#I lost my sketchbook so I can’t even post stuff from that

[randompajamaalt]

aaaa I’m still alive I promise I’m not dead here have eyes (tw for BRIGHT COLORS, HARD CONTRAST, EYESTRAIN)

[littlestar-center]

~☆ENJOY YOUR STAY!☆~

Welcome to the LittleStar Center(2007)! Our lovely cast of friends are here at your every service, Kiddo! Ask us anything and you shall receive an answer!

Hello! I’m @callmeend ! And this is my Dandy’s World AU (technically) Where someone that saw the downfall of the Gardenview and went “Wait, why don’t I just make my OWN?”

I’ll try to make my own animations to post to this blog! I’ll also try to make art for asks!

LAST UPDATE: Nov 18th

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-3Special Tags!3-

Little Star ~ well whadda think? Anything Little Star related!

☆You’ve got Mail!☆ ~Asks to deliver!

☆Lost Mail…☆ ~Skipped asks :(

☆Keep this In mind☆ ~Semi interesting stuff that could definitely help you in the future

☆Lore☆ - …?

☆Video-Gif☆ ~Me struggling to make anything that happens to not be a still

☆Hall of Art☆ ~(Reusing this from my main) Art!

☆Event Asks☆ ~ Events created by Askers!

☆- Truth asks..

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The Current characters you can talk to are..

(You can also talk to The Narrator!) You can also talk to Sunny, Though, he might not respond.

(Every 5 unanswered/skipped asks you will be blessed with the truth..)

Quick rundown for new comers except I’m not serious as I should be (autism)

Artesia ☀︎- She is a shy artist (at least she’s told) that carries around a small sketchbook and draws the most eye catching things she notices. Drawing is her everything! She is an easy target and very gullible, often having trouble standing up for herself.

Jack ☀︎- A trickster and has the confidence of a God, oftentimes pulling pranks on the others around him, despite being pretty rude and rough apon first meeting, he’d soften up if you give him a chance, probably has the energy and humor of a middle schooler with great (inappropriate) music taste. Even the most beloved creators has a horrible creation and it’s him.

Cambina - Watches carefully over everyone’s moves, is really vague and will most likely leave you in a state of overthinking. She just likes looking over people and can’t bare being alone, kinda wishes she was a real toon.

Gloria ☀︎- Most likely ate the food you told people not to touch but replaces it always. Author, burnt out but also has motivation. Likes singing as a hobby but she wouldn’t do it if you asked her too, 4th most likely to drown a child in strawberry syrup (what am I typing)

Stamps - Ever get a pop up ad? Would come out of thin air to tell you something, would talk a lot but would probably be bombed by Jax again. Would defend you better than a lawyer being paid 7 bucks a second. He would die with your secrets

Balloony ☀︎- (by my sister) he is playful + funny (can make jokes in Morse code (weird flex))

Yoyo ☀︎- THE MINOAUR. Doofus, if you asked him what 11x2 was He would still need a piece of paper, most likely has a to do list and yearns for badges. “Boy Scouts code number —“ ass. ADHD. Needs glasses but keeps breaking them and 9/10 he has undiagnosed autism.

Connor ☀︎ - the baker (NOT COSMO) the cooker (NOT GAY.) “nice” is an understatement, being around him would make your day (mainly because he makes free food) no enemies, because he poisoned them all, has years worth of rage stored up inside of him but when he’s mad he thinks “why are you over reacting” before dancing to breakcore

Crispin ☀︎ - Everyone already said it, Western.(def lives on a barn) Somewhat sweet and tart, would load up his double barrel shotgun and put it in your mouth if you tried to drink him. Provides most of the food in the little star center!

Serena - This sorrowful siren isn’t technically apart of the little star center, disconnected from the others, she tries her best to get by. Normally she would have a snarky attitude towards you and would sing songs to hypnotize you, so watch out! Serenas jewelry is her most prized possessions! She is the only siren in her family (her 2 sisters and father). Sunny keeps close eye on her.

Dr. Crow - The Doctor of the toons, also a Potion-brewer! She has the power to heal most pains, emotionally or physically with the perfect mixture of ingredients. She lives in a hut and actually does have a crow companion! Sunny keeps close eye on her. Iris ☀︎- (The Minour part two!) this over curious, lovesick toon. There is no true purpose to her existence, but she gets along well with the others! She is fairly clingy and will often need reminders for personal space. She is the only toon with a diary! 

☀︎ Sunny ☀︎- Lovely all mighty.. He gatekeeps rather he's a witch or a Wizard, he would appear when someone had a problem, He would tackle tough topics, He doesn't spend much time with the others because he's a loner (he would if he did he just doesn't becaus-), He has once had a wife/love interest that is always brought up in very vague ways, He can fly by using clouds, he's the smartest in the team, He loves the water (just sitting in the sunset/sunrise, watching the water), He acts as a Guide since he knows most, he likes drawing and writing on walls. Worst person to have on your bad side. Keeps everything and everyone safe, after all, you need the sun right?

Friend Made Ocs-

Daria - ‘Daria is one adventurous gal! She loves to create fun quests for people to take up. Since she never backs down from a challenge, it means she can be a little overconfident at times—often saying things she’ll never actually do. But, either way, she’ll be your guiding light throughout any task.’ ~ @umaisho

Loucky the computer - MINOR - computer but unfortunately stupid as hell at times (damaged system). Yaps in python, responds in python ~ @machlover54666

Autumn the Pumpkin - Autumn is a young, energetic pumpkin. He enjoys doing lots of dangerous activities, and enjoys the thrill of it. Autumn inspires children to face their fears! (Rundown one)

Autumn - This kid’s got guts. Rushing into any dangerous situation without hesitation, he’ll do anything just for the thrill of it. In case something goes wrong, he’s always equipped with his water gun. He never really needs it though, because it’s just a water gun. He may seem fearless, but truly, he has a lot more worries than he lets on. (Rundown two) ~ @thatonewizard1806

Sparks and Carmella - Nobody knows where they came from. They just showed up one day. Sparks is excited and joyful almost constantly, running around recklessly and always getting into trouble, while Carmella is an elegant and refined one, who would rather stay inside all day. These two are commonly with Autumn when he’s not busy on some bizarre scheme. ~ @thatonewizard1806

Tara - Tara is often working on some dangerous experiment. She’s gone kind of insane and has some… odd theories, to say the least. To be completely honest, she’s probably the least trustworthy person in the entire center. ~ @thatonewizard1806 AGAIN.

Boomie - He is a chill and laid back dude who will stand up for and protect others whenever needed, despite this, he refuses to use physical violence of any sort ~ @a-rand0m-bl0g

Lily - Lily randomly appeared at this place one day, this coincidentally happened on the day Sunny's wife died.. We don't know where or what she came from, but we have reason to suspect she has underlying intentions. what do I do with it. ~ @noddlewhodoodles

Rhonda - Rhonda is your completely normal toon! For a radio, she isn't that talkative around other people. For some reason, she can't remember where she came from! She's too busy with her awesome radio talk show, "Radiohead Rhonda" to care about that. She's mostly found at the station. There'll be a chance she calls people "callers", don't read too much into it. ~ @i-ate-all-of-my-toes / @not-iaaomts-rp-blog

Collan - "Collan is one lazy too- ..wait, why am I even writing this..? I don't get paid for this!" ~ @jackoffalope-2

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ꩜˚.Seeya₊˚𖤐~.

[melodic-haze]

☆ — SONG TITLE: I know what you tell your friends (it's casual)

☆ — PAIRING: mermaid!Kokomi x artist!Reader

☆ — TYPE: SFW, bittersweet angst? I honest to god don't know

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: POTENTIALLY OOC for the purpose of the character......mostly, light depictions of blood, drowning

☆ — NOTES: HI ALL I DIED BUT WHO'S SHOCKED LMAO 😜😜 this is for @edgeray's Halloween event, though it's a bit late bc I was ill at the last week of it and I'm lazy😭 GO CHECK OUT EVERYONE ELSE'S STUFF HOLY HELL. Also, my interp of a mermaid is moreso leaning towards what people nowadays THINK sirens are. I js couldn't bear to USE 'siren' bc of how they're acc supposed to be like. Winged creatures, not fish people

☆ — WORD COUNT: 2,801 words

It was often said that one must not go into the beach all alone.

Naturally, people would often tell you of sensible reasons such as possibly having your fragile items like your phone being dropped into the sand or, god forbid, the water or losing said belongings if you were to ever leave them somehow.

However, the most notably repetitive reasoning came out to be the possibility of being missing.. or ‘taken by the sea’, as everyone else would say.

It was a lot easier to just say that someone was lost or missing, but there was a certain reason why most have opted to disregard practicality for the sake of glamorisation—where you live, there has been a concerning surplus of missing persons cases with their last-seen location all being the beach, the seaside, the shore, all the same thing. And no matter how much the police had tried to investigate it (and it’s crazy that they actually did try, though that might be due to government concern), they found nothing conclusive about how the victims disappeared.

Perhaps it was because of the tides washing any sort of evidence away, though such an assumption led to the cases all collectively being dismissed as a suicide because.. well, really, they had to put some sort of conclusion to the case when they couldn’t really find any other possible outcomes without it sounding like more of a conspiracy than it already was.

(Fat lot that did anyway, because you can’t even put nightwatch on post there without them getting taken too.)

..So to a normal person, being at the beach all alone with nothing but a phone and a sketchbook in hand in the middle of the night would equate to one of the dumbest things you can do out here.

It wasn’t like you didn’t care about what would happen to you, or that you were experiencing that particular phase where you went against what was advised of you just because you wanted to be cool or popular or something (you weren’t a child, you were a grown adult with a life, for god’s sake), but oftentimes people like you all had one common flaw: artists were all dedicated to their craft, suffocatingly so.

And you were no exception, even if it had been too long since you drew with any sort of creative inspiration.

You remember when you walked back from god knows where and witnessing the way the moonlight hit the water, its gentle glow reflecting on the tide like fluid glass.

You remember that sweet dulcet tone stopping you in your tracks in the midst of your misery once your headphones lost power, the singing voice holding a certain alluring cadence that rooted you to the spot.

You remember the sight of dark crimson on shimmering claws and scales of blue, pink and purple, the palette much too distinct to be considered ‘natural’.

You remember the brief contact of eyes between your own and a set of glowing orbs that were no less striking than the tail that flapped behind the entity once it turned to have its body be entirely consumed by the ocean’s depths.

As an artist, you knew you had to immortalise the vision seared into your brain. And so, the day after that fateful encounter and consecutive days after that, you visited the beach at the exact time you remembered from before, picked up a pencil and opened your sketchbook to sketch like a madman possessed.

But of course as time passed, so did the freshness of your memory and your recollection of the details that had you entranced in the moment. The background itself? You had no problem. The issue was the oceanic figure; what details were you missing? What was its scale pattern? Was the red meant to mesh with the purple? What was it doing there?

Eventually you convinced yourself that maybe you were seeing things, and the messy scribbles of faint recollections were erased and drawn over with lines that connected the ever-flowing sea. Even when artists were seen as delusional, prone to confuse one thing with another—perhaps that thing was just a trick of the light, or maybe you’re starting to go insane, whichever tickled your fancy—you knew where to stop and come back to reality.

..Still doesn’t mean you had to keep coming back to the spot at the same time over and over again but alas, you couldn’t help it when you woke up at the dead of night just for your legs to lead you to the exact same spot you remember being at that very night.

Despite the constant warnings against the act of going to the beach all by yourself, nothing had happened to you or interrupted your creative flow despite being completely alone so the nights you spent on that exact spot were often peaceful, if a bit devoid of life. That was fine for you though, it meant less distractions from finally finishing this piece and moving on with your--

(You feel warm breath against your skin before you hear--)

“What are you doing?”

You startle, the pencil losing its gentle stability and creating an atrocious line across the page, and for a moment the irritation actually takes over any form of self-preservation you have.

So you start to complain, “I was drawing until you scared me—” then you turn to look at her, "—and made me ruin my own--"

...

Shimmering blue.

"..work."

Your speech fell flat the minute your gaze clocked onto those glaringly familiar set of eyes that pulled you in as if it were the ocean's depths itself. Its highlights were some sort of pearly pink, a soft contrast to the deep dark unknown.

And no pupils.

Maybe a trick of the light again, maybe you're hallucinating. Though you guessed even some of the best painters were kinda crazy back then.

"I apologise for disturbing you but, ah.. I don't suppose you can stop staring now?" And the mystery woman giggles lightly, her hand—a normal human hand, although her nails were manicured sharp and painted a glittering blue—moving to hover over her mouth as if to cover it politely, "I don't think I have anything of interest on my person to give you for.. emotional compensation?"

You blink, and you are drawn back to reality, "Physical, actually. You ruined my work."

"Even worse."

"You don't seem all that apologetic."

"But I am... Can't you tell?"

"It's dark, and our only light source right now are some busted tungsen street lamps." You sighed, putting your sketchbook and pencil down beside you, "Whatever, did you need something? No one's supposed to be out at the beach this late."

"Why not?"

"..Are you a tourist? Actually, no, if you were a tourist, you'd have to be real ignorant to not know... Though I've never actually seen you before."

You weren't sure if you lied just now or not. In fact, you're pretty sure you told the truth, but...

You see her stare at you, and you're unsure of what to do with the quiet.. until she shrugs, "I've been curious of what you were doing all alone at night. No one else seems to come outside."

"Don't you think that's any sort of indication to maybe mind your own business?"

"Forgive my curiosity."

You almost do, and you know not of why.

(Her gentle voice, a soothing lullaby, putting your safety to sleep.)

Instead, you relent, "People have gone missing after giving this place a visit all alone in the dead of night. Nobody really wants to die, so mornings and afternoons are when the people crowd here."

And you tear your gaze away from the stranger to look at the ever-expanding sea, "Come midnight, you won't see a single soul standing on the sand."

"But you're here," she says. "Why?"

"If I tell you, you'll think I'm crazy."

"I don't think I will."

"I doubt that—I don't even know your name."

"Kokomi."

You look back at her, brows raised slightly, "What?"

"My name is Kokomi. Yours?"

...

You tell her your name and state your purpose for coming here every single night. And from then on, the two of you talk until the sun comes up, sketchbook forgotten.

She asks you if you're going to come back now that your drawing's been ruined. You tell her that you don't know, considering your current lack of purpose, but then she says that she'll sit with you as you recreate your ruined art as if that's going to make up for the ruined days—weeks, even—of meticulously-sketched pencil art.

..For some reason, you were compelled to agree.

(Maybe it was the voice, maybe it was the eyes.)

(Maybe it was the feeling of unsettling familiarity that drew you in, or that strange feeling of fight-or-flight.)

And so you continue to go down to the beach at night despite everyone's constant warnings, putting pencil to a new page in your sketchbook after having taken out and thrown away your previous attempt. Though even then, while there are still all sorts of warnings, people have noticed that there have been less and less people going missing from the shore. Can't help but think 'no wonder', considering how you haven't been killed or kidnapped after continuously coming here for so long.

Either way, nothing much has changed in your schedule.. save for a brand new companion appearing at night, her pink hair flowing behind you before going to sit beside you and observe.

Sometimes the two of you sit in comfortable silence, other times one of you talks of whatever comes to mind and it turns into some sort of winding discussion that ends with your sketchbook completely forgotten until you need to leave.

"..If you have something to say, you may as well spit it out."

"Hm?"

"I can feel your eyes burning holes into my skull. You may as well."

"Ah, I hadn't realised that I was staring so hard!" You feel her body draw back from originally leaning onto you and you suppress the urge to pull her back next to you as she continues, "I'm just wondering... Was no one particularly interested in coming outside with you?"

You put your pencil down on the page and look at her with a raised brow, "Are you calling me lonely?"

"No? ..Well, perhaps a little, I admit. I don't ever see you outside with anyone else."

"Oh, so you've been watching me. A bit creepy, no?"

She shook her head, "The observation merely struck me just now. I haven't seen you with anyone else at night, apart from me."

Instead of giving the curious girl an answer, you look down on the pencilled page. There wasn't much that you could really say beyond the fact that everyone else was asleep at this time.. and...

"I like being alone at the end of the day."

"Mmm. Me too."

"..That so."

No one points out the fact that neither of you are alone right now.

Nothing else is said, and you continue on sketching.

Oftentimes, that's what usually happens.

And it's.. nice, being able to just sit there with soothing company—she isn't overwhelming, nor is she insufferably awkward or borderline unbearable. She was like a smooth current, her voice akin to the sound of gentle water and her touch against your skin as she leaned into you cool and refreshing.

Not like you'd admit it.

(You wouldn't because saying that to a stranger's face is, quite frankly, really lame.. though you couldn't help but touch upon the water's detailing a lot more delicately in your sketches.)

(Or think about drawing her as your muse under the moonlight instead.)

One certain topic she was particularly interested in was the iridescent visage you witnessed all those nights ago—anyone would be, of course, in an 'entertaining-the-schizo' sort of way, not.. not her way. Not with genuine curiosity laced with something much more hidden, inquisitive.

"What would you do if that thing came back?"

"Like, to do what?"

"Who knows." Kokomi wore a soft, jesting smile, "Eat you, perhaps?"

"Would you be there with me?"

"Let's start with a 'no'."

"Probably sit there."

"Really?"

As you muse on the question, you take the cap off your water bottle, "May as well die finishing this rather than live with it gnawing on my mind."

"You have no self-preservation, do you?"

"Would it be edgy if I said it was overrated?"

"Perhaps," she shrugged, letting her hair shift and cascade from her shoulders and her arms down to her back. "What would you do if I was there, then?"

You took a sip, "..Say thank you, maybe."

"Oh? Why?"

"For keeping me company? I guess? Dunno, I just feel like I should thank you if I died on this beach with you."

You turn to look at her, and before you could say anything more, you notice the look on her face; it's indecipherable, blank, as if she were sizing you up and profiling you within her mind palace.. but what for?

Her eyes are unsettling—a touch of hunger glimmers in the ocean depths—as they stare at you (and has she ever even blinked once?) but then the moment you blink, her light expression is back as if it was never taken off.

"Let's hope that neither of us die, haha."

"Right..."

You also can't help but notice the way that you are reminded of said visage whenever you look at her, especially when she's by the water.

"Join me?"

"Why should I?"

"Perhaps you need a change of pace," she says as she takes off her lavender jacket and leaves her slippers off the sand. "I get the feeling, but you've been concentrating on your work for a while now."

"I don't swim."

"Don't? Or can't? I can teach you."

"Why?"

"Perhaps being in the water may help you gain a bit more perspective with your art."

"But I only need one perspective. Plus the water would be cold."

Kokomi stares at you with a slightly tilted head, and you can't help but notice her unusual eyes softly glowing but you do nothing but dismiss it, and then ends up shrugging, "Alright. I won't force you, of course. Just..."

She turns her head, "You never know, maybe getting into the water will turn out to be your final step."

..And as she walks off into the ocean, you don't even notice yourself taking off your shoes and chasing her after a beat until--

"Wait!"

She turns around, an eyebrow raised and a gentle half smile on her lips, "Yes?"

You stop just short of her, "Fine, I'll.. I'll go. With you. But you're not letting me go. I know how to swim but it's dark. So."

"Of course not," she reassures you, "I sought you out, after all."

"Huh?"

You don't get a chance to react, not when she takes your hand in hers and leads you to the water.

You don't get a chance to react, not when the both of you submerge yourselves and you are thrown back to that very night at the sight of clustered scales on pale skin.

..Or maybe you can't react at all, not when water starts clogging up your lungs and your consciousness sung to sleep.

...

You woke up coughing your lungs out, sore and very much still full of saltwater.

You woke up alone on the shore, probably for the first time since Kokomi had decided to come up and startle you enough to ruin your focus.

And you got up and ran.

You don't tell anyone, because the only person who would have ever believed you turned out to be someone you wish you hallucinated.

(Never felt so lonely like this in so long, like you don't have a purpose--)

You don't visit the beach for a while. And when you do, you wish you hadn't.

Not when you see a crumpled piece of paper—your scrapped mistake—on the spot the both of you had always occupied at night.

Not when you see the scribbled-out 'thank you' on the back of the page.

Not when you spot that same visage at night all over again, yet with the tainted memory of your near-death and of the brief company that you kept.

And certainly not when she looked at you with those shimmering blue eyes, her claws clear of any sort of metallic red, before she looked away and disappeared into the ocean depths.

(Though you end up finishing what could have been your magnum opus forged from looking at death in the eye all those many nights, you voluntarily put a line across the page and close your sketchbook.)

(You don't end up opening it anymore, not when you feel disjointed.)

(Incomplete.)

