. Perhaps she was talking to the nail person.

After a minute of silence, she added: “fine, keep your secrets.”

“Were you talking to me?” I turned back to her, although still hesitant to keep my gaze fixed.

“Yes. You do have a name, don’t you? Isn’t that a thing most people have?”

“Sorry. It’s Violette. Yours?”

“Hm.” Was all she said in response. I was pretty sure ‘Hm’ wasn’t her name. Instead, she held up one hand. “Look, I’ve already got one set done. Like what you see?”

Each nail had been colored light blue, similar to her hair, with little white snowflakes printed on.

“They’re really pretty,” I told her.

So was she, but I refrained from saying such. My attraction to women wasn’t something I meant to keep secret, I just never made any attempts at dating, as my mind was always focused on either my art, or Elodie. There were times when I wanted to, but I didn’t want to impose on Elodie, and I saw her as my top priority.

“Thanks,” she replied.

As soon as I turned my attention away from her, I found myself drawn back in by the next thing she said.

“Sorry about earlier,” she told the stylist, something which surprised me.

“Aw, don’t worry about it. I thought it was funny,” the stylist replied. “Most of our regulars are like that, too. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be a regular.”

“Doubt it,” she dismissed the notion.

“Flirting with an employee and it’s your first time here? How bold of you,” I chimed in.

“Reckless, I know. I just came here on a whim. Thought I’d have some fun and live a little while I’m still around. I’m just not used to socializing without it being a confrontation.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“My work. You could say I was a janitor, except one who had a tendency to travel around. I quit today, and although I don’t see myself staying here, I don’t see anywhere else for me to go.”

“Why did you quit? I know janitors go underappreciated, but I think you guys are important.”

“It had little to do with appreciation. Believe me, I both was and wasn’t appreciated. Much in the same way that I didn’t care for who I worked for, only that I was good at my work and knew little else. But I just decided it was time for me to call it quits. It all took its toll on me. Always traveling around, cleaning up others’ messes. I never really had a life outside of work, nor formed connections with anyone.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not a people person. I just wish that I was.”

“Hey,” the stylist chimed in. “I don’t have a life outside of work, either. I just go home and eat cartons of ice cream while watching cheesy horror movies all night.”

“Maybe this is my cheesy horror movie.” She looked up and closed her eyes as she smiled. It didn’t look like an amused smile, and more like she was on her deathbed and reflecting on her life.

“I’d rather think of this as the ice cream.”

“Ice cream is supposed to be cold, not people.”

Then, as if she recognized the mood she had set, she decided to turn her attention to me.

“Hey Violette, why didn’t you get any fancy patterns?”

“I don’t know what I would’ve gotten.”

“That’s no excuse, auntie!” Elodie chimed in. Was she listening the whole time? Furthermore, how often did she call me ‘auntie’?

“Oh?” She leaned forward. “You’ve got a kid?”

“Well, I’m her aunt, but yes, I take care of her.”

“What about her parents? Are they dead?”

“No. They just don’t like me,” Elodie blurted out.

“That’s not true,” I reassured her. Though it rang hollow, as I must have thought the same thing from time to time.

“They don’t talk to me. They don’t send me anything on my birthdays.”

“Huh? Is that so?” Snowflake Nails asked.

“It is,” Elodie scowled. She would have crossed her arms, too, if her hands weren’t being worked on.

“Well, I don’t like kids, myself, but you’d think a present every once in a while would be easy enough.”

“I know, right?”

“Tell you what: I’ll be your fairy godmother if you want.”

What? What kind of ideas is she putting in Elodie’s head?

“Okay! Wait. Um. What does that mean?”

“That means I don’t have to be alive to watch over you, because I’ll be a fairy.”

“Okay! That sounds good!”

“You can’t be serious,” I told Snowflake Nails (for lack of a better name, that was what I’d refer to her as).

“Sure I am. People expect things of you when you’re alive. Takes a load off of my conscience this way.”

“If you’re going to do that, you should at least tell her who you are.” And me. Enough with this ‘Snowflake Nails’ nonsense.

“Sure. I’m the blue fairy.”

I glared at her, not even bothered by her appearance this time around.

“All right. Fine. My name is Rhea.”

She got up and held out her hands, examining each finger. Then she nodded.

“Yes. I approve.” Before she made her way to the door, she looked down at Elodie and I. “Well, Violette, it was nice meeting you and your niece. I’d say ‘see ya around’, but, well, y’know.”

“Yes, it was, uh, nice to meet you too.”

As she left, Elodie and I looked at each other and blinked.

“Who was that?” She asked me.

“Beats me. First time I met her.”

“Well, she’s our fairy godmother now,” she pointed out.

“I doubt we’ll see her again,” I added. I felt a twinge, like I shouldn’t have said that.

“That’s okay, I’m,” she yawned. “Getting a little tired anyway.”

“We’re almost done,” the stylist told her.

The stylist who had given Rhea such a fancy paint job walked over to me. “She was weird, no doubt,” she mentioned offhand. “But she gave a pretty hefty tip.”

“Uh, okay?” I didn’t see why that was worth mentioning.

“She just handed me a thousand dollars, and I said ‘that really isn’t necessary’, but she insisted, and if I’m being honest, I wish more rich weirdos were that generous.”

In any case, after Elodie got done, we found out Rhea had already paid for us as well. We thanked the receptionist and went on about our way. Neither of us ever saw her again, and part of me wondered if that little event was even worth remembering.

Since then, almost two years have passed. Elodie was going to turn 12 soon.

Ray would message now and then. Not Sunny. I found that most of all odd. She had stopped writing letters a while ago, and never once inquired about her daughter. I wondered if maybe she was off on some adventure, but even then, I felt like Elodie was owed at least something. There were times when I would try to coerce Ray into talking to his daughter, to no avail.

Ray: How have you been?

Me: Fine.

Ray: And Elodie?

Me: You can ask her, you know.

Ray: I don’t think that would be a good idea.

Me: Don’t you love her?

Ray: Yes. But it’s probably best that I’m not in her life.

Me: She thinks her parents resent her. She’s started to resent you.

Ray: I don’t blame her. I wish both of you well.

That was it. I understood that they blamed themselves for their daughter’s harm, at least that’s what I assumed it was. But avoiding her? That didn’t help her. She could have forgiven them for the accident if they had tried years ago. But what started as Elodie blaming herself for staying with me turned to wanting nothing to do with her original parents. Hard as it was to say, I couldn’t even blame her for that.

I should have known better, too. Her parents were a sore subject for her, and she was happiest when they weren’t brought up so she wouldn’t have to think of them.

Otherwise, things were somewhat normal. There weren’t many odd encounters like that one day at the salon. She attended school and got good grades, although teachers noted how quiet she would be, no one ever accused her of being unkind. I never thought to ask whether or not she had made friends, and she never told me. Maybe she didn’t, or maybe she was too private of a person to tell me. I didn’t think there was much she kept hidden, in fact, where I would have expected her to be more independent at her age, she still preferred for me to come along when she wanted to go out.

We’d go to the mall together. She’d run off to the art store and check out supplies. We’d stop by for frozen yogurt most of the time, or go to a coffee kiosk and sit down at the food court. Sometimes we’d get a full lunch there, but I didn’t find the food all that good. If she was fine with it, though, that mattered more than my own comfort.

We were at the mall once again. Crowds of people. Some with their families. Some alone. Some with friends. For the most part, we paid none of them any mind, save for the occasional “pardon me” as we tried to wade past them.

Then, Elodie pointed out one of them that caught her attention.

“Look! It’s my fairy godmother!” I let out a chuckle. “Aren’t you getting a little old for that?”

She puffed her cheeks. “That’s not what I mean! Look!”

I saw where she was pointing and saw someone who looked just a little younger than me in front of a vending machine, hunched over and shivering. Her hair was short, and a bright red.

“Damn machine ate my quarters…” I heard the woman mutter under her breath. “Good for nothing...argh…”

It looked like she was about ready to kick the machine, but she stopped and stood upright, looked around, then studied the machine while she continued to mutter.

“It’s just some stranger having problems with the vending machine,” I murmured to Elodie. “No need to pay them any mind.”

She didn’t listen, however, and ran up to the stranger.

“Hey, do you remember me?” She looked up and asked. That startled the woman as she looked down and then looked around. Then, when she turned to face Elodie again, she shook her head in rapid succession.

Oh, she’s much more shy than I thought.

“Um. No. Sorry,” the woman replied.

I approached the two of them and I caught a closer glimpse of her face – similar, near identical, even, to the one we met at the salon.

It’s not like I remember her face all that well. I’m surprised I even remember that day at all. It wasn’t like it was all that memorable, was it?

Yet the surprise must have shown on my face as I stood for a moment, stunned.

“Is something wrong? Does my appearance intimidate you?” She asked. “This isn’t good…”

“No, not at all,” I assured her. I then noticed how muscular she was: although she wore a sweater (one that said “I LOVE NO” which could have stood for Norway, or New Orleans, but I had the humorous idea that it just stood for her loving the word ‘no’), I could tell the definition and her build. I tried to take care not to study her, and soon, I was the one to apologize.

“Sorry, my niece thought you looked like someone familiar.”

“You shiver a lot,” Elodie pointed out, which I was about to tell her how rude that was, when the stranger spoke up first.

“I shiver when I’m nervous. I’m not used to being approached by people. It’s bad enough...being in a place like this…”

“I’m really sorry to hear –” I began, before being interrupted by Elodie.

“Why are you here, then?” She asked. Again, I found it rude, even if I wanted to ask that same question, myself. Rather than get offended, the stranger looked away, then back at her.

“That’s a good question. I had a day off from work and felt bold, so…”

“What’s your work?” Elodie then demanded again. It was as if she had the stranger in an interrogation.

“I’d rather not say…it’s kind of embarrassing...”

“Now really, that’s enough, Elodie,” I scolded.

“Sorry,” she looked down, before looking back up. Like she had just one more question. “What were you trying to buy, anyway?”

“I wanted a soda. I don’t know why. I’d rather something warm.”

“Hey,” I offered. “Rather than waste time getting frustrated with a machine, wanna go to a cafe? I know of a place around here that’s quieter.”

“I don’t want to impose…” Her words came out terse.

“It’s fine. It’s not like I’m inviting you to my home. But I get it, we’re strangers, and it’s probably strange of me to ask so out of the blue. You can refuse if you’d like, I wouldn’t be offended.”

Probably? More like definitely. I’m just taking pity on this stranger, though, that’s all.

“I’ll come. If it’s not any trouble with the little one.”

“I don’t mind! Auntie needs to make friends, anyway!”

Upon hearing the word ‘auntie’, the woman smiled. It didn’t strike me as sinister, but I didn’t feel any warmth behind it, either. It puzzled me, but I dismissed it as soon as I made note of it.

Rather than take the car, we walked for about five minutes once outside of the mall and entered a small cafe with few customers. Some smooth jazz music played and the whole place had a white, floral design.

We sat at an empty booth, with the stranger opting to sit across from Elodie and I. All the while, she looked in a constant near-panic state.

As the server came up to us and asked us what we wanted, I asked for a mocha with oat milk. Elodie went for a hot chocolate, and when our guest was asked what she wanted, she answered, “do you have snowberry tea?”

“Sorry, I’ve never heard of that before,” the server replied.

“Do you have peppermint?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have that.”

After the server left, I turned to our guest.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is snowberry tea?” I asked.

She rubbed her hands together. Even here, she shivered. “It...I had it before. It would make me dizzy. And sweat. It made me warm. Just a little.”

“I see. Is peppermint similar?”

“I...I don’t know,” she shook her head.

“I hope I’m not putting you on the spot.”

“You’re not.”

I turned to Elodie. “How are you holding up?”

“You don’t need to worry about me all the time, really,” she assured me.

“I’m Violette, by the way,” I told the nervous stranger.

“I’m Re...Mira,” she looked around, then back down.

“Remira?” I asked.

She shook her head in rapid succession, as if a jolt was sent down her spine.

“Just Mira. Mira Image.”

“Huh. Interesting name,” I noted.

Elodie ended up doing most of the chatting as I sat there and sipped my drink while I found myself ambushed by thoughts.

What am I doing here? What happened to the mall? What are those two talking about? Is Elodie okay like this? Am I? Am I doing the right thing, talking to this stranger? Inviting her to a cafe? Would I have done that for anyone or would I have been more cautious? Well, this isn’t bad, is it? She seems harmless, if nervous. Even if it comes to pass that she took advantage of my kindness, it’s just a drink, right? It would be a minor inconvenience at best. She hasn’t done anything that could be considered suspicious, has she? Then again, I should know better than to trust a strang – no. I need to stop assuming the worst in people.

“Is something wrong?” Elodie asked, and I looked up. That whole time, I didn’t even realize that my head was lowered.

“Yes, I’m. It’s fine,” I replied.

“You’re shivering, too,” Mira pointed out. Something else that I didn’t notice. What was wrong with me?

“I must be a little nervous as well,” I assured them both. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Jeez, there’s nothing to be nervous about!” Elodie teased. “Mira told me that she’s really liked spending time with us. She said she’s not used to people being so kind to her, and most people avoid her.”

“Huh. Is that true?” I turned to Mira. She nodded as she took a sip of her tea.

“Most people hear about my job and assume I must be scary, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. If anything, I’m scared of everyone else…”

“Right, you mentioned your job was embarrassing. You can tell me, though. I won’t judge you.”

Though I likely will. Can I go a single moment without judging something? Well, I won’t voice it, at least. Everything’s fine as long as I don’t speak up.

“Well, okay...see...I was hired as a bodyguard by an eccentric man. He noticed how lonely I was and forced himself into my life, then convinced me to work for him. I didn’t really want to, but I’m not good at speaking up, so I just accepted it.”

Where have I heard that one before?

“I can relate,” I told her.

“You can?” She gasped.

I nodded.

“You might be the first one. I’ve told people before, and they assumed me to be tough or violent, when I wouldn’t even hurt a fly. I don’t like to...fight, and I may be protective of people close to me, but…”

“I understand. It must be a tough position for you to be in.”

“It is, but I’m grateful for the opportunity, all the same. Even though I feel like I was tricked into it, I find it worthwhile to take care of someone.”

“Just like with Elodie and I. Her parents...err…it’s probably best not to talk about it.”

“I’m right here! It’s fine!” Elodie crossed her arms. “Actually, you’re right. There are nicer things to talk about.”

“So Mira, when do you go back to work?” I asked.

