#see the thing about stretching canvases is that it’s actually a bit quite hard to do really well when you don’t have a wood shop and don’t

[bigfishthemusical]

just saw a guy saying that you should always stretch your own canvases because the ones from the store suck and then he proceeded to stretch his own canvas the worst I’ve ever seen in my life.

#see the thing about stretching canvases is that it’s actually a bit quite hard to do really well when you don’t have a wood shop and don’t #do it right. like an amateur stretched canvas will be only slightly cheaper than a store bought one and probably not as good. #it takes a good bit of practice. is best done with two people and takes a very specific process to do it right. #also it’s physically demanding. I used to help my mom stretch all her canvases but we literally cannot do it anymore cause neither of us has #the knees to kneel down long enough to get one stretched properly. like buying them is honestly usually only dollars more #and there’s a lot of things you can do to make store light ones better. #ok sorry. the video made me quite annoyed

[s0ulm8s]

boys like you (1.0)

✿ summary : alone and left in a mansion with nothing but your canvases and the dust slowly collecting on the window sills - a commission and a call from a childhood friend completely changes your life.

✿ genre : ot7 x f!reader, poly au, hybrid au, soulmate au, deer!seokjin, black panther!yoongi, great dane!hoseok, wolf!namjoon, calico cat!jimin, tiger!taehyung, bunny!jungkook

✿ warnings : mentions of death, maybe some mentions of assault, some fluff, reader is described as small (i.e smaller than jimin), slight age gap (reader is younger than jungkook)

✿ word count : 2.2K

✿ author’s note : i am inexperienced in hybrid aus, smut, and series so pls bare with me (not proofread yet)

✿ series masterlist! | 2.0

making yourself buckle down and work on the piece in front of you had proven to be more of a task than you had originally anticipated. the wide expanse of blank canvas you had stretched yourself 3 weeks ago, mocked you from the the sun room. it was only four days before you had to deliver your piece that you had really forced yourself to pick up a paint brush and do something useful.

the endless days spent alone in the vast building you now called home was doing a number on your psyche. the sheer loneliness seemed to eat away at not only your sanity but aided to your artist’s block - it was truly a gruesome cycle. locked away in an beautiful estate that you never asked for.

not only that, but working from home and having an all but nonexistent social life in a country you only permanently moved to a year prior was a fate worse than you had imagined.

you huffed, finally setting your small brush down on the easel, stepping back to assess your final draft. despite being so unmotivated and plum out of ideas, you were still proud of what you created - you had promised yourself long ago that you’d never sell a piece you abhorred, and you’d remained true to that promise thus far.

a blaring ring ripped you out of your critical trance trained on the landscape in front of you, startling you as your heartbeat quickened in pace.

“hello?” you answered, soft voice flowing through the other end as you anticipated the response from the unknown caller.

“yah! y/n! is that you?” the voice that responded was loud and excited, the baritone of it something you could never forget. a staple soundtrack from the summers you spent with your father in south korea.

“mingi? how’d you get my number?” you asked, a genuine smile flooding your face at the sound of his familiar laugh on the other end. 

of course, the two of you had stayed in brief contact since meeting as children. but as you grew, you saw less of each other. three years ago he and his boyfriend, yunho, had successfully started their own rehabilitation and adoption center for hybrids. the first year was hard, but the business quickly gained popularity and as the creator - he’d been exceptionally busy since her permanent move to south korea. they had two permanent doctors on staff, kim hongjoong and park seonghwa, along with a 24 hour staff. the workers were really exceptional, but you had only ever met their core group when the business first started. which included: choi san, jung wooyoung, choi jongho, kang yeosang, the two doctors, and of course the two owners.

“you were commissioned by a friend of mine! which is actually why i wanted to reach out.” he answered happily as your breathing evened and heartbeat finally settled.

“it’s good to hear from you, really. what can i do for you?” you asked sweetly, and mingi only briefly thought about teasing you for your soft tone and giving nature.

“would you be able to come to the adoption wing today? i’m working here all day as we’ve some new hybrids ready to find a new home. maybe in about an hour? you could join me on my rounds and we could talk. i’d like to see you, anyways. i’ve missed you.” mingi spoke professionally, but his admission made tears prick at your eyes. he almost sounded like the sixteen year old boy who had stolen your first kiss when visiting your father that summer and the memory of when things were simpler stung in your chest. your cheeks flushed. mingi smiled at your silence, knowing he had flustered his best childhood friend. you narrowed your eyes briefly, as he had tried to convince you many times in the past to adopt a hybrid of your own - but you had declined, not entirely convinced that you could provide an exceptional life for another being. because even though your knowledge on hybrids wasn't nearly as advanced as mingi’s, you still knew the basics. they weren't just animals, they were human. and there was no guarantee there. there never was with humans. you hesitate.

“y-yes. i can come by, i’ve just got to swing by and deliver my painting beforehand.” you answered as you both agreed on the meeting the time. “oh, and mingi? i’ve missed you, too.” you said genuinely as he broke into a toothy smile. it had been ages since he’d seen you, and though he knew he could blame it on his work - he didn’t know how to face you after the death of your father. he couldn’t bring himself to be there for you, to see you so broken, and he had blamed himself for that everyday. it was a relief to hear you say it. you had always been so forgiving, sometimes to a fault.

after bidding your goodbyes to the tall boy on the other side of the phone, you quickly changed clothes into something not completely ruined by the muted pigments of your paint, loaded up in your small suv, and you were off.

the delivery of your piece went smoothly, no heckling or disapproving gazes from the wealthy couple, which made your trip to TWILIGHT that much faster. you pushed open the double doors connected to the building in the right wing, clearly labeled ADOPTION. 

the smell of roses and lavender was strong in the reception area, the scent was welcoming and calming as you walked up to the front desk. 

“y/n!” the dark haired boy behind the computer called, finally rolling away from behind the screen. kang yeosang. “it’s so good to see you!” he exclaimed, eyes scanning your face as he made his way around the counter and pulled you into a soft embrace.

“likewise, yeo! it’s been a while hasn't it?” you ask rhetorically as you stare up at his daunting height.

“mmm” he hummed with a nod, releasing you. “i'll let mingi know you’re here.” he called, returning to his place behind the sleek desk, paging mingi, and then proceeding to catch up with you.

the small conversation didn’t last long before a pair of heavy footsteps drug your gaze to the wide staircase, mingi barreling down them.

you braced yourself as the giant scooped you up into a bone crushing embrace, spinning your small frame around in a circle as he let out a happy laugh. your arms snaked around the man’s neck to secure your place and return the hug.

you giggled happily as mingi finally set you down in your original place, looking down at you excitedly. had he gotten taller? impossible. maybe you had shrunk?

after an exchange of excited greetings, mingi gestured to his clipboard before finally asking, “you ready?”

you nodded softly and followed close behind as he guided you down the halls of the adoption center. he gave you the rundown of their center, showing you the wide expanse of spotless rooms sealed in by plexiglass to show the hybrids ready to be rescued. he explained that most hybrids were separated by predator, prey, species, breed, etc. but many were grouped together with their respective packs. the rooms were quite lavish, but not very homey. but what could you expect from an adoption clinic? the point was to find homes.

you passed many show exhibits, watching intently at the small dogs or tall humans sitting in the rooms patiently, playing with one another or napping quietly. you cooed at a few.

“so i asked to see you because i’d love to have your art displayed in our business.” he propositioned, leading you into an empty room as the automatic doors opened and shut behind you. you nodded, heart lurching a bit as you recalled your artist’s block. you shook the thought away as you observed the room. it was large, littered with scattered pieces of nice furniture and random toys. “ideally, i’d love to have your pieces throughout the whole establishment but this is my main concern.” he finished, gesturing to the empty space on the large wall, the one you’re faced with when first entering.

“are you wanting a mural?” you ask, voice now stable and a bit louder. 

“i'd like the piece to cover the majority of the wall, but i’d rather have it on canvas if that’s doable. in case it needs to be moved.” he explained as you nodded, taking in rough measurements of the space as mingi explained his vision for the space - effectively helping you circulate a few ideas on what you could create. you accepted his offer as he discussed payment and supplies with you, adding in an extra cost at the large measurement of the canvas you’d need custom made.

the air in the room grew a bit thick at the sound of a small beep, alerting the two of you to another door opening. your skin was now a bit hot and you suddenly became very aware of your surroundings. your fingers tingled a bit. usually a foreign feeling such as the one you were experiencing would send you into a panic, but it didn’t. if anything you felt quite calm as you looked on inquisitively at the distant thump coming toward the two of you.

“ah, it’s look like some of our hybrids are finished with their check ups.” mingi announced as you nodded lazily. he turned to you. “we usually send them into the lounge area for about an hour after routine check ups. helps them calm down.”

suddenly, you could pay no mind to mingi’s words as a black bunny rounded the corner, back foot slapping the tile exceptionally hard every so often as you smiled down at the creature happily. it stopped in it’s tracks as it’s gaze landed upon you, rearing up on it’s back legs, and tilting it’s head innocently as it examined you. 

you knelt down to greet him, the bunny immediately approaching you and sniffing your hand before accepting you and nuzzling into you closer. mingi was taken aback as he observed the usually reserved and nervous rabbit.

“hello.” you cooed, stroking the bunny effortlessly, careful to avoid his ears and tail, briefly recalling how sensitive they could be. “what’s your name?” you asked as mingi coughed.

“this is jeongguk, he’s one of our younger hyrbrids. the youngest in his pack.” he told you as you picked the bunny up and set him into your small lap. mingi almost gasped at the interaction between you and the rabbit as you pet him happily.

your trance was interrupted at the light purr and brush of a small calico next to you. you instinctively reach out to pet him, as he rubbed into your hand. “and who might you be?”

“this is jimin, the two are in a pack.” mingi attempted to explain, trying to understand the absence of jimin’s usually protective behavior and unable to tell you the full story before you asked him something he was not expecting.

“and they’re ready to be adopted?” you asked softly, not even looking up at mingi as he stuttered. the idea of adopting a hybrid didn’t seem so far-fetched now at how taken you were with the two animals in your lap. you could handle the bunny and cat, without a doubt.

“y-yes but we only adopt out entire packs together and -”

“of course, i wouldn’t dream of separating them. is there anyway i could meet them properly, as soon as i possible i think -” you interrupt. starting to gush a bit, voice hushed and excitable.

mingi cut you off, “no, y/n. you aren’t listening. they aren’t just a pack of two.” he sighed, as your gaze finally met his. “in fact they aren’t just bunny and calico, they’re pack also includes that of a wolf, black panther, deer, great dane, and tiger... their pack has been hard to adopt out as it’s so rare for such a large mix of predators and prey... but they found each other and experienced a lot together... it was only inevitable. and we can’t separate them, we refuse to. and they won’t leave one another.” he finally finished explaining as your expression fell. you let out a breath. seven hybrids. all male. and three apex predators, at that. the thought of suddenly thrusting seven knew faces - seven new men - into your home was intimidating to say the least.

you looked down at the two animals in your lap, the bunny almost looked cresfallen. gauging your reaction as his big brown eyes stared at you expectantly. as if he knew you’d reject him. mingi continued rambling on about how many adopters had expressed interest in at least one of the pack but were never willing to bring in all seven. it hurt your heart as you watched on the bunny and calico.

the estate your father had left you was empty, though. begging to be occupied. you had more than enough room and were blessed with an untouched inheritance. maybe this is what you should use it for. you had always felt too guilty to spend it. but nothing seemed more right, which was a shocking realization to someone who never thought they’d adobt a hybrid.

“could i meet them? the seven of them? i’d at least want to give them a chance... truthfully, i dont think i can leave them behind.” you admitted softly, the bunny and cat both perked up, ears raised and twitching.