[frindoka]

my art timeline :-)

hi! i’m making this because i was inspired by maxpawb’s post i saw on toyhouse , which then led me to look at all my own art that is still somehow intact in my storage. this only details stuff from when i started posting online, not from when i started drawing traditionally as a wee lad. partially because my sketchbooks are lost and partially because i never really wrote down dates on my art to begin with.

a lot of dates are lost, due to the aforementioned problem of me not writing things down.. and also i have awful dissociative memory problems so there’s way too many gaps in my life. but i really did want to do this to see how much i could find & how much i could recollect.

content warning for VERY brief mentions of grooming, as well as minor mentions of real shitty friends

everything is under the cut! there might be another rb if or when i hit the image limit. curse you, tumblr.

date: ??? , i had to be around like. 11 at the time

this was when i joined warriors amino and i deleted my account because i got in trouble for having social media, LMAO. i eventually came back with a new one though. this is probably one of the only surviving art pieces from when i was THIS YOUNG, everything’s on an ipad that’s so broken it won’t even charge

i learned how to use the smudge tool on ibispaint at this time and thought i was the coolest bitch on the block for my blending

may 2019, i was like 12

my return to amino (and brief period on deviantart, which i never used again lmao) i was specifically on wings of fire amino + warriors amino. i was obsessed with airbrush shading.

this is one of my first fursonas which was a wings of fire fanflight called kitsunewings or smth. and also my first species character (he predated the dragon), a bayfox, which was drawn in krita. i never used krita again after this. coincidentally, i was also never active in bayfoxes after submitting him.

i crawled back to ibispaint no matter how many new free programs i tried.. (also tried firealpaca once. i couldn’t even figure out how to draw a line…)

may 2019, 12

the rise of my longest lasting fursona. she got stolen on a shitty app called anime maker once. i can’t remember if she’s older than the dragon, andromeda, but her older iterations definitelt are. this character was just the FIRST first fursona that i actually called that, since i didn’t even really know what a furry was at first

june 2019, 12

my first commission that i sold for like 30 deviantart points (i only used the site for commission purposes, as mentioned before i never really used it lmao)

also i tried to make a closed species on wings of fire amino. second image. it was terribly stressful ; this was around the time i met my longest lasting group of friends (hi freak bin! 5 years <3) and.. some of the worst people i’ve ever met in my life at the same time, LMAOOO

also here’s this kokichi ouma dog i made before i even knew what danganronpa was. i would find out much later, unfortunately

march 2020, still 12 (cause of my august birthday 😒)

there’s a really big gap in my files here. sad! my art kicks into gear at this point tbh, i like how i did the lines. wish i had the energy for such clean lineart still :-(

i think around this time i lost contact with the people who were my groomers (which i would realize later) and i’m thankful that i don’t even remember what their names are.

april 2020 - july 2020, 12

okay these aren’t awful actually. HOW WAS MY ART SO DETAILED. i admire baby frets power, jesus christ

i also did a design raffle when i hit 500 amino followers which is still the most i’ve ever gotten as a following. pretty crazy, i wonder who owns this dude now, i still think they’re cute

august 2020, 13

wow i’m 13 now look at that. i had to go digging for this one, only one i could find that was remotely close to my birthday (it’s the 25th!) this was a drawing for my friend bea lol

was still friends with some pretty shitty people from wings of fire amino, and it was really taking a toll on me. i don’t remember drawing as often as i used to during that time because of all of that.

december 2020, 13

i wish i could still draw backgrounds.. i need more practice

january 2021, 13

okay honestly these are really cute. i don’t know wtf kind of motivation i had for this much detail. the shading is pretty damn good

april 2021, 13

still going strong with the shading and backgrounds. not much to say around this time either lol. the first one is an older design of mine, but they’re pretty damn cute.. i wonder what happens to the desgins i lose track of? but ik this guy has a toyhouse profile i just refuse to look through my like. 200 pages of character designs on there…

july 2021, 13

PUDDLE! PUDDLE OH HOW I MISS YOU. my original favorite oc, i got so much art of him & drew him so much he reached 100 pieces in less than a month. i also met my best friend through this dude.

my art got.. blocky? here? idk what i was doing with all of that but it lasts for a while. lol

october 2021, 14

one year older and i got neo twewy for my birthday and it changed my life permanently. in several ways. anyhow, here’s frindoka furries.. they live in my files forever and will never b drawn again because they got redesigned several more times LOLLLLL

this is the month after i broke off permanently from my shitty old friends, with support of some other friends of mine. thank you guys… i did proceed to get harassed and made paranoid over my text messages by the shitty friends cause they were mad i got one of them banned from a furry adopts server for being literally dangerous. i do know it was them bc it was admitted to & they were some of the only people i gave my phone number to. i was kind of dumb for that

i was happy after my birthday because 13 was one of the worst years of my life. literal constant spirals and breakdowns because this is when i realize i was, in fact, groomed. i’m well and handling it better now.

january 2022, 14

my first d&d character, the mark of my eventual spiral into heath insanity… shadow how i miss you. i ended up redesigning them later on

march 2022, 14

i got into a pokemon arpg around this time and it took over my life for MONTHSSSS. kind of a shitty community in it though, but i appreciate how it improved my artwork. i’m back at the backgrounds! it’s shut down indefinitely now. rip eeveemporium

april 2022, 14

I FOT BACK INTO WAKFUUUU😭😭😭 also got pretty comfortable in my identity as a transgender nonbinary person, but i would get MORE comfortable about my identity later on :-)

this is going to be continued in a reblog because i did, in fact, hit the image limit. oopsie daisies

[pieridae-art]

Like two years ago my art app got deleted from my iPad and all the files got lost. About half of my work from the past three years has been deleted or is otherwise missing. I don’t have any sketchbooks older than a year at my house.

And I couldn’t be happier about it!! I’d much rather purge my device of files I don’t need and burn old art I’m embarrassed about than have it haunt me! I like starting over from a blank slate entirely with no proof of my previous work to be found so I can reinvent my style and approach to art. The previous stuff is old and worthless anyway! Why keep it around when all it does is remind me of when I was younger and inexperienced? My only regret is posting any of it online because people can still see work that I now absolutely despise.

To be clear: I’m not telling you that you should delete art. Keep it around if you can stomach it! Maybe you’ll look back on it fondly! More power to you if you can because I’m certainly not strong enough to face the writing I did before two years ago lol I can’t even look fondly back on the games of pretend I played at recess in elementary school because of how unstructured and absurd they were. But not having proof of old work isn’t a bad thing either. You know how far you’ve come, even if you don’t have evidence

crumb has a word of warning for fellow artists!

[samfrancis94]

So... 2021...

... has been a uniquely perplexing year for me. 

(Warning: I will be rambling for most of this post, and it is highly likely it might not make much sense, so if you are not too keen on reading all of that, you may skip to the final paragraph for the TL;DR section). 

For one, whatever happened to me in the first half of the year is completely lost on me. Seriously, I can’t remember what happened in those first few months at all, and I mean, at all. The first time I realised this was when I was having a work review meeting with my managers at work and I told them I honestly couldn’t remember what I have done in the first half of the year -- to which another manager also agreed was the case for him. That then got me thinking about what I have done for myself in the first half of the year too, and... nothing. I had to look back at my socials to recall, and even then, the memories returned in vague glimpses and shimmers. 

There was never anything concrete or engaging, not even in my art. Sure I tried a few things, and finally pushed my way into making more digital art and experimenting, but even so, nothing stuck. Of course, I am not discounting the good and amazing things that happened to me personally at the time, for sure (come on, I had a mohawk for crying out loud!), but apart from those moments, I can’t seem to resonate with anything else. It was a lot of meddling, but for the most part, there was never any real drive or direction. Just... going with whatever I guess was either kinda cool or convenient at the time. 

Then, come May and June, things began to shift gears a little, and I got more seriously into sketchbooking and watching painting videos (mostly James Gurney and his plein air stuff), which I recall quite fondly. Then, came the second half, which was perhaps some of the most tumultuous and exciting months for the year. For one, I was introduced to DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN (which I fell in love with because of how engaging the characters are) and the DECHART Games community after falling in love with Bryan Dechart and Amelia Rose-Blaire who were in DBH. This inadvertently led me to Twitch, where I connected and engaged with several more people, especially artists and authors, some of whom I still keep in touch with from time to time. In the midst of all this, I participated in the DechART challenge for August and October, and this was a major push into making more art, and it helped that the community was very supportive. Ended up engaging and keeping in contact with them, too.

In the middle of this, one particular prompt from the challenge reminded me of a game that I was hoping to play since its release in 2019: DEATH STRANDING. The only reason why I hadn’t gotten to playing it yet was because my laptop at the time did not meet the minimum requirements for the game and I had been reluctant to get myself new hardware. It didn’t seem too important that I got a new one, seeing as the old one was still technically functional -- though it was showing clear signs of deterioration already -- and I thought I should save that money up for something better or more useful. 

Eventually, I decided, in spite of my reluctance, that this was the ‘something better’ that I was waiting for. So I finally got a new laptop... and also a new desk, because the old one was shit and hurting my arms and back. (It was a console for crying out loud! Not sure what I was thinking agreeing to go with that in the beginning.)

And I finally got to play the game!

This was by far my biggest highlight of the year; I never knew I could be this happy playing a game. It is absolutely gorgeous to look at and the story is beautiful, and above all else, I love how the game puts especial emphasis on letting me take my time to decide what to bring, and how to go, and it doesn’t ‘punish’ me for taking the ‘wrong’ way. There are an infinite number of ways one can make through any situation and I never realised how little I understood of that to be true, until now. 

I have always been too cowardly to have such agency before this because I have an unhealthy fixation on the potential severity of the consequences of my actions since childhood (meaning I always go with actions that was the most comfortable or that resulted in the least punishment), and this game came to me around the time when I was still working (and struggling) to heal that part of myself, gently but firmly pushing me to be brave in spite of my reluctance and insecurities, and to gently remind me that consequences are fine, and we can always learn to deal with that. It has helped to reaffirm and validate my own personal struggles and I cannot thank it enough for that. 

And in the middle of all of this, work had become very stressful and I was thankful for my decision to get this laptop so that I could play this game to help me cope. 

In addition, the game inspired and motivated me to create even more art and get into virtual photography because of how gorgeous everything looks. With the amount of art that I have been making, I began to see the emergence of my personal style and slowly embraced it and learned to have fun with it. Publishing them then connected me with even more people online, especially those in the DEATH STRANDING community, leading me to some amazing peeps from all over the world who has been nothing but friendly, supportive, loving and wholesome and with whom I have had the pleasure of engaging (y’alls know who you are, love you and appreciate you so much! 😍). And this is in addition to the amazing people I have reconnected with after having not met them in such a long time and the development of existing friendships and relationships that has entered even healthier, more wholesome waters.

(If you have reached this far into the post, thank you so very much for your effort and time! I don’t expect anyone to read through all of this because I’m not even sure if I’m making much sense here, and if I wasn’t, I would like to apologise. Like I said, it was a perplexing year -- I’m actually still not done processing the way it turned out and I don’t think I ever will. But regardless, just know that you have deepest appreciation and gratitude for making it this far, dear friend.🫂 )

TL;DR

So yeah, 2021 was quite a strange year; it started out with almost nothing in store, only to then propel me into what could only be described as a really intensely loaded journey of self-discovery. I have come to the end of it having discovered my personal style/voice, made new awesome friends and having done some work on my self-confidence. I guess it is also fair to say that it was a year of healing, too. I have come to acknowledge things about myself that I never thought to before: that I have yet to properly grow into myself, that there are wounds that deserve healing after having been left to fester for years, that consequences are not punishments but just signals for learning opportunities, that I shouldn’t have to deny myself things that truly make me happy, and that I shouldn’t deny others from knowing the real me (faults and all). And I have games and art and the communities that surrounded them and the lovely support of many beautiful souls I have engaged with to thank for this amazing experience! Thank you all for this awesome journey.  ❤️🤍💙

So... now... 2022... let’s see what you’ll be like, shall we?

[littledrummeraussie]

we’d fall from grace.

Ashton Irwin x assistant stylist!reader

part 2 of if these walls could talk | read part 1

story masterlist | general masterlist

word count: 3710

This was probably my most requested “we need a part 2!” story, and you know what - here we go! Hope I’m not gonna disappoint anyone! ❤️

warnings: flirting & teasing. mentiones of previous sexual encounter. sex with protection. tour bus & bunk bed sex. almost getting caught. female receiving oral. and a big load of angst to finish it up.

- - - - -

You could still feel Ashton’s touch on your arm where he grabbed you after their show was over, see the excitement in those hazel eyes as he tried to pull you with himself, ready to go back and finally come up with his post-show ritual. But time wasn’t on your side. Before he could take another step you needed to pull back, telling him that everyone was running late and he needed to be up on their bus in the next 10 minutes. Ashton rolled his eyes, grumbling something colourful under his breath as he changed directions to grab his stuff.

“Don’t forget your boxers,” you made one last fleeting comment, referring back to your little shared moment in the back room; Ashton was almost out of the door to go back to the dressing room and you needed to remind him that he left his underwear right next to his bath tub.

“But they are wet,” you could still hear the pout in his voice as he caught them when you threw them at him. Now he only flashed you a grin, clearly remembering your answer.

“So am I.”

“You could bring them for me next time,” he winked at you, flirt lacing his voice. “Just like you did with my towel.”

“In your dreams, Irwin,” you returned his teasing, only the two of you knowing the double meaning of your words.

An hour or two has gone by since then, and you were left with your thoughts and the memory of Ashton’s body pressed against your side as you’ve made him come – the sounds of his pleasure still ringing in your ears. The bus was mostly quiet as it made its way to your next stop, and you snuggled up in your bunk with your sketchbook, wanting to work on some ideas you’ve been playing around with, but mostly just wanting to forget about Ashton. You could feel your cheeks heat up as you recalled his words, the touch of his skin, how his hair felt between your fingers, how his lips were soft but his kisses hard. In the end you needed to realize that none of your actual ideas made it on paper, but instead you came up with a whole line of outfits for the man himself, and you sighed, tucking the book back under your pillow.

One can’t just forget about Ashton Irwin.

*

Your phone buzzed next to your elbow and you slowly picked it up, not knowing who would bother with sending you a text at this time. But the name that flashed across the screen made you bite your lip, and you knew you couldn’t resist answering him. The little annoyed face emoji you’ve put next to Ashton’s name made you giggle, the feeling quickly turning into something else after your adventure with him.

Ashton: Hey, are you still up?

Y/N: …maybe.

Ashton: …did I wake you?

Y/N: Can’t really sleep until we don’t stop for something.

Y/N: Not a big fan of sleeping on buses.

Ashton: You get used to it after some time.

Y/N: I prefer my own bed, but thank you for your input.

Ashton: What about my bed? 😉

You needed to put the phone face down next to you, cheeks turning hot at the offer. He was on the other bus with the guys, maybe chilling with them in the front or doing something stupid that band members usually do at this time, yet even like this he was able to turn you into a hot mess. The thought of crawling into his bed and touching him again made you bury your face in your pillow. There was nothing innocent about his offer – and there was nothing innocent about your thoughts either. Not since you’ve walked in on him naked and gave him a handjob. Not since he’d told you that he got off on fantasies of you every night.

Another quick buzzing sound broke the silence of your bunk, then another. Maybe you’ve been quiet for too long and Ashton thought he went too far.

Ashton: I can’t sleep either.

Ashton: Can’t stop thinking about you or what we did.

Ashton: Wish we had time to do more.

Y/N: You still have your dreams, Irwin. Solve that problem. 🙃

Ashton: I’ve thought you were the problem solver. 😘

Y/N: I can’t really do anything about it from here. You’re kinda on the other bus.

Y/N: …and I’m still wearing clothes.

Ashton: Not in my head. 😉

A picture popped up under the texts, Ashton snuggled up in his bunk with tousled hair and pursed lips, a smile clearly playing at the corner of his mouth, earbuds tucked in his ears.

Ashton: I could call you and talk your ears off until you fall asleep?

Y/N: But where’s the fun in that? 😊

Y/N: Tell me about the song you’re listening to.

Y/N: Wanna know what’s playing while you fantasize about me.

Y/N: …hope it’s not Calum singing…

Ashton: Don’t ruin the mood!

Ashton: Fuck. Wish you were here so I could shut your smart mouth with my own.

Y/N: That’s a very poetic way of telling me you want to kiss me again…

Ashton: Not just kiss you.

Ashton: Want you in every way. Every kiss, every sound, every touch. Everything.

Ashton: You’re all I can think about.

Y/N: This might end up being the longest night of all…

Y/N: You’re close… but still not close enough…

That was the point when Ashton started sending you songs sharing whatever he was listening to, and if you closed your eyes it almost felt like you could curl up against him, sharing his earbuds as you both got lost in the music, ready to fall asleep. It was so easy to pretend, so easy to imagine him there with you. If only the two of you were on the same bus.

*

There was a light knock on the side of your bunk, and you pulled back the curtains, coming face to face with Kat. You could hear commotion from the front, people talking over each other as they got off the bus and you realized that you’ve stopped moving.

“Guys called over from the other bus that they are stopping at a 24/7, and we did too. Just wanted to ask if you need something? Maybe some of those snacks you like so much?”

“That would be great, thanks Kat.”

“Try and get some rest, okay? I know you can’t fall asleep on a moving bus,” she nodded, fingers tugging on the curtain. “This is your chance to catch some Z’s. I think we’ll be here for 30 minutes or so, should give you plenty of time.”

“Alright mama, I get it,” you laughed, burrowing against your pillow. “Night, Kat!”

“Night, Y/N! See you in the morning.”

You were ready to turn back around and finally get the sleep you’ve been craving since settling in your bunk, but then you felt it again. Your phone started buzzing next to you, and it took you a second to realize that these were not text messages, but an actual call. Ashton’s name was flashing across the screen, and you quickly picked it up, not wanting to miss your chance at hearing his voice.

“Where are you?” his voice was a whisper, his tone almost impatient. “Everyone went to the store and I didn’t see you leave the bus!”

“I’m still up? Trying to get some sleep,” you furrowed your eyebrows, clearly not following what he wanted.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he groaned, a small laugh following. “Get your cute ass over here before anyone comes back! Hurry!”

With that the call got disconnected, and in a second you scrambled out of your bed, pulling the curtains back so it looked like you were sleeping. When you were sure no one was around you quickly jumped off the bus, eyes searching for the other one. Then it caught your attention, a person waving at you frantically, and you sprinted over to the bus parked just a little bit away from yours. Ashton curled his arms around your waist, dragging you up the stairs and into the small living area, his lips already on yours as he pushed you against a wall.

“Damn, you look sexy in our crew hoodie,” he grinned when he finally pulled back, fingers curling into the hem of the fabric.

“It’s really comfy to sleep in,” you stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him back for another kiss.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been doing it too,” Ashton sucked on your bottom lip, knocking his forehead against yours. “But now I just really want to take it off you.”

He grabbed your hand, quickly leading you to the back of the bus and before you knew it Ashton already pushed you down on the couch, legs on both sides of your waist as he wrestled off his hoodie and shirt, tossing them on the floor. With elbows resting next to your head he leaned forward, lips crashing together again, his fingers diving into your hair to angle your head towards the kiss. You squeezed his shoulders and biceps, wanting to pull him even closer and melt against his body, get rid of your clothes and just feel him. The memory wasn’t enough anymore – not when he was right above you, sweatpants riding so low on his hips that you could have easily slipped them off of him.

Ashton’s fingers curled into your hoodie again, working it upwards until he needed to pull away to get it off you. He groaned loudly when he saw you wearing only a top, your hard nipples straining against the thin fabric. He nuzzled his face against your skin, nose lightly skimming the open neckline of the top before he closed his lips around one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth through your shirt. A moan finally broke out of you, gripping his curls between your fingers as he teased you with his tongue and teeth, his other hand slipping under your shirt to tweak your other nipple.

“That’s exactly how I’ve imagined you,” he pressed open mouthed kisses against your throat, sucking a quick mark into your skin where the hoodie would cover it. “So responsive and sounding like a fucking dream.”

“What’s your favourite fantasy?” your nails scratched the top of his shoulders, leaving faint red marks on his skin. “Other than getting me naked?”

An almost wolfish grin pulled at his lips as he pulled off your shoes and dropped them next to the couch, your legging quickly following. His palms cupped your ass cheeks and squeezed them before pushing his shoulders under your knees, and your legs spread involuntarily as he kissed the soft skin of your thighs, dangerously close to your pussy.

“Eating you out,” his eyes bore into yours as he pressed his lips against the wet spot on your panties, quickly licking over it. “Fuck, you taste amazing!”

“Ash, fuck–” your hips lifted to get closer to his mouth, and he chuckled, tugging your soaked panties to the side.

“Soon, baby,” and with that he wrapped his lips around your clit, lapping at it quickly.

You needed to put both hands on your mouth to keep your sounds at bay, not wanting anyone finding out about the two of you – what Ashton was doing between your legs was only for you to know. He groaned against your skin, tongue licking between your folds as his eyes searched you, and you were ready to combust just from this. Fingertips teased against your hole as Ashton kissed your stomach, sucking on the skin to give you another hickey, his knuckles slowly slipping inside. He rutted his hips against the couch as he licked at your pussy lips, fingers already searching for that one spot that would make you go crazy.

Laughter and shouts flew across the parking lot and you whined, trying to push Ashton away from you, making him groan. He swiped his fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead as he kneeled up, listening to the sounds getting closer.

“I can’t be seen here,” you reached for your clothes, ready to tug them back up and somehow make it off the bus in record time.

“I’m not letting you go,” he caught you around the waist, motioning you towards his bunk. “Quick!”

His arms were already full with all your discarded clothes, throwing them at the end of his bed as he scrambled after you, pulling the curtains closed behind himself. He was pressed against your back as both of you listened to the sounds, your heart pounding in your chest from possibly getting caught. A minute passed, maybe two, but when no one came up on the bus Ashton let out a sigh, stifling it against your neck, the sensation making you shiver from head to toe.

“I can’t wait anymore,” his lips skimmed against the back of your neck, whispering his words on your skin. “Gonna lose my sanity if I can’t have you.”

“We need to be quick,” biting your lips you moved your hand back, reaching for his hard dick that’s been pressing against your ass for minutes now, squeezing it through his sweats.

“Then we better get to it,” he reached under his pillow for a condom, pushing his pants down to free himself.

He pulled your hips back to his, tugging on your panties until you kicked them off, then let your body melt against his, burrowing close to each other in the small space of his bunk. Ashton pushed his cock between your thighs, stroking it between your folds until he got coated in your wetness, then wrapped his arms around you, keeping you still as he started pushing inside. His face was in your hair, his small sounds making you dizzy as you took him inch by inch, the stretch already building the pleasure in the pit of your stomach.

“God, you really are soaking wet,” he nipped the shell of your ear, pulling out just to push back in deeper. “Taking me so fuckin’ good.”

“Don’t hold back,” you breathed, reaching for his hand to squeeze his fingers. “I can take it. I want it. I want you.”

“Definitely better than my fantasies,” he pressed a kiss against your jaw, pulling you back on his cock as he moved his hips, quickly fucking into you.

The air was hot around you, your skin already slightly sweaty and sticking against Ashton’s as he held you close, hands finding their place on your chest and squeezing your breasts as he pounded into you. He shifted on the bed and pulled you with himself, changing the angle of his thrust and drawing out another set of needy sounds from you.

“Yeah, that’s it baby, you sound so hot,” he pulled your face to his, lips gliding messily against the other’s, his thrusts getting quicker. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come again?”

“Gotta solve this problem too, yeah,” you let out a giggle, kissing his chin as you moaned against his skin. “Fuck me, Ash, harder!”

Ashton growled, ready to pound you into oblivion when someone started climbing up the stairs at the front, and he stilled, palm pressing against your mouth to keep you quiet. His breathing was heavy in your ear, trying to be silent and keep his composure, hoping that whoever came back won’t bother him now.

“Ash, mate,” Calum’s voice was drawing closer, and you were sure this was the end of it all. “You’re up? Forgot my wallet.”

You could almost feel Ashton rolling his eyes, his face buried in your neck as he waited for Calum to go back to the store.

“I know you’re not sleeping. Do you need me to pick up anything for you?” Calum was still chatting away, and you felt that Ash had enough as he pulled one arm back from around you, just to stick his hand out between the flaps of the curtain, and probably throwing his middle finger up at Calum. “Alright, alright I hear ya, you grumpy fucker!”

He kicked the side of the bunk as he left, and in a few seconds he was gone, making Ashton groan loudly.

“I’m not gonna let him kill the mood,” he grabbed your face to pull you in for another kiss, his hips quickly working back to their previous pace. “Gonna make you cum so hard you’ll see stars.”

“You better do that cause I’m already so close,” you sucked on his bottom lip, pulling his hand between your legs. “Yeah, just like that.”

Ashton circled his thumb around your clit, rubbing it quick and hard as his hips snapped against you, the tip of his cock dragging against your g-spot, and you felt your thighs shake, your pussy clenching around him as you finally reached your peak. He kissed your moans away, pumping into you quickly as he chased his own orgasm, and soon you felt his body tense, pulling you close as he came with a groan, his cock twitching inside you as he filled the condom with his cum.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he smeared kisses on your lips and cheeks, hair all over the place and tickling your face as he burrowed close to you. “So fucking incredible.”

“I don’t think I can move,” you let out a giggle, pressing sweet kisses against his lips. “Guess I did see the stars.”

“Come ‘ere,” he shifted to give you more space, pulling you close and tucking your head under his chin. “Just wanna hold you close.”

“I can’t stay, you know,” your fingers lightly ran up and down on his side, kissing his collarbone. “But I really can’t feel my legs.”