“I should probably head back tomorrow. I’m lucky to even get some time away. He told me he would be fine for a couple of days, but I can’t help but worry. This all started because one of the locals shot his hand in a dispute. There’s no telling what might happen while I’m away.”

“Oh dear, that does sound horrible.”

“You should see Mira before she goes,” Elodie tugged at my sleeve.

“I’m not sure…”

“Come on, you could use a friend!”

“In what way?” I heard Mira mutter. I didn’t think much of it, although I should have.

“But what about you?” I kept my attention toward Elodie. I could have meant, “but couldn’t you use a friend as well?” But that wasn’t where my thoughts were. I always made her my priority, to the point where I rarely took stock in my own interests.

“I can stay home! I’ll be fine!”

“Well then,” I must have had a weak expression on my face. I still wasn’t too comfortable with the idea of leaving her home alone. “What do you say, Mira?”

She shrugged. “This is a nice cafe. I suppose a few minutes won’t hurt.”

It was settled. Elodie and I shimmied out of our seats.

“It was nice to meet you, Mira,” I told her as we left.

“You as well. Thank you for the drink,” she replied.

Before I headed out the next day, I told Elodie to keep the doors locked and call me if anything came up. It still felt wrong, but at least I did that much.

Upon arriving at the cafe, I noticed Mira already sat down, at the same booth we were at yesterday. Again, the cafe was near empty, but rather than give off a nervous look, she looked much more composed.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” I hurried to sit across from her.

“Not at all,” she replied.

We ordered the same things as last time, and I had no reason to suspect that the mood would change.

“Are you nervous or excited about returning to work?” I asked.

“Both. Mostly, I’m thinking about how cold I will be,” she shivered. It must have been the thought alone that did her in. “Living in the arctic can be harsh sometimes.”

“You live in the arctic?”

“Yes. Though I often stay the night at my boss’s restaurant.”

“That’s funny, Elodie’s dad has a restaurant in the arctic.”

“Really now?” She leaned forward. “What a coincidence. It really is a small world, isn’t it?” She smiled.

She’s even starting to talk like him. Does she recognize that?

I didn’t yet know why, but I started to tense up.

“Um...what is your boss’s name?” I asked. If I didn’t, maybe everything could have stayed normal.

“Ray. Why do you ask?” She answered, so plain at that.

“No...no…” My heart began to race. I shook.

“What’s the matter?” She tilted her head. “It’s just a name, right?”

“It can’t be a coincidence. You must have known who we were, too.”

Her eyes widened, as did her smile.

“He likes to show others pictures of his daughter. How proud he is of her. Yet I’ve never seen her in person, and I would have never guessed that was her yesterday.”

“Why…” There grew to be a growl in my voice as I struggled to keep composure. “Was it to get to her?”

She leaned back, shocked at the very notion.

“Not at all. I mean you and your daughter no harm. I would like to think that I’m on your side.”

“What do you want?” I pressed. I didn’t even try to take a sip of my drink. I didn’t think I could stomach it. “What is the truth, then?”

“I’ve told you the truth – the thing is, I don’t like being tricked. The fact that I couldn’t find out anything about him on my own didn’t help. So I figured who better to turn to than someone close to him?”

“I-I don’t know anything!” I stammered out the words and I found it harder to hold back my agitation. “I don’t get myself involved with them! Go talk to one of his crime lord buddies if you want to know something!”

“Oh?” That must have piqued her interest. “No wonder he thinks he needs protection. He must be pretty rotten to get himself involved with such people.”

“Maybe he has a savior complex or something, I don’t know!”

She burst into laughter.

“That must be the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard.”

I didn’t know why, but I spoke out in Ray and Sunny’s defense. “They feel guilt over an accident which harmed Elodie! You have no right to speak about them that way!” My voice raised, but I tried, I tried so hard. I hated that this affected me at all to the point it did. Worse yet, Mira remained composed.

“So guilty that passed their daughter off to you.”

“I didn’t even want to take care of her!” I cried out, then burst into tears. I couldn’t believe that I would say such a thing. It was true at the time, I resented their actions, I thought I could do better. I felt pressured, though, and I could have said no, but I didn’t. I did my best with her, the best that I knew how to, and I swore, I loved her.

“I love her...I do…” My words turned quiet as I wept.

“I never claimed otherwise,” came her arid reply.

“You’re just like him,” I felt the words escape me, as a brief flash of anger return. She said nothing to that at first. Fear swept over me and I expected her to be angry in turn, but instead, she asked:

“How so?”

“You think it’s okay to trick others. You put up an act just to get what you want.”

“I do what I need to,” came her excuse. “Let me tell you something, however: there is a child I let stay with me. I do not care for her, and I do not claim her as my own, but I’ve taught her how to survive. Claim whatever you want, but I would not have approached the same situation with your niece if I were in Ray’s position. He could have taught her to be safer, along with her mother. Instead, they gave her up. Cowardly, if you ask me.”

Whether or not she had a point didn’t matter to me. I was just disgusted that I let myself get taken advantage of. Time and time again.

“With that, I’ll be on my way,” she got up.

“I thought I could have made a friend,” I muttered.

“How cute. Use a little common sense next time,” her cold words seemed to come through in a single breath.

For a little while after she left, I remained seated and struggled to regain composure. On the ride home, I shuddered and worried about how Elodie would see me, what I would say to her. Part of me wanted to lie and say something like, “she didn’t show up” or “it went fine”. Part of me wanted to tell the truth and spare no details.

I didn’t know what side of me to show to her, and that might have been what scared me most of all. Six years had been spent with her, and I swore to myself that I enjoyed every moment, even the hardest of days, and that I didn’t regret being with her. But I couldn’t deny how unsure of myself I felt, whether my actions were actually good and whether there was some proof that I wasn’t so cold, myself.

#fiction #stories #remoras full #drama #family #cold #violette #mira #rhea #remora

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professionally-unprofessional · 5 years

Note

Can I have a soulmate AU with a fem reader in 1-b and Jirou? The matching tattoos au would be cool, but I'd be fine with whatever!

Gosh I am on a ROLL with these requests recently xD

Wonder how long it’ll last.

Anyway, I’m sorry if the reader wasn’t what you expected or wanted. I didn’t really have anything to go on for their personality.

Oh, rather than just doing a matching tattoos AU I did a soulmate AU where whatever you draw not only appears on your soulmate but also on you.

Welp, I hope you enjoy. I actually enjoyed writing for Jiro a lot more than I thought I would.

“Whoa! Hey, what’s that on your arm, Jirou?” Mina called, leaning over the lunch table. The aspiring hero blinked in confusion then looked at her arm, wondering what her pink-haired classmate was on about. However, rather than blank skin, her gaze landed on a line that was slowly snaking its way down her arm. It was the beginning of their lunch break and the majority of girls from 1-A were sat down at a table together in the lunch hall.

“Oh, this? Guess my soulmate’s drawing again.” She hummed, wondering what you were going to come up with this time. This was a regular occurrence. Every so often you’d find a pen and just start letting your creativity flow. Much to Jirou’s relief, you didn’t take to drawing rude gestures all over your body but instead focused your creativity into pieces of artwork.

Well, at least she assumed you were the one drawing. In reality, she had no way to check, but the skill behind the pieces was fantastic nonetheless. Given that they never appeared on one arm and only places that would be visible to the artist, she would be willing to guess that it was you.

Either that or you had a super talented friend. Either scenario was fine.

The things that appeared were what really mattered since - should it be by your hand or not - there was no way you’d have just anything inked on you. No, you had specific themes. A lot of the time, instruments appeared and the thought that perhaps you liked music warmed Jiro’s heart. She found herself wondering about you far too often when things like these cropped up.

What genres of music did you like?

What sort of personality were you?

Aside from art, did you have any other big passions?

Were you an aspiring hero or someone going after a different career?

Who were you?

The girls were all leaning over the table now, watching as the line art slowly took form. Somehow, the intimate action of watching her soulmate drawing had become a game of Pictionary from her friends but, for some reason, the hearing hero didn’t mind. They were all being awed by you, her soulmate. The small spark of pride that kindled and warmed her was enough to stop her from finding somewhere private to watch.

When the shapes of a violin and cello took form, she knew you were doing another one of your musically inspired pieces. Normally you started at your hand with smaller doodles which then expanded as you worked further up the arm until they broke out around the top with something different. Whatever you started with was your theme and base and from there you just eased into a creative flow.

Yet this time, you had started from the top of your arm and Jirou knew what that meant. You were properly going for it today, having a full composition which was pre-planned and thought out. She was in for a treat.

She really admired your talent; to be able to do what you did just over their lunch break was borderline insane. Drawing on your own body was hard - let alone time-consuming. Then again, you’d started before they’d even sat down for lunch and you obviously practiced this hobby enough. Jirou allowed herself a moment to wonder where you were. You could be on the other side of the world. Or sitting in this lunch hall. However, given that you always seemed to be doodling when people from her age group were free, she’d hazard a guess that you were a student in Japan.

Somewhere.

From the violin and cello, you’d gone on to draw some lines where sheet music could sit wafting from the bow of the string instruments. The girls cheered as the drawing continued to take form. Once you’d drawn the outline for it, you went back to work on the detail for a few moments then returned to the score music.

They were all expecting you to put some decorative notes down but instead, you did a beautiful shape in calligraphy. ‘Y o u’ appeared on the bars and a hush fell over the girls. They watched as more curves took form along the inside of Jirou’s arm, Hagakure was holding her friend’s new canvas up for the others to see.

“You’re…. What?” Yao-Momo asked aloud from opposite her friend, seeming somewhat perplexed. Even the cool-headed creator was getting interested.

Mina let out a small squeal of excitement. “Do you think they could be trying to write something to you?”

Immediately the girls started chattering and the dark-haired heroine had to stop a blush from rising to her cheeks. You hadn’t tried to do anything like this before.

You were still working on other details, now throwing a flute and harp into the background. Mina let out a frustrated cry and Jirou smiled internally. Were you deliberately not finishing the writing?

What a tease.

Wait, did that mean… Did that mean you were watching from somewhere, knowing what was going on?

Feeling her heart rate pick up slightly at the thought that perhaps her soulmate was here in close proximity, the hearing hero raised her head and tried to see if there was anyone in the lunch hall drawing on themselves or being drawn on. She couldn’t see anything.

No groups of friends looking at them for reactions nor at one of their own with a pen. Damn.

“You’re p… Ahhh, what’re they going to say?” Mina cried, leaning even farther forward over the lunch table to get a better look. Jirou’s gaze immediately shot down to her forming temporary tattoo.

Indeed the beginning of another word had appeared next to the ‘You’re’ on the beautifully curving lines of the blank sheet music. This was too much! Why had she been landed with a soulmate who was such a tease? Deciding that she couldn’t take it anymore, she plugged her earphone jack into the ground.

Immediately conversations sprung into her ears but she focused and filtered past them. If she really concentrated hard enough and you were close by… perhaps she’d be able to find you.

None of the conversations in the hall were linked to art or soulmates. Okay then, time to try going a bit further.

It was faint, but she could hear something from outside. There was a familiar voice. Kendo! She was chuckling and talking to someone, reporting on a situation from… From a little way outside the hall! Focusing as intensely as she could without looking too immersed, she blocked out the noise from the hall and tried to hear. “…figure out… significant other is in UA… Are you… confess now…?”

She couldn’t hear any response, you must’ve given a physical response of some sort.

Looking back down, she took her jack out of the floor and heard all her friends cooing and crying out about how adorable her soulmate was. You’d done it, completing the little two-word sentence on her arm. “You’re perfect.”

She couldn’t help but smile at your little compliment. How sweet of you. Unable to hide her smile, she stood and scooted out of the little booth they’d been eating at.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Mina cried out after her as she strode away.

“Leave her,” Momo smiled, watching her close friend go and the musician made a mental note to thank her for that later.

Lunch wouldn’t be going on for much longer. She was just glad that you’d done the ‘you’re perfect’ along the inside of her arm. Not that she wasn’t proud of it but she didn’t fancy everyone asking about it, especially not when it was too hot to be wearing the school blazers.

Feeling a tickling sensation on the unmarked inside of her wrist, the teen raised it to see what was forming. “I… would… love… to… meet… you…”

How adorable. She cursed the fact that she didn’t have a pen on hand to communicate back. You’d just have to wait for her to get there. That’s if it was you with Kendo. It had to be!

If she’d been right with her quirk then you were just outside. If memory served too, there was a rather large tree there sheilding the spot from anyone in UA. It was the perfect little secluded spot. Turning the exact corner she’d visualised, she saw you in all your splendour.

You were sat down in the shade of one of the trees with your back leaning against the trunk. A set of washable tattoo pens were in the grass beside you and Kendo was stood, leaning against the tree with her usual easy smile. She’d been saying something encouraging from the sound of her voice and stopped when you appeared.

You looked up in surprise and Jirou finally recognised you! You were a student in 1-B. No wonder Kendo was here with you. You looked up and Jirou’s deep violet eyes met your pretty (colour) hues.

You… had you always been so cute?

She remembered thinking that you were kinda attractive one time when they’d done joint training with your class but she’d been so focused on trying to get through the exercise that she hadn’t really had the time to admire you.

You were so much more gorgeous than she remembered.

A blush had crept up to your cheeks. Perhaps you’d been expecting her to write back and ask more questions or arrange a meeting. If nothing else, you certainly hadn’t expected your little plan to end like this.

Kendo smiled kindly and patted your shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it.” With that, she raised a hand and walked off. That was the big-sister figure of class 1-B for you.

“Uh, hi.” And the award for the most award greeting goes to… Kyoka Jirou! At least she’d managed a small smile in an attempt to not look so scary. After all, you were looking like a deer in the headlights.

You managed to nod a little. “H-hey.”

It was then that the heroine’s eyes landed on the items scattered around you. She’d noticed the drawing utensils at first because of their colours against the green grass. Now she noticed what they were sat upon. It was a sketchbook and, on the page, she could just about make out various compositions for the piece you’d just executed.

“Did you draw all of those for this?” She breathed.

You nodded. “Sorry if it was a bit much… I didn’t really think my doodles were actually affecting someone else until this lunch. Shiozaki knew I was going to be drawing and when she saw you all getting excited about a soulmate tattoo she phoned Kendo and well…”

Moving forward, Jirou crouched and sat down on the grass in front of you. “No, it’s really cool. I like your drawings. You’ve got a talent.”

A blush crept up your cheeks. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Were you planning on writing that message regardless of who was going to see it?”