“of course. i can arrange a meeting and speak with them tonight... i’ll gather their files for you to take home tonight. can you make it back in again tomorrow?” mingi asked after a deafening pause of hesitation, mouth hanging agape before coming back into reality.

“i’ll be here.”

#bts fluff #bts #bts fanfic #hybrid #hybrid au #smut #bts smut #soulmate au #poly #poly bts #poly au #ot7 #bts ot7 #ot7 bts #bts drabble #bts imagines #bts icons #hybrid bts

[hamletandthegang]

Cheering Up Marc: Part 1, Annalise

(TW depressive episode + slight mentions of suicidal thoughts. Also blood mention)

On a bright Saturday morning, Annalise sat on the little couch in the living room, listening to music through headphones, and sketching on her notebook. She looked up and slid off her headphones when she noticed Marc walk into the room. They were at the apartment alone, because Rosencrantz was working, Ophelia and Hamlet were doing something together (they hadn’t said what, but Anna guessed it was a date), and Guildenstern was in classes all morning. 

“Hey Marc,” she said cheerfully, “How are you doing today?” 

He forced a smile onto his face and turned to her, “I’m doing okay, thanks.”

Anna frowned, seeing through his expression immediately. But she hesitated to say something, and watched him walk to the fridge and grab his leftover chinese takeout from the night before. 

He warmed it up, glancing at Annalise who quickly bent back over her notebook to hide her staring, and began to walk back to his room.

Anna spoke quickly, “I was planning on finishing up a painting for my class next week, would you maybe wanna join me?” She could tell he was still feeling low, how could he not, and hoped doing something with his hands would help take his mind off it all.

Marc hesitated, having already reached the door, and turned back to her with a slight smile. “Actually, I think I do. That sounds good.”

Anna beamed, “Great! I can set up my easel and stuff while you finish eating. I typically paint out on the porch.” She added, putting down her notebook and standing up. Marc nodded, and sat down on a chair to finish his noodles. 

Anna walked to the sliding glass door, and walked out to set up two canvases, one that already had a half-finished painting on it.

Marc watched her through the glass. She buzzed around, gingerly setting up the easels and getting the paint out. She had simply bloomed here in England, far away from her parents, father especially. She had gone through things herself many times before, but her unbreaking smile shined through the heaviest of storms. Marc envied her. She waved awkwardly when she noticed Marc watching her. He waved back.

Truthfully, he was going through one of the worst depressive episodes he’d been through yet. He didn’t feel like he could do anything, and was wrestling nightly with the pros and cons of just letting it all go and jumping. He hated to admit it to himself, it made him feel so helpless and hard to handle. He knew that his friends were worried about him, and wanted to help him by taking him to England with them. Things were simply harder than he could handle. And he hated the thought of asking for help. The littlest things reminded him of Ben.

He finished his food and threw out the small box. He walked out to where Annalise was sitting on a short stool with dried paint on it. There was a similar seat next to hers, and she smiled and motioned for him to sit. She turned on some light piano music and gave him a small container for him to hold the paint in while he worked. He had taken quite a few art classes in high school, and had enjoyed it a lot until it had become too expensive for his family. 

“Gouache?” He asked, studying the paint she was using as she dabbed the canvas.

“Mm-hm,” She nodded, and he put some different colors into the palette in his hand. 

“I always liked the stuff- acts like watercolors but paints like acrylics.”

“Yeah, I think they give you more freedom.” She smiled, happy to have someone to talk about this with. “What are you gonna do?”

Marc looked around at the view off the porch, which was on the third floor of the apartment building. He pointed at a group of shiny buildings surrounded by trees and foliage, “Maybe that? I like landscapes.”

“Oh yeah! That’ll look great!” Annalise smiled, and looked back at her canvas, humming along to the piano music. Marc took a deep breath, and picked up a brush. 

He began drawing what he saw, filling in details and such. Annalise glanced at him slightly and smiled to see him so focused on the picture. He caught her eye and smiled back. 

“So, what have you been up to?” She asked, trying to make small talk.

Marc shrugged, “Reading a lot, I guess. Taking naps. Catching up on some stuff.” He looked at the canvas intently, searching for something to say. He dropped his voice, and Anna looked at him.

“It’s okay to be struggling. Whatever is going on is not something to be embarrassed about. If you wanna talk about it, that’s okay. If you don’t, that’s okay too.”

Marc forced a grateful smile, “Thanks, I think I just wanna paint for a bit.”

“Okay,” Annalise smiled, and continued dabbing her brush on her canvas. Her painting was a somewhat abstract yet thought provoking picture of what looked like the inside of a public bathroom. There were ugly green stalls flooded with the uneven sickly light from the obviously busted light above. The sinks were sitting to the right, with soap spilling over the plastic porcelain.

“What are you drawing?” Marc asked, perplexed by her choice. It was beautifully done, though a bit off putting. 

“Well, it’s actually for a class I’m taking. They wanted to test our skills for the first week, to see what we could do. So they gave us all prompts, and mine,” She hesitated, thinking of how to say what it was. “Well, mine was the most-recent painful memory you have. Some were a bit more optimistic than others, and I think the teacher thought I was all smiles and wanted to stretch my skills.” She laughed a bit awkwardly. “Little did he know, right?”

Marc was still confused, “Wait so, what does it mean?”

Annalise’ eyes widened as she remembered, “Oh, that’s right, you weren’t there. Um, this is the bathroom from the… the hospital. After we got back with Horatio, I was helping Ophelia wash the blood out of her clothes and…” she hesitated, and took a breath, “Well, it’s just kinda hard to wash your friend’s blood out of something, that’s all.” Annalise stared at the canvas, as if reliving that whole long week. Marc stiffened. He hadn’t thought about just how hard it had been on his friends as well as himself. Anna looked up, “Sorry, kind of a mood killer, I know. It’s also why I’m painting it out here. I don’t really want Ophelia to see it. I know it’ll just take her back there, and even though it’s therapeutic for me it probably wouldn’t be for her. Anyways,” She said, trying to shift the conversation from this topic, “I think it’ll be a bit of a shock to the class when I present it,” she laughed. 

Marc laughed too, imagining her standing up and telling them what the circumstances were, “Oh my god, they’ll be so confused. You have to tell me how it goes when you do it.” 

“Oh for sure,” Annalise said. They continued to joke and talk. Laughing about all the shit they’d been through was oddly fun. Anna and Marc hadn’t spent a lot of one-on-one time with each other until the whole France thing, and Marc was now glad that he had someone like her in his life. She was so positive, and yet so blunt about what she was going through. He appreciated that.

“This is fun, thanks for suggesting it,” he said when the conversation lulled. He was a fair way through his painting, it being a smaller canvas and less detailed. The scene was a very good likeness to the view around them.

“Yeah, no problem. You can paint with me whenever, I like the company.” Annalise smiled. 

The wind blew through their hair lightly, keeping them cool as they sat above the world below and talked. 

#hamlet&co fics #hamlet modern au #tw depressive episode #tw suicide mention #tw blood #oc annalise #marc #yay more fluff #idk how many of these there will be but #we need to help this guy #he is sad #hatg1

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (20)

A/N: BIG YEEHAW HOURS TODAY Y’ALL ITS BALL TIME!!!!!!! AND WE CAN’T HAVE A BALL WITHOUT A PRINCE *stars bawling*

costumes will come in another post bc i. got really excited and then drew them all like, last month (most of them, some were finished last night y e e et)

WARNINGS: remus mention, heist details, wound descriptions, sword mention, scar descriptions, threats of violence, thoughts of dying — alright, im pretty sure that's it, but this chapter has thicc details so if i missed anything pls pls pls lmk

Words: 4550

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 ,3 <3 

Deceit really was right, Patton thought while he looked around at the town. His arm was linked around Logan’s as they walked down one of the town’s side streets, from Dr. Picani’s office, and he was taking the time to admire how intricate all of the architecture had gotten. It was intricate and worn and every building seemed unique now, something that he hadn’t realized was missing during their first pass through. 

There were arch ways, bridges between doors on the third floors of buildings. There were seemingly hand-woven canvases shielding some of the streets from the sun and, if Patton squinted hard enough, he could see actual detailed stitching and some stains of age. They passed buildings that had scratches and chisel marks, and Patton could clearly see that it was made from stone bricks that had been painted over. Twice, actually. Once with a very old and faded blue, then with a lighter cream that still let the blue show through in spots where the paint was gone. 

He wondered a little what had caused those spots. Was it because you weren’t supposed to layer house paint? The spots were different sizes — how many memories were made here? 

Patton stumbled, tripping over his thoughts and heels, and leaned more into Logan’s side.

Logan tugged at his arm. “Don’t ponder too hard, Patton,” his voice was soft, hushed to not draw attention.

They’d figured that the best thing to do was to not think about the world around them. Thinking too much about the world and specifically the things that they would affect about it made their focus wander onto fixing those things. Logan would get a headache, Patton would space out, and Deceit would….well, okay, Deceit hadn’t disclosed how and if he’d been affected. But Patton noticed he’d been sweating like a sinner in church, and how his fist would clench every so often, so it was clear that something was happening with Deceit. He didn’t want to force him to talk; honesty wasn’t Deceit’s strong suit.

The four Romans had agreed that that was the smartest decision; none of them nor all of them together were able to limit the Imagination enough. The Playwright had argued that, had Dragon and Damsel known that it was hurting the other Sides, then they would probably all have a unified thought enough to close up the unused worlds. But that would require discussing the entire matter with them, which, as the Thief pointed out, is “pretty fucking useless where they are now.” 

So the focus thing was their current strategy. Patton grinned at Logan. “Thanks for the reminder, Octo-cutie-pie,” he smiled wider as Logan blushed. 

“I–I’m–Octopi is the plural for octopus and there is only one of me,” Logan bit his lip, then patted Patton’s hand gently, “Thank you.”

Patton giggled, snuggling against Logan’s side briefly as they kept walking. They hadn’t actually talked about the whole love thing, hadn’t really established boundaries, but that seemed like a problem for tomorrow. 

Right now, they were all going across town, invitations in hand, to the ball. And, at the very specific right now, Patton was admiring the Playwright and the Artist’s handiwork. They’d worked together to make everyone’s outfits and he’d be a liar if he said they weren’t handsome and beautiful.

Patton himself was themed after a cat — a grey cat, but a cat nonetheless! His dress had a long train for a tail, made of shimmering silver tulle, the same as his poofy sleeves. The skirt went from his waist to the ground, with a built in flair in his corset at the waist. Like, all of it was sparkling, all three tiers of his skirt, which went from grey to black with an inner layer gradient of blue to grey. His favorite part were his gloves, though. Silver for the most part, but with soft circles on his palms and the tips of all his fingers. His own lil’ toe beans! 

Logan’s outfit was one of Patton’s favorites. His was themed after an octopus (“Known for their intelligence,” the Playwright had explained, face bright red as he tied Logan’s necktie into an Eldritch knot) with a dark blue blazer and slacks. He wore a vest that shimmered royal blue, with a white button down underneath. There was a piece of coral in his lapel where a flower would usually go, and his coat tails seemed to spiral in shapes that resembled an octopus’ arms. There were even rhinestone bubble decals on his shoulders, or suckers, if you wanted to interpret it that way. The Artist and the Playwright had a small argument about that.

He was dashing, in summation. Patton leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder. “Who knew the town was so big!” he said. 

“That’s actually on purpose,” the Playwright said from behind them, “It’s actually not so big as the castle is small, using the same foreshortening techniques used at the Disney theme parks to make Cinderella’s castle, or Sleeping Beauty’s castle depending on which park you’re at—”

“I think he means how far Picani’s office is from the castle, God Mod,” the Thief responded.

The Thief and Deceit were walking in front, swords drawn on the chance that they ran into any guards, and so that the Thief could critique Deceit’s sword fighting skills. Surprisingly, he’d taken to the weapon, something about it being good to have at his disposal while dealing with the Others. The Thief offered to make him one once this escapade was over. 