“It was that good, huh?” he grinned, squeezing your hips as he reached for the blanket.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you closed your eyes, pressing even closer to him. “Wake me in 5 minutes, okay?”

“I will, I promise.”

*

Something wasn’t right – you felt like you’ve forgotten something, and you knew it’s gonna get you into trouble. But you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was that. And you had a slight feeling that you shouldn’t care. Not when you were tucked against Ashton’s chest, his body warm against yours, hot breath tickling your skin as his lips pressed against your temple, his eyes beautiful in the morning light filtering through the curtains.

Morning. Ashton. Ashton, who was still very much naked. You were in his bunk. In his bunk only wearing a top. You had sex last night. In his bunk. On their bus. You were still on their bus and you slept through the night. You didn’t go back to your bed. Or your own bus. You had sex with Ashton and you were still here, even though…

“You didn’t wake me up!” you hissed, already pulling away from Ashton. “Fuck, you’ve told me you’re gonna wake me up!”

“You fell asleep and I didn’t have the heart,” he propped himself up on his elbow, reaching for your hand. “Hey, it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine,” you were frantically moving around in the small space, looking through the bedding to find your own clothes. “I should have been back in my bunk by the time they got back! Kat will be looking for me, and…”

“She knows you’re here,” Ashton added and you felt your ears start ringing, your head going dizzy. “I’ve sent her a text that you’re with me and that you fell asleep.”

“Fuck, Ashton, I only asked one thing from you!” you tugged on your hoodie, still looking around. “Shoes. Where are my shoes?”

“Are you looking for these…?”

The curtain was drawn back and you saw Calum holding up your sneakers, a sympathetic look on his face. You felt heat crawl up your neck as you took them away from him, pulling those on as well.

“Y/N, wait,” Ashton was reaching for his own clothes as you slipped out of his bunk. “Fuck, no, wait!”

You didn’t spare him another second, already feeling shame take over you as you passed Calum then Michael and Luke in the front of the bus. They acted like they didn’t see you, like they didn’t know why you were sleeping in Ashton’s bunk, but you knew it was clear as day. The bus was already parked at the venue, you’ve probably arrived just a few minutes ago, and as you stepped off the bus you could already see the rest of the crew packing. You pulled on the neck of your hoodie, hoping it hid the hickeys Ashton has left on your skin.

“Y/N–” Ashton suddenly jumped down from the bus, only wearing his sweatpants, another hoodie in his hand. “Y/N, wait–”

It felt like cold water was dumped on you as you realized that the one you were wearing was Ashton’s hoodie, the sweater so big on you that it definitely showed all the marks on your neck and the one in his hands… well, yours.

“Thanks for nothing,” you whispered, quickly tugging the fabric out of his hand.

“No, Y/N, I– I didn’t mean it,” Ashton fumbled around with his words, and you rolled your eyes, hoping the tears won’t come.

“Of course you didn’t. Just as you didn’t want to see me taking my walk of shame back to my own bus,” you crossed your arms over your chest, starting to finally go back.

“Hey, come here,” you felt someone step next to you and wrap their arm around your waist, and you felt a sob escape you as you realized it was Kat. “Don’t you have better things to do?! Everyone go back to work!”

You felt people staring at you for another moment before they scrambled back to their work. There was a loud thump coming from behind you and you were sure Ashton was kicking something, probably the tire of the bus, cursing loudly. Before you made it up to your bus with Kat you’ve heard one last comment – this time from Calum, addressed to Ashton.

“You know… fucking her and screwing with her are two very, very different things.”

- - - - -

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday  @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum @fanficsandotherthings @melanindarling @bubblegum18

[engagemachine]

How would J react if Taylor swore infront/at him?

May 22nd: New update

Anon, I’ve been thinking about this ask for daaaaays. Had to write a fic. This is just part one (turned out a lot longer than I thought it would be--wrote it in one sitting) and I’ll post part two as soon as it’s done!

FYI: This takes place early on in Burn, probably sometime around chapter two, so Taylor is back in high school. 

---

It’s still snowing outside when Taylor slides into her seat for third period English. She loves the overlarge windows in here, stretching along almost the entire wall of the left-hand side of the classroom. Black windowpanes showcase the little fountain in the courtyard, the stone benches seated around it, and the long, winding sidewalk where each senior from the class of 2002 got to lay down a single handprint in the cement to commemorate their pending graduation. Taylor thinks she would’ve liked that, to immortalize a piece of herself in that way, inscribing her name inside her handprint. Taylor B. It intrigued her, the thought of someone walking over her handprint years later, wondering who Taylor B was, what she was like, where she was now.

The fountain is frozen over, and the courtyard is blanketed in a thick layer of snow, still untouched. She wonders what it says about her that she often fantasizes about being the first one to run out and ruin it, leave her footprints behind, crunch through snow that is knee-deep, that no one else has sullied yet. There’s something about being the first person to disrupt the beauty of nature. Like stepping on a fallen dead leaf, the satisfaction of hearing it crackle beneath your feet. Or jumping into a still lake, watching the ripples that fan out across the water as you break through to the surface. Like leaving footprints in the sand at the beach, only to have them rinsed away by the incoming tide moments later. It’s a temporary disruption—and perhaps that’s the appeal.

Taylor settles into her seat and takes out her books. The classroom is unusually bright, the sky outside milky and pale as the snow piles up, falling softly in great big clumps. Mrs. Herndan leaves the lights off because they don’t need them.  

Everyone is a little more animated than usual. If it keeps snowing like this, they might call it a half day and get to go home early. Taylor hopes that happens, that way she can order take-out and hang out with Mr. J. Maybe they can watch a movie together—something scary, so she has an excuse to cuddle up next to him, if he’ll let her. She’s been testing the boundaries of affection he’s willing to allow her to bestow, and recently she’s been surprised by how much she’s been able to get away with. Just last week she fell asleep next to him on the couch with her head on his shoulder—totally by accident—and he didn’t even move her. Just let her sleep there like that until she woke up, his hand heavy on her thigh, right above her knee, at which point she jumped up, all groggy and still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She swore up and down that she was sorry, she’d never do it again. She was so afraid he’d be mad, but he just looked at her kind of funny, like he was trying not to laugh, and she blushed furiously and hurried off to her room.

Class is kind of boring, and it’s hard to focus when everyone seems just as distracted as she is. Mrs. Herndan has to stop her lesson twice just to tell everyone to be quiet and put their phones away. Taylor is snapped to attention each time she does. She didn’t even realize she had been staring at the window.

When the bell rings, Mrs. Herndan shouts out their homework assignment for the weekend, but it’s mostly lost to the din of jostling bodies and excited chatter of weekend plans as everyone fights to get through the door at once. Whatever. She’ll just have check the syllabus when she gets home. They’re reading Romeo and Juliet and it’s really hard to understand. Maybe she can find a way to rent a movie of it from the library—there’s supposed to be a version with Leonardo DiCaprio, she thinks. Maybe that’ll help. Sometimes she wants to ask Mr. J for help—and in the past she has, like when she had to make that volcano for science class, and he knew exactly what to do—but Romeo and Juliet is way too embarrassing. All those thees and thous, the declarations of love. Like she could ever ask Mr. J to interpret that for her, not without dying from embarrassment first.

She gets twenty minutes into her next class before they finally call it on the overhead speakers—school is closed. She smiles to herself as she packs up her books, already imagining herself curled up on the couch with her sketchbook and a cup of hot cocoa. She should still have some marshmallows left over—as long as Mr. J hasn’t eaten them all. He’s always eating her snacks. Sometimes, in a moment of pure frustration upon stumbling onto an empty bag or box of secret snacks she had stashed away specifically for herself, she tells him to buy his own snacks, but he always counters with, I did buy these, giving her a pointed look, and, yeah, he kinda did. It’s his money, after all. Not like she could buy any of this stuff without him.

She’s pulling the rest of her books from her locker and shoving them into her backpack when she feels a tap on her shoulder from behind. She turns around to face Jennifer Bartlett—from her geometry class—who is holds out a pink envelope decked in glitter and little metallic hearts.

“You’re inviiiiited,” she sings, thrusting the card into Taylor’s hands. Taylor blinks at her.

“Me?” she asks. Clearly this is some kind of mistake. Maybe a joke.

“It’s a sleepover, so bring a sleeping bag, okay? And like, don’t tell your mom or whatever, but my parents won’t be there, so make sure you just get dropped off in the driveway and none of your parents try to come inside.”

“Oh,” she says, her mind still swirling from the invite. A sleepover. “Okay.” She forces her gaping mouth shut, quickly nods, tries not to look too overeager. “Okay,” she says again, a little cooler, smiling a little. “I’ll totally be there.”

“Great!”

Jennifer bounds off down the hallway, joining a group of giggling girls waiting for her at the end, and Taylor looks down at the envelope in her hand, her name on it and everything. Taylor B.

She bites her lip and smiles.  

--

Taylor can’t get home fast enough.

The bus takes forever, and they have to divert into South Side because of an accident near Paramount Park.

When she finally hops off the school bus and bounds for home, perhaps she takes off a little faster than she should. One moment her backpack is bouncing behind her as she races down the sidewalk, and the next, she’s spread-eagled and lying flat on her back, staring up at the gray sky as snow drifts down in soft little clumps around her. Oof. That hurt. She didn’t hit her head—thankfully—but she managed to scrape her cheek on the icy pile of snow packed into a miniature wall along the edges of the sidewalk. She thinks her cheek might be bleeding.

She doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing: the fact that she fell, or that the bus driver didn’t stop to help.

She winces as she gets up, wipes the blood from her cheek, brushes the ice and snow from her hands, wipes her palms on her jeans. The bus hisses as it pulls away, and Taylor’s cheeks burn. Maybe no one saw?

Her right leg kind of hurts, and she hobbles the rest of the way home, her excitement not dampened as she crashes through the front door, making it halfway through the kitchen before she remembers to shimmy out of her wet boots. Her socks are wet—there was a lot of slush on the sidewalks the closer she got to home—and her feet leave little wet prints on the kitchen floor before she gets to the carpet. 

“Mr. J!”

He’s not in the living room, and he’s not in his bedroom, either, when she throws open the door and scans the bed, his empty desk. She frowns, pokes her head around the doorframe to her own bedroom. Not there, either.

“Mr. J?” She goes back to the beginning of the hallway, knocks eagerly on the closed bathroom door. She can see yellow light bleeding out from the crack beneath the door, doesn’t know how she missed that before. “Mr. J, you’ll never guess what happened at school today!” She waits a beat for him to say something—a grunt, even, some form of acknowledgement that he hears her, she’d take anything—but when she’s met with silence, she barrels on. “I got invited to a slumber party!” she gushes. She has both palms pressed flat against the door, is bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I ran all the way home to tell you, I can’t believe it!” she squeals. “It’s this Friday so we have to go to the store A-S-A-P so I can get a sleeping bag, okay? I mean—if it’s okay with you that I can go. But I’m sure it will be because I really want to go and I’ve never been to a sleepover before.” She sighs, taking a breath. He still hasn’t said anything, so she turns her back to the door and leans against it. He has to come out eventually. “And you won’t even have to worry about dropping me off because I can just take the bus, okay? I looked up Jennifer’s address at the library at school and I already wrote down how to get there, so I won’t get lost! Oh, and maybe I should get new PJs, too? And do you think that—”

The door is jerked open so suddenly she doesn’t have time to react, and she’s falling backwards before she can catch herself, straight into Mr. J’s chest.

He’s holding her underneath her arms, and she tilts her head back to look up at him—upside down—as he looks down at her. His greasepaint’s bright. Fresh-applied. She can smell its gummy texture.

She smiles up at him, a little unsure. A little frightened. His eyes are so dark. “Jeeze,” she says, lightly, trying to dissolve the tension. “You have to give me a warning, Mr. J.” She tries to laugh a little, but it comes out stilted, and the look he pins her with makes the smile slip right off her face.

“Maybe I would if I could get a word in,” he replies. He gets his arms behind her and pushes her off him. Taylor’s cheeks burn as she stumbles a few feet into the kitchen. She knows she talks a lot when she’s excited. She’s like a faucet that won’t turn off.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. She keeps her head low, a little afraid to meet his eyes. He’s in a bad mood—but she’s determined to go to this party either way, and she won’t stop prodding until he says yes. She glances up for just a second to catch the narrowing of his eyes, and then his hand is reaching out, closing around her jaw in a way that makes her flinch, pulling her towards him.

“What’s this?” he says. His eyes on her skin burn, and it makes the cut on her cheek throb in memory.

“It’s nothing,” she says, annoyed, maybe a little embarrassed. She doesn’t want to have to tell him that she slipped and fell. Also, can they please get back to talking about her slumber party? She impatiently reaches up and pries his hand off her—he lets her. She ventures a few steps back, watching him, and her back hits the counter with a thud. “But about the party—it’s okay if I go, right?”

He ignores her question in favor of taking a few lumbering steps closer—towering over her—and his fingers around her jaw are much softer this time when he takes it in his hand, tilts her head to the side so the cut on her cheek winks at him in the light that streaks out from the bathroom.

He sounds almost curious when he asks, “Did someone hit you?”

His question feels like a gut-punch. She looks up at him, eyes widening in surprise for a moment, and then her gaze narrows, and she’s a little more forceful this time when she pries his hand off her jaw.

“No,” she snaps. She can’t believe he thinks she got bullied. “I’m not a loser. I know how to fight back if I have to,” she scowls.  

He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes hard and calculating, but she makes a point to meet his stare head on. She’s not going to flinch away. After a beat, he grins a little—some secret smile, like he’s in on some joke she’s not privy to.

“Of course you do,” he says.

“So can I go to the slumber party or not?”

Mr. J raises his eyebrows as he thinks about it. “Dunno,” he says, “I seem to recall your last little, uh, party, didn’t end so hot. Maybe you remember,” he muses, leaning down low, so their faces are level, “—or maybe you don’t, since you were high as a fucking kite.”

Taylor balks at him—he never curses, at least not around her—and she can’t help the way her mouth parts in shock. She can feel the threads of hope she’d been clinging to rapidly slipping out of her hands.

Truthfully, there’s not a lot she remembers from that night. Just a bonfire and a stranger’s half-remembered bedroom. The weight of a body she hadn’t wanted, a frisson of fear, electric as it sizzled down her spine, and then fumbling down the stairs, out the front door. Nobody had even cared. And then the frigid moon, the icy bite of wind on her cheeks. She remembers Mr. J, at some point, and waking up in that old airplane hangar, where she’d promptly puked her guts out over the side of the couch. The rest of that night is a blur. It’s probably better that way.

“It’s not—” she stops. Tries to find her footing around the right set of words. She just wants this so badly. It’s her one opportunity to fit in. To make friends. To be somebody. She wants so desperately to try and explain it to him, make him understand how badly she needs this—but somehow she knows he won’t get it. He doesn’t care about fitting in, or being liked—he’s the most unliked person in all of Gotham. Maybe even the whole world.

“It won’t be like that this time,” she assures. “There won’t be any boys there. I promise. It’s just a girl party. And I promise I’ll be really, really good and come straight home after.”

Mr. J’s eyes are dark as he watches her plead her case, and she takes the opportunity to stick out her bottom lip and put on an exaggerated pout. “Pretty please?” she says. “With lots of sugar on top?”

The corner of his mouth curls into a grin. “Okay, baby doll. Since you asked so nicely.”

“Eeep!” She squeals in excitement, immediately perking up, diving forward to throw her arms around his waist. She gives him a squeeze and he surprises her by patting her back. Once. Twice. His display of affection makes her cheeks warm, and she squeezes him a little tighter, happy to bask in the moment. “Thank you, Mr. J.”

--

Taylor buys a new set of jammies and a sleeping bag. She even spends the whole day prior reading about sleepovers, Googling at the library, getting more and more excited. She wonders if they’ll do face masks, or have a pillow fight, or watch a romantic movie, or paint each other’s nails? 

She goes to Mr. J to model her new PJs for him, a yellow top with tiny blue flowers, with little matching shorts and a scalloped hem. She is bouncing around his bedroom—she had a Red Bull earlier for the first time ever, and whoa—and she does a cartwheel on the bed once she has his attention, collapsing into a heap on the floor because she misjudged the distance. She giggles, and then uses the bed to pull herself up while she prances around the room and chatters about her slumber party. She has a little notepad she found in a drawer in the kitchen, and after a few minutes, she flops back on his bed, holding the notepad above her face. She’s making a list of all the stuff she might need to bring. She read online that sometimes you should bring snacks. 

“Hey Mr. J, cookies or chips?” she asks.

She turns to lay on her side, facing him, where he’s seated in his desk chair and has spun around to watch her, his fingers drumming against the armrests. His eyes are dark—but he doesn’t give her an answer. 

She scowls at his lack of participation, and redirects her attention back to her list, tapping her pencil against her lips.

“Hmm… sometimes cookies have peanut butter, even if they say don’t, and I know lots of people have peanut allergies, sooooo… I’ll go with chips,” she decides, resolute. Her tongue pokes out when she makes a careful, neat checkmark next to the word chips.

She crawls off the bed and skips around the room for a little while longer, clutching her notepad, chattering to herself, mostly. She plays with the books on the bookshelf, all the little knickknacks left behind by the previous owner, rearranging them while she talks, musing about how cool this party’s gonna be, how many friends she’s gonna make. It’s gonna be great.

She lays down on the floor to make some snow-angels on the carpet, flapping her arms and legs slowly, staring up at the ceiling, feeling her energy start to wane. She asks Mr. J if he thinks she should wear her regular clothes to the party, or if she should come dressed in her PJs? And doesn’t he think they’re really pretty? And her sleeping bag comes with a built-in pillow, and isn’t that super cool?

She jolts awake when a pair of arms slip underneath her, hoisting her up, off the floor. She must have fallen asleep.

She frantically blinks the sleep back from her eyes. It’s dark, and she can’t see. “What day is it?” she asks, panicked, her voice cracking. “Is it tomorrow yet? Did I miss the party?”

“Shhh.” Mr. J carries her the short distance to his bed, lowers her to the mattress even as she wraps her arms around his neck, refusing to be put down. She doesn’t even have the forethought to marvel over the fact that he’s just put her in his bed, that she’s lying down on his pillow, or that the covers smell like him. 

“But did I miss it? Is it over?”

She thinks she can hear a smirk in his voice when he says, “No, baby doll, you didn’t miss it. Time to sleep.”

He peels her arms away from his neck, and this time she lets him. She sinks into the mattress, and sinks quickly back into sleep. 

[trashboatprince]

Since I’m still in a sci-fi mood (along with, like, monsters and romance stuff too, but that’s always there), and I haven’t been able to really... make any new written content recently, I decided to rework an old one-shot I wrote for the space pirate au with how my Henry, Hugo, met Bendy in it.

I honestly don’t remember if I ever posted it here, I know I posted it on discord for my friends to read, but I’m posting up a better version here. Plus, rewriting an old drabble might help me get back into the swing of things when it comes to writing! Especially since I’ve got a zine entry to work on. 

As always, Hugo is a half human/half alien (Asterian), and he’s fourteen in this. Bendy is a being from another universe or dimension, it’s unclear where Bendy’s from, but he’s a demon.

Asterians are a race of aliens that have the ability to travel through the vacuum of space with no need to breathe and have bioluminescent skin, but because Hugo is part human, he can’t last as long in space as he should.

On with the fic!

--

Hugo had lost count of how long he had been left on this stupid hunk of space rock, but he knew that he would probably be dead in due time. 

He considered that he’s probably got about an hour or two left, and knowing the Butcher Gang, they’ll either show up last minute to watch him suffer before putting him back on the ship, or they’ll just let him perish. They’re real jackasses like that.

At least he took his sketchbook with him after they threw him off the ship for their own enjoyment, but still, not much to draw when all around him was just inky darkness and a weak light source from a distant star. 

He sighed, soundless, his skin gently flashing a neon green, starting from his face down to his fingertips.

“Dat’s a real fancy trick ya can do, kid.”

Hugo’s eyes widened and he turned, shocked to have heard a voice, when he normally couldn’t hear anything in the vacuum of space. He was surprised to see something moving in the darkness of space around him. Something shifted, specks of lights moving around in front of him, before something formed. It looked like a wide, cartoon-ish smile, and from there a whiteness started to spread, forming an odd shape. Then two black, nearly full ovals, with little cuts in them, appeared in the white. It was a face!

“Hiya!” The face greeted in a childish voice, though clearly accented. The shape got closer and as it stepped onto the rock with Hugo, the half-human saw a shape form.

The darkness of space took on legs, oddly shaped, along with a long tail, them a small body that was sorta shaped like a bean. Arms with clawed hands followed, and the face seemed to have more of a head shape to it, though clearly shaped like a strange crescent form. The blackness of the body was covered in what looked like stars, twinkling and flashing, a variety of colors.

“What?” The strange creature asked. “Ya not gonna greet me?”

Hugo frowned, gesturing to his throat and then opened his mouth before shaking his head, his skin flashing involuntarily.

“Ah, right,” The creature nodded, frowning, “ya guys in dis universe can’t talk in da vacuum of space. Hold on.” 

He snapped his fingers, the snap actually made a sound, and a bubble surrounded the whole rock. Hugo let out a surprised laugh, before slapping a hand over his mouth, blinking. “W-what?”

“Just a li’l trick, super easy to do!” A grin formed on the other’s face. “It’s made outta natural gases dat drift around us, can’t just make it all, ya know, willy-nilly, but it’s super simple! So, what’s yours dat mine’s Bendy!”

Hugo had to take a moment to register what this guy, Bendy, has said. “It’s, uh, it’s Hugo.” He replied, coughing, trying to sound deeper than he naturally was. 

“Hugo, huh?” Bendy grinned brightly. “Nice to meet’cha! So, whatcha doin’ out here in an asteroid belt? Not really a social spot fer ya... what are you?”

“I dunno.” Hugo shrugged. “Human and somethin’ else, I reckon. What exactly are you?”

“Demon!”

“Demon? You mean, like, those human monsters?”

Bendy snorted loudly at this. “Pah-lease! Nonononononono- weeeellll... yes? No? Maybe so! Hard to tell, I mean, demons an’ angels aren’t technically natural to dis dimension, but we exist! We’ve been to Earth! I’ve been there, a number of times, really nice, an’ kinda bad, but it’s got lots of fun stuff there! Ya ever been?”

Hugo shook his head. “No, never really been in that area of the galaxy. Been, uh, stuck in situations were I don’t get to pick where I go.”

The grin slipped on Bendy’s face, as if he was reading the situation and figured out what Hugo was referring to. “Ah, I getcha. Still, maybe you’ll get to see it! It’s pretty neat!” The grin returned and cosmic eyes glanced to the sketchbook resting next to Hugo. “Oh! Ya draw?”

There was a nod, and Bendy asked to see. Hugo let him and Bendy started to look at the sketches and drawings Hugo’s done over the past few months. He seemed rather excited and giddy about them, chatting and pointing out what he loved, or pointed out what was good but could use some improvement.