You shook your head. “Not particularly. I was going to write something different. I was going to write ‘Keep Smiling’ as a sort of positivity boost for my soulmate regardless, but when they said it was you…”

Kyoka found herself grinning slightly as you whined and hid your face in your hands getting too embarrassed to finish your sentence.

“I’ve had a crush on you since we did the training together.” Your muffled voice came out. “I thought it was bad… to crush on someone when it might’ve been my fate to be with someone else.”

She blinked in surprise. Had you liked her even without the soulmate system?

“Would you have said anything even if we weren’t soulmates?” She wasn’t sure why the question came out, it just did.

“If I could gather the nerve to confess, probably…” You grumbled and Jiro felt her cheeks warm from that confession.

A smile broke out on her face again. “You’re so punk-rock.”

You blinked then laughed softly and began to pack up your things. “I wouldn’t say that, but sure.”

“You’re totally badass!” She exclaimed catching your attention again as you paused from putting your sketchbook in your bag. “Do you remember the Chinese dragon you drew that snaked up your arm that time? That was really cool! And the Day of the Dead design you did on November 2nd last year with the cool decorative skulls?”

You nodded, recalling the designs. Had she really paid that much attention to your drawings? Gosh, those would look terrible if you saw them again now. Old artwork was often cringe-worthy albeit occasionally funny. It probably looked better in memory than it would physically. Thank goodness.

“You… really liked them that much?” You asked quietly, watching as she nodded. A smile crept across your face, lighting up your features. “Then I’d be happy to draw on you every so often. It’d be cool if I could draw on someone else. I’m sure it’d look a lot better!”

Jirou grinned back and agreed that she’d love that. How lucky she’d been to meet you today! She’d definitely thank Kendo and Momo when she next saw them. As the two of you sat underneath the tree, beginning to discuss your hobbies and get to know one another, she couldn’t help but let the happiness that was brewing in her fill her being to the core. Her cheeks even began to ache slightly from the fact that she couldn’t stop smiling with you.

She couldn’t help but watch the way your eyes sparkled as you spoke about being a hero and your dreams. Art was a hobby you used for stress relief just as she used music. Both of you passionate creatives in your own areas but able to understand and enjoy the dream of the other.

She’d found her soulmate and she’d been so blessed with someone so talented and kind.

As lunch came to an end and the two of you needed to get back to your respective classrooms, Jirou quietly gave you a small kiss on the crown of your head before waving goodbye; a promise on her lips that she’d see you again soon for that tattoo.

So in the shelter of your tree, away from prying eyes, you touched the spot on your head and smiled to yourself.

What a wonderful thing that had begun to bloom in front of your eyes. And this was only the beginning.

#jirou kyouka #kyoka jiro #kyoka jirou #mha #my hero academia #my hero academa x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #oneshot #fluff #bnha #bnha x reader #jiro kyoka

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jazzarray · 6 years

Text

Riju Production Post

So I’m mostly doing this for my own references (and as a reminder to take more pictures while working on costumes for proper progress posts/threads), but I just wanted to take the time and put together a post on my process and methods while working on my fave cosplay to date, Riju from Breath of the Wild!

This post will be really photo heavy. And text heavy. Just heavy overall, so watch out on mobile (sorry ahead of time) -

WARNING for hand closeup in the last image, scopophobia,

First things first, I gathered as many reference images as I possibly could. I went into the game itself and used nintendo’s handy dandy screen shot feature to take some pics. I also lurked around online in various boards and things to see if anyone else had taken some good detail shots of things I had missed. Here are some that i found the most useful:

Full body shots are always necessary. This one also gave me the bonus of being able to estimate how many coins to put on her skirt as well as a reference for the print inside of the skit

Much needed detail shots of the armor she’s wearing. I wanted to nail down the shape and dimension of everything as much as i could

And, since I love a good Prop, I had to make the Thunder Helm. The construction seemed maybe not simple but not ridiculous enough that I felt I could confidently reproduce it

Then I decided to do something I had sort of done before, but not to the extent that I did with Riju. I needed to draw everything out, write what materials would be used and where, how much I would need, the techniques I would use, etc. To save space, I’ll link to the post where I uploaded the four pages of breakdown I did for her --> here

I started on her probably later than I should have, around late Feb, March of this year (the con I debuted her at was in May). And then I messed around and didn’t get started on her as soon as I could have even after all my materials were bought. Speaking of which, let’s do a quick materials breakdown and where I got stuff

I bought about 3 yards of a slightly see-through, light weight black knit from Joanns. I was also able to find a heavier cotton blend printed fabric that, from the wrong side mimicked perfectly the pattern on Riju’s inner skirt.

I drafted my own patterns. The top was essentially a slightly bigger sports bra. The skirt I think I just kinda wrapped the fabric around myself and had my sister cut the angle I wanted. I used that piece to cut the inner lining of the skirt.

I hand painted the design on the top with 3d fabric paint. Some of the colors had to be mixed, particularly the gold. And i had to mix them multiple times bc I couldn’t finish it all at once lol. That was a pain.

JSYK, you can mix fabric paint with regular acrylic and it’ll still be just as flexible.

I stretched out the top on a cutting board I had and held it there with wonderclips lol. Bootleg, but it worked

This was also my first time working with bias tape! It’s kinda rough in some sections but it gave the top a really nice finish, i think. I also added some lil shoulder straps on with the rest of the tape I had, just for added support.

Jewelry, Belt, Armor, etc Everything not fabric was craft foam of varying thickness. Everything was either primed with glue/water or was coated with a few layers of plastidip. The detailing on the chest and belt pieces were done with 3D fabric paint

The only pieces not foam or fabric are air dry clay and hot glue casted gems. I made my own silicone mold with pure silicone + corn starch + a bit of baby oil. I think I used oven bake clay for the negatives and just filled those babies with hot glue. Sanded down the sides to get the defined lines I wanted and painted them with nail polish.

The air dry clay pieces coming off of the chest armor were strung together with more invisible thread and kinda shoddily held together with hot glue. But It Worked, Okay?

Everything that needed to be put on that wasn’t clothing (chest armor, jewelry pieces, belt, the petal sash looking thing) was strapped purely with velcro.

The shoes were just a thrifted pair of black heels and I painted the lines on with Angelus brand leather paint (this stuff is godly and a little goes a long way)

Here’s the base of the front of the helm unpainted.

I used 8mm eva sheet foam and 8mm dowels the from TNT Cosplay Supply as well as some basic 2-6mm foamie sheets from any store with a craft sections (I think i got mine from michaels? and some backup 2mm sheets from walmart)

The helm was a bit odd to pattern. I spent a lot of time doodling out shapes in my sketchbook. I made some v elementary templates out of poster board and had a Lot of re-working, especially with the slightly curved base of the front of the helm, the actual mask part. I knew it had to be two pieces because trying to make it one would make the curves at the top wrong potentially. It also gave me a good guideline for the midline of the helm itself for coloring.

Everything was held together with contact cement and shaped with a heat gun. I learned with this project just how pliable even 8mm thick craft foam can get when it’s hot. I reinforced some of the curves by scoring the curves and gluing the cut section back together.

I primed this all with glue/water mix and everything was spray painted that base gold.

I....completely freehanded the non gold sections. I painted the brown of the front of the helm first and then remembered the gold sections going down. I think I tried to sketch out the lines at first and then just went “fuck it” and free handed everything. Took a lot of careful brush strokes and correcting but I think it turned out well.

if you look closely at the pieces with the half question marks on them, you can see where I attempted to correct some lines with hand mixed acrylic and didn’t exactly get the color right lol whoops. It’s only noticable in closeups tho.

The front and back pieces of the helm were held together via velcro. I wanted them to be able to come apart, especially since I knew I was going to travel with it. The whole thing is rather Rigid so it needed some way to be more travel-with-able.

Close up of the Helm. It was extremely light weight, if only a lil awkward to tote around. I made it way too big so it couldn’t even be worn properly lol.

Weirdest snail I’ve ever seen

Base wig was Buttercup in Rust Red by Arda . I also got a bunch of their long wefts in the same color as well as their red jumbo braids. I used their tutorial on how to style a Rapunzel wig as the basis for how to do the braid.

I ruined my first pack of jumbo braid hair and had to order more last second. The wig was one of the last pieces to get done.

As in the rapunzel method, the braid is separate from the base wig and attached with hook/eye closures. It was still really dragging the back of the wig down, but I managed to braid in most of the base hair of the wig into the braid to hide the worst of it. It was so long, it reached all the way to my butt, i was so happy

The styling of the front of the wig was....mostly me winging it again. I knew theoretically what I needed to do -- tease the front bang a bit, add on wefts so that the hairline looked natural. But when I started doing so, I got impatient, like I normally do. To be fair the wig turned out way better than i thought it could given how much of a rush job the hair line and the bump + pinwheels were but hey

Everything got a generous helping of got 2 b glued spray

the side loops were completely separate pieces. I initially intended to sew them into the wig, but it was easier to put on and take off when they were separate

these were fabric hoops i stuffed lightly with pillow batting and, in another rush job, glued some wefts onto the loops. The gold rings were also just craft foam

Aside from the lipstick, I didn’t do the best with my makeup as I could have lol

I didn’t properly plan out what to color my eyebrows with. And covering them up was a serious rush job -- I didn’t practice before hand like I should have so I didn’t get them as smooth as I wanted

I also used....regular lipstick as the color, not even a drying matte, so anytime my hands went near my face (which was often bc of the helm, I had to whip out my mirror to do a smear check

The eye makeup was lipstick as well, but a matte one! It’s colourpop, I can’t remember which shade. The lipstick actually on my lips was a cheap drugstore brand I found at a beauty store.

First pair of ears were i think from Aradani?? I can’t 100% remember; there was a booth at Katsu this year....

Second pair, bc i lost the first pair somehow, was borrowed from a good friend lol

Now I know how to make my own latex ears so that’ll be what I do in the future

Contacts were from Alice and Rabbit’s Shop

I’ve got a decent amount of (what I would/could have done betters)

I need to figure out a better strapping method for the jewelry. The velcro I used was pretty thick and i found multiple scratches where they rubbed against me all day (a couple of em briefly scarred lol)

I wasn’t able to isolate a good enough image for the sand seal emblum that’s actually printed on her skirt. I might just hand paint it on if I can draw a decent enough template

The back piece of the helm, the band that connected to the circle, was...a pain. Since I was in the heat, it lost its shape pretty quickly when not attached to the front part and having to reshape it caused it to crack quite badly.

The aforementioned circular piece also wasn’t as securely connected as it could have been (i’m still trying to figure out what I could have done better. Maybe pins or something through the foam?) and I had to rush to the cosplay repair booth when I got to the con to make sure it didn’t completely rip off.

I found two pairs of black heels and neither of them fit well enough to walk in all day! so I would up taking a bunch of photos in the wrong shoes bc I had switched them out and forgotten to put the actual shoes back on lol.

Practice the makeup!! Practice, practice practice. Especially eyebrow blocking bc mine are pretty thick and bushy and it Did Not work as well the first time lol.

And last but most importantly: GIVE YOURSELF ENOUGH DANG TIME TO NOT RUSH

i was so hesitant to cut into anything, especially the foam, that i wound up working on things down to the wire, aka friday night before I was set to wear Riju.

Take time,especially when doing new things you’ve never done before

don’t be afraid to think outside the box and even reach out to someone, even if they’re a non-cosplayer, for help and ideas because they will probably save your ass (thanks dad)

So here is my little love letter to my Riju cosplay. It’s...admittedly in shambles kind of now. Half of my armor pieces had some bumps or breaks that are repairable but not a priority. The wig is a mess because the back kept tangling on my armor pieces. The band/back of the Helm is also a wreck, cracked to hell and back.

But!! I want better pictures of her, so I want to try and fix her up so I can at least do a decent photoshoot somewhere. I also wanna make a patricia plush! Maybe enter her into a contest??

Only time, patience, and a Lotta Money will tell lol

#jazz says shit #jazz takes pics #cosplay ramblings

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kenjkats · 6 years

Text

Notes Between Strangers (Kenji x F!MC Headcanon)

Another request for a Kenji HC by @aliaisreal ❤ You’re gonna have to tell me where you find these fun FUN prompts!!

Based on this prompt: “We write notes to each other on the desk we share at different times and I never knew who I was talking to until I saw you stay behind after class to write on it and holy shit you’re HOT.”

Note: Hope you don’t mind, it’s easier to HC when the AU is still somewhat linked to their reality, so instead of classmates this is an AU where they’re coworkers, but Alex (Hero name: Asteria) wasn’t put in charge of Kenji and The Grand, so they haven’t met yet.

Note 2: GOD HELP ME this is practically fanfic all the bullets were so long I just clumped them into paragraphs so yeah. Fun fact I used to write. Majored in it even, but haven’t done so in two years, so any measures to convert it from bullet hc notes to fanfic is probably A MESS™ Hope you like at least some of it tho lol

Word count: about 2800 which is RIDICULOUS. If you’ve never heard of a slowburn hc, well here you go.

HC request prompts / HC masterlist

Alex is sitting in the Prescott Industries conference room. She always sits in the same seat near the corner of the room, next to the largest chair in the room where her boss, Grayson is sitting. She’s listening to him talk to a room full of clients and noting down everything that’s happening. Sometimes these things go on for hours and they talk in circles. Alex tends to space out. She absent-mindedly scribbles in the edges of her notebook when this happens: little doodles of stick figures flying and fighting villains shooting fire from their hands, or she writes little notes about how she feels.

I’m tired. This meeting is boring and going nowhere. Wish I was in my tub with a good book right now. Or wine.

“Alex!” Grayson calls out, snapping her out of her daze.

“Yes, Mr. Prescott?”

“Did you get that last part?”

“Yes,” she replies trying not to look flustered, tearing out the sheet of paper with doodles and thoughts on it and placing it in the tiny shelf area the conference room table has underneath, out of Grayson’s sight. By the end of the meeting Alex is so flustered by all the instructions Grayson’s spouting off on their way out of the room that she forgets the piece of paper.

That afternoon Kenji was called up to the conference room to have a meeting with Grayson and a few important figures involved in The Grand’s opening night later that month. He shakes hands all around the table, flashing his signature charismatic grin, and takes a seat next to Grayson in the corner of the room.