Or maybe it was an excuse for the Thief to keep touching Deceit’s hand. Because that was happening every so often. A lot more often than would be considered normal. 

It wasn’t like Deceit was complaining about the touching. It was more the other way around. The yearning for physical contact was frustrating, but neither of them were going to admit that they wanted to hold hands. Even though they’d confessed to at least caring about each other. 

“Oh,” the Playwright hummed.

“Cheer up, butter cup, I love hearin’ bout the forced perspective! The Disney parks are so~o~o fun,” the Bard sang out. “When’s the next time we get to go to California? Are we making a trip down to Anaheim? Can we PLEASE take a trip down to Anaheim!”

One of his arms was looped around the Playwright’s, while the other was looped around the Artist’s. They had settled on outfits that complemented each other’s, pulling from the same red and black color palette.

The Artist was the only of the trio in a suit, though his outfit could be considered the loudest. Buttoned down the middle with a high collar, half of his shirt was a solid black, while the other half was a diamond checkered pattern. All of the accents were gold, and his pants were half solid red and half checkered as well. Tonight, the Artist would be a jester. 

An improvement on his self-esteem, the Bard had thought. The Artist had said so, too, saying he’d be dressing like a joke. It...was nice to hear.

The Playwright had also gone with a more light-hearted outfit, pun completely intended. He was dressed as the queen of hearts, with an A-line skirt that skimmed the ground and was almost entirely a replica of the skirt worn by the Queen of Hearts in Disney’s Alice in Wonderland animated movie. His corset had a low scoop neckline with a long heart that stretched down from the neckline to the bottom of the waist. His sleeves were poofy, black with red stripes between. 

It was a deck of cards theme between the three of them. Honestly, they took a bit of solace in their three Musketeers situation. The Bard was dressed like a harlequin in a ball-dancing dress. His entire dress was checkered, a stiff corset traded for a looser fit bodice that was sinched at the waist by a thick black belt with a heart clip. Bits of tulle were attached to his wrists, ideal for dancing in, which was perfect for the plan. He and the Playwright had matching heart chokers, too. 

As he’d said earlier, “We cute.”

Neither the Artist nor the Playwright had argued, and they had yet to pull away from him holding their arms. Maybe they didn’t hate him. 

They didn’t! They were moving beyond all that! 

Because they had to get the Child back, and Virgil back, and save the Damsel and they had a plan. Actually, they should run through the plan again, because the Bard had already forgotten most of it. 

“Thief?” he called ahead. 

“Mhm?” 

“Can we run through the, uh,” they had a code word for it, shoot, what was it? Oh! Oh, right, “The waltz again?”

“Great Mona Lisa, Bard, how the fuck did you forget how to waltz?” the Artist groaned. “We’re going to a ball.”

“No, no, no, THE waltz,” the Bard nudged the Artist’s side with his elbow. 

The Artist shot him a small confused glare, but realization struck his face quick after. “Oh. Oh, that waltz. Yeah, uh,” he turned to the Playwright, who also seemed confused, then to the front again, “Before we get in, we should go over the waltz again.” 

The Thief and Deceit both stopped as well, fingers brushing once again. The Bard saw the motion and chuckled to himself. Sweet Chopin, they needed to just hold hands already. He could envision the love birds flying around their heads. 

He felt a smidge bad, though. After all, he was the lucky Roman who got to kiss Patton. 

Logan and Patton both turned back to them. Patton let go of Logan, then looked around. They weren’t quite at the castle yet; a side alley, wide enough for all of them to stand in and with ample trees, barrels, and an open door beside it would provide good cover. 

“Let’s go over there,” Patton grabbed Logan’s arm again and led them all into the alley. 

They grouped up into a small but tight circle, the Thief pulling them together. He was in a suit, and an ironic one at that. Originally his costume was intended for Deceit, but he suggested switching them, so that the Dragon would think he were Deceit while being less suspicious. He was themed after a snake, though the theming was less noticeable than the color palette; there were yellow sequins arranged in scale patterns across his black blazer’s forearms, and his vest was black as well, undershirt yellow, and bowtie black. It looked a little like a snazzed-up version of Deceit’s lawyer suit and, though he’d tell no one, the Thief loved the look.

Deceit had said it looked nice on him, too. The bowtie, specifically, but also the entire outfit, and also the Thief simply looked good — yeah, they were both kind of messes. Gone was the ability to seamlessly flirt, apparently.

Still, it was nice to see Deceit in something other than yellow for a change, too. He was dressed as a peacock, with no blazer but a side-cape that shimmered iridescent purple and green. Part of it had blue and green rhinestones inching up the shoulder, and his vest beneath was teal, while his undershirt was mint green. There were bands on his upper arms, keeping his shirt bunched back, that were dark blue. Even his ascot was an iridescent purple and blue. 

They leaned against each other in the huddle. Brown eyes trailed all around the group, meeting similar expressions of steely determination. 

They could do this. 

“Alright,” the Thief started, “For the first hour, we’re gonna scope out the room and surrounding rooms. Meet wherever the snacks are in pairs, alternating pairs, and spread details. Patton and I will go twice.”

“Because you and I are gonna peel off after the first hour to go get Virgil and the Child,” Patton said, meeting the Thief’s eyes.

The Thief nodded. He looked around at everyone — Deceit and the Bard had both been fairly defensive about that choice, but he argued that they needed people who were good at causing distractions on the floor. Patton would be the best at comforting both Virgil and the Child, and the Thief was the only one who had any inkling of what the inside of the castle looked like. 

He continued. “Right. We’re gonna try to get out and—”

“Say, what d’ya think that’d make us?” Patton asked, a tiny grin on his face. 

“Oh, no,” Logan groaned, “Not—”

“Cat burglars!” Patton exclaimed with a giggle. 

The Bard immediately broke out into a fit of giggles, leaning into Deceit a little as he did so. Deceit just rolled his eyes and patted the Bard’s back, letting him cling to his side. 

The Artist stifled some chuckles of his own, and the Playwright grinned. Oh. Oh, no, not the idea grin. 

“I think Dragon will be hard pressed to find flaws in our purr-fect plan,” he said, eyes shining as Patton laughed as well. “We’re just gonna have to distract him with our adorable kitty-Pat.”

Logan groaned again, in good humor this time. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side, Playwright,” he grumbled. 

The Playwright immediately sobered up, mouth pressing into a line. “Ah, Logan, darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Hey, but,” the Bard raised a finger at the Playwright, smile wide and mischievous, “If he catches wind of anything, you, Artist, and I can pull a wild card and deck him.”

That got the Artist and Patton to both laugh aloud, and even Logan smiled a tiny bit at the Playwright, if only to reassure him that his frustration was not directed at him.  

The Thief seemed actually annoyed, though. He snapped his fingers in the center of the circle. “C’mon, focus here. Patton and I are going to get Virgil and the Child, then we’re going to come back up to the ball room at the second hour. At that point, Deceit—”

“I’ll be dancing with Dragon and, once you’re back, I’ll be distracting him enough for you to get out,” Deceit waved his hand, also slightly exasperated. He wanted Virgil back immediately and, as the time to pull off their hest approached, he grew more nervous.

“Right. Then, Playwright will take you backstage once everyone else has filed out,” the Playwright nodded to the Thief regarding his involvement, and the Thief looked around the group once more, “All of that sound good? Everyone else, be on the look out for Damsel. We don’t know where he’s gonna be. If he’s out on the ball floor, Logan, you—”

“I will approach him and explain that we are here to get him out,” Logan grimaced, “If he is not on the ball floor….”

“Then I’ll be on standby to head into the dungeons,” the Artist said, smile deflated, brow furrowed in thought.

“Good,” the Thief patted his shoulder, gripping reassuringly, “And if Remus is there, then Bard is going into the dungeons with Patton and I’m staying in the ball room to kick his ass.”

“This all sounds like a plan, Thief,” the Bard said, smiling at him, “Logan, thoughts?”

Logan huffed, frowning at the ground. He’d rolled the details over in his mind a few times, so he’d already worked out some of the issues, such as the irrationality of the original plan’s “jump out the dungeon’s windows, really, how large are the windows, and how do we know it’s not underground.” For right now, it seemed as though the plan were efficacious, but they couldn’t be certain until it was enacted. 

But at that point, it’d be too late to change the plan to any degree of impeccability. They would have to wing it. And Logan wasn’t a fan of that. 

But what choice did they have?

“It is as detailed and as faultless as we can arrange for it to be currently,” he said.

The Thief’s mouth twitched into a slight grimace, but he nodded all the same. That was as optimistic as he would be. “Once this is all over, we meet at the tree as fast as we all can get there,” the Thief said, casting one more look around, “If we pull this off right, no one’ll be leaving alone. If your partner gets injured, you carry them to the tree.”

“I don’t think….” the Artist said, frowning a tiny bit as his voice trailed off. 

The possibility of injury was very high, actually. Death for the Romans, at least. And they didn’t know if the Dragon had injured Virgil or the Child. To be honest, they didn’t know if the Child was alive. Oh, goodness, what if Dragon had killed him? 

“It’s gonna work,” the Bard said, “It’s gonna.” 

He squeezed the Artist’s arm and gave him a nod. It was going to be okay. Roman was optimistic by nature, and the Artist did crave that sort of positivity. 

“It must,” Deceit affirmed none too positively. 

“It will,” Patton said, smiling at them all again before clapping, “And break!”

Everyone stood up on instinct. Then, they all shared slight laughs, small smiles.

The Bard leaned over and hugged Deceit with an arm, reciprocated a little. Patton leaned against the Artist, who didn’t hug back, but also didn’t flinch finally. 

They were getting somewhere. It was going to be okay. 

It was going to be okay. 

….Without Virgil, they all felt as though their optimism was naively placed. But that was why they were going to get him back! 

Once he was back, Deceit thought, he was never letting go again. If he was back. No, no, once he was back. He was coming back soon. 

“Let’s go,” the Thief pulled his mask out from his coat, a black half-face mask covered in yellow sequins arranged like scales.

Everyone shared looks, nodding to each other as they slid on their own masks. Logan, Patton, the Artist, and the Playwright all had special masks that mimicked their glasses prescriptions so they wouldn’t need contacts, too. With faces obscured, they nodded once more, squeezing arms in reassurance and patting backs and giving smiles, and hurried out of the alley. 

The Playwright walked at the front of the group, the only one not paired to any Side. He looked up at the sky. A storm had grown, clouds angry and grey above the castle, which was only a few blocks away now. Perhaps it would thunder during the ball. 

He wondered vaguely what had caused the sudden shift in weather. During their week alone, it was all sunny skies. 

Was it….

No. No, no part of Roman was that desperate, to have gone to Remus. Right? He’d been telling himself that ever since they’d begun this game, but the darker their future seemed, the more he worried about the Duke’s involvement. 

The Thief seemed to think it was very real, enough to have a back-up written into the plan. C’est la vie. Such was life, he thought, the show must go on.

They walked quietly for only a few minutes. The closer they got to the castle, the more Imagination inhabitants they saw walking around them, some in pairs, some in groups, some alone. Everyone was in costume, most intricate. Good. This would be good, for coverage. The Thief had been a little worried that the ball would be sparsely attended, but this was good. 

It was going to be okay. 

They approached the drawbridge. Patton leaned against the Artist, gripping his arm tighter as the wind picked up. The Thief and Deceit were stoic behind them, and Logan and the Bard were simply quiet, though their hands were interlaced tight. It was going to be okay.

A line had formed on the bridge, in front of one man in a suit, perhaps the medieval equivalent of a bouncer. The group shuffled into the line, looking around at the castle, at the moat (“I think it’s filled with alligators,” the Bard murmured to Logan, who shook his head and was about to respond that that didn’t make sense, until an alligator’s maw jumped up and snatched a low-flying bird) and at the sky. 