It was... kinda nice, Hugo thought as he sat there, listening to Bendy ramble on and on. He hadn’t really had anyone to talk to in ages, not since his escape from his previous life and being cabin boy on the Butcher Gang’s ship didn’t give him much respect from anyone onboard, so having a strange being this excited to talk to him was like a breath of fresh air.

“So, why are ya sittin’ on this floatin’ rock, Hugo?” Bendy asked after a while, when their conversation had turned into small talk and such.

“I got left behind for no good reason by the Butcher Gang, they’re the pirates I ‘work’ for.” Hugo stuck out his tongue, making a face. “They’re a bunch of lowlife bastards, is what they are! I bet I could be a better pirate than them any day!” 

“You wanna be a pirate?”

“Yeah!” Hugo got to his feet, grinning. “I wanted to be a ranger when I was a kid, but I think a pirate would be cooler! Better! I can make a name for myself, I can rule the skies in my own ship! One day, I’ll have my name known across the galaxy! People will fear the name Hugo, no more lookin’ down on me and thinkin’ I’m just some freak or useless mutt!”

Bendy stared at him for a moment, quietly, and Hugo suddenly felt self conscious, before Bendy’s grin grew even bigger than it had before, nearly face splitting. His eyes sparkled with stars, brightly, it was so strange. “That... SOUNDS AMAZIN’! Can I join!? Can I be part of yer crew, Hugo!?”

Hugo was a bit caught off-guard by this. “You... you wanna be part of my crew? Why?”

“Cause dat sounds like so much fun! Look, I’m a drifter, I explore wherever I drift to, but dat gets so borin’ after so long! An’ bein’ a space pirate sounds like a blast! I’ll help you escape, an’ you an’ I can go on a bajillion adventures together!”

Bendy shoved his hand out at Hugo, smiling. “I’ll make yer dreams come true, Hugo. If ya want mah help.”

“...” Hugo looked at the offered hand. “What do you get outta this? No offense, but from what I know about demons, they like to make deals.”

“None taken.” Bendy shrugged, casually. “I getcha, not easy to trust a demon, we do have a rep fer deals an’ da like, kinda ruins it fer the honest demons like me. But listen, all I want outta this is a fun life! An’ I think yer just da guy to make dat happen.” He winked and Hugo chuckled.

“Alright, you’ve got a deal, Bendy!” Hugo took the offered hand with manic glee.

--

“Wait, you just... took the deal? Just like that?” Harrison asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you not consider that it could have been a trick?”

“Honestly?” Hugo shrugged. “I considered that, yeah, but Bendy sounded honest, and somethin’ about him screamed ‘he’ll be the most important friend you’ll ever have’. And I was right.”

Hugo chuckled, rubbing at his right palm, where black mark was in his skin, like a tattoo. It was Bendy’s mark, meant for protection and connection. Harrison had asked about it, had asked how Hugo had even met Bendy, and the pirate decided to tell him.

“Do you regret it?” Harrison asked as he looked at the mark.

“Nope, never have, never will. Bendy and I are friends till the end.”

“I see... wait, how the heck did you two become father and son then?”

“Oh, see, now that’s a really funny story! So, when I was fifteen...”

--

It had been a slip from Bendy, by the way, he has accidentally called Hugo ‘dad’ and then it sorta just stuck around. Hugo has embraced the role of dad with his whole being, especially since he can get away with dad jokes now.

But yeah, here’s how these two met in this au! 

Harrison is my friend inkspottie’s Henry, by the way. 

[artzychic27]

Evillustrator Part Deux

These people have some nerve. Barging into the art classroom, his safe space, the only place in school where he can be himself without people looking at him weirdly. He can be loud and goofy and show his art without fear of being judged. But they just had to ruin it. By 'they' he means his classmates. Not the smart ones like Marinette, Alix, Rose, and Juleka. Yes, that sounded a little rude, but it was the truth! Ever since Lie-la came along with a big mouth full of lies, it's like the rest of the class had lost a good chunk of brain cells. He knows they're trying to be nice and accommodate for the 'disabled student', but they can't tell a con-artist when they see one!

Lila's been nothing but a thorn in the art club's side since she arrived, and all because they knew she was nothing but a lying, manipulative creature. So far, she's lied about Marinette doing a bunch of stuff she'd never do to her and almost got her expelled, Alix spray painting half of her wardrobe so Mylene, Sabrina, and Alya had to buy her more clothes with their money, Juleka cornering her in the bathroom and telling her to kill herself so the goth girl got detention she didn't deserve, and Rose stealing her lunch money which is how she afforded those cute new ballet flats and the other students had to buy Lila's lunch for her. Now it was Nathaniel's turn.

What has Lila said about him? She didn't really lie, but more like got on his bad side by suggesting he should find a new writer since Marc's work was "amateur", making little jabs at his art by saying loudly for the class to hear that her work has gotten many comic book artists' attention which then led to the class telling Lila that she should introduce them to Nathaniel. He said no, of course, since the artists were either dead or not real and they did not react well. They said he was rude, Lila was trying to help, and that's how he became one of the bullies of the classroom.

But then one morning, Lila told everyone that he stole her artwork. They were hesitant to believe her even despite believing Nathaniel was a bully since they knew he HATED art thieves with a passion, probably more than Marinette hated Hawkmoth. But when she showed them the hideously bright orange sketchbook with a crudely drawn cursive L on the cover in black sharpie and flipped through the pages slowly so the class could admire what Nathaniel realized was other artists' work he saw on Instagram that she was claiming as her own.

After seven long minutes, Lila finally stopped on a page that had the class immediately go off on Nathaniel when they recognized that it looked exactly like the art, the original art, on the school website. Alix and Marinette tried to defend him the best that they could, but the sausage-haired brat was a step ahead, saying that she sometimes brings her sketchbook to school and keeps it in her locker because she was always so nervous about what people would say about her art, and Nathaniel must've broken in, took a picture of the page, traced the art, and passed it off as his own. The class was torn, but they were leaning more towards Lila’s side because 'Why would Lila lie?'

Throughout the entire day, Nathaniel was forced to listen to the class asking if he was jealous of Lie-la's art being 'far better than his' (Her words), interrogating him to see if he stole anyone else's art, and they even had the gall to tell Mme. Bustier what Lila had told them. He missed his lunch and was instead tortured by Mme. Bustier lecturing HIM on why art theft is wrong, and that he needed to be the bigger person and apologize for stealing Lila's art. No matter how many times he explained to the woman that Lila lied, she just wouldn't listen! He had so much more respect for Marinette than he already did. She would go on and on about Mme. Bustier telling her to be an example and apologize when she was the one who was wronged. He was going to learn how to bake and make that girl some macarons. When she finally let him go, lunch was already over! Thank God Marc, the best boyfriend in the world saved him half of his sandwich and an apple. He did not apologize, and he had no intention of doing so.

The rest of the day was spent with his actual friends coming to his defense every five minutes when one of them would try and get him to apologize for stealing Lila's art. And when they weren't doing that, they were tracking down the people whose art was stolen by Lila when Mylene found the art Lila had traced on Instagram and Twitter. It's like they're her personal guard dogs. He wanted to knock some sense into them and go- what Lila inappropriately calls- 'feral-mode' on them; a nod to his bipolar disorder. Going against his instincts, he went to Mme. Bustier about what Lila had said about him being Bipolar, but she told him, 'Oh, but Lila doesn't understand your condition. It's your job to explain it to her.' ... He just wants Hawkmoth to come in here and have an Akuma pummel this woman.

Finally, the day was over, they were all gone, and he could now spend time with his friends and a real teacher without being yelled at or accused of being an art thief... For about seven minutes.

"Just apologize," Alya urged.

With a glare, Nathaniel yelled, "For the last. Damn. Time! I didn't steal any art!" Where was M. Haberkorn when you needed him?

"Then explain why Lila's art is in your sketchbook!" Kim demanded.

Lila sniffed, "Nath, if you're jealous of me, I could have-"

"Why the hell would I be jealous of you of all people?"

"Don't be so rude!"

"Why are you saying this stuff?"

"Lila didn't do anything to you!"

"Guys," Alix snapped her fingers to grab their attention and quiet them down, "Nathaniel loathes art thieves. Why would he steal someone else's art? And what would he have to gain from it? He's already the illustrator for one of the best damn comics in Paris, and he's won contests with some of his work." She shot the redhead a proud look before turning back to her classmates, "So do tell us. Why would Nathaniel steal another person's art?"

None of them could come up with an excuse. None of them except Lila just when the art club thought they had won, "Well, maybe he was just insecure," she ignored Nathaniel's offended look and continued, "I didn't want to say anything, but some students were looking at his art on the school website and said it seemed... Amateur compared to mine."

Marinette whispered to Juleka, "Oh, she did not just say the A-word."

Alix coughed into her fist, "Bullshit!"

Alya glared at the pinkette, "Stop ganging up on her!" She turns to Nathaniel, "And Nath, you need to stop being jealous of Lila just because some people prefer her art-"

"Will you shut up already?!" Nathaniel screamed, stunning his classmates at his outburst. "I am not jealous of Lila! I never will be jealous of her because there's nothing to be jealous over!”

Nathaniel let out a sigh. He didn't mean to yell, but they were all just so frustrating. He was telling the truth and they couldn't see it. They're choosing to believe a liar they've known only for a few months over someone they've known for years. They all knew Nathaniel was the resident class artist and not once has he stolen another person's art; it was a level he would never stoop to, not even if you paid or threatened him to.

"Dude, you need to chill," Nino calmly said.

"No, he doesn’t." Everyone turned to the source of the new voice and saw Marc standing at the doorway with his red pencil case. The art club students became relieved when they saw the writer. Marc was a reasonable, level-headed person who could find red flags easily. He'd talk some sense into them all and maybe their Lila nightmare would be over. During lunch, the art club explained to him why Nathaniel was missing, infuriating the green-eyed boy. Because of Rossi, his boyfriend was forced to miss lunch and endure a lecture by a teacher who should really consider pursuing a different career. "Nathaniel is not an art thief." He brushed past them and made his way over to his boyfriend before kissing his cheek.

"Marc, don't defend him just because he's your boyfriend," Mylene said. And in response, Marc rolled his eyes.

"Even if we weren't dating, I'd still defend him." He points to Nathaniel's sketchbook as if asking for permission to hold it. With a nod, Nathaniel hands Marc his sketchbook, and the writer flips through the pages until he stops on the page with the sketch that started this mess. On the page is a full-body sketch of Ladybug, running with her hair out of its pigtails and flowing through the breeze. It took all of Marinette's will-power to not blush when Nathaniel showed her and the others before posting it on the school's website. What she loved most was that she was not wearing a skin-tight bodysuit, but instead, she was wearing battle armor and actually had on shoes. Maybe she could ask Tikki for an upgrade on her current suit.

"Nathaniel always uses the same art style," Marc pointed out. "During lunch, I caught a look at some of the pages in Lila's sketchbook and noticed that she had about ten different art styles. The sketch she claims Nathaniel stole looks very similar to his usual style." Before Lila can defend herself, Marc continued, "And I also noticed that your line art is very dark."

Marinette realizes what her cousin is insinuating and adds, "He's right. Most line art is light so that when an artist makes a mistake, they can easily erase it." She smirks, "So, care to explain why your line art is so much darker compared to Nathaniel's?"

Lila stammered for a response, "I... We-well my wrist-" Before she could say anything else, Alya rested a hand on her shoulder and said, "You don't need to explain anything to them. We know your innocent." After nodding in agreement with Alya, the students headed out of the classroom. Alya pulled Lila out and didn't notice her smirking viciously at the art kids or Alix giving her double middle fingers.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Nathaniel sat down and rested his head on the table. "What is wrong with them?" he groaned. Rose patted his shoulder sympathetically, "It's okay, Nath."

Marinette shook her head, "I try to remind myself that it's not their fault; Lila's manipulating them, but it takes a lot to convince myself that."

Marc took the empty seat next to Nathaniel and brushed his bangs to the side so Nathaniel could see him. "Are you okay?" Nathaniel nodded and mumbled, "Thanks, Rainbow." With a smile, Marc kissed his forehead, slid Nathaniel's sketchbook toward him, and pulled out his journal, "Let's just enjoy the quiet while we still have it."

Juleka nodded as she grabbed her bass, "Yeah, maybe I'll just fake being sick tomorrow."

"Nope!" Alix exclaimed. "There's strength in numbers, Jules. If we all have to suffer, then so do you." Juleka responded by strumming a few cords on her bass.

The rest of the class, sans Chloe and Adrien, decided to spend the rest of their day, cool off from earlier, and cheer Lila up by getting some of André's ice cream. Poor Lila didn't have any money on her because she donated almost all of her cash to her favorite charity, one that helped children from lower-income families. Ivan, being a nice guy, paid for her cone and Lila promised she'd pay him back... Yeah, like that would ever happen. Five euros and all she got was plain vanilla because André couldn't see her being in a relationship with anyone.

"Girl, maybe he just messed up," Alya told her. "André is getting old."

Nino reluctantly nodded, "Yeah. Maybe that's it." He's been getting ice cream from André since he was five, and the man was never wrong. He predicted his first love by giving him cotton candy, peach, and blueberry ice cream, and his future love with tangerine, lemon, and raspberry. If André gives you vanilla, that's it. No love for you. 'But why would Lila end up without love?' he wondered. She's nice, charitable, always meeting exciting people. It confused him.

If Nino could hear what was going on through Lila's head, he'd take it all back. 'Stupid Marinette. Stupid Alix. Stupid Rose. Stupid Juleka. Stupid Marc. AND STUPID NATHANIEL! That idiot has some nerve going against me! Just wait, Kurtzberg. I'll ruin your reputation so bad that not even your freak boyfriend will look at you! With that spineless coward of a Principal on my side, I'll make sure no school will take you!' "Guys, this was sweet of you, but I just wanna go home," she said in a tone that contrasted her inner voice.

Alya smiled and pulled her in for a hug, not noticing the scowl on the Italian's face, "We understand. Maybe you can draw something to make you feel better."

'Yeah, I'll find a sucker on Instagram, make a few tweaks, and have you all eating out of the palm of my hand.' "Yeah," she sighed. "That always cheers me up. I'll see you all tomorrow!" She waved then headed off in the direction of her home. Then once she was out of view, she ran towards the school and threw her ice cream on the ground, not caring about the pigeon she just hit. She was not going to let that stupid redhead get away so easily. She already had a ton of sinister ideas going on in her head about what'd she'd do to Nathaniel the second she caught him alone and those art club brats aren't there to help him.

Once in the school, Lila waited around a corner for him. So that no one would suspect anything, she pretended to be texting on her phone. It took five minutes until finally, Nathaniel walked out of the classroom with his sketchbook in his hand. Lila's original plan was to jump him and drag him into an empty classroom so she could threaten him to comply with her or she’d drag his reputation through the mud, but Marc was with him. She couldn’t have witnesses, or this would never work. But then everything worked out in her favor. The idiot was too distracted by his boyfriend to notice her or that he dropped his sketchbook on the floor when trying to put it in his messenger bag.

She quickly picked up the sketchbook once they were gone, and darted for the locker room. She looked around to make sure no one was there and opened Nathaniel’s prized possession. She scowled at all of the drawings of Marinette with hearts around her. “Obviously has no taste,” she muttered scornfully then continued flipping through the pages full of drawings of Ladybug, and her frown worsened the more she looked. He should be drawing a REAL hero like Volpina. Then she found a few pages with drawings of that boyfriend of his.

“Disgusting,” she sneered, then immediately tore out the page with a drawing of the two boyfriends hugging. She aggressively threw the book to the floor and stomped on it with the dirt sole of her boot, tearing and crumpling a few pages and damaging the spine. She picked it back up and proceeded to tear out more pages before getting a cruel idea. She went into the girls’ bathroom, turned on the faucet, and dropped the sketchbook into the sink. A twisted smirk spread on her face as she watched the water turn an array of colors. Satisfied, she pulled it back out and turned off the water before leaving.

She wasn’t done just yet. She looked for Nathaniel’s locker, which was easy. All she had to do was open every locker until she found the one with photos of Marc taped inside. Lila gathered up the pages she tore out, crumpled them up, and threw them into the lockers along with Nathaniel’s ruined sketchbook. By the time he opened his locker tomorrow, the pages will be dry and everything he’s drawn will be unrecognizable. Slamming the locker door shut, Lila walked out of the locker room feeling proud of herself, but not before she added a little insult to injury and taped a sticky note with an insulting message onto Nathaniel’s locker door. Tomorrow morning, Nathaniel will learn what happens when you cross Lila Diabla Rossi.

Nathaniel was not having a great morning. He accidentally set his alarm clock for the wrong time last night and woke up and three in the morning. He couldn't go back to sleep so he decided to do some late-night sketching until he felt tired. The only problem was that he couldn't find his sketchbook. He wanted to tear his room apart and look for it, but he didn't want to risk waking up his mom and having her come in, wondering why he was up so early. So he waited until it was 7:00 am when his mom was up and getting ready for the day.

He looked all around his room but couldn't find his sketchbook anywhere. 'It could be worse,' he thought to himself. He lost his personal sketchbook and not the one he used for his and Marc's comic. Now that would be awful. But losing his personal sketchbook was just as bad and embarrassing. It still had some of the sketches he did of Marinette back when he had a crush on her and some fanart from animes he wasn't comfortable showing anyone except for Alix and Marc, who showed him some fanfiction that only he was allowed to read.

"Maybe I left it at school," Nathaniel told himself once it was pretty clear that his sketchbook was nowhere in his room. Taking a few breaths to calm down and assure himself that maybe someone found his sketchbook and took it to lost and found, he got ready for the day.

After getting showered and dressed, Nathaniel made his way downstairs to have breakfast with his mom. Hearing him walk into the kitchen, Aya looked away from the stove and greeted her son with a smile, “Morning, sweetie.” Despite Nathaniel smiling, she knew something was wrong. She could tell by the way he was clutching his messenger bag and darting his eyes around the room like he was looking for something. “Is everything alright?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she asked, “Did something happen at school? Was it that Rossi girl?” Ever since Lila first lied about her son, Aya would always take some time out of her schedule to listen to him vent about the dreaded girl. And in Aya’s opinion, she sounded like a real nightmare in need of a spanking.

“Yeah, but she’s not what I’m upset about,” he answered. “I can’t find my sketchbook. The black one?”

Aya immediately turned off the stove and went to hug him. Nathaniel loved that sketchbook. His father got it for him when he was seven and used up all of his other sketchbooks. It was one of the things he had to remember him by. “Well, maybe it’s at school. I’m sure you’ll find it, sweetie.” Seeing him smile, Aya kissed his forehead and went back to making breakfast, “Now go sit down sweetie; the hash browns are almost done.”

With a nod, Nathaniel sat at the table and thought to himself over and over, ‘You’ll find it, you’ll find it, you’ll find it.’

When he arrived at school, Nathaniel only had fifteen minutes to look for his sketchbook until class starts. He rushed into the library where the lost and found box was stored and asked the librarian for access to it. He took Nathaniel into the break room where a large bin sat in the corner of the room between two shelves filled with items too large to go in the bin. Quickly, he sifted through or tossed aside anything that wasn't his sketchbook. Textbooks, jewelry, one shoe, pants, a purse, but no sketchbook. With a frustrated groan, he put the items he tossed back in the bin so the librarian wouldn't get on his case for messing up the break room. "Where is it?!" Once out of the library, he kicked a wall in frustration and continued to look around for his sketchbook.

He remembered walking out of the art classroom with it, so it wasn't in there. If it fell out of his bag, someone must’ve found it. But why didn’t they take it to the lost and found? Maybe they put it back in his locker. None of the lockers have locks, so if a student finds something that another student lost, they put it in that student’s locker. Maybe someone did that. He still had seven minutes left, so he ran down the stairs, moved through crowds of students in the courtyard, and went into the locker room.

Once at his locker, Nathaniel furrowed his brown in confusion when he saw the orange sticky note stuck to his locker door. He took it down and read it, “‘You deserve this.’”

Still confused and a little anxious by what the note meant, Nathaniel slowly opened his locker, expecting a bucket of paint to fall on top of him or a spring-loaded boxing glove to knock a couple of his teeth out… This was way worse. There at the bottom of his locker was a dingy black book with crispy pages like someone had poured water on it and left it to dry in his locker. He found a few crumpled pieces of paper and unfurled them. He felt like he needed to throw up. These were sketches of Marc, Marinette, and some rough sketches for comics. He realized that they were from his sketchbook and a look of dread spread across his face when he realized that the dried-up book in his locker was actually his sketchbook.

“No, no, no, no!” He quickly took it out and tried flipping through the pages to see if anything had been salvaged, but he could barely turn them without a piece breaking off due to the dry paper. He flipped to the back of his ruined sketchbook and immediately started crying. There was smudged writing that he could barely read, but he could make out what was written at the bottom, ‘Make something amazing, kid. -Dad’ He clutched the book close to his chest and slowly slid down his locker and sat on the floor where he silently cried to himself.

The butterflies fluttered around as the window opened and illuminated on Hawkmoth. He smirked cunningly when he felt a powerful wave of emotions coming from Francoise Dupont. The Akuma hotspot.

“Such feelings of rage, and even more of sorrow.” He beckons for a pure white butterfly to land in his open palm. “This poor, disturbed boy.” He covers the butterfly with his other hand and fills it with dark magic using the Miraculous. Hawkmoth uncovers the butterfly, now an Akuma, and it flutters out of the window. “Fly away my beautiful Akuma, and evilize that boy!”

The Akuma flew over the city and towards the school where its target was. It phased through the walls so no students or teachers would see it, and went into the locker room where Nathaniel was still crying. He lifted his head up at the sound of its wings flapping and with a yelp, he got up and ran around the room to avoid the Akuma. Soon, he was backed into a corner with no way out. He turned his head away from the Akuma and shut his eyes tight as the evil butterfly merged with his sketchbook and turned it pitch black. The glowing, purple Akuma symbol appeared over his face. Nathaniel gripped his hair as Hawkmoth spoke to him, “Welcome back, Evillustrator.”

“Stop it,” he cried. “Not now.”

Hawkmoth paid close attention to the emotions he was feeling right now. It was mainly anger from having his sketchbook destroyed, but he was also grieving. A feeling Hawkmoth knew all too well. He could see the Akumatized object in his head and saw the damage that had been done to it. As a fellow patron of the arts, he knew the importance of a sketchbook to an artist. But there was something special about this one. Perhaps someone he lost gifted it to him. He spoke, “But why not? I too understand the pain of losing a loved one. Let me help you.”

“You’re not going to help me.”

“But I will. That sketchbook must mean something to you. Don’t you wish to find the one responsible?”

"..." Nathaniel’s look of fear morphed into a scowl when he realized who could have done this, “Yes.”

Hawkmoth smiled, “I won’t stand in your way this time. As long as you bring me the Miraculous, you may use your powers however you please. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, Hawkmoth.” Black mist bubbled up from his sketchbook and engulfed him. Seconds later, Evillustrator stood in place of Nathaniel with an upgraded outfit. His windswept hair is brighter and more vibrant, fading from orange to purple, to black. He had on a white v-neck tailcoat with four dark purple stripes and three circles colored red, yellow, and blue printed on, a black shirt that had darker cuffs with red, yellow, and blue buttons and a red swan neck collar, white gloves, purple pants, and red boots with a slight heel.