He’s absent-mindedly drumming his fingers on the table as he’s listening to the men in suits drone on, when something falls from the table’s shelf and lands in his lap. Curious, he picks it up and reads it under the table, now ignoring Grayson and the others. He smirks to himself, amused by the doodles of whom he recognized to be Asteria, the other hero he’s been seeing running around the city. Kenji looks up and nods along. He answers a question or two to make sure he still looks like he’s paying attention.

He then picks up his pen and scribbles next to the note underneath the hero doodles:

Books get wet you know. Wine’s good. A good Darjeeling tea is even better. ;)

- K

Kenji folds the sheet of paper and returns it to the small shelf, letting it stick out just a little bit in the hopes that it catches its owner’s attention. He’s not sure why he replied. Or signed his name. But he found the writer amusing and honestly, he was bored of this meeting, too.

A couple of days later Grayson calls Alex into yet another meeting in the conference room. Things are getting hectic with preparations for The Grand’s opening. She sits in her usual seat and spots the folded paper peeking out from below the table. Did she leave something there? Unsure and curious, she takes a peek at the note as others take their places around the table.

Alex recognizes what it is the moment she sees her little Asteria sketch and is a little flustered to see that she had left one of her doodle pages in the conference room. She’s about to crumple it up when she notices something new. Alex stares at the words for a few seconds, a little baffled that someone was writing back to her. The corner of her mouth turns upward in amusement. She barely manages to hold in a giggle when she sees a tiny sketch of whom she recognizes to be Talos, wrestling with her doodle of Caleb. Then another of Talos posing with his muscles flexed and grinning.

Amused, she plays along and responds,

I’ll try that. Thanks, stranger. So… Talos fan, huh? Is it the bronze abs?

- A

As the days go by and the opening night of The Grand draws near, the conference meetings become frequent. Alex is usually called in with one group in the mornings, and Kenji with another just before the day ends. To pass the time and to relieve stress, they keep up with the notes. Something about the writer’s humor strikes Kenji, makes him want to play along even more.

Funny! I like Talos more for his shining (get it?) initiative to protect Northbridge. I mean, if we’re talking about sexy heroes I’d say a guy like me would look better with Asteria.

(A doodle of Asteria inside a heart is drawn next to the note)

But more importantly, you noticed Talos’ abs huh? You like those? /:)

- K

Alex blushes at the thought of this stranger being attracted to her. Well he means Asteria, but she is Asteria.

Hah! Let’s just say a classy girl like me can appreciate a sculpted figure. And Asteria’s wayyy out of your league.

She pauses and considers this stranger being so candid with her, and she’s interested in him.

Who are you again anyway?

- A

Kenji smirks to himself at the new message. He’s starting to like this snarky mystery girl.

You wound me! I’m a catch! Better than Talos, even.

(A doodle of a sad-faced Talos with a large X over his abs and a doodle of Kenji grinning, eyes closed and hands on his hips with fireworks behind him sit side by side underneath the note)

And me? Just a company man. Why? You interested, A? ;)

- K

It’s been about 2 weeks of notes now, and Alex wonders how she still lets herself get surprised by this cocky stranger greeting her during morning meetings. She sits there in disbelief again, but can’t help smiling at the little flirtation he’s started. There’s something comforting about the way they banter that Alex had been enjoying during these busy days. She wonders if she should encourage this.

“Alex,” Grayson calls to her, a slight frown on his face, “you’ve been distracted a lot in these meetings lately. Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Shit, she thinks.

“Sorry, Grayson, just a little overwhelmed by all the upcoming things to do on our… to do list,” Alex chuckles awkwardly.

“Yes, there is quite a bit, isn’t there?” Grayson replies, sighing. The conference room empties leaving the two of them. “Well, looks like I need to catch you up. I notice your pad’s blank, and you don’t have your laptop.”

Alex’s eyes dart to the notebook resting on the desk. “Right.”

Grayson pulls his chair in closer to Alex and begins to recap the end of the meeting. Alex is rushing to jot down all the important details, forced to stuff the note from “K” back into the shelf, forgotten.

Kenji is a little shocked, and worried, if he were to be perfectly honest, that he didn’t get a reply when he returned. As confident as he tries to be, his thoughts get the better of him; Maybe she just didn’t have a meeting this week. It’s happened before. Or…was I too forward? That usually works. In person, though. Huh.

The next day Alex hurriedly sits in her spot and searches for a note. She couldn’t find the time to even write back when there weren’t any people in the conference room because lately, there were always people. Or Grayson always needed her. Her hand feels underneath the table and shelf where they’ve started hiding their notes, in case other coworkers used the shelf space, and she lights up when she feels paper. She quickly reads through it before Grayson and the others come in.

The paper was littered with doodles of Talos in various poses with little speech bubbles telling “A” how much he loves her: Talos making a heart with his hands and grinning, or Talos holding out flowers, or Talos baring his chest with the words “I love you” written all over it.

Sorry if I came on too strong. The shameless flirting kinda gets in the way sometimes. But then again maybe you just need to see my pretty face for it all to work? lol I’m kidding. Really, though. Your messages have been the highlight of my weeks.

- K ;)

Alex giggled. She felt a little embarrassed, too, when she realized how much she was smiling by herself. She quickly regained her composure and wrote a response:

Ha. Alright, you’re forgiven… but honestly it wasn’t you. I just got caught up in a lot of work for The Grand. You might have heard of the project? Idk. Things are getting stressful though.

- A

The next days were busy, but it allowed them more frequent chances to pass notes. They both can’t deny that they looked forward to it.

Well! That’s a load off my mind. Couldn’t have the mysterious A mad at me. What would I do during these god-awful meetings?

Huh, you working on The Grand’s opening, too? We must’ve seen each other already. I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep actually. Busy busy.

- K

Riiiight. You, too? We would’ve known though, I mean clearly you sit in my seat soo… you work for Grayson, too, then?

- A

Right. Silly me. The lack of sleep and worrying that you were mad at me must have made it slip my mind. Yeah, Grayson’s my boss. Ok, who are you??

- K

And just like that the notes went from teasing and funny doodles to little comforts from a stranger. Funny doodles that cheered the other up. Little notes of encouragement. A piece of candy stuck to the back now and then. Alex was liking this side of the elusive K. She realized one day when she didn’t receive a note back that these messages were now the highlight of her workdays, too.

Kenji hadn’t been called up for a meeting in a while. He’d been forced to run around town meeting contractors and designers and musicians to get ready for the big night. He wondered whether or not he should drop by and give Grayson an update anyway. At least, just an excuse to drop off a note for A, he thought. It’s weird. He actually misses this girl he’s never even met before. Maybe in the morning, he promises himself.

It’s the day before the opening night and Alex is in the last big meeting. She decides she’ll leave another note. Maybe he just got busy like she did last time there was a lapse in notes, she thinks to comfort herself.

Kenji calls Grayson to tell him he’s visitng.

“Hey I was about to call you in for an early meeting. There are a few things I need to coordinate with you. My assisstant will help you out.”

Kenji comes over in the morning, clutching his note inside his pocket. He lets his eyes casually wander around Grayson’s floor, trying to see if he could spot A. He laughs to himself. You don’t even know what she looks like.

He decides to head over to the conference room where Grayson is already addressing a group of sponsors. Kenji stops in his tracks when he looks up and sees a woman sitting in his usual seat, typing away at her laptop, occasionally glancing upwards at Grayson. Something tells him that this is her.

Kenji loiters outside the conference room for a few moments, looking through the glass walls at “A.” He couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. He watched her, observed the way her dark hair draped her shoulders. Her smooth skin. Seductive eyes. She was perfect.

He knocks on the door and Grayson looks up to greet him, “Ah, Mr. Katsaros, come in! Everybody, this is Kenji Katsaros, the manager of The Grand I recently hired. Ah, Kenji, this is my assistant, Alex, Alex, Kenji.”

Kenji nods to the sponsors, shakes Grayson’s hand, then turns to Alex and shakes hers, lingering for a second. She gives him a confused look.

Just then Majorie peers her head in the door and calls Grayson out. He excuses himself, leaving Kenji next to Alex. The rest of the people in the room take this time to talk amongst themselves, and Kenji seizes his chance. He leans over to Alex who’s typing on her laptop and whispers, “So Alex,” he savors the name on his lips, glad he finally knows what “A” stood for, “you’re self-doodles certainly don’t do you justice.”

And Kenji watches her as her face changes from confusion to wide-eyed realization. He smirks back at her and winks. Grayson reappears before she could say anything else, and Kenji leaves his seat to sit across from Alex, with Grayson now in between them at the head of the table.

Kenji is relishing in getting to tease Alex in person. He’s definitely in his element now. He flashes her flirtatious glances with those gray eyes of his.

Alex is fidgeting in her seat, trying to stop herself from cracking a smile at his teasing or roll her eyes. She tells herself she’ll ignore him, just focus on her notes and Grayson and the meeting, but she can’t help but glance back at him, too. And she can’t help but notice how handsome he was. Those gray eyes were doing things her to her that she shouldn’t be feeling right now.

Kenji excuses himself to go to the bathroom during a lull in the conversation. He maintains eye contact with Alex as he stands up and turns to leave, slyly smirking as he went.

Kenji takes this chance to make a move. He’s always been one for surprises. He makes his way towards Grayson’s office, looking around for a sign of where Alex’s office or desk might be. He finds a nameplate on a desk in a smaller office outside of Grayson’s, and sneaks in. Kenji picks up a piece of paper and a pen, scribbles something then leaves it right in the center of her desk.

After the meeting is dismissed Kenji hangs back to walk with Alex and Grayson.

“So Kenji, you excited for the opening night tomorrow?” Grayson asks, taking on a more conversational tone.

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, but his eyes settle on Alex who tries to avoid eye contact while holding back a smirk, “Would it be cool if I brought a date?”

Alex’s eyes dart towards Kenji, an indiscernible look on her face. Kenji smirks in response, but speaks to Grayson, “she won’t get in the way of my duties, don’t worry. But showing off The Grand would be an impressive date, don’t you think?”

Grayson laughs and nods, “Of course. Go ahead.”

He glances at his watch and excuses himself, “Sorry, I’ve got another meeting to get to before the day ends. Alex, would you mind showing him out?”

“Not at all,” she replies.

When Grayson leaves she turns to Kenji and they hold eye contact for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“You are ridiculous! I can’t believe you!” Alex exclaims, giving Kenji a playful shove.

“Sorry! Couldn’t help it. Was too good a chance to pass up,” he says laughing.

They laugh it off for a bit and make remarks about seeing each other for the first time. They don’t admit it but they’re both in awe of the other.

“Hey so, you’re not my boss, right?” Kenji asks her, as they ride down the elevator.

“Nope. So?”

“So I don’t have a date for tomorrow.”

“I thought you said you had a–”

“I asked if I could bring one, not that I had one,” he smirks. They reach the ground floor and Alex walks him to the door, excited at where the conversation is headed, but trying her best to keep cool.

“Well then,” Kenji says with a grin, “see you around, Alex.”

He turns to leave and gets on his motorcycle. Alex stands there in disbelief, her expectations shattered. All she can do is laugh to herself.

“Unbelievable,” she murmurs, making her way back upstairs.

Alex walks over to her desk, still scolding herself out of embarrassment for expecting something from Kenji, when she spots a piece of folded paper neatly placed on he center of her desk, and a large “-K” written on the outside. She huffs at the sight of it .

She opens the note to find a phone number and, written in large letters:

Be my date tomorrow, A? Call me.

(A quick and messy doodle of Talos winking is scribbled in the corner)

Grinning from ear to ear and shaking her head in disbelief, Alex dials in the number and calls.

“Yo,” Kenji picks up almost immediately.

“So I saw the note.”

“And?” he says playfully.

“And you’re gonna pay for that little stunt.”

“Promise?”

“You’re absolutely unbelievable.”

Kenji laughs, “I know. Pick you up tomorrow at 8?”

#kenji katsaros #kenji x mc #choices hero #playchoices #hc #kenji hc #hc request #request #why did i write such a thing i hate writing i said i'd never do it loool #ugh this feels like shit #but ok #cause this took me a w e e k

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gloomy-goober · 7 years

Text

What’s in a Name?

Creativity realizes something while watching Thomas audition. Why don’t they have names?

BONUS - Very Vigilant V

Middle school was bringing a whole new world of excitement into Thomas’ life. New friends, no interests, new feelings. It had also started to change things among the three sides that lived in his mind space.

Logic had taken to wearing a normal vest instead of the sweater made one. The smart side has started to become a little less cheerful and more focused on his work. Heart started to switch between a cardigan over a t-shirt and his normal sweater. The emotional side had been going through many mood swings; one moment he could be smiling and the next wanting to cry. It was very odd.

Creativity had not changed much. He still was dressed in his Peter Pan costume and refused to wear shoes. He had gotten taller and it showed with how high his shorts were getting. He did not have time to update his own wardrobe because there was a more important job to focus on. One being that Thomas had signed up for Theater.

The side was always at attention every time Thomas did something for this new passion. More than often the other two would find him on the couch in the main hub watching the outside world as Thomas practiced. Heart would sometimes join him but would get distracted and go do something else.

Today was one of those days where Creativity was glued to the screen alone in the hub. It was, after all, a big day for Thomas. Today was the auditions for the school musicals and Thomas needed his creative side’s full attention.

The pre-teen watched as Thomas squirmed in his seat as he waited for his name to be called. That had been happening a lot lately. Thomas had been nervous for many things. Talking to people, doing something, and going up on stage.

The squeak of a door dragged Creativity’s attention away from the screen to look around the room. Nothing seemed off. The door to the basement was closed tight, Heart’s door was wide open, and he had not seen anyone leave through the door to the subconscious his kingdom.

The boy frowned and glanced at all the doors one more time before he looked back up at the screen. Thomas was now on stage and seemed to have relaxed a little.

“Hi. I’m Thomas Sanders and today I will be auditioning for the part of...”

Creativity frowned and tuned out the last of the introductory line. A new thought, or idea, began to bubble up inside his head. He wanted to get up and ask one of the older sides about it as soon as he thought it but Thomas needed him.

He focused on the current events in Thomas’ life and hummed along with the solo. His mind halfway on making sure Thomas did an amazing job preforming and the other half on his new and important question.

Thomas had finished his performance and moved fast to sit back down. As soon as the sixth grader on screen took his seat again, Creativity was out of his. The young side had a question to answer. Thomas would survive without his creative side paying extra close attention.

The boy did not catch the slight crack in the basement’s doorway or a tired eye watching him as he left. Even if he did notice that he did not let on that he did. His mind was focused fully on his new idea.