Angry, angry clouds. 

It took an excruciatingly long eleven minutes for the Playwright to finally reach the front of the line, but when he did, he immediately grinned. He had to hand it to the Dragon. 

“May I see your invitation?” Zac Efron asked, dressed in a black butler’s outfit.

Bless the Imagination’s castings. The Playwright handed over his invitation, and Zac looked over a list in his other hand before handing back the invitation and checking off a name. “You may enter to the ball room,” he motioned to the door. 

The Playwright curtsied and hurried in. Behind him was the Artist and Patton, both of whom gasped a little, becau se holy shit, it’s Zac Efron. 

The Dragon was really out here casting Thomas’ celebrity crushes as butlers. It was the first thing that the Artist had wholly agreed with the Dragon on, actually. Once they were Roman, they were going to have to look into that as a possibility. 

One by one, each entered, walking down a grand hall with a ceiling so high and so vaulted that there seemed to be a sky inside. But, then again, there probably was. This was the Imagination. It looked somewhat like the Great Hall from the Harry Potter movies, this time shining with stars and constellations. 

Logan could identify Aries and Pieces. That was actually accurate for the season and hour, so he gave a mental kudos to Roman for his design, then considered if it were his knowledge that had been used to perfect the stars. Well. That was inconsequential, I guess?

The hall was also lined with suits of armor, and bannisters adorned with Roman’s full crest. Though, Deceit noticed while he walked through, the entire crest was outlined in gold and the castle in the center was colored with grey and brown and black. He thought the Dragon was only supposed to be the outer tower and walls. If the Dragon called all of the shots around here, then why was the center tower also colored?

The walk was long, heels clacking against the stone. They turned with the carpet to the left and entered through a pair of double doors that had to be at least two floors high. 

Inside was life. The room was massive, stretching almost the size of a football field. There was a stage near the entrance door where there were musicians (with undetailed faces, Deceit noticed) were playing loud enough to echo across the room. The dance floor seemed to take up about half the room. 

Farther away from the entrance were some circle tables, arranged around with some citizens already sitting down. Further back were some long tables, food stacked atop them, and even further….

The throne was elevated so the Dragon could see across the hall to the dance floor. The Thief’s fists clenched immediately upon seeing him wearing the Prince’s attire, white uniform a stark contrast to the black he was typically adorned with. It was a jarring difference. 

He was taunting them. By Doc Holliday’s pistol, they were gonna take him down.

Beside his throne was a large Ottoman seat, where there was another figure. The Damsel, most likely, though his face was obscured by a sheer red veil and distance. He was wearing a large dress, which had a triple-tiered skirt that seemed to flare out orange, then red, then black. His corset was decorated with red and orange and yellow rhinestones, and raised behind his head. It almost looked like flames. 

Burned. The Damsel’s scars were also entirely visible, scabs on his arms angry and red, clearly not fully healed. They weren’t openly bleeding, but the Playwright could tell that they would start bleeding at some point in the night. 

His nose scrunched as he examined the pair. They didn’t seem to notice him, the Damsel leaning against the throne’s side and not moving, the Dragon stroking his chin and looking across the hall absently. He had a sword sheathed beside the throne, too, with its handle sticking up in an easily accessible manner. 

He was waiting for them, he realized. Of course he was, this was a trap, you fool. You knew this. You’d planned. It was going to be okay.

The Playwright turned back to the group just as the last pair, Logan and the Bard, entered. 

“Okay. I am going to move toward the snack table,” he nodded toward the thrones, “Octopus, would you like to join me?”

Logan let go of the Bard, who curtsied and stepped back, and then offered a hand to the Playwright. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, “How about we acquire a table, Hearts?”

The Playwright nodded, then shot the Thief a look. “Snake,” he said, a promise, a warning, “Let’s waltz.” 

“Let’s,” the Thief responded, squeezing Deceit’s arm. 

The Bard and Patton had already taken each other onto the dance floor, hoping to not be conspicuously waiting in a group by the door way, and the Artist was meandering around — nope, no, he just asked an Imagination citizen to dance. Blending in well. 

Operation save Virgil and the Child was a go. 

Virgil could hear the faint music from above. He squinted up, then closed his eyes and exhaled. What’d that matter? 

His side was throbbing. It seemed that just wrapping a bandage around a wound did fuck all to stop it from hurting, or bleeding, especially if it was just wrapped once and around the front. Virgil would have to remember that for the next time he got stabbed by an evil Dragon, he thought snidely. 

He and the Child had relocated themselves to the bed. Pretending to not be panicking was tiring, but luckily for him, the Child had fallen asleep. 

He sniffed quietly, rubbing his eye with the butt of his palm. For the past half an hour, ever sine the Child fell asleep, Virgil had been silently crying. And there was no Damsel to conjure him a glass of water or tell him it’d be okay. Because he knew it wasn’t going to be okay. 

Even if he didn’t die in the Imagination, he’d be exiting it alone. And that was fine! 

The Child snuggled closer to his chest, tiny arms wrapped around him. Virgil sniffed again and hugged him tight. 

If he did nothing else, he’d at least protect this Roman. 

He wished he’d at least told Roman how he felt. 

Maybe he’d never get the chance. 

Gosh, this was really fatalistic, even for him. It wasn’t like he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

Virgil shielded his eyes with an arm and, as illogical as it was, wished that he could use that one arm motion to block out the sounds of the ball going on above. Shit, he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

….Usually that’d freak him out a bit more. Maybe he’d bled out to the point where he was too tired to be worried. And, maybe it was childish, but he really did want to dance with Roman. 

taglists!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil @theobsessor1 @ninja-wizard101 @fandomsofrandom

general taglist: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne

#chivalry au #fic #my fic #roman #patton #logan #deceit #virgil #remus #roman sanders #ts roman #patton sanders #ts patton #logan sanders #ts logan #deceit sanders #ts deceit #virgil sanders #ts virgil #thomas sanders #sanders sides #ts fanfic #woweee that's a lotta tags #asdkghjsdf i should get out of bed to do this #but also if i get out of bed im going to be empowered to put on my clothes and start the day #and i still. wanna post the costumes. #sdlaksghsadlfkhaslkfdhasd #can we get an f in the fortnite chat

[iiimber]

paints and cherry blossoms

shinsou hitoshi x reader

i got this idea out of no where earlier and decided to just sit down and write it in one go.

i love shinsou he deserves rest and a place in 1-A

warnings: none

EDIT: made it gender neutral :) 

There was always someone painting in the art room when you were leaving for the day. His back was turned towards the door so you were only familiar with the broad shoulders and wild, bedhead lilac hair.

 Staying late after school to clean as well as tend to club activities, you never stopped to truly admire whatever he was working on. Exhaustion pulled at every inch of your body, so getting home and in bed was the only thing on your mind once the day was done.

 You just happened to pass the room on your trek out of the school, casually glancing in to glimpse the mystery boy. Curiosity grew over the weeks; what did he look like? What were his interests? Which department did he belong to?

 You didn’t realize you had grown so attached to seeing his back every day until he wasn’t there.

 Stopping mid-step, you blinked into the empty room. The lights were on, even a school bag was leaning against the wooden easel...but where was your mystery guy?

 It was then you noticed the drying canvas in front of you.

 You gaped at it silently, eyes moving from each stroke and color choice with awe.

 You recognized the place...a small clearing outside U.A. had a few large and old trees that was home to cherry blossoms when spring rolled around. The realism of it was there enough for you to know the reference, but the painting had it’s own beautiful style.

 The colors were so vibrant and lively, yet the painting in it’s entirety filled you with a strange sense of melancholy. You didn’t understand why…

 Sounds of shuffling snapped you out of your daze, whipping around to meet the tired and confused eyes of your mystery guy.

 He was holding a couple of bottles of glaze, along with some larger brushes. He held your eyes for a bit longer, before moving forward with an uninterested look. You stepped out of his way, watching as he set down the bottles and brushes. He had a paint-stained apron tied around him, white school shirt rolled up to his biceps. You could hit yourself for not recognizing that wild hair sooner.

 He was Shinsou Hitoshi, from the General Ed. class. He lost the first round of the One on One in the sports festival, but he sure made an impression within the school. If you could remember clearly, he possessed a brainwashing quirk.

 “Are you here to paint or are you going to just stand and stare.”

 The statement made you stutter, watching him glance towards you.

 “A-ah no I just...saw your painting from the hallway and couldn’t help but want a closer look…”

 You cursed your voice for sounding so small, wincing slightly as his intense eyes bore into yours. He stared at you silently for a moment, before turning away yet again.

 “Alright.”

 Hands grabbed at the fabric of your shirt, wondering if you should excuse yourself and leave or stay and try to make small talk. Weeks of curiosity was catching up to you, and now that you had a face and name to the broad shoulders and lilac hair, you didn’t want to leave.

 Your school bag was set on a nearby table gently before walking closer to him. Shinsou was sitting now, opening a bottle of the glaze while trying to ignore your approaching form.

 “I’ve uh...seen you in here almost everyday for the past couple of weeks. I never got a chance to see what you were working on since I’m always in a rush to get home but,”

 The bottle of glaze was opened and set on the table beside him, hand reaching out to lightly trace his strokes. He must’ve been testing to see if it was dry. Eyes turned from him to the painting.

 “It’s really beautiful…”

 His hand stuttered slightly, head turning to look at you again. You weren’t sure why he looked so surprised at the compliment, but you decided then that you’d like to see that expression more often. 

_______________

 After that day, your bed had to wait. Visiting Shinsou after your duties as school became just another part of your schedule.

 He gave that cherry blossom painting to you after the glaze was dry. It hung above your bed.

 At first, there wasn’t much talking between the two of you; small snippets of meaningless chatter or just greetings and goodbyes. The lilac-haired boy just sat and painted whatever he desired while you would read or finish homework. Sometimes you’d just sit and watch him make delicate strokes against the canvases.

 The way he worked was almost hypnotic, like he’d been painting all his life and could do it with his eyes closed. That sparked your first real conversation.

 “How long have you been doing this?”

 Shinsou glanced up, watching you fold the corner of the page you were on and set the paperback down.

 “How long have I what? Staying after school to paint or paint? Be more specific.”

 He liked how you flushed in embarrassment.

 “I-I mean painting in general. You seem like such a pro at it…it’s almost mesmerizing.”

 He turned so he wouldn’t smile, placing his brush in a cup of water and stretching out his cramping fingers.

 “A couple of years. Taught myself.”

 You muttered a small appraisal, looking on at his newest work. This time it was an orange tabby cat, sprawled on it’s back with it’s eyes closed.

 “Her name’s Michi. She lives by my house and likes to follow me around.”

 A smile crept onto your face, finding it a little beyond adorable that he was painting his favorite street cat. Shinsou decided that he’d like to see that smile more often.

_______________

 “‘Toshhhhiiiii.”

 The drawn-out call of his name (his nickname, actually), woke him. Gentle hands tugged at his unruly strands as he blinked sleep out of his eyes. The art room was lit orange, shadows growing bigger every minute he looked around. He must’ve fallen asleep waiting on you.

 “Sorry it took so long, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

 You were still in your hero costume, smiling sheepishly at him when he finally turned towards you.

 “Kendou wanted to train a little longer than usual… I was just on my way to the locker rooms to change.”

 A hand came up to rub his nape, standing slowly. He offered to wait for you before walking back to the dorms, picking up his bag and placing a hand atop your head to steer you out of the room.

 It was your third year; he made it into the heroics department finally last year, placing in 2-B. You were over the roof to see him there with you.

 You looked exhausted when you came out of the locker room, (length) hair a mess and shirt buttoned up the wrong holes; really quite adorable.

 “You didn’t paint today?”

 He barely heard your whisper, looking down as you tugged on his sleeve. Shinsou shook his head, shrugging when you questioned further.