He lifted his right arm where his tablet was attached, tucked his repaired, dark purple sketchbook under his arm, and began drawing. Materializing out of thin air was a fake Nathaniel. With a smirk, Evillustrator handed the Akumatized object over to him and said, “You know what to do.” With a nod, fake Nathaniel opened the sketchbook to an empty page and pressed it to Evillustrator’s chest. Immediately, he disappeared in a flash of purple light. Nathaniel turned the book towards him and saw a sketch of Evillustrator motioning for him to leave. He closed the book and made his way to class.

Lila tried very hard to suppress a scowl when she saw the fake Nathaniel walking into the classroom with the sketchbook, she was so sure that she destroyed it. Was it all just a wonderful dream? No! She knew she destroyed that thing! But, wasn’t it black? She needed to destroy it so that redhead would learn his place. Before she could make her way to his and Marinette’s desk in the back, Mme. Bustier walked in, “Alright class, take your seats!”

‘Later,’ she thought to herself then went to her seat next to Alya.

Mme. Bustier began writing on the board, "Today, we'll- OW!" Out of nowhere, a baseball hit the side of her head, much to the shock of the class. She picked up the ball while rubbing the side of her head, "Where did this come from?"

Lila immediately shot her hand up and pointed to the back, "I bet it was Marinette!"

"I am way back here and it hit the side of her head!" She yelled, "If I had thrown that ball, it would have nailed her right in the back of the head!" The students on her side and the students on Lila's side got into a heated argument. Adrien tried to calmly tell Lila's side that Alix was right, but they just talked over him. Chloe, who didn't care, filed her nails. Mme. Bustier clapped her hands, trying to grab their attention, "Class, please!" They settled down, making her let out a breath of relief. "Now, Alix is right about the ball hitting me on the side," Alix shot Lila a victorious smirk. "We'll figure out who did this later, but let's just get to our lesson." She set the baseball down on her desk, eyeing it warily before turning back to the board.

Marinette rolled her eyes. It was way too early for Lila to be pulling this kind of crap. Also, where did that baseball come from? The windows aren't open, so it didn't come from outside. She turned to Nathaniel, intending to ask what he thought. None of the art club students really paid attention to Mme. Bustier's lessons since she rarely taught anything. And when she was teaching, Lila would steer the lesson over to an hour-long discussion about how she was related to some major historical figure. Marinette was pretty sure Vlad the Impaler and Catherine the Great weren't related.

Before she could say anything, she noticed him just staring at a page in his sketchbook. Just staring, not drawing. She couldn't see what he was looking at because he was holding the front cover of the book up. And what's even weirder was that he seemed to be nodding. When he saw her staring, he immediately closed his sketchbook and turned his attention to the front.

'Strange,' Marinette thought to herself then continued half-listening to the lesson.

Ten more minutes in, and Lila was telling a story about being the distant relative of some witch hunter from the Salem witch trials in the states. This allowed the art club kids to text each other on their group chat while everyone ate up whatever Lila said. But Marinette made a new group chat without Nathaniel.

Something's Up

Alix: Care 2 explain??

Rose: Is something wrong?

Juleka: You forgot Nathaniel.

Marinette: That's what this is about. There's something... Off about him today.

Alix: Oh, thank God! I thought I was the only one who noticed.

Rose: What's wrong with Nathaniel???

Alix: He's just all zoned out or something.

Marinette: I caught him nodding at his sketchbook.

Alix: I don't even recognize that one. All his sketchbooks usually have designs on them but that one is just solid purple. 🤔

Juleka: Now that you mention it... When everyone was arguing about the baseball, I noticed he didn't say or do anything. Just stared at his sketchbook.

Rose: That's odd.

Marinette: Maybe he's having an off day?

Alix: I did see him bump into the door frame when he walked into the classroom. So... Off day?

Juleka: Off day.

Rose: 👉🏻Off day👈🏻

Marinette: Off Day. Okay, Lila's wasted twenty minutes and we have two minutes left of class... Any weekend plans?

Rose: Family reunion! Can't wait!

Juleka: Luka and I are gonna watch a bunch of trashy high school movies from America. I'm interested in this one called The Outcasts.🍿🎥

Alix: Promised Jalil I'd do some nerd stuff with him.🤓

Marinette: Baking 🥐, sewing 🧵, typical day.

BRRRRIIIIIIING!

Marinette: And once again, we've learned nothing.

Alix: Ah, the glorious history of nothing.

Rose: My cousin majored in the Fundamentals of Nothing.

The students gathered their things and headed to their next class. As Nathaniel was packing, Mme. Bustier called out, "Nathaniel, can you stay for a minute?"

"Are you gonna be okay?" Marinette asked. At fake Nathaniel's nod, she left with the others, leaving him and Mme. Bustier alone.

The first thing she said was, "Nathaniel, I hope you apologized to Lila." When he didn't answer and just stared at her blankly, she sighed, "Nathaniel, I understand that you're upset."

"Upset doesn't even begin to describe how I feel, Caline!"

"But it's not Lila's fault," "Excuse me?!" "She just wants to make friends, and by antagonizing her," "You mean exposing an art thief?" "you'll be preventing her from doing so. Now, I expect you to apologize to Lila before the end of the day." "Or else, what, Caline?!"

The fake Nathaniel opened the sketchbook slightly, and immediately, a flaming arrow shot out of it and was dangerously close to hitting Mme. Bustier's foot. She looked at the redhead in shock before slowly backing away as he opened his sketchbook. "N-Nathaniel, wh-what are you- Aah!" The fake has pressed a blank page on her arm, and she disappeared with a scream. He turned the sketchbook towards him and there was Caline Bustier, now a pencil sketch hitting her fists against the paper and screaming to be let out. She was silenced by fake Nathaniel turning to the page with Evillustrator.

"Make sure there are none of those idiots left." With a nod, the fake shut the sketchbook and left just before the next class arrived.

Seventeen minutes in Mendelieve's class were spent learning about physics until the science teacher left once M. Damocles made an announcement over the PA system, telling the teachers to report to his office. That left Lila to take over and talk more and more about herself without the science teacher telling her to stay silent and pay attention. The art club was just minding their business in the group chat but listened closely when Lila started spewing lies about her famous artist uncle. They knew where this was going, and Alix got ready to fight tooth and nail for her friend. Finally, Lila brought up what happened yesterday, causing the students to give the fake Nathaniel wary looks or glares

"So," Kim said as he approached fake Nathaniel. "are you finally going to apologize for stealing Lila's art?"

Marinette huffed, "Guys, for the last time, Lila is lying! Nathaniel is not an art thief!"

"Well, let’s just see if that’s true," Alya said as she pulled out her phone to record and expose Nathaniel as an art thief. Before she could grab the sketchbook out of his hands, her phone was wiped away from existence. "MY PHONE! Where'd it go?!" Fake Nathaniel looked down at the sketchbook and smirked because he knew Evillustrator had something to do with that.

Alya continued to look for her phone, "It just disappeared out of thin air!" she exclaimed as she looked under the desk, believing she dropped it and didn't notice. "How does that just happen?!" As she and a few other students continued searching for her phone, Mme. Mendelieve walked back into class with a look of concern to replace her usually stoic face.

"Class, you wouldn't happen to know where Caline went, would you?" she asked. Everyone either shook their heads or said no. "Odd. No one can find her, When her next class went in, she was gone." She looks to the fake Nathaniel, "Nathaniel, you were the last to leave. Did she say she'd be going anywhere?" The fake looked like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. He instead shook his head. With a sigh, Mendelieve continued, "If she's not found or we don't hear from her in two hours, the school day will end early so the teachers can call the police to conduct an investigation." There were some scattered whispers. "I'm sure Caline is fine. Now, let's finish the lesson." The students who were helping Alya look for her phone comply and sit back down in their seats, but Alya kept searching for her phone, "Alya, sit down."

"But I can't find my phone," she said. "It just disappeared right out of my hand!"

"Miss Cesaire, you can try to look for it later," she said sternly. "But right now, we need to continue our lesson. Sit down." Alya reluctantly did so, and Mme. Mendleieve resumed what she was teaching the class before Damocles made his announcement. While she taught, Alix glanced over at the fake staring down at his sketchbook like Marinette said he was earlier. It was so weird. He was just staring and not doing anything. And how did Mme. Bustier just suddenly disappear without a trace?

Thirty minutes passed, and the students headed to lunch while Alya stayed behind to look for her phone with Nino helping her.

Fake Nathaniel managed to slip away from Marinette, Alix, Rose, and Juleka who were walking to the cafeteria as a group, something they did in case Lila tried anything, and he was now hiding in the locker room where Evillustrator was giving him instructions. “Kim often goes to the pool during lunch to practice,” he whispered. "Get him when he comes in." Right as he said this, the door was heard opening. The fake peered around the locker he was hiding behind and saw the athlete walking in and going to his locker. No witnesses were around. He opened the sketchbook to a blank page and sneaked over towards the athlete as he was pulling his gym bag out of his locker with some struggle.

When Kim finally managed to pull his bag out, it slipped out of his hands. The force he used flung the bag behind him, and it hit the sketchbook, making it disappear. Kim looked around to see where his bag went but only saw the fake, who shut the sketchbook before Kim could see what was on the pages. "O-oh. Hey, Nath." When he didn't answer, Kim sighed. "Silent treatment. Deserved that; I get it. Look, man I-I don't want to believe you stole Lila's art, but uh... I mean, why would Lila lie?"

"Because she's evil! Get him, now!"

"Still upset with me, huh?" He chuckled when the fake still didn't say anything.

"You have three seconds. Three."

"Again, I wanna believe you didn't do it."

"Two."

"But you and the girls have been kinda... Antagonizing her a bit?"

"One!"

The fake immediately clutched his left hand like he was in pain, getting Kim concerned. "Nath, what's wrong?!" He uncovered the fake's hand and was repulsed to find that his fingers were starting to vanish. "Oh my God!" Before he could say or do more, the fake mouthed, 'I'm sorry'. Then he opened the sketchbook and pressed the blank page to Kim's face. He disappeared with a scream. Fake Nathaniel dropped the sketchbook in favor of clutching his fingerless hand. The akumatized object was opened to the page with Evillustrator's angry glare, "Hesitate next time, and I'll erase your arm!”

The fake nodded frantically before letting out a sigh as Evillustrator drew on his tablet, making his fingers reappear. As he headed to the door, he heard a slight shuffling sound and turned around to see Myléne standing right outside the girls’ bathroom with her mouth agape.

”N-Nathaniel?” Myléne stammered as she began to slowly back away.

Fake Nathaniel approached her with the sketchbook opened to a blank page. Another silent ‘Sorry’, and Myléne was gone and trapped in the sketchbook. He flipped the pages back to Evillustrator, “Better. Now don’t stop until you have Rossi and those assholes!” The fake didn't want to do this, but he had to; it was how he was drawn. He was made to be a pawn in his creator's revenge plot, but he didn't want to do that. Evillustrator gave him the same personality he had pre-Akumatization, so this just felt wrong to him, but he couldn't go against his commands.

When fake Nathaniel nodded, Evillustrator arched an eyebrow and asked, "Can you speak?" He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but nothing came out. He shook his head. Evillustrator started drawing on his tablet, "Hold still." Fake Nathaniel's throat glowed a bright purple before dimming. "Say something."

"S... So... Some... Ting. S-something?"

"So glad I caught that. Now go!" Immediately, the fake put the sketchbook back into his messenger bag and left.

“Hey, Nath,” Marc greeted the fake as he sat down at their lunch table.

Fake Nathaniel smiled. He had his real counterpart's personality and all of his memories, so he knew exactly how to act and what to say (Now that he had a voice). “Hey, Rainbow.” He kisses Marc’s cheek and ignores the stinging sensation he’s feeling in his hand as one of his fingers is being erased. Evillustrator made him and can easily destroy him if he does something he doesn’t like. Apparently, kissing Marc is one of them.

”So, where were you?” Alix asked as she popped a grape in her mouth.

“Oh, I-I remembered that I left my locker open, and went to close it,” he fibbed.

“No point in that, Nath,” she shrugged. “Anyone can just go in and take whatever’s in a locker."

Marinette nodded in agreement, remembering her expulsion, then asked, “So, what do you guys think happened to Mme. Bustier? She couldn’t have suddenly disappeared; we all just saw her.”

Alix leaned back in her seat, uncaring, “Does it really matter? I think we could all use a break from her.” Juleka nodded, “Maybe Mendeleiev will be our substitute and actually put Lila in her place.”

”One can dream,” Rose sighed as she leaned on Juleka, making the goth girl wrap her arm around the blonde.

Juleka looked around the room. She furrowed her brow then asked, “That’s weird. Kim and Mylène aren’t here.”

”Well, Kim probably went to the pool,” Alix said as she looked for the activist. “But where’s Myléne?”

”Maybe she-“ Before Marc could finish what he was about to say, the doors slammed against the wall as Alya stormed in with Nino trailing close behind.

”Nino, a phone doesn’t just disappear like that!” she exclaimed. “There’s probably an Akuma around here!” Immediately, the cafeteria broke out into whispers about if Alya was right about the Akuma. “And Mme. Bustier suddenly disappearing? Explain that. She wouldn’t just ditch her job like that.”

”Tell it to the person doing most of her work,” Marinette muttered, making the students at the table laugh. Mme. Bustier would always force Marinette to do her work for her and say that they’re the duties of the class representative when really, the woman is just lazy to do the work herself. And when Marinette refuses, Bustier will use the ‘I’m disappointed in you’ voice until Marinette complied.

”You think this is funny?!” Lila whined. “Mme. Bustier and Myléne are missing, and it’s probably because there’s probably an Akuma loose in the school!”

Alix groaned, “Mind your own business, Rossi!” A couple of the students that were on Marinette’s side snickered. “And it’s called making light of a situation. Less negativity, fewer Akumas. You're welcome.”

”Why are you guys always so rude to me?” Alya asked before pointing to Marinette, “First you let your jealousy cloud your judgment,” then to Juleka, “you’re always telling Lila to kill herself,” Alix, “you ruined her clothes,” Rose, “you stole her money,” then Nathaniel, “and you plagiarized her art because you’re jealous of her, too! Why do you guys hate her so much?”

”Because she’s a liar,” Marc murmured. "Simple as that."

“I’m not!” Lila yelled with fake tears in her eyes that masked the glare she was sending the boy. “Why does no one believe me?!” Sabrina went to console her.

”We believe you, girl,” Alya reassured. “And we’re gonna prove you’re innocent...” Her eyes trailed to Nathaniel’s messenger bag, “Starting by proving Nathaniel did steal your art!”

Before the fake artist could react, Alya already had his messenger bag in her hands and now the akumatized sketchbook. “Lila, get your sketchbook, we’re gonna...” Her voice trailed off when she saw the moving sketches of Mme. Bustier, Kim, and Mylène, begging to be freed. The other students gathered around Alya and looked in horror at students and teacher trapped in the sketchbook.

Max pointed at the fake, “You-you’re the Akuma!”

With a sneer, he snatched the sketchbook out of Alya’s hands and pressed a blank page to Max’s face. He disappeared and was now trapped inside the sketchbook, alarming the students.

“Th-the sketchbook’s g-gotta be an Amok,” Nino stammered as he pulled Alya away from the fake. “H-he doesn’t even look like an Akuma!”

“There’s no Amok, and I’m not the Akuma.” He flips to the page with Evillustrator. “He is.” As the students stood in shock, the fake tore out the page, and it glowed a bright purple before morphing into Evillustrator, glaring menacingly at the Akuma Class.

”N-Nath?” Marc stammered as he cautiously approached his Akumatized boyfriend.

“Then who’s he?!” Alix grabbed the fake's wrist to prevent him from running and glared at him.

Evillustrator scoffed. ”He's not important.” Then, much to the fake's horror, he put the eraser to his tablet.

”No! Wait!” The fake cried as he was erased from existence, horrifying the students, Marc especially. The sketchbook dropped to the floor with a thud.

“H-how did-“

”Ask her!” He points a shaky finger at the Italian girl. “You,” he draws a lock on his tablet, “will not get away with what you did!” A couple of students, Marinette being one of them, managed to escape the cafeteria right before Multiple locks appeared on the doors, making it impossible for the others to get out unless they were crazy enough to jump out of the window.

”I-I didn’t do anything!” She lied while rubbing her eyes to look like she’s crying again. “Why are you trying to hurt me, Nathaniel?!”

”It’s Evillustrator, now!” He drew a missile on his tablet, and that same missile appeared next to him. The students ran for the doors and tried to pull the locks off, but they were too strong. “NO ONE LEAVES UNTIL SHE’S GONE!” He points his pen towards Lila, and the missile goes after her as she runs around the cafeteria screaming for help. Seeing that they weren't going to get out of this, the remaining students ducked under tables and chairs.

Ismael and Ivan ran towards Evillustrator to try and grab the pen, remembering how that was the Akumatized object last time Nathaniel was Akumatized. Quickly, he jumped out of the way, causing the two boys to collide and fall to the floor, groaning in pain. Evillustrator grabs the sketchbook off the floor and pressed a blank page on them, making the two boys disappear into the sketchbook.

Seeing that the missile was getting closer to her, Sabrina quickly got up from under a table and tackled Lila to the floor before the missile could hit her. It instead crashed into a wall, creating a massive hole that allowed the students to escape. The art club students stayed behind, though, hoping that they could calm their akumatized friend down. Evillustrator was about to run after them, but Akux grabbed his wrist.

”Nath, wait!” she pleaded while trying to not look like she’s afraid of the enraged Akuma that used to be her best friend. “Let’s just talk about this, okay? What did Lila do to you?”

Evillustrator’s glare softened as he looked into Alix's eyes. He needed to get his revenge on Lila but she was keeping him from doing that... “Forgive me, Alix.”

”What?”

Before Alix knew it, she was trapped in the sketchbook, shocking the remaining members of the art club. Marc was about to approach him, but Evillustrator held his sketchbook close to his face, making the writer back away. “Don’t make me do something I will regret, Rainbow,” he warned then ran out of the cafeteria.

Many of the students took refuge in the locker room, their main place to hide during Akuma attacks in the school. They begged Damocles for months to actually build some sort of Akuma safety shelter in the school, but it was always the same thing, 'There's not enough money in the budget.' Well, there certainly was enough for him to create a secret compartment hidden behind the wall for his Owl stuff. Thinking about how much of the money they made during fundraisers being spent by him to create those toy weapons often gave the students horrible headaches.

The students flinched when they heard Evillustrator's booming voice from the second floor of the school, “WHERE ARE YOU LILA?!” A few brave students looked out the window and saw Evillustrator erasing the walls to every classroom he passed by. “YOU’RE WEAK, YOU KNOW THAT?!” He erases the door to a storage closet, revealing two very scared students cowering at the sight of him. The students not targeted by him couldn't help but feel sorry for the Akuma. Whatever Lila did must have been awful to make Nathaniel this upset.

With a frustrated yell, Evillustrator got the two students with his sketchbook. Once they were gone, he jumped down from the second floor and into the courtyard, making the students get away from the window, hoping he didn't see them. Jean Duparc looked around to make sure everyone was safe or not doing anything to attract the Akuma. A few were nervously biting their nails or twirling their hair, others were texting their parents, and next to him, Aurore and Mireille were updating their blog, 'BugOut & CatChat'. Instead of recording Akuma battles like Alya with the Ladybug, they analyzed the akumas and gave descriptions of their powers, let the public know of the Akuma's location so they could avoid it and so Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn't find it. And just for laughs, they critiqued Hawkmoth's fashion choices for Akumas. So far, there was nothing about Evillustrator's new outfit that needed critiquing. He bumped Trouble Maker down to 2nd place on the 'Best Dressed Akuma' list.

“Come out now, or so help me, I will-!” He stepped to the side when Ladybug’s YoYo flew right past him and retracted back to the spotted heroine standing at the top of the stairs. “You’ll have to be quicker than that, you pest!”

Chat Noir dropped in next to Ladybug, “Well, what’s got him so steamed up?”

“Lila,” she groaned, making Chat roll his eyes in annoyance at the mention of the liar. He's given that girl enough chances, as Chat and as Adrien. He was done. ”Let’s get this over with.”

The two heroes ran towards Evillustrator and were already dodging giant boxing gloves, buzz saws, and pitchforks drawn by him. Ladybug threw her yoyo, which he ducked under then drew something on his tablet. A hole that Ladybug would’ve fallen into if Chat Noir hadn’t grabbed her hand in time appeared under her feet.

Evillustrator drew two more buzz saws and sent them at the heroes. Chat Noir quickly got in front of Ladybug and spun his staff, making it act like a shield that deflected the saws. One sliced through the middle of a bench, revealing Lila. He smirked, "FOUND YOU!" He threw his sketchbook at Lila, but she ran out of the way and it hit one half of the bench before coming back to him like a boomerang. Evillustrator continues throwing his sketchbook at the liar while also drawing projectiles whenever the sketchbook was out of his hands. The first round of projectiles was easily deflected by Ladybug and Chat Noir, but there were just too many on their second round. One of them gets one of Ladybug's pigtails, cutting off a few inches and making her hair look weird. Another one nicked Chat on the ankle. He whispered a curse and clutched his ankle.

With Chat Noir subdued, Ladybug had to protect both of them and deflect the rest of the projectiles while Evillustrator went after Lila. As he chased her up the stairs, Evillustrator drew a couple of darts that pinned Lila to a wall by embedding them through her clothes. As she struggled to get free, Evillustrator calmly approached her while drawing on his tablet. "Don't look so afraid Lila. You had this coming after what you did."

"I didn't do anything!" she screamed. "It's not my fault that people like my art better than your-" She's silenced by a cleaver appearing in Evillustrator's hands.

He chuckled darkly, "I am going to enjoy this." After aiming for her head, he threw the cleaver. Lila turned her head away, believing that the cleaver hitting the side of her head would be less painful than it hitting her face. She waited, but the cleaver never came, and there was a 'clank' sound. Lila opened an eye and saw that Chat Noir, being supported by Ladybug, had deflected the cleaver with his staff.

"Took you long enough!" she complained. "Get me down from here!"

Ladybug took a deep breath as she assessed the situation. She could either be a hero and save Lila, or still be a hero and rid the world of Lila... 'Fine!' She made her way over to the sausage-haired girl and slowly took out the darts, and was clearly trying to keep herself from stabbing Lila with the very sharp ends. Once the last dart was removed, Lila pushed Ladybug into Chat, making him stumble a bit and lose his composure before making a run for it.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Evillustrator yelled, enraged. He grabbed Chat's staff while the leather-clad hero was still gripping it, and flung him over the railing, making him fall and crash onto the hard courtyard floor.

"Chat!" Ladybug called out. Angered, she threw her yoyo at the Akuma, but he caught it and opened his sketchbook, much to Ladybug's horror. Before the weapon could make contact with the page, Chat's staff extended and the end hit the side of Evillustrator's face. He fell to the floor and clenched his jaw. With him down, Ladybug ran for the sketchbook, only for a glass wall to appear between her, the Akumatized object, and Evillustrator. He drew something else on his tablet, and multiple swords appeared, all pointed at Ladybug.