He stumbled into Logic’s room without so much of a greeting and looked at the two sides that sat in there. Heart was upside down with his feet up against the bed and Logic was at his desk with a stacks of paper that resembled Thomas’ homework.

“Hey, kiddo!” Heart dropped the book he had probably been given to entertain himself with, “Thomas done with his big audition? I am sure he did fantastic.”

“Yeah, he did great and all. Naturally,” Creativity could not help but brag; a small pose being given with a dashing smile.

“Yes, well, you and Thomas have been working hard,” Logic said with a nod. “It is to be expected that you did well. I am almost certain that he will get the part.”

“Yeah,” Creativity seemed to bask in the praise but he quickly blinked out of it. The wide smile on his face being replaced with a small frown. “But that is not why I have come in here, though I do love all of this praise. I have an important question to ask.”

Heart rolled over onto his stomach and sat up. His way of saying that the youngest had his full attention. Logic looked up from his papers to give the side at the door the indication he could speak.

Creativity took in a deep breath and stood up straight. He just had to go for it and hope the other two did not question why he thought of this idea.

“Why don’t we have names?”

The silence that usually was part of Logic’s room seemed to become a little more noticeable as the other two stared at the younger child.

Logic fully turned his chair away from his desk and gave the youngest side a confused look.

“We do have names. I am Logic, he is Heart, and you are Creativity.”

“No, no, no!” Creativity shook his head, a frustrated look began to appear on his face, “I mean like actual names.”

Logic fixed his glasses; obviously annoyed with being told no. “Those are our actual names,” he pointed out.

“We aren’t not following you, C,” Heart said with some kind smile.

“I mean, like, how Thomas is called Thomas. If we are kind of people why do we just label ourselves instead of naming ourselves,” Creativity turned in a circle with his hands waved in the air as if that would help his point. “We don’t call Thomas, host or human, for Jiminy Cricket’s sake!”

“We have never needed a ‘name’ before. Our labels have been good enough,” Logan stated slowly, “They categorize us and make it easy for someone to know what our functions are.”

“But we are the only three here,” Heart said in a tone that just screamed he was going to Creativity’s side. “And as much as I love calling you Logic, I do like this idea Creativity is giving us. It would even be fun to make up human names!”

“That is the spirit, Heart!”

“But...but we don’t need names!” Logic tried to argue, “I...I mean, why change something? Heart, you always get confused when something changes.”

“But why not do something because it sounds fun?” Hear countered back, “I think coming up with a cool name would be really fun. Think of all the pun-ortunities!”

Creativity smiled brightly. He was happy Heart was on board with his new idea.

“You don’t have to choose a new name if you don’t want to, Logic,” Creativity said with a kind smile, “But you are going to be missing out on all the fun me and Heart are going to have trying to find one.”

The kind smile turned into a smirk and Logic bristled under it. The creative side started to count down slowly to when the smart side would snap and join the side of human names. It would be any...minute...now...

“Fine,” Logic said with a dramatic huff and stood from his chair, “But I am only joining because you two will not know the complex meanings in names and will need assistance researching to choose the perfect ones that would suit you.”

“What about...Peter?” Heart’s finger thumped down onto the name in the book he had in front of him and he looked at the green clad side expectantly.

“Boring,” Creativity answered back with a sigh. They had been at this for hours. He had thought that choosing a name would have been a fun exciting thing but so far it was just dead ends and faces at everything that Heart suggested.

“How is it boring?” The emotion based side asked, “You are dressed like Peter Pan I would think it would be the most suited for you, C.”

Creativity shrugged and finished the drawing of a dog he had been doodling on the piece of paper that he should have been brainstorming on.

“I just don’t think it suits me. It is boring.”

“I also do not think a name meaning rock would suit him well,” Logic said. The pre-teen sat with his feet up against the table and another book in his lap. He already had a list of names in alphabetical order in front of him; a few them of them crossed off. “He is not really the perfect example of a strong foundation

“Yeah, if it means rock it defiantly is not going to-hey! What does that mean?”

Logic straightened his glasses and pretended to focus on his page.

“Now that was not very nice, Logic,” Heart said with a disappointed look on his face, “Now say you’re-HEY! That is a cool name!”

The side was easily distracted as he wrote down another name onto his sheet of paper. He put a little heart by it and then, with a slam, he closed the book.

“Welp, I’m done.”

“What!?!” The other two looked over at Heart in shock.

“You only wrote one name down,” Creativity pointed out and Heart nodded with a smile on his face.

“How could you possibly know that it is the right one?” Logic questioned.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Heart said dramatically and placed a hand over his chest with a dreamy smile on his face, “And I feel it in my bones that this is the right one.”

Creativity seemed to take this as a good explanation and planted his elbows on the table.

“Alright, so what’s your name?”

Heart opened his mouth to tell the others but Logic quickly muffled him with his hand.

“No! We do not want his decision somehow influencing ours. We will all choose a name and then introduce ourselves once we have chose-EW!” Logic pulled his hand away from Heart’s mouth with a look of disgust. The stuck out tongue told the story perfectly and Creativity had to giggle.

“Really, Heart, that is immature of you.”

“Thank you,” Heart said and slid the book over to Creativity. “I am going to get you two some snacks while you continue to name hunt.”

The eldest hopped from his chair and patted the youngest side on the head before he skipped off to the kitchen. Creativity sighed and looked over at Logic for some kind of help but found the studious side back into action looking through the book of names.

He would get no cure from boredom there so he might as well flip through the book and hope that the name would pop out at him. He needed something that sounded strong and daring. That embodied the creativity that he was. Something that would be as great as he was. Something that showed the passion that he had inside.

Something like...like that!

A small gasp left the boy as his eyes landed on the perfect name that laid buried in the ‘r’ section. It was perfect. All that Thomas had learned and what his ‘heart’ was saying just made that simple little word sing to him.

“I take it you found a name then?” Logic asked. The boy had crossed out a few names he had on his sheet of paper.

“I think I have,” Creativity whispered in delight, “Oh, Logic, when you find yours it is going to fill you up with so much joy.”

Logic made a small noise and went back to crossing out names and erasing somethings on his paper. Honestly, Creativity thought that the logical side was putting way too much thought into this simple task but he knew saying something would not do any good.

“I’m going to go help, Heart,” Creativity said, “Meet us in the hub when you are done, okay?”

“Yes. Yes, have fun and all that.”

The youngest chuckled and skipped out of the room; his new name playing over and over again in his head like a happy song. He could not wait to tell the others.

It seemed to take ages for Logic to finally come out of his room. In the time it took for the side to show his face Creativity and Heart had consumed one and a half plates of cookies and watched all of Sleeping Beauty. It was the only thing they could do to not blurt out their new names to each other.

Logic’s appearance made them both sigh outwardly in relief. The poor composed side did not have a chance to balance himself as he was dragged into their hastily made pillow fort.

“Finally you are here, nerd!” Creativity said with a laugh, “We thought you died from trying to choose the most obscure name in the books.”

“Yes, well, it was a hard decision,” Logic said as he straightened his bow-tie and glasses back to their normal position. “I was stuck between the meaning of a name and the possible pathway from a meaning to a name. In the end I think I chose the correct one.”

“Cool,” Heart said and crossed his legs, “So who is going first?”

They all glanced at each other. A wave of nervousness went over them all as they stared. Out of the corner of Creativity’s eye he could have sworn he saw something small and dark creep out towards the entrance of the hallway but he was not certain if it was just the blanket or something else.

He started to turn to look but Logic pulled his attention back to the moment at hand.

“Well, since no one is volunteering I guess I shall go first.” The boy sat up straighter and smoothed out his pants before holding out a hand for either of them to take.

“Hello, I am Logan,” he glanced away from the two, “I chose this name because of the term Logos which means the logical side of an argument. Also, I am quiet found of my normal title.”

His hand stayed suspended in the hand for a few second but for the nervous side it seemed to be agonizing hours. Finally, Heart took the hand and shook it with a bright smile on his face.

“Nice to meet you, Logan!”

“Yeah,” Creativity leans back against one of the pillows, “It suits you; its nerdy.”

“Thank you? I think?” Logan’s face dusted pink from embarrassment and he pulled his hand free of Heart’s grip. He tried to act like that had not been the scariest thin in his life but it did shake him some.

The pre-teen took in a deep breath and turned his head back to face the other sides.

“Alright, who is next? Don’t make me call on someone.”

Creativity grinned brightly and jumped up from his pillow seat.

“You asked for it and here I am. The one, the only,” He struck a pose; one hand up flamboyantly and the other across from that to make a small frame. “Roman Sanders!”

“Roman,” Logan said the name slowly with an approving nod, “Interesting choice. I suppose you chose that because of Romance or Romantic seeing how that plays into most fanciful dreams and is the leading theme in princess movies?”

“No? I kind of was thinking about the Roman Empire and how it was really awesome,” Roman said with a snort, “I mean, they were grand and dramatic and everyone knew about them. They owned the whole world!”

“No they didn’t.”

“But that is a cool way to think of it too,” Roman finished as if Logan had not said anything. With a showy bow he flopped back onto the pillows.

Heart clapped his hands and pulled Roman into a tight hug. “Well I think that is an amazing name, kiddo! Really suits you.”

“Yes, yes. Took me forever to find the shoe that fits,” Roman waved him off, “But now it is your turn, Heart. Tell us the name. Tell us the name.”

“Alright. Alright,” Heart chuckled and ruffled the youngest’s hair. The pre-teen took in a breath and waits a moment for some tension before he let the name out into the air for the first time.

“Patton!”

“Patton?” Creativity said a little shocked.

“Oh, like Pathos. The form of argument used to invoke an emotional response,” Logic countered back with a stunned but pleased look on his face.

Patton laughed and looked at Logan confused, “What? I just chose it because I could make some Pat jokes. Like ‘Someone needs a Patton the back’ or ‘let’s play a game of Patton-ca-OH MAN I SHOULD MAKE THAT AN ACTUAL GAME!”

The heart squealed and hugged Logan tightly. “Logan, can you go find me some tennis rackets?”

“Why?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Roman interrupted them and looked at the two of them confused, “You both are missing something really weird that just happened.”

“We are?” Patton looked around the pillow covered hub but he was not seeing what they were missing.

“Yeah, you are. How in this small world did we manage to choose names that ended similarly without telling each other?”

Logan frowned and tapped his chin. “That is odd...”

“Yeah,” Patton said with a small frown but brightened back up quickly, “I guess that just means we are a super duper close family! Group Hug!”

The side reached over and pulled Roman into the embrace. The happy side humming in delight with having the two others close.

“Roman.”

The side in question turned his head to look at the one that said his new name. He was a little surprised that it was Logan that said it. The smart side glanced away nervously before looking directly at the creative one.

“This was a good idea.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes,” Logan said with a small nod, “I do.”

#my fic #fic #'A' fic #Sanders sides #thomas sanders #the Fam ILY #Roman Sanders #Roman #Prince #Patton Sander #Patton #Morality #Logan Sanders #Logan #Logic #Virgil #Virgil Sanders #Anxiety #unedited

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frogsandfries · 4 years

Text

I'm tired of coming off as a dyke

And I'm not sure if I should be apologetic about using that word. I don't mean it derogatorily against anyone, I just mean to express that sometimes my wardrobe comes off as confusing to people and I giving refuse to buy my fourth coat in five years ((critical detail, I LIVED IN THE DESERT FOR ONE YEAR)). Like, it's not like my coats wear out that quickly. It is solely, exclusively that my dad is magically less responsible than I am.

Point being, I bought some shrink sheets. I'm not entirely sure if I can put them in the printer, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to try. I don't own colored drawing media and I'm not interested in doing so, plus, I've already started drawing my templates on my tablet, but I'd also love to turn this sticker sheet I found online into a bunch of pins. I don't remember who made it.

I guess I could easily just print the outlines and buy..... like, markers or something? I work at a lumber yard; it wouldn't be that hard to bring home sand paper, but at this point, it would be turning into too much effort. I just want to print a few sheets of cute things and bada-bing, bada-boom, pins!

But of course, then again, I did buy the giant pack of shrink sheets, sooooooo..........I mean, I have a history of genuinely meaning to commit to projects that I enjoy, and then just moving on...... At the same time, a) I've been meaning to make some pins, b) I intend to make multiples on a theme, such as puppy and kitten ice cream cones, and perhaps even in various color palettes. So I've already got some pin backs, and sure, I intended them for polyclay pins, but these are definitely easier to reproduce, whether or not I can print them, and they're easier to protect.

Toward the end of my night, I kind of got sloppy and starting piling layers of scribbles of the usual doodle friends, turning off layers and continuing to add and turn off layers, so at some point, I'll have to deal with that.

I would kind of like to do something similar to what Baylee Jay did in her shrink plastic video, maybe make a full-sheet piece, whether or not I cut it into a puzzle, maybe I could make the pieces into a bracelet or something; just to get an idea of how far the plastic shrinks. I was referencing the "stickers" that I printed earlier this summer (and then ended up not wanting to cut them all out using scissors but not having money for a new X-acto handle or a cutting mat), and if the plastic shrinks like I'm expecting, I think I would be happy with the size they would be. I think it will take some trial and error to get my pins the right size, and that's assuming I can even use the printer to print on the shrink paper.

If not...............I really don't know............

Edit: I did some more research because of course I did. It doesn't look like it can be printed on under any circumstances, but of course, I'm always like, step aside fools! Let a real fool show you how it's done!! And then sheepishly give in to defeat about 97% of the time.

So maybe I'll just.......... idk, buy some colored pencils, just some regular ole Crayola, and print my many, many sheets of eventual doodle friends. I dunno, I feel a little misled, but I also did not do my due diligence. Maybe some coloring action could be fun. I could still trace those sticker designs that I want.

Most likely not being able to print on it just turned this from a project into a Project!™ But I can still totally have fun with this.

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explorerezreal · 7 years

Text

The Final Post (For real.)

[[ Hey guys.

As everyone knows, I officially retired this blog in December of 2016 after three great years of roleplaying in the League of Legends community. However, it just occurred to me that I have an unfinished piece of writing that I had been working on for NaNoWriMo 2015 that I never released. This original Ezreal origin story will be the final post on this blog, and my final gift to all of you wonderful people. I hope you enjoy! Love always, Ezruul @w@

Initium

Written for NaNoWriMo 2015

This writing is purely a work of fiction. And by that, I mean fanfiction. Sorry guys, I’m not creative enough for anything else!

That being said, I don’t own League of Legends or any characters or specifically named locations mentioned. That honor goes to Riot Games Inc.