 “It’s no fun when you’re not there to annoy me.”

 You threw your head back in a laugh, nudging his arm with your shoulder.

 The trek to the dorms was otherwise fairly silent; the sun had set completely, the tall lamps their only source of light. It was cooler, slight breezes chilling the two as they walked. Your bare arms were covered in goosebumps, wrapping around yourself in an effort to stay warm

 “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to wrap myself in my blankets more.”

 “That is most certainly a lie.”

 A weak giggle left your lips as you nodded, stepping closer to him for warmth.

 “Warm me up, ‘Toshi.”

 A muscled arm pulled you to his side, face flushing slightly as you let out a contented hum.

 “You’re so warm, ‘s making me sleepy.” A yawn took over your features almost comically, yet Shinsou couldn’t help but admire how cute you looked; eyes heavy with sleep and hair still messy, blowing gently with the wind.

 “(Name).”

 He stopped walking, making you pause in return and turn towards him with a look of confusion. Your lips parted to call his name, but before you could get out the first syllable, a hand on your cheek rendered you speechless.

 To anyone else, Shinsou Hitoshi might’ve looked bored; eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a straight line. To you, he looked nervous.

 You asked softly what was wrong, but he stayed silent. You could see his eyes moving across your face, like he was thinking long and hard about something.

 “I think,” he started, his hand trembling slightly against your skin. “I think I might be in love with you.”

 Your breath caught in your throat, eyes blown wide as you stared up at him. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple, besides it being chilly. You stood and just stared for a few moments, engraving this moment in your mind. You wanted to cherish it forever.

 Shaky hand moved on their own, reaching up to his face. Your fingers slid by his skin and tangled into lilac hair, tugging him forward as you balanced on your tiptoes.

 His lips met yours in a gentle embrace, hand cupping your cheek while the other grasped your waist.

 You had always heard that the first kiss with that special someone would be like fireworks going off inside you; in a way, they were right. Your heart drummed furiously like it would when the bang of said light show would go off, a feeling of euphoria washing over your entire being. His lips moved against yours with a certain inexperience but it felt perfect, like something you’ve waited your entire life for.

 Shinsou pulled away first, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. He was so tall he had to hunch a bit, to continue this action. His thumbs stroked the skin of your cheeks while his warm breath hit your parted lips.

 A serene, gentle moment passed before you let out a soft chuckle, watching his eyes flutter open to meet yours.

 “What’s so funny?”

 You pecked him again, lips fitting perfectly against his.

 “I’m in love with you too, dummy.”

#shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi imagine #shinsou hitoshi scenario #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha scenario #shinsou hitoshi

[owlish-peacock36]

Alla Prima- Chapter 4

Prologue   Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3

Claire.

The name echoed in whispers in his mind, vibrating in his head. Such a simple name, really. Short, one syllable, clipped. Really, truly just a name. No, it was the woman it belonged to that made it special. That made Jamie want to elongate the name, taste every letter.

Cl...aire…

C...l...ai...re

It was his own personal poem, musical and song-like. A lullaby that dreamily drifted through his ears, lulling him into calmness.

And why should he feel so strongly about this woman? A woman he just met. A practical stranger.

He knew why, of course. No, it wasn’t just her beauty, though that didn’t hurt his impression of her. She was smart. Professor smart. Biology professor smart. And effortlessly funny. And kind. But, most of all, she was transparent. He felt as if he knew her in one conversation; her eyes stained glass windows into her mechanical mind, her face twisted with every emotion she felt.

He was infatuated with her: her voice, her eyes, her smile, her mind...

He tested her name out again, speaking to the darkness of early morning:

“C...l...airrrre.”

***

“Jamie? Jamie!” He shook himself from his thoughts, the large dining room coming into focus. His sister was speaking to him.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“What's going on with ye, Jamie? Yer mind is somewhere else.” Jenny’s eyebrows were drawn in concern. Yes, his mind was elsewhere, but he wasn't prepared to tell his family exactly where.

“Oh, aye. I'm just...tired. I was up late last night.” Jamie glanced around the table at his family.Sunday dinner at Jenny’s, a tradition that they had started when their father died. The family had grown since then, though. Jenny married Ian, Willie married Nora. Both couples had spawned 2 children each, and Jenny was round with another.

“Ye need to get more sleep, Sawny. Yer not sleeping enough,” Willie interjected.

“Sawny...Sawnyyyyyy…” Willie’s youngest, Elinor, sang sleepily, and dropped her head on her father’s shoulder.

“Aye, I ken. Just, ye never know when ye’ll be inspired.”

“I dinna understand it a bit,” Willie admitted, taking a large bite of pasta. “But I'll always support ye. However. Ye need to be healthy.”

“I'll work on it.” Willie placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing slightly, before turning his full attention to the meal in front of him. A bottomless pit, that man was.

“Anyway, Jamie,” Jenny interjected. “I was asking what yer working on now?” With a little bit of natural artistic talent, but never taking it further than that, Jenny was always interested in Jamie’s ‘next big project.’

“Ach, just small canvases. Nothing special, really.” Very special, actually, but Jamie didn't want to tell them about Claire.

“Nothing special? Ye just said yer getting inspired in the middle of the night!” Jenny laughed, blue eyes crinkling.

“Weel, I've just been painting...pretty things. Flowers and such. Nothing too...inspired. Just, when it's in my heid, I have to do it, ken?”

“Nay, but I'll pretend I do.” Jenny wasn’t convinced, and Jamie knew it. The way her eyes narrowed, and lips pursed; that was her concentration face. He would be asked about it when they were alone. He should definitely leave before there was a chance of that. “How's the meal, loves?”

“Fantastic as always, sis,” Willie mumbled through a mouthful.

“Chew wif yer mouf closed, Da,” Elinor woke up long enough to say.

“Aye, Peach. Thank ye.”

***

It was unusual for Jamie to go to the park after Sunday dinner, but there he was. It wasn't a conscious decision; his body was heading in that direction before his mind could catch up.

He saw Claire from a distance, her dark mane hard to ignore. Instead of sitting on her usually bench, she was pacing the path, stretching her arms above her head.

Suddenly, she doubled over, grabbing her foot.

***

“Fuck!” Claire whined, examining her toe. Just a scrape, nothing life-threatening. But, a stubbed toe never felt too good.

“Watch her mouth. There are children present.” She jumped, unaware she had company. She turned to face her companion, a man with the sunset in his hair and a smirk on his lips.

“Jamie! You frightened me!” He blushed.

“I'm sorry, I dinna mean to.” He looked positively abashed with his pink cheeks and downcast eyes.

“No! It's fine. I wasn't expecting you. How are you?”

“Good, good. Just had dinner. Are ye alright?” He motioned to her foot, which she was still holding onto.

“Oh, yes. A stubbed toe.” She winked. “I think I'll survive.”

“Good to hear, Sassenach.” Sassenach? What does that mean. She was about to ask, but he cut off her thoughts. “So...um...can I ask ye something?”

“You just did.” A dumb joke, she knew, but she wanted to see him smile again.

It worked.

“Aye. Another thing, then.”

“Of course.”

“Do ye… Could I, maybe, get yer phone number?” Whatever she was expecting...that was not it. She was undoubtedly pleased.

“Oh. Um. Yes, let me see your phone.”

“Let me see yers as well.” They swapped phones, typing numbers furiously.

“You can text me anytime, Jamie.”

“Aye, I will. I mean, yes. Sure.” Flustered. He was flustered, and it warmed Claire to know she had such an effect.

“I better be off. Got to be up early tomorrow. But… I'll speak with you soon?”

“Ye will.”

***

Jamie woke with a start, the shrill ringing of his cell phone hitting his sensitive ears. What time was it?

2:54 a.m. the clock told him.

He glanced over at his phone on the nightstand. And thrill ran through him. Underneath the bold name “Claire Beauchamp,” was a picture of her, taken not 12 hours ago. He didn't realize she had put a photo in her contact information. He didn't realize she took a picture at all.

But, even more surprising, why was she calling him? He wasn't angry or annoyed, quite the opposite really. It was just...a shock.

Steeling himself, he pressed the little green button in the corner.

“Hello?”

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #alla prima #chapter 4 #jamie and claire #artist jamie #professor claire

[citrusratz]

We Can Make It

A Wreck It Ralph fanfiction from five years ago

Chapter One

The pain of her revelation eased far sooner than she expected.  

Its initial bite left her practically motionless in the black, frozen abyss of the basement. Only then did she realize just how cold it was. The walls were made of ice, a terrible, consuming cage of doubt. No thoughts brought warmth, no memories brought happiness. She knew it all to be manufactured. She was not who she was made to believe she was, and yet the emotions that she had recalled felt just as real as the knitted hat on her head.  

She missed her great-grandmother. Wanted to be proud of her achievements. Wanted to know that her sense of accomplishment and self-worth had been real.

But it was not. It never was. None of it.

And yet, there she was. Though none of her memories were real, the moment that she lived was present. Reality seemed to settle next to her, watching quietly, slowly wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It whispered gently and lowly in her ear, “There is no past. And there is no use hurting over what never existed.”

That thought stretched a thin sheet of calm over her nerves. Her eyes lifted, surveying the desolate space around her. So bland, plain, and empty.  

A blank slate.

A new start.

Her heart tickled and the tiniest, yet most glorious spark flickered inside, illuminating the edges of a smile on her lips. This cold, ugly hole was absolutely perfect.

The following week turned the burning pain into nothing but a scar in the back of her mind, all but forgotten. It was uneventful in terms of gameplay for her, but goodness, did she spruce up her living space. Not an inch of that basement was without color, and almost none of it was complimentary. It looked as if a tornado and a rainbow had made wild and passionate love all over the walls and floors. She created doors, furniture, shelves, lights (far more than were actually necessary), bells, trinkets, wall art, appliances, and mountains of more food than she could ever eat on her own. There was no shortage of fun; the floors were littered with rollerblades, rocket shoes, jet packs, pogo sticks, bouncy balls of every size, tubs of colorful candy, sticky-soled shoes (what good is a ceiling if it cannot be walked on?), and in a far and crowded corner, a real beast of a motorbike. She really was not sure what good that would do her if she were hiding out in a basement, but it would come in handy somehow, she knew, if not just for the sake of eye candy.  

She was still somewhat avoiding going outside. It was more fun to imagine her cousin constantly guessing when she would pop out, picturing him startling and looking over his shoulder for a creeping artist. Not to mention that she would not mind avoiding a confrontation and being asked how in the blue blazes she managed to get into Niceland. Felix was nice enough. Almost too nice, if she were to be honest. But paying attention to anything he said for more than ten seconds was not something she thought herself particularly skilled at. She would hate to get stuck in an awkward one-sided conversation that would only end up in her finding some sort of socially unacceptable way to escape the encounter. Although she was certain he was unaware of it, he had a certain way of making her feel guilty for ditching him. It seemed akin to shunning a polite and playful puppy.

It was true that she loved playing with Felix, but only when she decided the games. And more often than not, those games were along the lines of “How many yellow dinosaurs can Felix outrun in an hour” or “How well can Felix fill out this dress”. For reasons she feigned ignorance to, he just did not quite share her sense of fun.

Being cooped up in a basement with a bunch of junk lying around, however, was starting to lose its lustre. Broken and torn canvases were everywhere, crumpled up pieces of paper, discarded blueprints, candy wrappers, and every manner of broken trinket. She found herself lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, bouncing a ball up against it.

The junk was all her fault, she admitted as she watched the red ball fly back and forth. Of course, it was not as if she could do anything about it. Her name was Make-It Mavis. She made things, not destroyed them. And prohibiting herself from going outside somewhat limited her space in which to put her garbage.  

Maybe she could create some sort of garbage dispos—THWAP. The ball bounced at an odd angle and came back to hit her right in the forehead.  