"Stay out of my way!" He growled. Ladybug swung all around the courtyard as the swords chased after her. Seeing that there were still some students around, she led the swords into an empty classroom and proceeded to dodge them there. Seeing Chat Noir about to vault over to him, Evillustrator drew a giant boxing glove that knocked Chat down to the floor. He was in the middle of drawing an anvil when suddenly, a gloved hand grabbed his wrist. He looked up to see who had the nerve to stop him, but his anger diminished when he saw that it was Marc. "Rainbow, what are you doing?"

"Nath, you gotta stop!" Marc pleaded as he intertwined his and Evillustrator's hands.

"You don't know what she did, Marc!" He exclaimed. "You weren't there! Now let me go!" He tried to pull his hand out of Marc's grasp, but the writer wasn't letting go. 'Rossi's getting away! I can't let her get away with this!' With some reluctance, Evillustrator raised his sketchbook and tried hard to ignore the sad look in Marc's eyes. Just as he was about to press the page to his chest, Marc was pushed to the side, and the page instead was pressed to Rose's face, making her disappear into the sketchbook.

"ROSE!" Juleka and Marc cried out.

Evillustrator hit his fist on the metal railing in anger, "DAMN IT! SEE WHAT ROSSI'S MAKING ME DO?!" Hurridly, he drew a jetpack that appeared on his back. He pointed to Chat, "If you or Ladybug get in my way again, I WILL ERASE YOU BOTH FROM EXISTENCE!" Before he took off, he noticed Alya peering from around a corner. She was recording the fight using Nino's phone. When she noticed his eyes on her, she quickly made a run for it, but Evillustrator was faster. He hoisted the journalist over his shoulder.

"You're coming with me!" he yelled. "I want you to be there when Lila finally gets what's coming to her!"

"Wh-what are you- AH!"

Evillustrator flew out of the school just as Ladybug ran out of the classroom with her pigtails missing a couple of inches, one side strand missing, and some cuts on her face. She knew Evillustrator was a dangerous Akuma. He nearly drowned her and Chat and almost killed Chloe with a buzzsaw, but this was next level brutal. Hearing a groan, she looked and saw Chat Noir slowly climbing up the stairs with a slight limp. "Chat, are you okay?"

He shook his head, "No, m'lady. He got my ankle bad."

"Ladybug, Chat Noir!" Nino called out as he and Sabrina approached the two in-pain heroes. "Are you two okay?"

Ladybug gave a nod, "Yeah, we're fine. And don't worry Nino, we'll get Alya back."

Nino let out a breath of relief before Sabrina said to Ladybug, "Hey, after you were helping Lila down, I-I saw her push you. A-and before that, she sounded so rude when you were trying to help her." Ladybug frowned at that. She's saved that girl's butt so many times, and not once has she shown any gratitude. "Are you two having a fight, or-"

"No. We're not."

"Then why-"

Chat cut Nino off, "They're not friends, okay? Never have been, never will be."

"... Lila was lying?" Sabrina whispered to herself.

"And the sun sets in the west," Juleka muttered, making Marc give her a little nudge with his elbow.

The two bespectacled students cast each other looks of disbelief. Lila was lying about being friends with Ladybug, and she pushed the heroine into Chat, knowing he was injured and trying to fight Evillustrator. If she lied about that, what else could she have lied about? Pulling them out of their thoughts was Aurore and Mireille running over to Ladybug and Chat Noir with their phones.

"Ladybug! Chat Noir!" Mireille called out. "Alya's live-streaming right now." She hands the spotted heroine her phone, and the screen showed a live stream of the Ladyblog. Alya was in an odd position with a look of clear terror on her face that she was trying to mask with a brave smile. "He-hey, viewers! So, I am..." She looks down, and her eyes bulge before she looks back at the camera, "About a hundred feet above the ground right now, and I have nothing to hold onto! B-but don't worry. I mean, I'm slung over an Akuma's shoulder like a sack of flour, but at least he's not handsy like Pharaoh." She panned the phone to Evillustrator. "Care to comment?"

Evillustrator looks to the phone with an enraged look. "Lila Rossi, if you're watching this, I will find you! Be sure of it! And I might consider letting you live if Ladybug and Chat Noir hand over their Miraculous!"

Marc felt a tear about to escape out of the corner of his eye. What did Lila do to Nathaniel?

Alya panned the phone back to her horrified face. The fear of falling from a great height didn't phase her anymore. Now she was scared of the possibility of seeing an Akuma murder someone. Finally, much to her relief, they landed on a balcony.

"Wh-what are you doing here?!" A woman yelled.

Ladybug paused the video, "Thanks, you guys." She turns to Chat, "You gonna be okay?"

Chat gives her a thumbs up, "I'll be fine." He extends his baton, ready to vault out of the school. "Let's go!"

The two heroes swing and vault out of the school and head over to where Evillustrator is, leaving Lila's former followers to awkwardly stand with her haters.

"... We tried to tell you," Marc told Nino and Sabrina after a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Evillustrator, this is going too far! Let her go!"

Evillustrator glared at the Italian woman tied up and gagged on a couch. Floating over her were about ten daggers, all of the blades sharpened to a deadly point. "Yes, spare the mother of a demon spawn," he said sarcastically. "You said that you'd stay out of my way!" He turns to Alya, who's trying to inch out of the room. "Don't. Go. Anywhere. And keep rolling! Let's see if Lila Rossi is all she claims to be."

Mme. Rossi lets out a loud muffled response. The Akuma approaches her and rips the duct tape off of her mouth, making her let out a pained yell. "What are you talking about?! What does this have to do my daughter?!"

Evillustrator gives the woman a pitiful look. It's sad how this woman doesn't know what her daughter has been up to. Well, now she'll know.

"MAMA!"

"Perfect timing," Evillustrator smirked as Lila ran up the stairs and into the living room.

"Mama, don't listen to him! He's an Akuma, and he's trying to hurt me!"

Evillustrator chuckled, "Well, that's not the whole story, is it?" He turns to Alya, still recording, "Paris, let's see how committed to her lies, Lila is. Would she put her own mother in danger just to avoid the consequences?" He approaches the scared and very confused woman. "Irene Rossi, your daughter has been claiming many things recently. Confirm a few things for me, okay?" Irene nods frantically. "Great. And if Lila tries to save face, then... I'm so sorry she's your daughter." He draws a ball and chain something on his tablet. That same one appears around Lila's ankle, preventing her from escaping. "Now, Irene. Tell us, have you ever met Prince Ali?"

Irene furrowed her brow in confusion. 'What is he talking about?' She shook her head, no. "What are you-"

"He's trying to make me look bad, mama!" Lila wailed. "Please, don't answer whatever he asks! It's a trick!"

"Damn, Lila," Evillustrator whispered. "I thought you loved your mother." He pointed to one of the daggers, and at his command, it dropped down, dangerously close to hitting Irene's shoulder and embedding itself into the couch cushion. All three women and everyone watching the Ladyblog Livestream let out horrified gasps. "This is what happens when you lie," he taunted. "So, you've never met Prince Ali? So, that would mean Lila's never worked on Go Green charities with him."

"What?!" Irene shrieked. "Prince Ali doesn't even work with Go Grene charities! He's devoted his time to helping children! Lila, what have you been telling people?"

Before the brunette has a chance to speak, Evillustrator interrupts, "Next question. Are you the descendant of a fox hero named Volpina?" Alya's jaw dropped at that question. "Did anyone in the family ever pass along a necklace with a fox-tail pendant down to Lila?"

Irene shook her head, "No! No one hasn't!" She glares at Lila, "The only family heirloom passed down is a wedding veil with the brides' names stitched on!"

"M-maybe you just didn't know about it!" Lila lied, much to Irene and Alya's shock. They saw what happened when she lied, and she's still trying to save herself. "Nonna passed the necklace down to me because she-"

"LIES!" Another dagger came very close to hitting Irene's foot. She managed to move it out of the way at the last second. "So shameful. Letting your mother face the consequences for your lies? Is there no level you won't stoop to, Lila?" When she didn't answer and instead glared at him, he asked Irene the next question, "Why wasn't Lila in school for what was it?... Three months?”

“I was told that school was closed due to an Akuma outbreak and that Ladybug and Chat Noir were too incompetent to stop them.”

”By Lila?”

”...” She nodded, ashamed, “Yes.”

Evillustrator smirked, “Well, while your daughter was relaxing at home, she’s been telling everyone that she was really in Achu with Prince Ali.” He adds, “And it takes Ladybug and Chat Noir about three hours to defeat an Akuma, so they’re not incompetent like your daughter says they are.”

Irene hung her head. How could her own flesh and blood be so deceitful? And how could she risk the life of her own mother like this?

”Aw, that’s so sweet!” Chat exclaimed as he and Ladybug landed on the balcony and made their way inside.

”Nathaniel, you’ve already exposed Lila,” Ladybug tried to reason. “Just hand over your Akuma so no one else gets hurt!”

”My name is Evillustrator!” he growled. “And that wasn’t even half the lies she’s told!” He turns to Irene, who’s gone pale learning that Lila's told more lies. “You thought those were bad? Just wait until you see what else she’s hiding.” He draws a gas mask that appears over his face and a smoke bomb that releases purple smoke all around the living room. There are some scattered coughs that decrease as the smoke clears up due to Ladybug and Chat Noir spinning their weapons. They act like fans and blow the smoke out of the window. When the room clears up, Evillustrator, Lila, and Alya are gone, but Irene still remains tied up on the couch with the daggers still above her.

“Where’d they go?” Ladybug wondered aloud before Chat went to go untie Mme. Rossi.

”Th-thank you, b-both of you,” she stammered while eyeing the still-floating daggers. “I-I am so sorry for what I th-thought of you, I’m sure you’re both-“

”Ma’am, it’s alright,” Chat told her. “Lila was the one making us look bad; you didn’t know.”

"Maledetto," Irene sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Looking back, some things Lila has been telling me did seem far-fetched. The school being closed for months, every student and teacher being akumatized, the people working for the media have been held hostage." The heroes give her unbelieving looks. "Yes. I realize how dumb it sounds now, but I'm new to these... Akumas, and Miraculous. I... I thought I could trust her."

Ladybug rested a hand on the woman's shoulder and gives her a sympathetic look, "We'll set your daughter straight, Mme. Rossi. You can be sure of it." As the woman smiled, Ladybug called her for her, "Lucky Charm!" The object that dropped down into her hands was, "A ram's horn?"

Chat Noir scratched his head in confusion, "You gonna play a little tune?"

"That's also what convinced me you two weren't capable," Irene said. "You rely on random objects to defeat an Akuma?"

Ladybug looked around the room, trying to find a way to use the Lucky Charm, "Well, they do help in battles. I just need to figure out how to use it."

"Hey!" Chat piped up, "Isn't there a Goat Miraculous?"

Ladybug recalled seeing a Goat Kwami when she was battling Kwamibuster, and she wore horn-shaped barrettes. "You're right, Chat! Go and follow Evillustrator, I'll be with you soon." With a salute, Chat was gone. Before she left, Irene told her in a low, threatening voice, "Bring her back, so I may give her the punishment she deserves."

Ladybug tensed, "Well, with what Lila's been doing, she'll probably be out of your hands and in the polices'." She left before Irene could ask what she meant, leaving the Italian woman to sulk in her living room.

'What did she do to him?!' Marc wondered over and over as he sat in the art room with Juleka, furiously writing his feelings down in his journal. Both of them needed a break from the guilty look of Juleka's classmates and decided to spend the rest of the day in the art classroom. It was so quiet without the others.'That sausage-haired jerk deserves what's coming to her!... Maybe not death.'

Juleka takes a peek over Marc's shoulder to read what he's written. Her eyes go wide when she sees the many words Marc has used to describe Lila... Well, he was right. "You feeling better?" she asked.

Marc looked up from his journal and turned to face the goth girl. "... I need worse words for her." Juleka chuckled and took the seat next to him. "I have used every curse word and insult I could think of to describe Lila, and none of them are strong enough."

Juleka pulls out a pencil, "Try this." She writes something down on the corner page of his journal and has him look at it, leaving Marc's face a crimson red. "Eh?"

"Juleka," Marc gasped. "Wh-where did you-"

"You won't believe what mom said around me," she smirked. "One of them was actually Luka's first word." Her amused expression turns sour, "I still think those words are too good for Lila, though."

"Every curse word is too good for her," Marc joked, making Juleka laugh. Cutting off their amused laughter was the sound of something hitting a window. They turned around and saw Ladybug standing on a ledge right outside the classroom. They ran over and opened the window, allowing the heroine to come inside.

"L-Ladybug, what are you doing here?" Juleka asked in awe.

"The Lucky Charm told me to come here." She turns to Marc, "I'm gonna need to borrow you for a while, Marc." The emerald-eyed boy stood, frozen in shock. Ladybug. The Ladybug wanted to borrow him! Realizing that he's just been staring at her for a while, he snapped out of his daze and nodded.

"Y-yes! Of course!"

"Smooth," Juleka whispered.

Ladybug wrapped her arm around Marc's waist and threw her yoyo out of the window. Once it wrapped around something, it pulled the two out of the classroom, leaving Juleka alone.

"... Might as well go home," she said to herself before gathering up her stuff.

Once she and Marc were on top of a roof, Ladybug moved them to hide behind an air vent, away from the public view. "Marc, what I'm about to ask you is very important, okay?" Off his nod, she pulled out a hexagonal box in front of her. "Marc Anciel, here is the Miraculous of the Goat, which grants the power of Compassion. You will use it for the greater good. Once the job is done, you will return the Miraculous to me."

Marc was speechless. He wanted to faint, scream, and jump up and down like a child on Christmas morning. Ladybug. Was asking him to assist her in saving Nathaniel... But what if he failed? Nathaniel would stay an Akuma forever, he'd fail Ladybug and Chat Noir, and-"

"Do you accept?" Ladybug asked, concerned when Marc didn't give her an immediate response like the previous heroes. "Marc, I trust you. And Nathaniel needs you."

"... I'll do it."

With a smile, Ladybug handed him the box. Marc opened it, revealing two hair clips in the shape of horns. There was a bright flash of light that had Marc shielding his eyes for a moment before looking up at the goat-like creature floating in front of him. All he could think was, 'I WANNA PET THEM SO MUCH!'

"Hi!" She greeted, "My name's Ziggy, and I'm a Kwami! It's a pleasure to meet you!" She flies around Marc, making him chuckle. "I love him already!" Ziggy squealed as she nuzzled against Marc's cheek. "Okay, to transform, you just gotta say, Ziggy, Fleece On!"

With a nod, Marc put the clips in his hair, where they turned into crescent moon-shaped clips.

"Ziggy! Fleece On!"

Ziggy flew into one of the hairclips, transforming them both back into their original design. Marc swept his hand over his face, making a black mask appear around his eyes. A golden sheep's bell appeared on his choker necklace. The magic spread from the bell and formed a white hoodie with black trumpet sleeves, white gloves with black fingertips, black pants held up by a white studded belt, and black and white combat boots. He ran his fingers through his hair, making fake goat ears appear atop his head, and his hair became an inch longer with the tips dyed white. Finally, he reached up into the air and caught a shepherd's crook that materialized in the air. He spun it around before tapping it on the ground.

Capricorn was ready!

All of Paris' citizens stood before the Eiffel Tower, eyes glued to their phones as they watched the LadyBlog live stream with anticipation. Firefighters stood all around the structure with large trampolines ready to catch someone. And at the very top of the Eiffel Tower were Alya, filming the fight between Chat Noir, Stormy Weather, and Mime, both drawn by Evillustrator, said villain plucking at a rope tied to the railing, and tied at the end of the rope was Lila, dangling thousands of feet above the ground and screaming to the top of her lungs.

"Come on, Lila," Evillustrator told her as he continued messing with the only thing keeping Lila from becoming a stain on the ground. "Make things easier for yourself, and tell everyone the truth."

"I'M NOT A LIAR!" she screeched.

Evillustrator snarled before ducking out of the way of one of Stormy Weather's lightning bolts. "You'll do anything to keep up your act, won't you?!" He drew a throwing dark on his tablet and aimed it for Lila's head. She managed to swing out of the way just in time, much to Evillustrator's frustration. He let out a sigh before saying, "Fine. Have it your way." He draws a blade on his tablet, and that same one appears in his hand.

"NO!" Chat Noir yelled before he was pinned to the floor by one of Mime's invisible objects. His staff was out of reach, and he could barely move. Stormy Weather approached him with her parasol, and zapped him with an ice blast, freezing him in place.

Hawkmoth's symbol appeared over Evillustrator's face, "Evillustrator! Forget the girl! Take Chat Noir's Miraculous! Unthaw his hand!"

"She's made my and my friends' life a living hell, and you expect me to let her GET AWAY WITH IT?!"

In his lair, Hawkmoth swayed slightly due to being overwhelmed by Evillustrator's emotions. How can one boy feel so much rage? He looked through the Akuma's eyes and saw him putting the blade close to the rope holding up his follower. Hawkmoth didn't care for Lila, but he wasn't that cruel. Plus, if she died, where else is he gonna find some selfish civilian willing to work for him and get rid of a couple of Adrien's bad influences in exchange for the hero's downfall and a modeling contract? "That's enough!"

Hawkmoth was physically restraining Evillustrator from cutting the rope. The Akuma struggled to regain control, "Why are you defending her of all people?! You got a soft side for Rossi, Hawkmoth?!" He sneered, "What is she, your follower or something?..." He gets the use of his body back and smirks when Hawkmoth says nothing. "Your silence says a lot."

Alya and the citizens watching from down below gasped. Some inexperienced model was secretly working for Hawkmoth? She was working against their beloved hero! Hawkmoth felt like he was about to pass out from the massive wave of emotions. For once, he was praying for Ladybug to show up and de-akumatize the victim. Once this was over, he needed a long break. Screw the jewelry, this headache was awful.

Evillustrator hummed, "Well, less of Hawkmoth's followers, fewer problems." He slashed the rope, and Lila plummeted to the earth with a blood-curdling scream.

"OH MY GOD!" Alya screamed as she dropped her phone.

The firefighters tried to pinpoint where she would drop, and the police stood by, ready the question the girl (If she lives). Lila was halfway to her doom. She clenched her eyes shut and waited while thinking to herself, 'I'm lucky enough to have gotten out of there without him exposing me! That pest better get here in time!' Right as she was at the second level of the tower, she suddenly stopped falling. It felt like something was hoisting her up. She opened one eye and turned her head to see who caught her. (Maybe gain some sympathy while she's at it) "Oh my goodness! Thank you so much for-"

"Cram it, Liar Rossi," Capricorn sneered as he pulled Lila away from the balcony using his crook, and set her down. He unhooked his weapon from her jacket and ran off to help Ladybug.

"HEY!" Lila screeched, throwing away her kicked puppy act. "Aren't you gonna untie me?!"

Capricorn just smirked, having no intention of helping her, and vaulted his way up to the summit of the Eiffel Tower.

Ladybug spun her YoYo, deflecting each of Evillustrator’s projectiles while occasionally using her weapon to hit the ice Chat was trapped in and free him.

”So Ladybug, tell me.” He drew a few throwing stars, “Is Lila really your best friend?”

Ladybug flung one of the projectiles into the throwing stars, making it explode on impact. “She hates me! I try to be friends with her, but she swore a vendetta on me!” She backflips away from the sketchbook before it could pull her in. “Hell, I’m pretty sure she wants me dead! When I was fighting Oni-Chan, she tricked Chat into leaving me!” At the mention of her partner, she threw her YoYo at the ice block once again, creating a few cracks along the surface. “So to answer your question, we never will be friends! Ever!”

Alya felt her hands shaking as she struggled to keep her phone up. She owed Marinette, Nathaniel, Alix, Rose, Juleka, and Marc a huge apology when or if this is all over. So far, it’s not looking good.

Ladybug threw her YoYo once more, intending to grab the sketchbook, but it instead wrapped around a sheet of flypaper. When she retracted it, Ladybug had some trouble separating the two, and just got both of her hands and weapon stuck to the paper. Evillustrator drew a ball and chain around the heroine’s ankle and calmly approached her.

”I won,” he sang as he reached his hand over to grab the earrings. Alya cut her phone off and shielded her eyes. She wanted to know the heroes' identities, but not like this.

But a second before the earrings were in his grasp, Evillustrator was whacked to the side and fell to the ground. While getting up, he watched as a figure dressed in black and white used a shepherd’s crook to break the chain connected to the 100lb ball, and the ice trapping Chat Noir. “Who are you supposed to be?!” He snarled.

He smiled, “The name’s Capricorn.”

Without saying a word, Evillustrator furiously drew a missile on his tablet that appeared and went after the heroes. While running, Ladybug finally got the flypaper off and threw her YoYo around Alya. She flung her over to the elevator and yelled, “Go!” Alya complied and quickly went inside the elevator to avoid the fight.

As he and Capricorn ran, Chat came up with an idea on how to get rid of the missile. To the new hero, he shouted, “Launch me!” With a nod, Capricorn ran ahead of Chat, got down on one knee, and locked his fingers together. Once he was close enough, Chat leaped into Capricorn’s hands, and the latter launched him into the air. Chat called out “Cataclysm!” as he went over the missile, and slid his hand across it, turning it into black ash.

”Nice one, you guys!” Ladybug commended as she rejoined the fight.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without ewe,” he shot Capricorn double finger guns, making Ladybug roll her eyes and Capricorn stifle a laugh. Seeing Evillustrator drawing something else, Ladybug said to the new hero, “Capricorn, use your power. You can connect with Nathaniel and figure out what’s wrong!”

He nodded, “Cover me!”

Ladybug and Chat Noir ran towards Evillustrator, just as he was finished drawing three buzz saws. Chat Noir got in front of Ladybug and deflected them while she called for another Lucky Charm. It was a box of tissues. She set those to the side and went after Evillustrator, wrapping her YoYo tight around him. He kept his sketchbook clutched close to his chest and had no intention of letting go.

With him restrained, Capricorn yelled, “Connection!” And his crook was illuminated by a bright white light. He calmly approached Evillustrator, ignored his threats, and tapped his forehead with the crook. In an instant, Capricorn was no longer at the Eiffel Tower; he was at someone’s home. He looked around and recognized the place thanks to the furniture and photos framed on the wall. He was at Nathaniel’s house.

”Where’s my lil’ Leonardo?!” A playful voice called out followed by some giggling. Capricorn looked towards the door and saw a tall man with dark red hair and turquoise eyes walking in with a bright smile and a bag in his hands. Capricorn recognized the man. He’s seen his photos every time he goes over to Nathaniel’s house. It was his father, Maison Kurtzberg.

The man smiled as a child with long red hair wearing paint-splattered clothes ran into his arms. It was clear to Capricorn that the boy was Nathaniel.

”We really gotta cut your bangs, kids,” Maison laughed as he ruffled young Nathaniel’s hair, making the child laugh.

”Oh, leave him alone,” a voice Capricorn recognized as Aya’s said. “he likes how they look.” The seven-year-old nodded in agreement with his mother, making Maison chuckle.

”Well then, how are you gonna be able to see when you’re drawing in your books?” he asked.