I wish to give thanks to my community for your undying support and faith in my writing.

I don’t remember how it started.

I remember when I figured out that everything was complete and utter bullshit, though. It was an early Tuesday, and I’d once again been reprimanded for doodling my ink-dipped quill pen all over the piece of blank parchment that had been thrust in front of me and expected to be covered in notes involving complicated mathematics that were supposed to aid in techmaturgical blueprints for future energy-saving devices that would be built across the entire City of Progress. The instructor took it upon himself to crumple the start of a shoddy ebony labyrinth that I’d created and mercilessly dump it in the trash bin beside me before handing me a new sheet, an exasperated sigh splitting his lips as he did so.

“Do you think maybe one of these days you’ll actually take notes instead of drawing all over everything, Mister Forcher?” he spoke with an edge, clearly on his last nerve with me despite it being my first lesson of the day. Good morning, indeed. Despite being a mere seven years old, my young tongue had already garnered its fair share of teeth marks from being bitten back so many times, and although I tried to make myself move, I’m not sure anything happened on my face. Or body, really. All I knew was that this thing I was in. This damn school. This damn stuffy classroom…

Had been suffocating me as though it were a toxin-filled gas from the very beginning.

Prodigy. That’s what they’d called me. I had heard the word so many times in my young life but I never got to really understand what the meaning was until I’d turned five and was placed into an educational environment that far surpassed anything that a normal child should experience. Other so-called prodigies littered the shining halls, but none as young as me. Hell, some were even university-age and beyond, but considering where it was, this wasn’t exactly surprising, though I’m sure it was a definite blow to their egos. At first, I was carefree. I of course knew I’d be starting school soon. It sounded like fun in my inexperienced head. My parents’ instructions and newfound rules were very clear, though. Instead of attempting to make friends with the neighbors and playing out in the grass, dirt and concrete beneath the dim illumination of the aged hexlight that lay just at the end of our street, I would have to study. Hard.

“You’re giving up scraped knees for papercuts.” Is what they’d say to make me feel better when my skinny fingers had grown tired of constantly turning pages and attempting to make sense of words that even my above average mind couldn’t yet comprehend. On a particularly warm day when the glare of the sunlight showed itself through the window, I found myself entranced with the red-orange swirled horizon instead of the technological banter in front of me, and the possibility of what lay beyond the walls of the only place I’d ever known captivated me like no other feeling ever had.

I wanted to be out there more than anything.

“Ezreal.”

The sound of my name was like an unexpected clap of thunder, and my small form quickly whipped around to face the textbook, again and at one point, I fantasized that it was the book itself that had spoken to me, but I’d know my father’s stern tone anywhere. I wrinkled my lips and shrank back, waiting for the inevitable.

“Please stop looking outside, Ezreal. You know why you have to do this, right? You’re a prodigy. Act like one. Your education is costing us good gold and the sooner you apply yourself and realize your potential, the better it’ll be for everyone.”

I didn’t know what this word, “potential,” was. But it sounded neat. I rolled the word over and over again in my head, considering what letters went where in its spelling. Potential.

“Potential.” I repeated out loud, nodding my tousled blonde head as I fingered the word of the book I’d stopped at, my eyes brightening with a soft, golden hue; a side-effect of the magic that lay running within my veins alongside the blood. When my father left the room, with a yawn, I’d continue to sneak peeks through the window, each glance checking to see how far the sun had gone down since I last looked. I still wanted to be outside, but wondering what was beyond the glistening white towers of Piltover wasn’t going to help me reach my potential.

I continued studying dutifully in the best ways I possibly could over the next two years, but it didn’t take long before I soon became restless, and my mind would always revert back to subjects that were far, far more interesting. I didn’t have a word for this particularly warm feeling that had settled itself in the pit of my stomach, but as I grew older, I discovered it.

Wanderlust.

It was this lust for wander that had compelled me to begin scribbling onto that sheet of paper that my instructor had thrown away, and it was also what caused me to once again start doodling instead of taking notes or focusing on what was being said in the classroom. The stale words seemed drowned out by the wondrous and vibrant images that took shape in my imagination, and I daydreamed of being somewhere else. Somewhere dark and full of danger. Somewhere unknown that had been quietly itching to be discovered. I dipped the end of my pen into the ink and started making one full line down, but before I even finished the first stroke, the instructor was back, his eyes showcasing that the last of his patience had been drained away.

“If you’re not going to pay attention, Mister Forcher, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Again.” He said, and I could feel the eyes of the other students, particularly those of the much older ones, burning into every piece of me like small branding irons. Some were apathetic, but most were annoyed. Confused. Angry. Possibly even moreso than the instructor himself. Because they didn’t understand how someone as apparently gifted as I was wouldn’t take advantage of the situation that I’d been dealt. I did not speak my response, and instead, I gathered up the leather satchel that had been slung over the back of my chair and departed the room in silence, hungry for the fresh air that would greet me outside of the stuffy walls.

The door clicked behind me, and I could hear the expected sigh from behind it, and then more words. Words that I had absolutely no desire to hear. I started walking, counting the number of times my boots crunched on the leaves as I made my way to my favorite place in the entire esteemed techmaturgical academy; a rock beneath a tree with a weather-stained bench surrounding it. Flopping my satchel atop the bench, I dug my fingers into the pockets and produced a tiny, spiral-bound book with a piece of charcoal hanging from a string attached to the center of the spine. This book was blank, aside from an assortment of sketches that I’d drawn from various areas around the campus. Since I wasn’t doing any assigned work, drawing and sketching was how I preferred to pass my time at school.

Despite my young age, I wasn’t an idiot. I’d stopped officially doing work weeks ago, and it was only a matter of time before my parents found out. I had to tell them eventually, though, that I wasn’t sure that this whole prodigy thing was really for me. When I had done the work that was expected of me, it was forced and passionless, but I’d always assumed that one day I’d realize that this was what life had in store for me. That I’d learn to love and appreciate it. But instead, every textbook I’d ever received had just made me more listless and bored.

I raised my head and took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the spring-laced oxygen. It felt cool, warm, clean, and dusty all at once. I sneezed with force, and following that, the metaphorical hunger in my stomach pleaded to be noticed as though it had physically punched me. I swallowed hard, then looked down at the sketch I’d been absentmindedly creating with the sharpened end of my charocal. It wasn’t a fantastic sketch by any means. All it was was a crude likeness of one of the leaves that had been sitting there before I’d even made the walk to the bench and invaded its personal space.

I could draw rocks and hallways and leaves all day if I wanted. Despite every leaf looking different, the overall environment was the same. And it, unfortunately, was one that I already knew. I took another breath, and then closed the sketchbook, letting the wind ruffle my hair as though it were comforting me from the troubling thoughts that were bubbling inside me. I closed my eyes, allowing it to soothe me.

Then I looked toward the sky and realized that this was never going to get better. I just simply didn’t have the drive for science like so many other Piltovians did, and I couldn’t just choose to ignore it, could I? Maybe I could. It wasn’t too late to start doing assigned work again and actually making an attempt to pay attention in lectures. I was only seven. I had a lot of time ahead of me, didn’t I? Surely I’d figure it out when the time arose, and at this point, it was probably better to just not say a thing.

My imagination caused my father’s voice to touch the sensitive insides of my ears as though it were being carried on the breeze, and my muscles bunched up beneath my skin as though an icy chill had just overcome my small body. “Your education is costing us good gold.”

I put the sketchbook back into my satchel, slipped it over my shoulder, and soundlessly crept away from the bench, heart lightly fluttering in my throat. The last thing I wanted to do was the walk of shame all the way back to the classroom that I’d been kicked out of, so that only left one other place: the university library. No, I couldn’t go there, either. Libraries were quiet, and being surrounded by silence would only make my own thoughts louder, which was something that I most definitely did not want.

If I didn’t go to the library, the only choice left was home. Maybe if I slowed my stride enough, I’d arrive there at the same time I would if I’d gone to class and no one would suspect a thing. No, that was stupid. I’d almost forgotten it was still morning, and it wouldn’t take more than an hour for me to get back, even if I avoided using the small city paths that I’d discovered that cut the already short time in half. I’d always been good at finding directional shortcuts even when the route was already easy, but I of course had no idea how this would influence my life until a great bit later.

Again, I was internally conflicted, and I blew air out of my lungs in such a way that if anyone were around, they would have seen how intensely frustrated I was, which would prompt the more curious ones to ask why a child was seemingly so stressed. Venting to a stranger sounded nice and all, but everyone around here knew who I was, and if I’d openly shared what was ailing me, I had no doubt it would get back to my parents in some way, and that was a risk that I couldn’t afford to take.

I raised my blue eyes toward the sky that almost perfectly mirrored the shade and set off without a direction in mind, my small hand clutching to the strap of my satchel to keep the weight steady across my meek shoulder. I had no idea where I was going or where I’d end up, but the thought of getting lost had always been somehow comforting. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew how to get back to the university from any place in the entire city. Considering how tall the glistening argent pillars of the entrance were, it would really be hard to miss, even from a distance. Before long, I’d passed said pillars and came into the sight of returning students whom were ascending the steps in an almost synchronized manner, and I could see the way their eyebrows raised upon seeing me.

I lowered my head and brushed through them as though they were invisible and continued my trek, though their whispers were louder than I think they’d intended them to be.

“Shouldn’t he be in class right now? That kid’s gonna flunk.”

“He’s never in class.”

“I wonder why? Maybe he has a tutor at home?

“I don’t know. No one really d-…”

Part of me still thinks that to this day, they’d done that on purpose to get my attention and to possibly gather some information about my recent lack of attendance in the classroom, but I guess I can add it to the list of things I’ll never really know or have an answer for. All I could really do now was hope that they wouldn’t tell or that a teacher or someone of importance wouldn’t see me leaving the campus. I raised my head and darted my gaze left to right. A bird trilled in the distance. All clear as far as I could see.

For some reason, this made me grin. I remember the muscles in my cheeks turning up and me being unable to get rid of it. Maybe it was a good thing. Frowning would just draw more outward attention to the conflict within, right? If I looked happy, no one would ever suspect anything. That is, unless they too realized that I was supposed to be in class at this hour like any other typical student. I breathed in, feeling the air stretch my lungs, and then my feet were moving again, carrying me away from the university like a big burly savior, but this time, it wasn’t just a walk.

It was a sprint.

I still don’t know why I briskly moved as though a beast had been chasing me, but by the time I got to the next street over, my mouth was open and I was panting, my cheeks flushed with a dark coral tint. On the opposite side of the concrete sidewalk, I could see fellow Piltovians standing around and the distant chatter of what was probably an attempt at meaningful conversation, but my focus was swiftly drawn elsewhere. I’d been down this street a number of times before, but I’d never noticed that far off in the distance to the right there seemed to be an area that looked, well…closed off.

I squinted. It wasn’t new, and I’d realized that. The shadowy area had been there the entire time. But why had I never felt so compelled to look over there until this very moment? It didn’t make sense, but then again, I’d never had the best attention span, and really, I still don’t. Wrinkling my nose, I began a steady stride once more, wondering if anybody would see me, a child to normal eyes, attempting to enter what was possibly a forbidden and dangerous area. There weren’t any signs telling me to keep out, though, so I assumed it was alright.

Regardless, I flattened myself against the aged brick wall, holding my breath as though making any noise at all would cause me to burst into flames and then fade into nothingness. I took one step forward, then another, almost as though I was floating toward the darkness and acting like it was a bright beacon instead of a dreary shroud. My shoe crunched on the cracked, uneven cement, and I realized right then that whatever was over here had been there so long that the floor was literally crumbling.

I couldn’t see past the darkness, of course, but I could somewhat make out what looked like a really large circle in the back corner. A hole? Or a covering for a hole? At the current distance I was at, I couldn’t tell. But I wanted to know. Needed to know. I took another step against the crumbling ground, but the sound of gravel separating beneath me was drowned out by the loud gasp that had abruptly slid down my throat and the feeling of being flung back by my collar. The world spun for a few seconds before I realized what had happened and whipped around, my eyes wide with surprise. Someone had stopped me from venturing onwards. Someone had tugged me back into the light of the City of Progress.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the man got there before I did.

“Now just what on Runeterra did you think you were doing over there, young man?” the tall stranger asked me, his lips pressed together into a tight frown and his arms crossed to his chest. He seemed huge. Towering, even. But it’s not like that was really a feat when it came to being compared to me. I knew I should probably be scared by a dark-haired menace, but I wasn’t. At all. In fact, I crossed my arms right back at him, though my motions weren’t as fluid considering I had the weight of my satchel on my shoulder.

“Exploring.” I answered simply, suddenly realizing with each passing second that maybe this stranger wasn’t as old as I’d first assumed he was. Tall, yes, but he had a boyish face and a youthful physique. Teenager, I decided. Not grown up. Possible threat, regardless, though. “I was gonna explore that shadowy place over there. What’s over there? Do you know?”

There was no harm in asking, right?

The young man rolled his eyes, then looked over me and narrowed his icy blue gaze into slits, behaving as though he too had known all about the mysterious area in the close distance but had never really thought about what exactly it was. He put a gloved hand to his smooth chin and lightly rubbed, his voice vibrating with a low hum as he pondered, pulling his thoughts between what whether it was right to indulge me or simply leave me to wonder. He then turned toward me, and his face softened, making him look even younger.

“They say that the tunnels of ancient Piltover before it became civilized are down there. No one’s ever gone down into the sewers to take a look, though, so I don’t know if it’s true.” He said, his broad shoulders rising and then quickly falling again as he shrugged, arms still crossed. “It’s honestly probably just an old city rumor. Nothing a kid your age should be concerned with, and definitely not something you should be trying to get into. You could have fallen down and gotten seriously hurt, you know.”

His gaze hardened again, and I pursed my lips, then snorted. Really, it was a terrible thing this young man had done, giving me this kind of information. My already intense curiosity was suddenly severely heightened, and I hoped it wasn’t evident on my face. I wrinkled my nose, trying not to smile.

“Are you gonna be called a hero then? For savin’ me even though I didn’t really even do anything or get hurt? I was just lookin’, honest!” I said, putting my small palms up toward him as though surrendering for a terrible crime. My neck was starting to ache from where my shirt’s collar had been violently pressed against it during my “rescue”, but I didn’t think it would be enough to leave any sort of mark. Boy, would that have been hard to explain.