Grumbling in pain as she rubbed her head, she made a radical decision. She was going to go outside. Pay a visit to the dump and get rid of her piles of junk.  

Within a few moments, she was ready to go, having painted herself a shiny blue wheelbarrow in which to roll out the trash. If she moved quickly, she could go out and come back without being spotted by Felix or the Nicelanders. Sneaky, very sneaky, she thought to herself as she pushed her load over to the out-chute and stomped on it.  

The loaded spring activated, sending her spiraling out of the potted plants again, her trash and wheelbarrow flying everywhere and landing with a loud ‘clang’ as she nimbly landed on her feet with a little ‘ding’.

Her face was screwed up and her shoulders tensed in a prolonged flinch. She had not realized that the out-chute would fire her up so fast every time she used it. This was, after all, only her second time going outside, and her first during the closed hours of the arcade. It was eerily quiet after the echo of her crash faded. No music floated through the air like it did during open hours. Just strange, unnatural light, an abyssal black sky, and a great far-off window outside of which sat other resting consoles.

A sigh of relief relaxed her shoulders. That was entirely too close for her comfort. As quickly as she could manage, she gathered up the scattered junk back into her wheelbarrow and lifted it back upright. She began to scamper forward, but knocked her belly against the back edge as the wheel snapped off and rolled away into the garden.  

“Agh, piece o’ cuss,” she hissed under her breath, rubbing her stomach and kneeling next to her broken contraption. “Why can’t I paint a decent wheelbarrow, honestly, Mavis? How hard is it to paint a bloody tub with a wheel…”  

She pulled out her brush and circled another wheel under the dented body, knocking it once and turning it a bit to make sure it was sturdy. Once she was satisfied that this one would not fly away, she got back into position and resumed her mission. Things were not going quite as sneakily as she had originally hoped.

It barely took her a moment to reach the dump. A looming mountain of bricks was hard to miss, and it looked fairly out of place barely fifty feet away from such a magnificent apartment building. As she skid to a stop on the grass next to the bottom, she pondered for a moment if this was where they put all the bricks knocked out of the building by Ralph. Or did they just disappear? No, then where would this absurd pile of bricks come from?  

“Hey!”

Make-It shrieked in surprise and literally jumped a good ten feet backwards with a ‘boing’, leaving her junk to fend for itself. When she landed, her heart fluttering so hard it was practically flapping, she spotted the nine-foot tall man glaring down at her from the rise of the hill.  

“What do you think you’re doing to my bricks? I work hard for these, you know! Go paint your own or something!” He shooed her away with a hand like a tiny pest.  

“What? No, I don’t want your bricks! I didn’t even know they were yours.”

“Uh huh. Well, I guess a dump of old bricks isn’t quite as catchy as ‘Niceland’, is it? Kind of hard to remember?” He frowned deeper than he was before, sitting back on an enormous stump and resting his gargantuan arms on his legs.

Make-It’s eyes shifted back and forth. “Uh… I’m sorry. I haven’t been outside much since we were plugged in. I don’t think you and I have even talked yet, have we?”

“You haven’t talked to anyone yet, fem-Fix-It.”

She scoffed. “I’m not my cousin. I have a name, you know.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, you haven’t been outside much since we were plugged in.”

She prepared a retort, but came up with nothing. “Fair enough,” she shrugged, hopping up the hill to speak closer with him.

“Hey, HEY, GET OFF MY—ugh, fine.” He rested his chin in his hand. Make-It observed that his fingers could probably easily close around his entire head.

“Sorry that I’m dirtying your bricks with my little feet,” she smiled up at him. “My name is Make-It Mavis.”

“And you’re Felix’s cousin.”

“Yup.”

“Who lives in the basement.”  

“That’s me.”

He paused, staring at her, looking about the least impressed that he could possibly be. “And just why are you here?”

She shrugged and stretched her arms behind her back, clasping her fingers. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’m an Easter Egg, whatever that means. I don’t know just why I’m here, but I only come up when the players hit the right combination of controls. I guess I’m a gag. A surprise, if you will.”

“Ch—yeah,” he snorted, “You’re a surprise, alright. I don’t think anyone expected to see a little hippy-painter-trickster-thing pop out of the dirt. Least of all your cousin.”

Her impish laugh chimed out of her throat. “His face was just so priceless,” she panted, putting a knuckle to her lips.  

“How’d you get down there?”

Her smile became far more crooked. “I have connections.”

“…I see. Well. Okay then. I’m Ralph. I live on a pile of bricks. I used to live there,” he pointed to Niceland, “before they stacked that ugly building where my stump was.” He pressed his lips together, pressing down a growl in his chest.  

“So that’s why you wanna wreck it,” she nodded, stepping over to sit on the bricks next to him, and flinching when they poked her rump. With a quick swish, she painted herself a lovely cushion to sit on. “Do you sleep up here?”

“Yup. It’s not that bad, really. I’ve got thick skin. I barely feel it.”

She observed him. “I see… That would explain how you still have the flesh on your knuckles.”

He chortled sarcastically. “Uh huh. Ignoring the fact that I’m the ‘bad guy’ and it’s my job. It’s in my code, so of course it doesn’t hurt.”

“Bad guy, huh. You don’t seem all that bad.”

He glanced at her sidelong, unimpressed as ever. “You know, I was ready to punt you through the screen when you showed up.”

She shrugged. “I’d punt me through the screen, too.”

“What does that even mean..?”

Another shrug, accented with a wink. He pinched his brow between his fingers. “Okay… Well, regardless of how I seem, pint-size, I’m the bad guy. It’s in my code.”

Her heart sank a bit, though she was not sure why. She frowned and blinked slowly at her knees. “I suppose your code is everything, then?”

“Code IS everything. I’m code, you’re code, the building’s code. We can’t change code.”

Sickly thumps against her ribcage brought a deeper frown to her face. “I see. Well. I can’t force myself to believe that anything and everything is just a series of numbers.”

“Get used to it. It’s not changing.”

“Maybe not, but…” she squirmed a bit, “it can be built upon. Maybe. Maybe our code is just a start. Kind of like the sketch that starts the painting.”

He stared at her. “Don’t get philosophical on me, kid. I didn’t want you up here in the first place, let alone to preach some hippy mumbo-jumbo.”  

Her hands raised in feigned defense. “Okay there big guy. I’ll cut the deep talk. Being plugged in must have fried my brain or something.”

“That would explain a lot.”

Her giggle jingled, but his frown never flinched. Smile fading a bit, she cleared her throat. “Well then. Uh… You know, if you’re the ‘bad guy’… and Felix is the ‘good guy’, what does that make me? I’m not an NPC.”  

He nodded briefly. “I know you’re not. I’ve talked with some of the other bad guys from the games around here. They’ve been plugged in just a few days longer than we have and they already know a whole heck of a lot more than we do. This whole arcade’s only been open for a few days.” He picked up a brick absent-mindedly and crushed it between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re an Easter Egg, a neutral party. And what a character wouldn’t give to be in your position.”

She scoffed. “Locked up in a basement throwing paint everywhere? I kind of think I’m the only one who would enjoy that.”

“I mean being an Easter Egg,” he growled, “it means you do hardly a fraction of the work that we do and yet you’re about fifty times as appreciated as us non-hidden characters. Whenever you pop up on the screen, all the gamers ‘freak out!’” He jittered his hands in mock excitement. “It doesn’t matter if your job is pretty much useless; you’re a fun little secret that gamers consider themselves better than other gamers for knowing about. You get so much more fame with such less effort.”

“Well, now.” Her eyebrows raised. “Sounds like quite an honor over nothing. If they could see what I can actually do, then I’d understand why they love me so much!” Knocking her paint color to yellow, she waved the brush above her head and smacked it into flames. Ralph flinched visibly, leaning away from the heat as it fizzled out.  

“That’s a cute trick.” He immediately went back to frowning, “Except your hat’s on fire.”

“No it’s not.”

“Uh, yeah, it is.”

A rather toasty sensation found its way to her scalp. So it was.  

“Hmm,” she tossed the maroon knit off of her head before it could catch onto her short, chestnut hair, watching it reduce to smolders on the bricks. “Welp.”

“Good job. Now what’ll you do? Gamers who know you won’t be happy to see you without a hat.”

She shrugged, gesturing that he made a good point. “Well, I could kill myself so I spawn with a new hat, but… you know, I always wanted it a little bit more purple.” She tapped on her bucket, choosing a shade just the slightest bit more violet than prior, and painted a neat blob on the back of her head, tapping it into a plush looking hat.

“Ta-da.”

He nodded slowly, pressing his lips together.

A light flicked on in her head. “THAT’S what I need! An incinerator. Then I can get rid of my garbage and not leave it in your lovely bricks…”

Ralph just grunted.

“Oh, uh, by the way,” she continued, twisting the handle of her brush in her fingers, “you mentioned that you talked to the other bad guys. Where are they? How did you get to them?”

“Wow. You really do live underground, don’t you? You can leave the game, you know. Visit other games. Sounds great, right? Well you’d just better not die, ‘cause you die for good outside of your game. No spawning with new hats or whatever it is you just said.”

“Huh.”

“Oh, and YOU can leave a lot more than we can. You’ve got a lot more spare time. If someone tries to access the Easter Egg and you don’t show up, they’ll just think they did the combination wrong. Maybe some whiny kid will blame it on the console, but that won’t get us in trouble. You’re a secret. The game can function just fine without you.”

“Hmm.”

“…You’re gonna use that as an excuse to go bother other games during their working hours, aren’t you?”

“Who, me?” She pressed her palm to her heart, stricken. “Where would you get that notion?”

He glared, and she guffawed.  

“So just how do you leave?”

He growled out a sigh, “Oh my land, kid,” he picked her up by her head between his thumb and middle finger, pointing her towards the back of the console. “You get out through that dinky little subway train.”

And quite the dinky little subway train it was. It looked a lot more like a sub-par amusement park ride for kids than a mode of transportation. Its colors were bright, its cars boxy, and the tracks did not look all that reliable. It sat politely next to a station that looked hardly bigger than Ralph, hiding behind some uniform trees and over a tiny bridge.

“Well, would you look at that!” She folded her arms, still dangling from Ralph’s massive fingers. “What a crap-tacular little train. I wanna ride on it. Let’s take the whole family.”

She was turned around to face Ralph again. “Golly, you’re weird.” He scrutinized her as if he were holding the young of an extra-terrestrial being.

The sound of a window thudding open startled them both, Ralph turning Make-It in the direction of the noise. Felix was leaning halfway out of his window, looking perplexed and horrified.

“Ralph! You put her down right now, mister!”

“Wh—I wasn-” He stood up, gesturing to the tiny woman in his hand and shaking her around a bit. “I’m not gonna break her, Felix!”

“Watch it, Goliath,” she hissed.

“You’ve broken me by accident a good five times this past week!” Felix waved his index finger at him. “I’m sorry Ralph, I don’t mean to get huffy with you, I just don’t want—”

“I know! I know, I know.” He dropped her, and she slipped just a bit on a few loose bricks. She could hear Felix sigh to himself, even from that distance.

“Thank you. Sorry again, Ralph. Please don’t take it personally.”

“Uh huh.” The huge man thumped over onto his back, the bricks smacking together beneath him.

Felix frowned guiltily, letting out another heavy sigh through his nose. He turned to Make-It, leaning an elbow on the windowsill and giving her a bit of a mock accusatory look. Supposedly mock. It could have been genuine, Make-It guessed to herself. There was always something that she could be accused of.

“Now, you, little missy, need a good talking to! It’s been nearly a week since we got here and you haven’t said a word to me. All you’ve done is cover me in paint…” he smiled awkwardly, glancing away. “Hop on up here so we can catch up.”