”Oh, our little artist used up all of his sketchbooks,” Aya simpered while Maison just looked astonished.

”All ten of them?” Aya nodded. “Well then...” He hands Nathaniel over to Aya and reaches into the bag his holding, “It’s a good thing I bought this!” He pulls out a black sketchbook with a white outline of a paintbrush, pencil, and pen on the front. The young boy’s eyes gleamed under his bangs, and he made grabby motions with his hands, either to get to his dad or grab the new sketchbook.

Aya giggled and kissed her son’s forehead. “We really need to get him to talk more.”

Capricorn smiled at the scene before it faded away and transitioned to the school locker room. He looked around and saw Nathaniel, standing at his locker and frantically flipping through the torn pages of a black book. Upon closer inspection, Capricorn realized that it was Nathaniel’s sketchbook, the one his dad bought for him.

‘So that’s what Lila did,’ he thought bitterly.

When Nathaniel broke out into tears and sat down on the floor, Capricorn approached and kneeled beside him. “... Nathaniel?” He looked up at him with a tear-stained face and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Capricorn placed his hands on Nathaniel’s shoulders, “You had every right to be mad. You-“

Nathaniel cut him off, “Took my anger out on everyone! I-I trapped my classmates, I hurt Ladybug and Chat Noir, I tried to kill Lila!” He covers his face with his hands and cries harder, “I almost hurt Marc...”

Capricorn wanted to tell him, ‘No you didn’t.’ But that would reveal himself as Marc.

”My classmates are gonna hate me even more for what I did to Lila. Don’t make me go back out there...”

“I won’t.” He moves Nathaniel’s hands out of the way and cups his face in his hands. “But you can’t stay Akumatized forever. I get why you’re upset. That sketchbook came from someone very important to you and she took it away...”

Nathaniel sighs and holds his hand against his cheek. “...”

”... If it makes you feel any better, Evillustrator exposed Lila as Hawkmoth’s partner.”

Nathaniel looks up, hopeful, “He did?”

Capricorn nodded, “You won’t have to worry about her anymore. She can’t hurt you or your friends again.”

“... The Akuma's in my sketchbook,” he said, right before the locker room faded away.

Capricorn looked around and saw that he was back at the Eiffel Tower. In front of him was a heavily crying Evillustrator, no longer bound by Ladybug’s YoYo. He slowly loosened his grip around his sketchbook and handed it over to Capricorn. The goat hero took it, turned around, and tore the book in half. The pages scattered onto the floor and morphed into the people Evillustrator trapped in the sketchbook. Finally, the Akuma fluttered out of the book.

”No more evil-doing for you, little Akuma!” Ladybug caught it with her YoYo. “Time to de-evilize! Gotcha!” Emerging from the YoYo was a pure white butterfly that fluttered up into the sky. “Bye-bye little butterfly.” She looked around for the tissue box Lucky Charm until she saw Capricorn using a handful to wipe Evillustrator’s tears away. With a smile, she took the box and tossed it into the air.

”MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

The tissue box burst into thousands of magic Ladybugs that flew across the city. The people released from the sketchbook were placed back on the ground, all of the damage caused by Evillustrator was fixed, Chat and Ladybug’s cuts from earlier were healed, everything erased was restored, and Lila was no longer tied up. Finally, the Akuma’s magic washed over Evillustrator, leaving Nathaniel curled in on himself.

Ladybug and Chat Noir fist bump, “Pound it.”

Chat Noir looks off to the side and notices something lying on the floor. He walks over to it and picks up Nathaniel’s repaired sketchbook. “Hey,” Nathaniel looks up and gasps when he sees his sketchbook, “this yours?” He hands it over to the redhead, who immediately takes it.

”Th-thank you,” he whispered in disbelief as he flipped through the pages. Everything was there. He furrowed his brow in confusion, “I-I thought the Miracle Cure could only repair things caused by the Akuma.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure how to answer that. Maybe the Miracle Cure could fix Akumatized objects that were previously damaged, she thought. Before Ladybug could reply, he YoYo beeped. She switched it to the phone setting and saw a LadyBlog Livestream, only Alya’s phone was pointed to the floor. Did she know she was live right now?

”Please! All it takes is a few tears, and everyone will think Hawkmoth manipulated or blackmailed me!” It was Lila.

”Did Alya plan this?” Ladybug wondered.

”Clever girl,” Chat said.

“And just wait until tomorrow. Those idiots will fall at my command and attack that asshole, Kurtzberg! Maybe I can get them to tear up his sketchbook again! No doubt Ladybug's fixed it."

Capricorn‘s grip around his weapon tightened when she said that.

She let out a fake whine, “‘Oh, Nathaniel tried to kill me! Lock him away!’ See? It’s that easy!”

“I’ll tell everyone!” Alya retorted.

”And who’s gonna believe some lousy tabloid writer?” She taunted. “One word from me, and you’ll be a social pariah like those f*g art kids!”

Ladybug wanted to punch that girl so badly... Eh, let Paris take care of her.

”What the hell did you do to her?!”

”Well, let’s see... Threatened her, told her she’d lose her friends, and succeeded. Framed her for theft, cheating, and assault. Then I got her expelled so I could have Adrien all to myself."

Chat Noir held back the bile rising in his throat.

”So, I’m gonna go on a limb here and say you’ve been lying about every single thing.”

”Took you long enough, idiot! I hope you like sitting alone tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll be rich from taking that dumpy bitch’s charity money, and modeling for Gabriel.”

”And meanwhile, Paris will be hunting you down.” Alya pans the phone over to her smug face. “You heard it here, Paris. Lila is working for Hawkmoth, has been tormenting students and Francoise-DuPont, stealing charity money, and she’s homophobic.”

She pans the phone towards Lila’s horrified face. “So Lila, how does it feel to be the most hated girl in France? Oh, look at that. The comments are rolling in- Wow, everyone really hates you.”

Officer Raincomprix steps in between the two girls, “Miss Césaire, we’re going to need that phone for evidence, please.”

”One minute sir,” the video pans to her face, “Babe, if you’re watching this, I’m sorry. Your phone’s with the cops now. Okay, here you go.” The screen cuts to black.

Chat Noir couldn’t help but laugh, “I love that girl!”

Ladybug ran her fingers through her hair and grinned, “It’s over! She’s gone! She’s finally gone!” She turns to Capricorn with a bright smile, “Capricorn, why don’t you take Nathaniel back home? I’ll meet up with you later.”

With a nod, the goat hero scooped up Nathaniel into his arms and leaped away. Ladybug and Chat Noir swung and vaulted off, feeling very relieved knowing that they would have to deal with Lila anymore as civilians or heroes.

Capricorn landed right outside Nathaniel’s home and gently set him down.

”Thanks,” Nathaniel said as he shyly looked down at the ground. “A-again, I am so sorry about-“

”Nathaniel, it’s fine,” Capricorn reassured him. “You weren’t in control. I’m sure everyone will understand.”

Nathaniel smiled at that, “Thanks.”

Then, without thinking, Capricorn pulled him in for a hug, which Nathaniel returned once he got over his surprise. This lasted for a few more seconds until Nathaniel said, “I- uh... I have a boyfriend.”

Capricorn mentally facepalmed. ‘You’re not Marc right now! Nathaniel is not Capricorn’s boyfriend!’ "Sorry." Awkwardly, he pulled away and the two boys looked away in embarrassment. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, someone called out, "NATH!" It was Alix, running towards him with Rose and Juleka. The latter narrowed her eyes at the goat hero, making him tense up and worry she'll figure out he's Marc.

"Oh, shit!" Alix cursed and she engulfed Nathaniel in a bone-crushing hug. "I thought we lost you, bud!"

"We could hear everything while we were in the sketchbook," Rose piped up. "They know Lila's lying!"

"Everyone in Paris does," Juleka smiled. "A police car drove by me earlier and I saw her in the back seat."

Alix cackled, "You should have seen their faces, Nath! It was priceless! Bustier was rocking back and forth like a mental patient, Max was face-palming over and over, and Mylene? Whoa! Don't get me started-"

Rose pointed to Capricorn, "Who's this?" Alix and Juleka turned their attention to the new hero.

"Sweet!" Alix pumped her fist in the air. "A new hero! And he helped take down Rossi!"

Capricorn's elation from the compliments turned to concern when Nathaniel asked, "Wait, where's Marc? Is he okay?!" Before Capricorn could come up with an excuse, Juleka answered, "Oh, his moms called him home," she fibbed while occasionally stealing glances at Capricorn. "I was gonna go with him, but my mom needed me home for something, too. He's probably still there."

Capricorn furrowed his brow. Did Juleka know?

"Thanks, Jules!" The four of them watched him run to Marc's house. With them distracted, Capricorn took this opportunity to quickly vault away once he heard his clips beeping and go look for Ladybug.

Capricorn met with Ladybug in an alley near his house and said the de-transformation words. "Ziggy, fleece off." The goat kwami flew out from the hair clip and hovered next to Marc, nuzzling his cheek as he removed the clips.

"That was so much fun!" Ziggy squealed. "Can you call on him again one day? Pleeease?" She put her flipper-hands together and gave Ladybug dough eyes, making her and Marc laugh.

"We'll see," Ladybug giggled. She gives Ziggy a little pat on her head before pulling out the box. Marc set the clips back in and said goodbye to Ziggy before she flew back into the horn-shaped clips.

"Thank you, Marc." She tucked the box away then pulled out her yoyo, preparing to swing away. "I knew I picked the right person for the job. Now, I suggest you go make sure Nathaniel is alright."

Marc nodded, "I will."

"See you soon, Capricorn." Marc wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she was already gone. He let out an excited squeal before running to his house. He waited outside for about three minutes until he saw Nathaniel running towards him.

"Nath!" The two ran towards each other and met each other with a tight, loving embrace.

"Rainbow, I'm so sorry," Nathaniel whispered, taking an exhale before asking, "Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that. Nath, what Lila was... It-it was fucked up." Nathaniel nodded once he got over the shock of hearing his boyfriend curse. "But she's gone, now. She can't hurt you, me, Mari, anyone anymore."

With a smile, Nathaniel kissed Marc, and he melted into it as he wrapped his arms around Nathaniel.

The next day, the art club kids walked to school together. (Marc made sure to set an alarm for Marinette) They wanted to be prepared for any random apologies from the Akuma class or any reporters swarming the schoolyard looking for Hawkmoth's latest victim. When they realized DuPont was an Akuma hotspot, news crews would always go to get an interview from the Akumatized student or teacher. So far no reporters yet, much to Nathaniel's relief, but there were a few police cars parked outside.

Around them were a few officers questioning the students and teachers as they made their way to the doors. Before they could go in, the doors swung open, and four police officers walked out, escorting Mme. Bustier and M. Damocles to the police cars. Marinette asked Nino, who walked out a second later, "Are Mme. Bustier and M. Damocles getting arrested?"

Nino shrugged, "I heard the school board decided to do an investigation when Lila mentioned missing months of school and getting you expelled without any proof. Some people from the board came, talked to them, and, uh..." He slipped off his cap and ran his hand through his hair. "I don't think we're gonna see them for a while, Mari."

Marinette couldn't help but grin at the news, "I don't have to be the class example anymore!" Nino's eyes bulged at that. "I-it's a long story. I'll tell you later."

Nino chuckled before giving the group a remorseful look, "I... I'm sorry I didn't believe you guys."

"Don't sweat it, Lahiffe," Alix said. "You guys are just too nice and naive to notice when you're being conned."

Nino furrowed his brow as he processed what she just said. After a moment of silence, he said, "Thank... You? Well, school is canceled for today and the class is going to get some ice cream. You guys in?"

"Yeah!" Alix cheered. "Let's get some ice cream and apologies!" She sat on top of the stair railing and slid down.

"There they are," Kim said, pointing to Nino arriving with the art students. The Akuma class tensed up as they approached. Some were going over their apologies in their heads while others were figuring out what to say, especially to Marinette and Nathaniel. "Alright," he took a breath, "let's do this, guys."

Before any of them could apologize, Alix spoke, "Yes, yes. You all were idiots, we're smart, you're sorry, and promise to listen to us when we say someone is lying."

"... Y-yeah. Ba-basically," Kim stammered. "But seriously, you guys, we're sorry we took Lila's side."

"We've known you guys since we were kids," Mylene remarked. "We should've known you guys couldn't have done the stuff Lila said you did."

"Yeah, you should've," Juleka muttered, making Rose nudge her girlfriend with her elbow.

Alya walked over to Marinette with a sad smile, "Any chance you guys might forgive us someday?"

Marinette smiled and pulled the girl in for a hug, "Alya, shut up. I forgive you."

The creole girl smile and wrapped her arms around Marinette, "Thanks, Mari."

"... But if this happens again, I will physically knock some sense into you all until you admit that I'm right and beg for mercy," she whispered. The students just stood there, disturbed by what the sweetest girl in class just said.

Alya slowly back away from Marinette and nervously chuckled, "Got it, girl."

"Now, Alya," Alix piped up, "guys, isn't there someone else you want to apologize to?" She gestures over to Nathaniel.

Alya wasn't sure what to say to Nathaniel. The only time they really interacted was yesterday when she accused him of stealing Lila's art. So, taking a deep breath, she said to him, "Nathaniel, I... I jumped the gun, there, I'll admit it." A few nodded along. "When I think about it, the more I realize that you'd never steal another person's art."

"I mean you went into a fifteen-minute rant during history when we were talking about some art thief," Ivan brought up. He chuckled at the memory before stopping abruptly. "Yeah... Sorry."

"I forgive you guys," Nathaniel smiled. "Just don't do that ever again or I might also knock some sense into you guys."

To change the subject, Max brought up Capricorn, and now that was all anyone could talk about. Marc blushed when some of the girls called his hero persona cute. Was he? He didn't really get a good look at his outfit. As they rambled on about the new hero, he and Nathaniel went to get some ice cream.

"So, what'd you think of Capricorn?" Marc asked.

Nathaniel hummed in thought before answering, "I like him. He really helped me out there... Plus, he's kinda cute." Marc tried to fight back a blush. "Not as cute as you, though." Marc wasn't sure how to respond to that. "He was really understanding about why I got Akumatized and he even convinced me to hand over my Akuma."

Marc feigned surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "Do you think he'd mind if we put him in the comic?"

Marc pretended to think about it for a moment, "I don't think so."

AO3

~Taglist~

[imaginesfora3]

It’s About the Pining [Kazunari Miyoshi]

A/N: A commission I did for a lovely person who doesn’t mind if I post them to the blog now. If you’d like to commission me please message me over tumblr and I’ll happily give you my email so we can discuss details! 

There was something wrong with Kazunari.

No matter how hard he tried to brush it off, no matter how much he avoided your gaze or made an excuse for having to help another Summer Troupe member with something to get out of the same room as you, you could feel it. The two of you had been close since you’d become the director of the Mankai company and you’d never had him act so coldly before, as if he couldn’t bear to be around you longer than three seconds, and it was beginning to affect his acting. He’d fumble his lines, forget words, Tenma looked ready to strangle him before you’d finally called off practice for the night. You noted the depressed look on Kazunari’s face at being the reason things had fallen apart that night at practice and you thought twice about following him, knowing you might be the cause of his distracted behavior, but decided it was for the best to squash the situation before it got too awful.

Kazunari was struggling.

It’s not as though he hadn’t had crushes before, there were plenty of others that made him feel this sudden surge of excitement when he was around them, that made his heart race and made his cheeks grow hot with just one look. But you were all of that and more. Being around you made him feel at peace, it made him feel like he could be himself without worrying you’d reject the real him. As his precious director he hadn’t wanted to put you in an awkward position by trying to date you but now these feelings had gotten to be so unbearable, weighing heavily on him at night as he got sick at the thought of another person stealing you away from him. But what could he really do to get his feelings across from you?

He remembered the one night where he’d invited you to a mixer with him, to which you begrudgingly agreed; you seemed a bit lost at first, unable to start conversations, but once one of the others noticed your interest in something and asked you about it, sparks flew from there. He’d never felt quite so bitter, the night seeming to drag on now as he was no longer excited to be here. He’d thought the two of you would be able to talk more, that he’d charm the pants off of you and you’d start seeing him as more than just a member of the company, but if anything he’d just ruined his own chances by introducing you to people who seemed to be a better fit. What kind of stupid idea was this?

“Haha, that was fun, wasn’t it?” He lied through his teeth after the painful night had finally ended, looking at you and trying to at least appreciate how beautiful you looked even when you were dressed in casual wear.

“It wasn’t too bad, thanks for inviting me!” Your friendly smile is like an arrow right to his heart and he can’t help but shoot you a genuine smile, glad that at least you had a good time. “I know you haven’t been going out as much as you used to so I’m glad you still get the chance to every once in a while. It’s good to get out of your room and think about stuff other than acting!”

Kazunari had been pleased you’d noticed that he was making an effort to put up a more mature front, one that said ‘I’m a suitable partner and not just flirtatious punk!’ but he feels like you’re still not taking him seriously enough. You laugh off any implications that he has true feelings for you, you rolled your eyes playfully when he told he wanted to take you on a totally romantic date, and any time he implied you’d be the ideal significant other you simply told him to stop buttering you up. He knows he’s to blame for you not taking him seriously, his earlier years with the company had taken place when he was still finding himself, figuring out what he wanted from life and latching onto the things that gave him immediate gratification rather than playing the long game for something much more gratifying.

That night is what Kazunari is remembering when you stop him in the hall, placing a hand on his shoulder and tilting your head in confusion when he jumps like you’d just electrocuted him.

“Are you alright, Kazu? You’re distracted lately and I need to know if it’s something I can help with.”

You could help in more ways than one, he thinks to himself, you could help by not just recognizing his feelings but returning them, too. You could realize that you were his muse, evidenced by the countless sketches of you in his notebook that he had; they were you doing a range of activities from gaming to simply sitting around reading a book. You had a beauty so striking that he couldn’t help but be inspired the moment he caught sight of you, his hand twitching as he immediately go to work. He’d made it a habit to carry around his sketchbook with him, considering buying a separate one as he didn’t want anyone to stumble upon the one that was practically just inspired by you, but he felt that might be a step too far into the creepy zone.

“Sorry, I’ll try to do better!” His fake smile is something you easily see past and you wished you could shake some sense into him, pouting and crossing your arms as you waited for a real answer. “I’m just… Thinking about my birthday! Yeah! I didn’t know if I wanted to go out to celebrate this year or not.”

“The others are really looking forward to buying you a drink for your 20th… I am, too,” Your sad smile is like a brick on his chest, “But it’s your birthday. If it’s not what you want, I can let the others know.”

“N-No! No, I’m fine with it. But since it’s my birthday, you’ll sit next to me, right? I don’t ever get you all to myself~” Kazunari leaned closer, pleased when you don’t pull away despite being so close, “Could that be my birthday present instead?”

“…Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Kazunari let out a deep sigh, giving you another strained smile before he wished you goodnight; this was just another instance of you not taking him seriously! How much clearer could he get, aside from blatantly telling you he was in love with you, that he wanted to be with you?! In a romantic sense, where the two of you could do cute things together and he could look at you lovingly saying ‘all mine’ and you’d nod to confirm you were, indeed, all his. His poor heart couldn’t take this much longer and he threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow and letting out a deep, discontented groan before he finally relaxed enough to fall asleep.

At least you were his in his dreams.

His birthday was the best night of his life.

He’d tried to push off any depressed feelings he had from his unsuccessful advances on you to simply enjoy the time he had with his friends, which included you, as everyone gave him the little gifts they’d bought or made themselves. He’s feeling even more hyped up as he’s walking with everyone to the restaurant that night, chattering away about all the plans he had now that he was a true blue adult with nothing holding him back! Every once in a blue moon his eyes would drift over to you unprompted, briefly looking you up and down before he returns to the conversation he had been engaged in; this doesn’t go unnoticed by you, quietly wondering if there was still something off between the two of you but figuring his birthday party wasn’t the time or place to bring it up.

The evening goes just as you predicted it would.

There’s plenty of laughter and jokes, Kazunari getting drinks bought for him from just about every member of the company. Tsumugi tries to keep him eating to soak in the alcohol, not wanting the young man to be totally blasted, but in a not very shocking turn of events Kazunari continues to spiral downwards. By the end of the night everyone’s got a nice buzz going for them while Kazunari can barely walk straight, only wanting you to help hold him up; Tasuku was on the other side of him bearing most of his weight but Kazunari refused to unlatch from your arm, excitedly talking about all the things he wanted to do as he got older and all the places he’d love to vacation to with you. You’re a little embarrassed at how blatantly affectionate he’s being and, even if he’d been the same way towards you before, something feels different with the far more direct approach drunk Kazunari is taking.

You don’t know how you convinced Kazunari to make his way to bed, Tasuku once again asking if you need him to take over for you; figuring you could handle Kazunari, and hearing said birthday boys complaints that he wanted you to be the one to tuck him in at night, you decided it was far easier to just handle it yourself. Most of the others had seen themselves off to bed or had gone home for the weekend, Muku’s bed thankfully empty as he surely would’ve been awoken by Kazunari’s giggling.

“I’ve got something super important to tell you~”

“I’m sure you do but you need to sleep now.”

“But it’s super important, don’t you wanna know? Totes top secret, just between the two of us!”

“Kazunari…”

“I love you.”

There’s a piercing silence that fills the room as his brows furrowed, as though he hadn’t meant to say that out loud despite his previous teasing. Every single insecurity he’d ever felt about your relationship, about how you viewed him, popped up again, completely undoing all the confidence the alcohol had filled him with.

“You’re really drunk right now, Kazunari.” You tried to get him settled but his intense stare is still burning into you, his words making your heart flutter in your chest; you don’t remember the last time you’d heard those words from someone who wasn’t a family member or a fan, and coming from him… You didn’t know how you were supposed to feel, but you couldn’t say it was an entirely negative. But wouldn’t that be complicated? To date one of the members of the company you managed?

“I’m not drunk, you’re just really blurry! And it’s how I feel. You never believe me… How can I make you believe me?” Kazunari pouted, leaning against you further and sending you stumbling into the wall. He’s quick to catch himself though it still ends with the two of you pressed closely together, breath hitching as your eyes meet with his. “You’re so beautiful.”

“We can talk about this tomorrow when you’re sober.” Your reply was definitive, sobering him enough as he did the climb of shame into his bed. You left without another word, mind swimming with all sorts of thoughts and anxieties while Kazunari’s did the same.

Morning didn’t bring him any peace.

Kazunari spent at least an hour that morning staring up at the ceiling, hating his life, wishing more than anything he could take back what he said to you last night. It felt like he was being stabbed in his heart and his head, over and over, no mercy being granted to him. He considered spending the rest of the day in bed feigning a serious illness but his stomach dropped at the thought of you being concerned over his well-being so he decided against it, finally dragging himself out of his room and down to the kitchen where you were waiting.

And you were alone.

When you glanced up from your plate to meet him he felt that same painful tinge in his heart, averting his eyes as he remembered almost perfectly the look on your face when he’d confessed to you. He wouldn’t blame you for not taking him seriously, for thinking he was just being his normal, flirtatious self, but he couldn’t have been more serious. Every day that passed he fell more and more in love with you and it was killing him inside now that he thought he’d ruined all that you had together. Kazunari’s heart ached and he wanted to apologize but he felt bringing it up would be even more awkward.