The dark-haired teen smiled and I could see his straight teeth were a flawless, pearly white. He certainly looked like a hero, and I wondered if it were true. My eyes must have become as round as a supper saucer or something, because he laughed, and then reached forward to place his large hand atop my flaxen head, rubbing it as though he had known me for years and this was simply a thing that we’d both come to know and expect from the other.

“Maybe. Though I don’t think anyone was around to see my so-called heroic deed.”

I glanced around the young man to see that his words were true. How was it possible that there had been so many people walking around just minutes prior and now it was only the two of us as far as the average eye could see? I certainly hadn’t gone out that far, had I? Unless I horribly misjudged the distance between the civilized street and the darkened corner and was so entranced I’d paid no mind to just how far I’d walked.

I turned my focus back up to the teenager and shrugged, absentmindedly adjusting the strap on my satchel; a habit I was sure to never break. “Good. I’m gunna go back now, then. Won’t be goin’ over here again. Too dangerous, like you said. Don’t wanna get any scraped knees or look for any gross underground tunnels.” What a lie. I brushed past the other boy’s shoulder when I felt the pressure of a hand atop my own, rightfully stopping me. I turned around again, my thin brows furrowed and my expression visibly annoyed.

“You’re really weird.” The teenager said. “Like…really, really weird. I have no idea why a kid your age would even be out here alone in the first place. Much less want to explore something that not even the Piltover protection force will touch without bare hands. What’s your name, anyway? Are you lost? Can I help you get back?”

He looked so suddenly concerned at the possibility that I’d become separated from my parents that I would have felt bad giving him the silent treatment (or lying, really), so I cleared my throat with a small cough before looking up at him once again. Man, he was tall. Even back then, it seemed almost ridiculous just how much height difference there was between us even with the gap in our ages. I huffed, then shook my head side to side, causing strands of light blonde to obscure my vision.

“Name’s Ezreal. And I’m not lost.” I said, my foot slipping back a bit to shake off some of the small bits of dirt that I’d collected on my shoe during my brief venture into the shadows. It wasn’t much. In fact, I would have liked if they’d gotten even dirtier in the midst of my stint. Something about sullying those pristine-looking leather lace-ups was incredibly satisfying. “I was just exploring like I said. And I’m okay! So I’m gunna go back now.”

Something about his tilted head and tension-ridden jawline told me that he’d stopped paying attention to everything I’d said immediately after learning my name, and pinpricks of tension formed in the pit of my belly. Adrenaline throbbed in the back of my neck, and I pondered if running would be a wise thing to do. Why did I tell him my real name? Why didn’t I just lie? It probably would have been a lot easier, considering the teenager now looked as doubly concerned as he did just a few seconds prior to learning that little tidbit.

“Ezreal. The prodigy Forcher boy? The kid that was enrolled at the techmaturigal university at age five?” he asked, spilling the information regarding my young life all over the ground as though it were a handful of small rocks. I bit down on my lip, and if my young mind had known any curse words back then, I surely would have whispered them to myself instead of standing in guilty silence. I inhaled softly, but I was soon cut off by the teen continuing to speak.

“Do you know what time it is? Shouldn’t you be in class? I mean…” He looked down at the rust-colored hexwatch that adorned his thick wrist, but it ended up being upside down, causing him to groan out in frustration as he twisted his arm the other way to right it. “Ten in the morning. Seventeen minutes past the hour. Lectures are in session for most university students right now, and yet I found you out here, trying to get into trouble.” He continued, maneuvering his other hand to press it to my forehead beneath my fringe, feeling for a temperature. “You, uh…you sick, kid? Little warm, there.”

“Magic.” I said, slapping his hand away from me with a weak fist. “Always got a temperature. Mom says it’s because of the magic I was born with or something. I don’t feel sick, though!” I chirped, wondering why I kept talking to this young man when he seemed to know everything else regarding me and my business aside from the fact I was warmer to bare touch than a non-mage would be. He nodded, then gave a thoughtful hum, seemingly satisfied. “Oh, right. I forgot about that. The papers just said you were apparently a genius and seemed to focus on it more than anything else. I forgot about the magic, too. That’s a rarity around here, you know? You should be happy, Ezreal.”

And I should be in school.

“…and in school right now! I’ll walk you back. How about it?”

Called it.

Arguing was futile since he not only knew who I was but also spoiled the fun that I was hopefully going to have in the mysterious dark corner, so I just limply shrugged, which he quickly took as an approval to start walking back in the general direction that I came from, seemingly knowing the way back to the university. I really didn’t want to go back to school, but what choice did I have? At least he didn’t seem like someone who would tell my parents, or anybody, really, about my absence in the classroom and the streak for danger that I seem to have developed in a matter of minutes. I quietly started to follow (quite literally) in his shadow, when he abruptly turned around, almost whacking me in the head with the point of his elbow.

I had never been pleased with my small height until that very moment.

“I’m Jayce, by the way.” He said, finally introducing himself, and to finally have a name to match the face made me feel a little better, but I still couldn’t help but resent him for both putting a dent in my curiosity but also heightening it to levels that I never even thought were possible. Why didn’t the Piltover protection force go down under the city’s ground? Why did the alleged tunnels only have to be a rumor? What if there actually was nothing down there at all and our plane of existence was above a mass of dirt? Or worse, air. Would the city eventually collapse in on itself and become nothingness? Would we become the tunnels?

My head felt like a cyclone with so many questions blowing around in it, but I was at least able to find my voice again before it became apparent that something far more interesting than introductions was taking precedence over everything else. I once again readjusted my satchel strap and forced a smile, but since I couldn’t see it, I’m sure it probably came off as extremely awkward. Despite my youth, I rarely had a true, real smile, and even back then, I knew that was kind of depressing. But, hey, what else could you look like when you’d been forced to study boring textbooks day in and day out?

“Hi, Jayce!” I squeaked, the high, grating pitch causing my face to flush with undisguised embarrassment. Making myself sound deeper would just seem weird and unnatural, though, so I continued on like nothing had happened. Jayce, though, didn’t seem to notice how I sounded and instead just grinned right back at me, and I wondered if maybe what I’d heard was completely different than what he’d heard. I’d hoped so. “Thanks for savin’ me, I guess.”

I wasn’t really thankful for it, but he didn’t need to know that, right?

“No problem.” He answered, tone proud and beaming as though this had been his intention from the start. Maybe it had. Maybe he’d secretly been following me out of boredom and now was making it his self-proclaimed duty to save naïve Piltovian kids that could possibly end up in trouble or bad areas. I could just see him now running back to his home after depositing me back at the university and fashioning himself a spandex onesie with a bathroom towel attached to it. I wanted to laugh out loud at the thought, but then he’d notice and I’d have to tell him, so instead I just bit the insides of my cheeks.

“You should just try not to give into your curiosities like that again, though. The last thing the City of Progress wants is to find out one of their brightest kids got hurt doing something stupid and unavoidable. Your parents wouldn’t be too happy either!”

They’re never happy, anyway, I wanted to say, but my cheeks were still being crushed between my upper and lower rows of teeth, the pressure becoming increasingly painful the longer I held them. It was much more fun when I was trying to avoid laughing. Now I was avoiding speaking altogether, for good reason. I was suddenly conflicted with this thought. Had my parents always acted so unhappy toward everyone and everything? Or was it me myself that made them unhappy? Had they always been so strict? Or did having a so-called prodigy for a son cause an abrupt change in the way they lived everyday life?

Too many questions for too young a mind. Even despite the sharpness of my intellect, these were things that I certainly didn’t want to bother myself with, though I knew that it would eventually be inevitable.

Sometimes I really hated having so many inquiries.

Quietly, we continued walking, though I could tell that Jayce was itching for conversation that he more than likely wasn’t going to get out of me. It seemed really odd that someone like him had been out wandering around in the morning hour and just happened to be in the same place I had been. Didn’t he have friends he could bother or something? He looked like the popular type of guy that had never been left needing attention in his life, constantly surrounded by praise and adoration by peers, teachers, adults in general, anyone.

I glanced up and was greeted by the towering white pillars of the university in the distance, catching the rays of spring sun, and I shivered inside, thinking about how close it was but also comforted by the warmth of it also being far enough to have to squint to see clearly. Really, I had walked a fairly great distance for the timeframe I’d been missing, and I wondered how far I could really go if I put my mind to it. I had no concept of how long I’d walked prior or even now. My legs just seemed to move on their own even with unwanted companionship. I knew I could stand to be a tad more observant of my surroundings and observant of details in general though. Like doing a sketch, but ingraining it within my eyes and mind instead of on a piece of parchment with a stick of charcoal.

“So…”

Jayce’s deep voice broke through my thoughts. Again. This was becoming an annoying habit. I looked up at him for a split second to let him know I’d heard him, then focused on our melding shadows on the concrete as they swayed with our walk. It was funny how the dark reflections seemed to be the same size despite us being not even close. Light tricks. Weird.

“Hm?” I answered, knowing my split-second glance probably wasn’t enough to let him know I was aware and that he needed an audible cue. I could sense the danger, but I was braced for it, a feeling that would someday become the bane of my godsdamned existence.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you ran away from the campus?”

Yeah, danger. Definitely heading into dangerous territory. Young me might have not had as great of a cognitive grasp as older me does, but I’d never, ever been an idiot. Ever.

“Nope.” I mumbled, refusing to look up again. Why should I tell him? He was still a stranger, for all I knew. He had no business asking me something like that and actually demanding an answer. Then again, he also had no business interrupting my curiosity and quote-unquote saving me. Big jerk.

“Oh, okay. Are you going to do it again?” A pause, then an exhale. He seemed to be searching his internal dictionary for the right thing to say. It took a few seconds, but he apparently found it, the continuation trickling out like a steady stream of water that had come to an abrupt end. “…do I need to be on the lookout? Just in case you get into trouble? I really don’t want to see your face on the papers for anything other than some sort of prodigy thing, if that makes sense.”

“Nope.” I lied. Probably the biggest one I’d ever told in my life thus far. But I couldn’t have him following me around even as a preventive measure, could I? Even now, I still wasn’t certain that he was going to tell my parents, though he never gave any clues that he knew their names or where even to find them, so I figured at least in terms of that, I was as safe as I possibly could be. Still, I thought he might have needed more convincing, so I continued to speak, hammering in the false truth like a nail in a plank. “Not gunna do it again.”

“Good.” Jayce answered soon after, satisfied finally by my lie. I’d never thought of myself as a fantastic liar, but perhaps he assumed that I’d had a glimpse of the danger and wouldn’t dream of getting myself into something as potentially unfavorable as trying to figure out whether or not there actually were tunnels under the city. I put on my best, most thoughtful grin, and continued walking with a spring in my step, feigning excitement about getting back to school when in actuality, I had all intentions of going back to see what the mysterious unknown had for me. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not a week or a month from now.

But someday.

By that point, the university was in plain view, and Jayce gave my tousled head a gentle pat before he turned on his heel and made his departure. I waved to him, but his back was toward me, and I wondered if whether or not I’d ever see him again. It seemed unlikely considering Piltover’s large population of both humans as well as yordles, but something told me that he was going to keep an eye out for me regardless of me saying I’d never wander off toward what was deemed a dangerous place ever again. I gazed up toward the ivory pillars and slowly ventured back onto the campus.

One day, I thought. I had a personal motive and something that finally mine and only mine to work and strive toward.

If I believed in myself enough, I could make it happen.

I could make anything happen.

Something happened to me after my brush with the possible underground tunnel system, and I don’t think it’s something that anyone was expecting. If you can believe it, I actually started going to classes again and diligently completing any and all work that had been assigned to me. Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? I still wasn’t the most talkative student in any of my lectures, but the instructors honestly didn’t care so long as I kept turning work in. The load off my back was comfortable, but if anything, it was just a very potent distraction from the things that were really captivating to me. Honestly, this sudden spurt in my academic career was probably just something good to draw my attention to while I attempted to swallow down the urge to slip away from my seat and make my way back to that darkened corner of the City of Progress to debunk the mystery of what was beneath the concrete once and for all.

The work I completed was as passionless as it had ever been, but every test was returned to me with a perfect score. Every assignment flawlessly completed. At one point, I imagined that I’d get so sucked into techmaturgical studies that I’d eventually forget about what I might possibly find outside the same four walls of a classroom, but I knew in my heart that this would never be the case. I wouldn’t deny, however, that it felt great to not be reprimanded every single goddamn day by both parent and instructor alike, and as my eighth year came to pass, I wondered how long it would take before my urges broke me.

In the weeks following my birthday, the adrenaline that pumped inside my veins alongside the blood and magic seemed to push me toward a new course, and one day, in the midst of a break during my morning lecture, I gathered up my books and notes inside my satchel and headed off toward the front of the university campus, knowing that this was the day I’d both been hoping and dreading for.

I was going to find out what was under the city. And no one was going to stop me. I hadn’t seen Jayce again since our first meeting, and I hoped that there was a chance that he’d forgotten all about me by now, though that seemed too good to be true. I pressed my back against one of the pillars and inhaled, keeping my air safely locked away in my lungs as though I was hoarding it for the winter, and then took off in a rush, the wind I’d made with my run stroking through my blonde locks. From the left and right, eyes of wondering fellow students burned into me, but at least no one would think my leaving was too suspicious, considering this was around the usual time that classes had a short pause during a long lecture.

A half-hour was never enough in my opinion.

I moved with such a pace that it was almost like there was grease stuck to the soles of my shoes and I was skating across the ground, but hopefully it didn’t look quite so obvious to the other people that were around me. I knew I was being stared at, but this wasn’t a particularly new occurrence, considering I was still and probably would always be the youngest person enrolled in the university. I swallowed hard and tensed as though someone was about to scoop me up into their arms and force me back between the pillars, but nothing happened. I had made it outside once again, and now my gaze was darting left to right as I scanned the fastest route to get to the corner with hopefully the least amount of people.

Left. I should go to the left. And I had to keep an eye out, just in case Jayce decided to pop out of the woodwork and meddle. Again. I briefly wondered if I should have fashioned myself some kind of disguise before attempting to trek out toward the area that had so captivated me, but I was already on my way, and it was a bit too late. I wasn’t the only person in Piltover with vibrant gold hair, but it sure as hell made me stand out. Especially when the sun was high in the sky and casting its warm glow on the entirety of the city. I nearly tripped over a crack in the concrete, and only then is when I finally slowed my stride. Walking too fast was sure to garner more attention, anyway, and I instead took to walking at a normal pace, though my lips were still parted to allow my heavy breathing in and out with ease until that too dissipated into a slow, steady pattern.