Make-It stared at him for a moment, a tipsy-looking twist of a smile squished into her lips, but then sighed, resigned. She had been caught fair and square. Time to pay her cousin a visit. She brought her leg up and slapped it down, leaving little boings behind as she hopped from sill to sill until she reached Felix’s near the very top. He was still standing there, smiling jubilantly and freakishly welcomingly. She gripped the sill with one hand and leaned back with her feet against the wall, watching him expectantly.  

“Well, are you gonna mo-”

“Ah, get in here, you rascally cousin of mine!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her in, clasping her in a tight hug as he did. Her legs raised a bit off the ground with the force and she wheezed. He was a lot stronger than he looked.  

She marvelled at how he was still willing to hug her after all the times she had accidentally set him on fire in their backstories.

“It had been way too long, you know! And being painted plaid wasn’t exactly a proper reunion, now was it?” He held her out at arms’ length, smiling brightly. “Look at you, Mavy. You’re almost as tall as I am! And is that a new hat? You painted that yourself, didn’t you?”

Wow. He actually noticed the slight shade difference. “Uh, yes it is, and yes I did!” She pulled a smile over one side of her face.  

“Aw,” he cooed, patting her cheek. “Still the same smile I remember. Your non-diabolical smile, anywho.”

“Diabolical, who’s diabolical,” she muttered, barely audible, trailing off. “Are you diabolical, I’m not diabolical…”

His smile softened and he sighed contentedly. “Now, cuz, come on and sit down and tell me how you managed to pull such an elaborate prank.” He put his hand on her back, leading her across the woolly shag carpet to sit her down on a shimmering, plush, bouncy couch. Glancing around the room, it practically made her skin crawl how neat it was. All of his new medals were hung in a row on the perfectly clean yellow walls, not one higher or lower than the other. Everything was dusted and shining proudly, the windows had not a single speck of dirt, the books on the shelves were alphabetized, and even the shag seemed well groomed.  

So much order. So much precision. It was disgusting.

“What’s the sour face for, Mavy?”

“Oh! Nothing. I was gonna tell you something. What was I telling you?”

“How you got here, of course!”

“Oh! Yes. Right. Uh,” she glanced away from his terrifyingly honest eyes. It seemed like his soul might fall out of them if she looked too long. “Hmm. Well. I bribed the contractors.”

His smile quickly became rueful. “Did you really?”

“And the construction workers… to build me a basement suite. Sort of.”

“Oh, Mavy,” he shook his head. “I’m surprised at you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Dang straight.” She nodded.

“But where on Earth did you get that kind of money? I didn’t know you could afford that on an artist’s budget!” He gasped, scandalized, and leaned in to whisper, “Mavy, you didn’t PAINT it, did you..?”

She blinked and took a long, slow breath. “…Yes, yes I did.” She got it from his wallet.  

Felix leaned back and shook his head, tut-tut-tutting. “Mavy.”

“I’m terrible. I have a problem.”

“I’m sure we could find some sort of counselling for behavior like that,” he put his hand on her shoulder, staring into her eyes with all-too-genuine kindness. It was making her beyond uncomfortable.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” she avoided his gaze.

“Family is never trouble for me!”

“Yeah, I am.”

“No, you’re not! I’m not giving up on this one, missy! I mean what I say.”

Her mouth wiggled into what she imagined must have been the worst smile in the history of smiles. “Thank you?” She had not meant to make it a question.

He sat straighter, a valiant smile spread across his face. “You are more than welcome, my dear cousin!”

Make-It’s eyes were suddenly very fascinated by the luxurious shag at her feet. Maybe if she did not look at him, he would go away.

“Oh! You know something?” He piped up enthusiastically. “I’ve got an old photo album from when we were just teeny little things! We oughtta go through it together, relive the old days with our eyes!” He stood and marched over to his bookcase.  

“Oh my cuss, no,” she spluttered in her throat, and thankfully, her cousin did not pick up on it. His back was finally turned. It was her chance to make a break for it. She would throw herself through a glass window if she had to, but she would not spend hours looking at old photos of things that never happened! Anything but that! She threw herself up, drawing out her brush and slapping little rockets on the bottom of her shoes. Felix turned around to catch her hopping awkwardly towards the window. Really should have painted those in mid-air.

“What?” He asked, clearly crestfallen. She avoided his face at all costs. She would not be unintentionally guilt-tripped. Not today.

“I just, I have to, uh, go to, the, uh,” she grasped at her memory, trying to remember the name of that other game that was plugged in after they were. “Go to, uh, that place, uh, Turbo-Time!” With the force of her memory prevailing, she knocked her hip against the windowsill and fell through the open gap.  

The rockets on her shoes screeched into life, shooting her towards the sub-par little subway. She landed on her back in the front car.

“But, why? What’s the hurry?” She heard Felix calling through the window.  

Straightening herself up, she pointed to her wrist, where a watch should have been. “Because it’s Time for Turbo?!”  

The dinky little train started and rolled away far slower than she would have liked it to.

#wreck it ralph #wir #fanfiction #fix it felix #make it mavis #turbo #writing

[smoothshift]

Review of my 2017 Prius (5k miles) via /r/cars

Review of my 2017 Prius (5k miles)

Hey there r/cars, I bought a 2017 Prius in the summer of last year.

Why did I get a Prius, you might ask? Well, for a bunch of reasons. I used to be the type of person to shit on Priuses (Prii?) as cars made for lesbian vegan crossfitters, for those too busy sniffing their own farts to notice their intoxicating personalities. It was definitely a meme car, but damn do I love it.

Before this, I was driving a 2006 GMC Envoy gotten from my family, and lemme tell ya that thing was an absolute pig. Big, comfortable, but also loud and slow as hell, not to mention terrible gas mileage. Things inside were slowly breaking, it felt like every 2 months we had to take it to the shop to fix another minor problem, and I just wasn't a fan of it. My dad and I initially went to the dealerships here looking for a Toyota Camry, ya know the 2018 cars? Was a huge fan of it after seeing online reviews praising it. It was just what we needed, a comfortable, quiet, fuel efficient sedan with a record for reliability. At the dealership, they told us they didn't have any inventory of the Camry as it got sold out, it's apparently in really high demand here (Middle East). This was a huge bummer to me, but the guy pointed me in the direction of this - the 2017 Prius. That single lone car sitting in the show room floor. I didn't know they even sold those things here, keep in mind this is the Arab world, gas prices are some of the lowest in the world here, why the hell would Toyota sell a hybrid? I had no intention of driving it, but the more I learnt about this one model, the more I started to like it.

​

It was a model left from the previous year, and since they couldn't manage to sell it to anyone (since it doesn't have much of a presence here), they were offering 30% off the MSRP. This is huge, especially considering it's a Toyota and they're known for not budging around with price much. I looked around it, it looked clean as a whistle, brand new everything. I never sat in a hybrid before this one, so everything was weird to me. The car made no sound when i pushed the start button. It had a Heads up Display, blindspot monitoring, automatic up and down settings on all 4 windows. Now this might seem kinda basic to most of you reading this, after all you see this on alot of new cars, but considering what I came from these all felt like luxury features. The center screen was massive and almost felt like a smartphone with how many menu settings I could modify to suit my needs. The JBL speakers sound amazing compared to the old Envoy's, and the AC was pretty cool (heh). I could select the exact temperature I want and let the car do the rest in turning the inside into an Ice Box. The cloth seats were decently comfy, altho admittedly not quite as comfortable as the old Envoy, but hey I guess this was one of the sacrifices I had to make. All in all, it cost me the equivalent of $18.5k, which isn't too bad for a (Saudi spec) fully optioned out Prius.

​

Interior

Interior quality isn't a Benz by any means, as there are a bunch of plastics here and there, but overall I'm satisfied. There's soft spots for where my arms rest, and overall the interior has mostly soft touch plastics, with very few hard scratchy surfaces. The seats are cloth, and are reasonably comfy, but anytime I take a trip of about 3 hours I definitely feel some lower back pain and need to walk around for a bit to be better. The speedometer being in the center display was a little weird for me at first, but the HUD fixes that problem and I barely every take my eyes off my windshield when I'm driving. You sit really close to the ground in this car, like honestly I don't think your butt gets above a foot and a half from the gravel, and that has it's pros and cons. Pros being that you feel like you have more control over the car and the low center of gravity makes turns more confident, along with lower wind noise at high speeds. Main con of this is that you have to lower yourself into the car, and I can see why older drivers might not like this. The headroom and leg room in this car is phenomenal, at least for the front two occupants. I don't ever feel claustrophobic in here, I have more than enough space to stretch out and not hit my head on the roof (I'm 6'0). As for the back passengers, I tried rolling the driver's seat all the way to the back, yet even then when I sat behind myself, I had more than enough room to stretch my legs out. Leg room is a huge plus in this car, altho my hair does slightly brush against the roof in the back seat, but not enough to be a concern. Hatch space is cavernous, easily much bigger than any trunk of a camry or corolla, and especially when the seats are folded down. I was once able to fit in 40 wooden canvases inside, it's definitely very practical in that regard. It's noticeably quiet inside the car too. Like on startup, you hear nothing since the electric motors are pulling all the work, and if you push the accelerator hard enough, you'll hear the subtle whirr of the engine as it starts up and warms up. If you keep a light foot though, all you hear is the very slight, futuristic purr of the electric motors. Even at high speeds, like on highways, at 70 mph I've been able to hold conversations with people without raising my voice, something I couldn't do in the Envoy (had to damn near scream just to be heard on the highway). Ooooo also one more minor thing, the overhead lights on the inside slowly turn on when you approach the car and slowly turn off when you leave, instead of abruptly turning on and off. A small feature, but one that I really like and which contributes to it feeling more high classed than an equivalent Corolla. Overall, a functional, utilitarian, reasonably comfortable, spacious, and quiet interior.

​

Exterior

Now the exterior is gonna be more controversial, everyone loves to shit on the 4th gen Prius'es design as weird, edgy, too sharp, and not going to age well. Personally, I thought the same thing of it at first, but it's a design that grows on you. It's not as pretty as an LC500, no doubt, but it really isn't that bad. The shape of the car gives it one of the lowest coefficient of drag in the industry, so you could argue that form follows function here? The sharp edges on the car aren't the easiest on the eyes, but it's different. I like that about it, it gives it character, to be a car so weird and different looking that it almost looks cool in my eyes. I saw the Prius redesign for 2019, it's honestly a prettier car but you know what? I'm proud of owning this thing, it's not pretty, but it's mine and that's all that matters to me.

Besides that, it has sensors behind the door handle that automatically unlock the car for you if it senses the key in your pocket, along with a small touch pad on it to lock the car as you leave. This system has worked for me flawlessly, everytime it opens and locks accurately without me even attempting to look "visible" to it. Love not having to pull my keys out anymore. Reversing camera is standard, along with LED lights on the front (which I gotta admit, really brighten up the road compared to halogen lights). Overall, a unique design that's gonna catch alot of flack from people but hey, I like it.

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Performance, economy, and driving dynamics

Yeah, if you came to this car for performance, you will be sorely disappointed. With a whopping 121 horsepower, this car is not fast. It actually has a decent pull from 0-20 mph since those electric motors have the instant torque, but beyond that, yeah it's a drone fest. When you floor it, you can just count along with the speedometer as it slugs it's way up. I think it's just physically impossible to get a speeding ticket in this. That's not to say it's horribly slow, like for any normal person the acceleration is totally adequate, but you won't be replicating any Mad Max scenes with this thing. One thing I think Toyota really perfected with this car is the subtlety at which the engine turns on. It's quiet. In the beginning, you can't really tell whether the engine is off or not without developing the ear for it, you learn to notice it after a couple hundred miles or so. Really impressive and seamless transition between electric to engine power, and vice versa. Honestly, the driving dynamics are not bad. From what I've seen in reviews, the older gen Priuses felt like dead bars of soap to drive, but this new one actually livens things up. It's got independent rear suspension, and a low center of gravity, so those two at least contribute to it being somewhat fun to drive. It can take turns pretty well, the suspension feels good and sturdy, and it handles potholes pretty effortlessly. What about economy? This thing excels. Idk how EPA reports this as around 52 mpg, I easily exceed 60 mpg without even trying. I'm able to travel about 600 miles on a single tank (11 gallon capacity), and that's without even triggering the low fuel level indicator. If I try to hypermile, I can sometimes exceed 80 mpg on a good day. Considering the old Envoy got 15 mpg on a good day, this car is leagues ahead of that and I never find myself worrying about gas anymore.

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Cost to own

I have long held the opinion that the Prius is the absolute lowest cost to own non-EV car that exists, ignoring depreciation. This thing sips gas like it's in a drought. Converting the currencies, I can travel 600 miles for the equivalent of $12.40 (Thank God for Arab oil prices). That's about 2 cents per mile driven. I had to double check the numbers just to make sure it was right, because that sounds so absurdly low I was sure there was a mistake in there somewhere. The car being this cheap to drive is what made me love driving everywhere. Before, in the Envoy, I was always cautious with how I drove, tried to be more efficient, take the shortest possible route, because that thing drank gas like it was nothing. But with the Prius, I'm always happy to drive anywhere. Friends wanna go out to eat? Sure thing, I'll drive us there. Forgot a very minor, dollar store item in uni? It would be cheaper to drive there and get it than to buy a replacement. Long trips out into the desert visiting hidden lakes and natural sites? Prius is ready for it. I love to drive. And with how cheap this thing is to fuel up, I can drive anywhere I want anytime with no pressure to save money in mind. This is true economic freedom. Insurance for this came out really cheap too, I pay about 22 dollars a month. What about maintenance?

The engine isn't even on half the time, so despite the manual saying to have 6k mile oil changes, I feel like I could double that to 12k miles and get away with it trouble free (not that I would actually do that tho). It's got a 100k mile warranty for the hybrid battery, but I don't think I'll ever really need it. I've read online that most priuses can easily last to 200k miles on the original battery, some even surpass 300k miles. Considering that the winters here are never really that cold, and the summers are good to the Ni-MH battery chemistry, I have no doubt that these things will outlive the car itself. I don't expect the engine to ever die, after all 1) It's a low power, understressed Atkinson cycle engine, 2) The electric motors drive the car half the time and 3) It's a Toyota. I don't think I've ever heard of a Prius engine failing. The transmission is an eCVT, and to be frank with you it's still kind of like wizardry to me. I don't exactly know how it works, aside from the fact that it uses the electric motors as a sort of power transfer and transmission instead of the traditional automatic or CVT we're used to. It doesn't have any gears, any belts, any clutches, complicated parts at all, and I think it's a pretty simple design overall. All that contributes to it being a reliable beast, I don't think I've heard any stories of Prius transmission replacements. Finally depreciation. Toyotas have great resale value, and I'm sure this Prius would be a king in that regard, but I don't plan on selling this, at least anytime soon. I love this car, it does everything I want it to, and knowing how long it's expected to last, I wanna drive it into the dirt, maybe past 500k miles before I buy a replacement for it.

​

This car may not be considered an enthusiast car by any means, but in my eyes, it's truly what I would call the car for the people, the car that does everything you need it to, and is one of the greatest achievements in the history of the automotive industry.

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Tldr it's a good car

#reddit #autonews #auto #cars

[letterstoocean]

my ocean,

so here is more of the ben and song of miss luna story. (laughing) great googly moogly my hands could barely keep with my brain it came out so well.  i will edit later. but i was so excited about it, i just wanted to share it with you now. lol 

Greywater Tales

Ben and the song of Miss Luna

Ben was afraid to find a room and call it his own.  

Miss Luna had said whatever room he could imagine would be there for him.  

“All you have to do is open your mind and let it happen.” she had told him as she brushed his now long hair out of his eyes.

But he just couldn't bring himself to think about it.

All his life, whenever he felt like he had a home, a place he could stay, a place that he would get comfortable with, he would have to leave.

Every time that happened, it hurt even more than the time before.

He didn't want to happen at Greywater. He liked it here and he was sure the ain of leaving this palce would hurt so much that would it kill him.

He was beginning to love Greywater.

And that love was stirring that fear in him that he wasn't going to be allowed to stay.

He convinced himself that if he actually didn't have a room, then maybe he could hold off the move.

So he would just sleep whenever and wherever he got sleepy.

His first week at Greywater he slept a sleep he had never known existed.  Running around finding all the things the place had to to reveal  exhausted him and by the end of the day he barely remembered falling asleep.

There always seemed to be a comrtble couch, a hammock, something that would call to him.

And every morning he would wake with a comfortable under his head, and a comfortable blanket covering him.  

These were the best sleeps he ever had in his life.  His dreams were so vivid that when he woke he couldn't wait to write them down in his journal.  To sketch them out.

To tell the stories that were building inside of him.

Here lately he was sleeping more and more in the room with the library door in it.

The library would call to him and he would go up, find the books with the loudest voice then return to the room, flop on a couch and  read until he fell asleep.

He liked the room.  The room wasn't his and therefore he didn't have a room and therefore he wouldn't have to move.

Ben had always loved the night the most.

He had always felt comfortable and safe when the sun set and the day went to sleep. No one was around to bully him, yell at him or make fun of him.

It was like the world was his and his alone.

He always imagined he could hear peoples dreams as they slept and it helped him with his stories and his drawings. Like he could help them hear something they forgot.

At least that was how he felt.

After a week at Greywater he started to wake up at night again.

The stories inside of him calling for him to get them out.

The room to the library was the perfect palce for this.

He could stay in the room and create or go out ont the balcony, look at the sky,  the lake, the calmness of the night and be himself.

He liked to act out the stories that came to him.  He would do all the different voices, all the sound effects, everything needed to write the story down.  Or get the images on paper.

It was like a movie in his mind.  He started sleeping ithe dream room, that was what Ben started calling it, doing this enough, that when he woke up at midnight, there would be several new blank journals, blank canvases on easels and plenty of paints, pens and pencils for him to create.  

He wasn't sure when he started doing it, but he called the room before the library the dream room.

Even Rhea had started calling it,

They had returned from the library, each one with a stack of books in their hands and big smiles on their faces.

They each had their favorite couch and they both had fallen asleep that night.

“The dream room.” Rhea had nodded in approval the next morning when he told what hee he called it. “It just seems right.”

He liked it when he could impress Rhea.  Because that was very hard to do.

He was starting to understand her a little bit and the house.

He was even starting to understand the old radio in the corner of the dream room.

He had seen one like it before in one of the places he had stayed.  He was staying with an older couple that loved music. The short time Ben had been with them, their favorite thing to was sit on sit in front of the radio, rock back and forth intheir rocking chairs  and listened to music. Ben would sit on the floor and write in his journals.  

One of the better memories Ben had.

When Ben first saw the radio in the dream room, and the fact was, he wasn't sure if it had always been there or just appeared one day, he was quite certain it was the same radio.

Or was it a stereo?  Ben thought about it, and he was certain the couple called it a stereo.  

 The stereo looked like a long dresser until you lifted the lid. There was record player, something called an eight track player and a cassette player.  There was also a radio. But Ben could never pick up any radio stations.  

When he first started sleeping in the room or even just reading, the radio would suddenly light up and started playing a song.

The funny thing was, it was the first night Ben was stuck with a story he was working on and couldn't sleep.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.

He had drifted to sleep that night with the song in his head, and the next morning the story came out with out any problem.

Ben started to notice whenever he was having heavy thoughts, trouble creating or sometimes need some guidance. The radio would play a song that fit the moment perfectly.

Funny thing was, when Ben really wanted to hear a sng and tried playing the radio nothing would happen.

After searhcing for Rhea and having no luck. Ben went to the library grabbed the books that called him and then sat in a chair next to the balcony and read.

As usual he fell asleep and he thought he was waking up to the radio playing a ong.  

It was the most beautiful song Ben had ever heard.

Ben looked over at the radio and realized the radio was dark and the music was coming out from outside.

Wiping sleep from his eyes he walked out to he balcony and he lookeda round.

The music was even more beautiful out ehre.  The voice of tht music was? What was it? Ben thought.  But words would not come in his head to explain it.

It was like he felt the music in his heart. In his stomahc, like ti was a soothing feeling in his head.

The voice, the voice was like, what?

Ben noticed  moon was so full and bright it felt like it was daytime.  Like the world had a white sheet thrown over a lamp.

He turned to look up at the moon, and there was was Miss luna standing on the roof above Ben.

It seemed the moon was right above  her head and she was shining just as bright as the moon.

She was the one singing. Singing to the moon.

The more she sang, the birghter she and the moon became.

Ben felt wonderful goose bumps rise on his skin.

Miss Lunas long white dress draped over the roof and down the shingles. Her long white hair looked like rays of moonlight on her pale skin.  Her pale skin even seemed to blend into the night like she was part of it.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  It was the msot beautiful music he had ever heard.

He wanted to run back inside, to grab a blank canvas and a journal and write what he felt down.  To pu this image on canvas. But he was frozen in his tracks.

He couldn't move from that spot if he was on fire.

Miss Lunas voice grew even louder and she spread her transparent arms to the night.  She and the moon started to shine even brighter.  So bright that had to cover his eyes.

And then the music stopped.  With his eyes covered it sounded it echoed out through the night as it vanished.

When he uncovered his eyes, Miss Luna was gone. But the moon.  The moon was even brighter and closer.  All he hadd to do was reach his hand out and he could touch it.

“I wouldn't do that. Not just yet.” said a voice to his right.

Ben was so used to voices appearing that he didn't even jump anymore.

He stopped reaching for the moon, took his hand down and looked to see a gargoyl abut his size sitting on the edge of the house.

He had seen gargoyles all ove rthe yard.  Many of them in different shapes and forms and doing different things.

This one was sitting on a stone cahir.  One leg draped ove rthe other and it was holding a stone book up to its nose.

The gargolye was looking at Ben over its book. Just staring.

“Did you say something.”

The gargoly seemed to go from stone to felsh in an instant.  It put the book down on tis lap and looked up at the moon.

“Very few get to hear Miss Lunas song, even fewer get to touch her in her full form.  May I suggest you embrace you what you have experienced and not go any further.  It could be too much.”

Ben looked a the moon and rememebred the feeling the song gave him. Perhaps the gargoyle was right.

“Where did she go?” Ben asked

The gargoyle raised its eyebrows and gave Ben a small grin.

“She didn't go anywhere She is still here.” replied the gargoyle.

“I don't understand.” ben said

“Nor should you.  Not right now.”

The gargolye stood up stretched its arms, and spread its wings out and shivered like it was stretching after a long rest.

“I am Vern.” the gargoyle said.

“Vern the gargoyle?” ben asked trying not to laugh.

Vern raised his eyebrows again.  

“Some thing funny about my name, Ben?  Ben going?  Ben there?  Where have I Ben?”

“No no, not all. I didn't mean to laugh. It is just. Well I expected a gargolye to be named different.”

“And what do you think a gargoyle should be named, Ben congused a little?”  

Ben thought about it for second, but really couldn't come up with anything Not wanting to offend the gargoyle any more than he had already, Ben said as much.  

The gargoyle smiled.

“Then Vern suits me just fine don't you think?”

Ben nodded.

“Come let's leave miss Luna to her song and hed back inside.

“Uhm, won't you fall through the floor?” ben asked looking at the size of Vern.

Vern smiled again, “i am very light on my feet, Ben.  We will be fine.”

Vern was right, it seemed Ben had a heavier footstep than the Gargolye.  Vern barely made a sound on the hardwood fllor as he crossed the room and opemned the libarary door.

“I need to replenish my stock of books.  Walk with me.” Vern said as he began to climb the stairs.

Ben followed in step behind the light footed gargoyle and they headed into the library....