Inside my chest, though, my heart was beating like jackhammer against my ribs, with little to no intention of stopping. Would someone be there to catch me? Would they stop me like Jayce had a few months prior? I scanned the streets for real threats, but none were detected, and I once again stole a breathy inhale before taking off in a burst of speed, gripping the strap of my satchel tightly to reduce the amount of noise the metallic buckle would make as it smacked against my hip while I ran. There were people in the distance. Of course there were people, and I’d have to take care to not make myself look like I was so obviously up to no good.

Was simply being curious really worthy of getting negative attention, though? I had no answer, and I continued my pace of running and then walking. Walking and then running. A stop-start pattern intended to get me toward my goal without one or the other drawing too much focus on myself. Soon, I saw it. The darkened corner of the City of Progress that had been on my mind from the very second I’d seen it. Taking care and knowing to expect the cracked ground this time, I crept through the dusty fog and then pressed myself against the brick wall, holding my breath. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I braced myself for either Jayce or someone else to once again play hero and stop me from accomplishing my personal task, but as I slowly expelled the air from my lungs in an invisible line, I realized that no one was coming. No one was around. No one was going to see me or stop me this time. I couldn’t help the sly grin that had stretched my lips as I carefully waded through the shadows and into the farthermost corner, looking down at the hole in the ground that seemed utterly endless and dreary. Not that I could really see much of what was there, anyway, but I was willing to take that risk. Of course, I couldn’t just simply jump down into the hole without knowing there was either something to grab or land on. At best, it would cause both of my legs to be broken, and at worst, I’d meet my end at the very bottom of an endless hole.

At least my parents would never see my body that way.

I took a step forward and crouched down, knowing the knees of my black pants would be incredibly dirty as a result of all the dust and cobwebs adorning the corner I’d burrowed myself into. I didn’t care, though. Dirt and dust was honestly the least of my worries at this point, and I thrust my hand down into the hole, throwing all caution and hesitation to the wind. I blinked, feeling something hard brush my small fingers. Hard and lined. Wood? Old wood. I moved my hand to the right and gripped. Rope. Rope and wood.

A ladder.

There was a ladder.

My heart leaped with undisguised joy as my smile stretched even farther, and I couldn’t help the small giggle that had crept up my throat and expelled out through my lips. I quickly silenced myself, not wanting my happiness to bounce off the walls of the aged, ebony brick and possibly into the ears of someone or something unfavorable. There was another dilemma of course, though. I’d felt the ladder, but I had no idea how far it went down. By this point I’d already leaned forward a bit more and pressed my hands lower, feeling that there was indeed at least two more pieces of wood, but that wasn’t really a straight answer. The only solution was to either try to find out myself, or to come back another day with some sort of light source.

I didn’t know if I’d be lucky enough to come back with no one stopping me another day, so I already knew the answer. I had to try to get down there myself. I wasn’t scared, no. Fear had always had a difficult time gripping my throat and it wasn’t about to suddenly get stronger. I had mentally weighed the pros and cons, and as of right then, there had definitely far more pros. Besides, what would I do if I didn’t go down there? Go back to school? Over my more than likely dead body.

I swallowed hard, then breathed the dusty air into my lungs and congratulated myself for not coughing and causing an attention-seeking ruckus. I maneuvered myself to begin the downward descent into the hole, my tiny hands shaking as they gripped the old rope. Could it hold me? Would it hold me? Was Jayce right? Would my name and face really end up in the Piltover papers if something terrible happened to me? Surely they didn’t care that much. At least, not when I was doing something not school related.

I pressed my foot against the first block of wood and hesitated before pressing the second one down, my knuckles turning white with the effort in which they gripped the rope. If the blocks gave way, would I be able to pull myself up to safety? Should I scream for help and give away my plan? Should I quietly accept death?

These were not questions that a child should ever have to think about, but yet, there I was, eight years old, attempting to disappear under the city that had raised me in order to possibly extract its treasures.

My grip loosened a bit when I discovered that the ladder apparently could carry my weight without giving away, and I gave a small sigh of content before slipping my hands down the rope, intending to descend to the next step. And the next. With each passing second, more of my uncertainty fell away, and as the moist, metallic smell of whatever was underground permeated my nostrils and the hole that lead back up to the outside grew farther and farther away, I knew what the word for what I was feeling inside was.

Courageous. I was being courageous.

At least until I realized that there were no more wooden blocks for me to put my foot on for support. I had grown so accustomed to the feeling of something there to hold my weight, and when I felt nothing but air beneath me, I couldn’t help but let out a small yelp. There I was, in complete and total darkness, hands gripped to an old rope that would probably eventually snap, without any knowledge of what was beneath me.

Even to this day, I’m not sure how I did it.

I held my breath, then let go of the rope and hoped for the best. My heart stuttered in my chest for a few beats before I realized that the ladder did go all the way to the bottom. I was safe. Unharmed. Though I had no idea what the bottom was. Or what it even looked like. I knelt down in the blackness and graced the surface of the ground with my fingers, my sense of touch incredibly heightened with my lack of vision. It felt like concrete, but much smoother. And colder. Metal, perhaps? Metal and dirt. That squishy softness was definitely dirt.

I got back up on my feet and felt for the ladder, finding it almost instantly. I gripped it in my right hand, holding tightly to it.

“Hello?” I spoke into the blackness, noticing immediately that my voice became a garbled, echoing mess that almost grated the sensitive skin of my ears. Whatever this was, it wasn’t at all a narrow, suffocating crevice. Considering that I was still answering my own greeting, I concluded that it was huge and open. A hall, perhaps. And if that was true, how could something so hollow be supporting our city beneath it? It didn’t make any sense.

Maybe it didn’t go as far as I thought? It wasn’t like I could see anything.

“Hello!” I called out again, this time louder than before, and the noise once more reverberated on the walls and right back into my own head. I might not have had use of my eyes, but after that time, I knew that my surroundings were far bigger than I could have ever imagined. Miles long, maybe. But miles of what?

I needed to know. I needed to come back down here with some source of bright light. But what on Runeterra would be big enough? A hextech flashlight wouldn’t cut it. Not at all. A lantern might work better, but that would only let me see what was a few feet in front of me at best. It would be easy to come by one, though, considering that the Arcanum at the university had them, and no one would think twice about me borrowing one, so that seemed to be my best bet, and at this point, I was going to take whatever I could get. I exhaled and I swore I could see my breath, and that’s when I realized just how cold it was down there in the middle of nothingness. Wearing a scarf in the beginning of spring wasn’t exactly common, but I’d definitely need one for a venture down here. Or even a jacket.

As much as I wanted to stay below the surface, I knew that I couldn’t be down in the dark forever, no matter how comforting it was. I was already late for class again, anyway, effectively tarnishing my perfect record over the last few months. Using my sense of touch and nothing else, I hastily gripped the rope and began dragging myself up the wood blocks until the small circle of light grew bigger and bigger. Refusing to pause to look back down into the depths, I scurried out of the hole and squinted hard, the pain of the sudden brightness impaling both of my eyes. Despite the discomfort, I was grinning. Hard.

Now that I’d known that it was safe (for the most part) to go down there, nothing would stop me from going back.

And tomorrow seemed like as good of a day as any.

I wiped the telltale dust off the knees of my pants and the length of my shirt and jacket and hoped for the best before bouncing back toward the university, hoping it was unlikely that anyone would say anything about my disheveled appearance. I knew that would be giving them far too much credit, though.

For the rest of the day, I sat quietly in my seat, scheming and dreaming of my future career as a brave explorer and guru of the mysterious Piltovian underground. I was lucky, I suppose. No one, including my parents when I arrived home, noticed anything different regarding my demeanor or the fact I was still covered in dust. What was noticeable, though, was that the very next day, I had awoken before the sun had even shown its face through my windows, and I raced down the stairs already prepped and ready for school as though I’d been waiting for the moment my entire life.

My father had awoken with the noise of my hurried stomps and demanded to know why I’d made such a ruckus, his blue eyes so reminiscent of my own burrowing into my face as though trying to force an answer out of me with one single look. Was that where I got it from? Another ugly lie crawled up out of my throat, but I continued smiling, trying to look as excited as possible when talking about school even though the very thought made my belly sour.

“I’m gunna go study! Bright and early! Gotta take a test.” I spoke, nodding my head up and down almost to the point I’d made myself dizzy. My father looked confused as he raised his hand to his chin, lightly stroking his index finger across the stubbled skin, but then his gaze ceased to be narrow, and he reached forward to stroke his palm across my head. It reminded me of Jayce, which I wasn’t sure was normal or not. I just couldn’t remember the last time my father had shown any affection toward me at all, and this secretly disgusted me.

I had to lie to him just to get some affection? Bullshit. Always was and always would be.

“Alright, then, Ezreal. You should eat something, though. Can’t cram on an empty stomach.” My father said as he turned his back to me to get to the hexfridge in the corner of our small kitchen. He rummaged around it, muttering to himself as he did so, before presenting me with a couple of frosted biscuits in a thin plastic wrapping. Not the best or most nutritious breakfast at all, but frosted biscuits weren’t something I normally got, and it was far more exciting than the bland-tasting porridge I forced down my throat all the other days of the week.

“Thanks, dad!” I squeaked, taking the packet of biscuits in my small hand and running out the door, wondering how on Runeterra I didn’t at all feel guilty about lying to my father and essentially scamming sweet treats off of him. It wasn’t like I’d asked for them, though, right? He gave them to me, so I really shouldn’t have even felt bad in the first place. I brought one of the biscuits to my lips and obnoxiously bit into it, letting some of the frosting get stuck in the corners of my mouth as I watched the sun cast its familiar and comforting gold glow over the entirety of the City of Progress.

The yellowed hue, something that I’d never seen before since there was no possible way I’d ever been to school this early in the past, made the techmaturgical university look oddly warm and inviting, and if it wasn’t so damned stuffy inside, one would think I’d actually want to willingly go there to cram my head full of useless information that others deemed was apparently important for my future as well as the city’s future. Considering the sun had barely risen, it was a miracle that it was even open in the first place.

My shoes, a different, now clean pair, clacked against the smooth tiles of the hallway, and I clutched my satchel’s strap tightly to my chest, trying to imitate a busy and dedicated student as best as I could. My legs carried me to the Arcanum section of the university, and I pushed the oakwood door open with an offending-sounding squeak that caused my teeth to grit and goosebumps to trickle down the length of my spine. If that was the noise that happened every single time someone opened the goddamn door, it was no wonder I hardly saw anyone in this part of the school. At least the inside smelled nice. Leather and…charcoal? Huh. Weird.

I looked around and momentarily became frozen by the plethora of books that lay organized in neat rows atop many, many shelves, and I resisted the urge to run over to look through them in the hopes of finding something interesting, reminding myself of the reason that I’d even come here in the first place. Considering there was no one watching over the front desk, I supposed it would be alright if I took one of the lanterns myself without asking permission. If I were being technical, there was no one even around to ask for permission, so with a soft sigh, I ducked down behind the front desk and fished one of the lanterns out, surprised that there were so many in such a small place. Why were there so many? What good did lanterns serve in a place that already had so many hexlights strewn about?

I shrugged to myself and grasped the handle of the lantern tightly with one hand, then slinked away from the library without a single sound aside from the stupid squeaky door, which they never oiled, by the way. Pretty sure it’s still doing that even to this day.

It was some sort of otherworldly miracle that no one saw me not only take a lantern, but also take it far away from school grounds. In fact, no one seemed to notice me at all, and I had one moment of completely wondering if I’d somehow activated one of the magical spells from the Arcanum’s library and I’d become invisible. Wouldn’t that have been easy? I walked across the streets of Piltover with precision and determination, though I wasn’t unaware of the fact that Jayce could potentially pop out at any given moment and possibly stop me. Again. But I hadn’t seen him aside from that one time, and it was still relatively early enough that I expected a great majority of the city’s population to still be catching up on their beauty sleep. I moved in the same direction as the morning shadows did, mingling myself with the darkened areas to disappear within them and not give my position away. One thing was certain: by now I’d gotten very good at holding my breath and pressing myself into tight spaces, and I imagined that this would be a thing that would come in handy later.

Finally, I saw it. The darkened corner with the rickety old wood and rope ladder. I almost wanted to happily greet it as though it were an old friend, but I resisted, my eyes as sharp as they could be while I surveyed my surroundings, looking for any danger. And by danger, I meant people. Nothing. Good. I slung the lantern’s handle over my left shoulder and immediately bounded over to the hole, peering down into it. I wondered if using the lantern’s light now would be a good idea or not, but ultimately decided against it as I began to descend down into the hole once again, putting one cautious foot in front of the other.

The last piece of wood, or rather, the lack of the last piece of wood, still startled me despite my being prepared for it, though, and I gasped out into the darkness before letting go of the rope, the soles of my shoes echoing on the ground. I breathed in the blackness for a few seconds before sliding the lantern off my shoulder and hastily turning it on, though I can’t say I was prepared for what was about to be revealed.

The light blazed out from within the center of the lantern, and, to my surprise, nearly illuminated everything within a twenty-foot radius around me. At first I thought this was a normal occurrence considering just how dark it had been in the depths, but I soon realized that the lanterns in the Arcanum were not normal lanterns. They were enchanted lanterns, rich in illumination spells.

I was luckier than I thought, but I didn’t really have time to marvel over it as much as I would have liked, considering I nearly lost my grip the thing and felt the muscles in my jaw grow loose as my mouth dropped open in shock.

It wasn’t dirt or rock beneath me. It was metal. Metal tunnels. An underground system of abandoned, metallic tunnels that more than likely had pathways spilling out through the entirety of the entire city. Of course there was some rock and dirt in the corners and the sides, but otherwise, it was slick. Shining. Gleaming.

Jayce was right. It wasn’t just a rumor. They really existed. They were here. In front of me. Still, I pinched myself on the wrist just to make sure. It stung. I was awake.

And all of this was mine for the taking. I would be able to prove to the entire city that the tunnels existed. But then what? Would they discipline me for skipping school to quite literally hide underground? Would they congratulate me for doing something no one else had the courage to do? Would they praise me?

What about my parents? It seemed odd that I’d almost forgotten completely about them. Surely they’d be supportive of my endeavors no matter what, right, right? Even if it meant throwing everything away that I’d been working for for years already.

Oh, who was I kidding? They’d be pissed and I knew it. Oh well. Their loss.

[[ UNFINISHED FOREVER ]]

#ezreal #finalpost

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