“Can we talk about last night?”

So much for avoiding that problem.

“Uh, haha, yeah, about that… I’m really sorry for saying all of that. I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“It wasn’t real?” You asked softly, head tilting to the side, Kazunari’s breath catching in his throat. How did you manage to be so effortlessly beautiful? His poor heart couldn’t take it.

“…It was real.”

“So you will give me a chance to prove myself?”

“Yes,” You smiled at the eager look on his face, “I’ll go on a date with you Kazunari. And why don’t you let me give you a present that I didn’t have the chance to give you last night.”

His entire body froze as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips, a moment that he couldn’t believe was actually happening. He’d pictured how he’d feel, how soft your lips would be, how wonderful and vindicating it would truly be when he finally got the girl. And now that it was happening he was terrified, terrified one small move would puncture the perfect little fantasy bubble he was in and his happiness would explode around him. Yet it was real, you were real, standing in front of him, kissing him, agreeing to go on a date with him.

Kazunari had never been happier.

He’d prove to you that he was a great partner.

One day at a time.

[freshthoughts2020]

CARRIED BY YOUR WORKS

CARRIED BY YOUR WORKS

I.  BUILD A CATALOG

Creating a lasting legacy should be at the top of everyone’s mind. No matter the field you are in, consistency and persistency will always help you reach your goal. The key to keeping your work is alive is by building a catalog.

If you do music, you can’t drop one song a year and expect to be Drake. (Don’t tell yourself the quality over quantity lie, something I touched on in a previous article, go find it beloved). 

You have to add to your repertoire daily and give people a sort of never ending stream of your works. Let’s take a look at a few examples

II. PASTOR STEPHEN DARBY

Pastor Stephen Darby was a pastor out of Louisville, KY, who gained a lot of traction online for his prophetic and convicting messages. Truly his messages are life changing, they deeply pierces the soul. Unfortunately Pastor Darby, suddenly passed away and just like that there weren’t any new messages to look forward to, no new spiritual food to feast on.

However, Pastor Darby has so many videos already put up online, it’s almost as if he didn’t go anywhere, there is always a video to watch and his videos are so deep, you can rewatch the same videos and still receive something new from it. 

Pastor Darby had the foresight to record and build up his works, now when a person discovers him, they may be upset that he died but they can always feel connected to him and his ministry because he did what he was supposed to do and built a catalog.

III. MY ARTWORK

The art game is a whole different beast. Playing this game takes time, effort, and a bit of money. Where people fail is at the time and effort, just like how making one song a year gets you nowhere so does making one piece a year or very seldom making pieces. Being inconsistent is absolute poison to your art career. 

However, let’s explore how did the opposite of that.

A. BACK IN THE RHYTHM

Believe it or not, during my undergraduate years at UAPB (wooooooo) I did not spend much time drawing. Matter fact the only time I remember drawing is my freshmen year and the time I’m going to tell you about now.

In my senior year, I had to do summer school to finish my last semester timely, I refused to come back for the fall, I wanted out of there!!

To keep myself occupied during those dog days of the summer I started back sketching in my mini sketchbook. I rebranded my art page from (JHarryartcorner) to (the__corner) and I started uploaded sketches frequently, finding myself back in love with drawing.

B. 2016

2016, was the year I put the battery in my pack not to let up. It was the year I finally got to go to New York for the first time. This was a frustrating period because I graduated college with no opportunity, I lost my great paying job to go take a test to graduate and when I got back it was hell getting into the marketplace.

Literally applied to over a 1,000 jobs (no cap, I really mean over a thousand!!!) before I got back to it but that’s another story.

Anyways, I got to New York and it was a breath of fresh air, exactly what I needed. Everyday there I drew new pictures, constantly adding to the lore of the__corner.  It was even times I had to choose between eating or getting new markers, of course I chose the markers!!

Even after my return from New York, I was able to continue my consistency into drawing, and I am still carried by those 2016 works today.

C. TYING IT ALL TOGETHER

Recently I started an archive page where I post daily, yes daily, previous works that I’ve done over the year. I’ve put in so much work I can flood the TL at any time. Even before my consistent 2016 year, I’ve been drawing all my life so I can post those as well. 

It’s crazy some of those works are just getting the recognition they deserved. Even pics I did from two years ago are receiving the recognition like it just came out today. Products that I created in 2017, sitting on the floor of my apartment are now some of my highest grossing items.

D. PUTTING THAT WORK IN

First of all it is because of Christ I am able to flourish in any of this. In addition to that, this is what happens when you consistently put that work in. You can be carried by your work! You won’t even have to make new stuff if you don’t want, when you built up your catalog enough, (why do you think your music publishing and stuff like that is so important but thats another story).

So go out there and put in the work, so you too may be carried by your work!

Visit gettothcorner.com

Follow me on twitter @onlyonejaevonn

[beanenigma]

Tips for people who like to write by hand

So you’re an old timey writer who enjoys the feeling of paper as you breathe life into a story? Or, like me, you can’t use your phone at school and just wants to get some writing done while math class bores the others? 

Well, me too and I’ve come to your aid! I’ve done some pretty stupid things that costed me hours and hours of searching for lost scenes and struggling to find ideas I knew I’d written down so you don’t have to! 

Find the right notebook for you

By experience, notebooks take a long time to be filled. In good nanowrimo times, I take from 6 to 8 months to finish one. So you’ll be stuck with this guy for a long time. Make sure to pick one that you like and is right for your needs. I, for example, prefer spiral notebooks. You can rip out pages if you need to (if you mess it up, if someone asks you for one, if you just need a page to write down a grocery list or something, etc) and you can put a pen on the spiral. I also like having a pocket to put pieces of ideas I have. 

Some spooky stories about having the wrong notebook: 

I got stuck with a brochure old planner for two years. My mom didn’t use it in the year it was meant for, so I thought oh, it’s free real estate. As it turns out, it had really small space between the lines, so the pages would take forever to fill, it had all those day and hour numbers and the paper was really thin. It was terrible and it made writing terrible. It would have been a thousand times better if I just spent a few bucks on a regular notebook. 

More recently, I started using just the kind of notebook I like, a spiral notebook with a pocket. But I bought it a couple of years ago at a fandom event I attended and the cover was a personalized Divergent cover. At the time, I thought if was pretty cool and everyone would know the reference. But now it has aged so very poorly. The cover has blood all over it and it says “Faction Before Blood”. So now I’m scared to pull it out to write at uni and people will think I’m in a gang or something. 

Number your pages

I know, it sounds like a lot of work. But you can get a notebook with pages already numbered, number it yourself or do it like I do and number it every 10 pages (just because it’s easier). If you don’t feel like doing all of this repetitive work,  date your writing. It’s cool to see how much you progressed, how long you have been writing this project, when you had this idea, etc. One thing doesn’t have to exclude the other, but both methods serve the same purpose. 

And this purpose is to help you get an idea of how much you write (and feel good about your progress) and to help you organize yourself on all you’ve been writing. Which takes us to the next tip. 

Make the first page an index

Not only it will take the pressure off the first page, it will also help you so you don’t keep losing the awesome stuff you’re writing and forgetting it exists. Everytime you start a new scene or change projects, go to the index and write down the page or the date you started this new section. Since I number every ten pages, I find the first page with a number on it and start counting forward or back to the new page. But you can do it in any way that suits you. 

Make a random idea page 

It doesn’t have to be the second page (it usually isn’t for me), but it’s good to have one. Sometimes, in the middle of writing, you have that great idea for something you need to change on what you’ve already got, or you got a completely new insight. It’s good to have your idea page somewhere close you can just flip to, write it down and get right back to writing. And don’t go easy on that page! Write it diagonally, vertically, draw on it, anything. It’s just there to take out those ideas so you can take a look at it another time and not mess the flow you’re in right now. 

Keep your enemies close. And your pen even closer!

You know your favorite bic friend? It has a secret weapon just for you to use. That little flap of the cap? Use it to keep your pen always close. I normally put it on the spiral of my notebook. But if you have a brochure, you can put it on the cover. Sometimes it damages it a bit, but it’s a good trade for having it always ready for action. If you use moleskine, I saw that they normally have designated pen places. If they don’t, I have a tip for it just under this one! 

Take your time to find which kind of pen is your weapon of choice. Personally, I think nothing beats a black ballpoint pen. I know some people like fineliners for writing, but they make the other side of the paper all gross looking and I like to keep it clean. Plus, I write really small and fineliners often bleed in my handwriting. I took my time searching for my favorite brand and I settled on Molin ballpoint pens. 

I would recommend buying your favorite pens in bulk. Nothing is worse than pen hunting around when you have an urgent idea. I bought 50 pens for super cheap and I stack them EVERYWHERE. In all my bags, in my sketchbooks, in my bullet journal, in my writing notebook, in my drawers, anywhere I think it will be easy to find one when I need it ( also giving some to my friends who keep stealing my pens).

Crafting the perfect notebook

You don’t have to be a crafter to modify your notebook to better suit you! Find a ribbon anywhere in the house. Cut it to be a little longer than the book. Tape that bad boy to the inside of the back cover and everytime you stop writing, put that ribbon on the page you stopped. This helps you not to get lost in your previous writing and get right back to business when you resume.

Also, if you really like that moleskine vibe but don’t have the cash, just get a regular clothing elastic, make cut it just the size of the notebook and glue both ends to the inner part of the back cover. There you go! Now you can close it (and keep it closed).  

If you like post-its, you can take half of the block (or however many sheets you cant put in there and still close the notebook comfortably) and glue it to the inside part of the cover of your notebook so it will always be conveniently available for you.

If your notebook doesn’t have a place to put your pen on and you really don’t want to mess up the cover, you  take a small elastic (smaller than the pen) and tape (or preferably glue it) it to the back part of the notebook with both ends inside. There! Ready for the trip! Speaking of which...

Always carry your notebook with you

You never know when inspiration is going to strike. In class. At the bank. In a mall. Whenever you have a little time, you can write something. Or just take a look at what you’ve done and feel good about it. 

Not in the mood for writing? Edit. Reread what you’ve done and start finding what you want to change once you type it in.  When doing this, don’t be scared to cross out entire sentences and rewriting them on top. If it starts getting too messy, go to a blank page and rewrite the scene and you think it should have been done the first time. It seems counter-intuitive in a copy+paste kind of age, but I assure you it is worth it.

Typing your work

This is one of the biggest reasons I love writing in pen and paper. When you type, your first round of editing is done! 

Don’t zone out when typing. As I said, typing is your first round of editing. It is important to keep aware of all of the things you might have done wrong when writing. Some people say writing it on paper and then typing it is a waste of time. I say it saves time and lives. 

Keep it loose!

Just because you are writing in an actual physical book, it doesn’t mean you are writing a actual physical book. This is still your notebook and these are still your notes. So don’t be afraid to get messy. Write things out of order (seriously, it’s okay to not go chronological. i know it’s hard). Outline. Sketch. Tip-ex the whole thing. Get post-its on it. Take notes. Make genealogical trees. Draw maps. 

If you’re feeling down or uninspired, try very basic writing exercises: write what you see, what you feel, something to try and make you laugh or something to make someone cry. It’s your place to express yourself. And once you got those creative juices flowing, happy writing :)

I hope you enjoyed my tips and please, feel free to reblog this with your own tips and tricks. I’d love to hear them! And follow me for some more writing content! 

[hateswifi]

Everything is Nothing without Her

So imma lose power soon and I wanted to post something before that so that where this came from. May or may not do a second, depends on demand. Hope you enjoy.

The Master: Master List

----------------------------

He had it all. Everything he’d ever been promised and wanted. He ruled the world, his mother helping him and keeping him on track, his grandfather was actually proud of him. He had it all, but he lost everything. He had become everything his mother had promised. He was, as his grandfather said, the perfect vessel.

That didn’t mean he doesn’t break.

Every night he falls asleep, tears threatening to be shed. Every night he wished he could hold her. 

He wished he could wake up to his annoying brothers and Alfred’s calming presence, back before he was taken back. 

Now, he’s always alone besides when he was making decisions about the fate over those around him. There is another thing he does alone, but that’s because he doesn’t want them to know, he sends out his best men to find her. He may have the world but he doesn’t have his world.

One day two years after he started his rule, he was informed that they had found her. They were under strict instruction not to intercept. He immediately made plans, packed his bag, and left it all behind. When he got to her town, he dropped his stuff off at his hotel and found her apartment. She answered the door with a smile and a child on her hip, the smile fell when she saw it was him.

“You have some nerve,” Marinette said, poking his chest. He stood, stunned she looked as beautiful as the day she walked out, her-- their child-- was beautiful. Her hair long, her face glowing, looking as strong as ever. “You made your choice! That choice didn’t include me.” She finished, turning her back on him. 

“I wanted the best life for us!”

“No, you were caught in the past, you were going down I path I couldn’t follow,” Marinette said, sniffling. He hugged her from behind, he got elbowed.

“Please Marinette, at least tell me about him, is he our child?”

“Does it matter if he is? Will that change anything?”

“I’ve wanted to change everything.”

“Well, actions speak louder than words,” Marinette said, rubbing the baby boy’s back. “I have to put him down for a nap,” Marinette said, walking down the hall. “Please, for me, leave before I’m back.”

“I want to talk! Please Marinette, Angel!” Damian pleads, following her.

“I’m doing what’s best for me and my child,” Marinette said, closing the nursery door in his face. He sighed, went back to the kitchen, he wrote a note.

Dear Angel,

I know I have no right to call you that, but damn it hurts so much to know that I can’t call you that. I want to prove myself to you and him, I don’t care if he’s not, just let me be part of his life. Marinette, I want you to know, I know how it feels to have the world, but I don’t want the world. You are my world and that’s all I need.

I never stopped loving you,

Damian.

P.S. check the news.

She still loved him, no matter how much it had hurt to be alone and to lose him, she couldn’t stop herself. That’s why she ran away, she hid, and why she sent him away. His path was one that she couldn’t bear to follow, especially with her son. She knew if he was around she may not be able to stop herself from making a rash decision, but she did let one stray tear fall as she read his letter. She did as he said and turned on the news.

“Today in international news, Damian Al Ghul stepped down as ruler. He exploded the capital, his grandfather, Ra Al Ghul, and his mother, Talia Al Ghul, found dead on the scene. He left with a preset audio message to post.” The anchor says, shuffling papers. “And now for his message.”

“People of Earth, I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused. I was misled by Talia and Ra, but I do not put the blame fully on them because I had support when this all started. She was my world, and I wasn’t able to see that she was enough. I’m stepping down as of now and forever, I apologize for the terror I’ve caused the last two years.”

“And there you have it folks, as romantic as this is. If you see the former leader call the authorities but for today, celebrate our new found freedom and the road,” The news anchor said before switching topics. 

Marinette sat in silence, until an hour later when she heard her son, Oliver, crying. She scrambled to grab him. “Hi, sweetie, Mama is here baby boy,” Marinette said, picking him up. She held him to her chest and sways back and forth.

It wasn’t until a week later she saw him again. She was in the park with her son when she noticed him entering. She tore her eyes away from his direction, hoping that he wouldn’t approach her or even notice her. But luck wasn’t with her.

Ten minutes after he entered, Oliver was getting fussy so she decided to take him home for lunch. He saw her as she walked by and stood up, putting his sketchbook away.

“I’m making spaghetti for lunch if you want to join us,” Marinette called over her shoulder, Damian stood, shocked.

“Umm I would love to,” Damian said, catching up with her. They walked in a tense silence Oliver’s babbling filled the silence.

As soon as she entered the apartment she filled a pot with water and put it on the stove.

“You haven’t told me his name or if he’s mine,” Damian says, sitting on a stool at the island.

“Nope, you have to answer my questions first,” Marinette said, walking into the living room which is an open connection to the kitchen. She grabbed a couple of toys out for Oliver. “Was any of it real?” “What do you mean?”

“What we had, was that even real or was it because I was Ladybug?” Marinette questioned, he still sat at the island, she stood on the other side, the stove behind her, and a sight still on Oliver.

“How could you even ask that?” Damian said, looking up at her, hurt visibly in his eyes.

“Because Ra put a bounty on my head, not too long after you left,” Marinette deadpanned.

“My original intent of approaching you wasn’t good, but a weel after knowing you, I couldn’t go through with the plan,” Damian said, running a hand through his hair. 

“Why’d you even do this? How’d it happen?” Marinette asked, turning her back to him to put the spaghetti boiling water.

“I was sent to live my father for a couple of months when I was younger, but during one of Talia’s attacks, I was taken back. Not too long after that, I died but was resurrected in the Lazarus pit which brought me pit madness. I was sent to Paris a couple of months later, totally forgetting about everything that had happened with my father. I was sent to Paris, and we all know how that went. When I didn’t deliver on schedule grandfather, I tried to explain to you what was happening, but as soon as you heard his plan you left.”

“Ok, you approached me, telling me that you loved me but you had to leave because of your grandfather’s crazy plan to take over the world,” Marinette pointed out. “Honestly I thought I slept with a crazy guy until you came up on the news. I kind of freaked out and left, besides you know, the only other person who knows where I am is Adrien, and maybe those men you sent to find me.” She finished before cursing under her breath. “Baby boy, come here time for numma numms.” Oliver perked up and ran over, she picked him up gave him a kiss and put him in his seat.

“Can I ask you questions now?” Damian asked, looking at the raven-haired boy, his green eye sparkling beautifully looking at his plate of food. 

“Sure shoot,” She says, placing food in front of him.

“What his name?”

“Sweetie, can you tell your dad your name?” 

“Ollie!” he said, picking up a handful of spaghetti, 

“I’m his father?” Damian said, now really looking at the boy. 

“Damian I might have been a bit pissed at you, it didn’t mean I stopped loving you,” Marinette said. “But you have to prove yourself to us before you even consider being in our lives,” she finished sternly. “You also have to get through Adrien.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since he found out I was pregnant he’s been there helping me through everything. He took over guardian for me so I could focus on Oliver,” Marinette explained. “He thinks of Adrien as an Uncle and I won’t hesitate to choose him over you because he’s apart of Oliver’s life and because of how much helps he’s been to me. We have family dinner every Sunday, either in Paris or here depending on Oliver.”

“Marinette, I would do anything to be part of your and Oliver’s lives. Heck, I gave up the world domination,” Damian pointed out.

“Well then, tomorrow, you can join us for family dinner,” Marinette said, standing before taking the plates. 

“I would love to,” he responds as Marinette picks Oliver up. “May I hold him?”

“Sure… ummm I have to go get a washcloth and shirt for him anyways. Just watch out or you’ll have sauce everywhere by the time I get back,” Marinette said, handing him Oliver before disappearing down the hall. 

“Hi Ollie, I’m your dad,” Damian, believe it or not, cooed. Oliver put his sauce-covered hands all over Damian’s face.

“Told you so,” Marinette reappeared, holding a wet washcloth and a clean shirt. “Come here, baby boy.” She said holding out her arms. 

She stood him up on the island as she cleaned his shirt. “Arms up!” she said, him doing as she said. She blew a raspberry on his stomach, making Oliver laugh. His laugh was adorably beautiful. He loved seeing Marinette and Oliver interact with each other, it was just so pure and beautiful. She finished pulling off the dirty shirt and put on the new one. “All set Ollie, you can play for a bit.” Marinette said, placing him on the ground before turning to look back at Damian. “You have a bit of sauce here.” She said, pointing at her cheek.

“Here?” he responded, wiping his face.

“No, let me,” Marinette said, picking back up the washcloth. She approached him and wiped the sauce (and totally not cliche) it felt like time slowed down for a minute it was just the two of them looking into each other’s eyes. Marinette goes up onto her tiptoes he leans down and as they were about to kiss. They were interrupted.

“Mama! Play cars?” Oliver asked, snapping them back to reality, oblivious to what was happening.

“Oh.. umm.. Of course, let’s go Ollie,” Marinette stuttered, a blush present on her cheeks.

“I should be going,” Damian said quickly, still flustered. “Just let me know what time dinner will be.”

“Um ok. Bye Damian!” Marinette said, looking at the, now closed, door. “Damn there I go, falling all over again.”

“Damn,” Oliver mimics.

“Heck.”

-------------------------

my sister was roleplaying in roblox earlier with a friend and she kept saying “just pretend” “Imma do this but you don’t know that” “imma be sitting on top of the pizzeria”. Idk, but quarantine is getting to me.

Permanent Tag:

@ash-amg @bee-wrecker @damianette-is-life @mjisntme

[mcrmadness]

A Masterpost: ALL MY OLD die ärzte (aka Bela&Farin) COMICS (from 2010-2011)

I’ve lately been talking about my art, especially comics, here a lot but I have never posted my OLD old dä comics here! That’s about to change now. The old ones happened in 2010-2011 when I was 19-20 years old, so they are a bit cringy now :D The scans are my old ones so don’t mind about cat hair or something like that in some of the scans. And I know: my hand writing hasn’t really changed in the past 10-15 years at all :DD

And a slash warning (do I really need that with this fandom tho..?) because I used to draw just very fluffy Bela/Farin comics and they barely have any good plots even. There’s just 4 overall in this post and they all are quite short. But at least for me it’s fun to see how far I have come and how I’ve gotten better at drawing!

Anyway, without further ado, this is where it all started:

Bela&Farin - “Du willst mich küssen”

Simply the idea came from the fact I noticed that on the “Du willst mich küssen” single there’s only one additional song: “Die Antwort bist du”, and that one out of all the potential other songs from the studio album. (Now I’m wondering if I should try to redraw this some day to see my progress? :DD)

The rest under the cut because they get very cringy but if you want to read B/F fluff comics and facepalm at my idiotic humour, go ahead and click the read more link.

Bela&Farin - Bela will ein Baby

(eng. Bela wants to have a baby)

This one was the first I did in German and I traumatized myself. I had just started learning German and totally failed everything and an (old) online friend, native German, wrote something that indicated laughing and I felt so insecure about my German after that that even today I have a fear of saying/writing even simple German words in front of native Germans. She anyway “beta read” the plot and corrected every faulty phrase (aka every phrase) and this is what she suggested that I’d write, and that’s what I did.

The plot shortly: Bela just wants to have a baby but he wants it with Farin obviously, so Farin says they’re both men and can’t reproduce together but Bela found a solution: he found them a surrogate mother. Problem solved.

***

Bela&Farin - “Beer Belly”

Prepare yourself for a cringe overload :)) I’m so sorry that you have to suffer through this.

With this the idea came from the live videos I was watching back then - lots of live videos from 2007-2009 and I noticed that Bela just kept growing and losing his belly all the time. (OMG HELP I’m crying because “SQUEAK SQUEAK” XDDDDDD)

Also the ending is... I don’t know what is it. I guess I just wanted Rod ot make an appearance and didn’t come up anything better than this ::D My peak of humour is right there btw: anything that happens at the background. That shit just never gets old for me. So I find that still funny in this comic but I have no clue how a bass can be pregnant.

Also hey, I have started drawing shadows :DD

And yes, Bela actually did have a cow t-shirt like that in some of the videos and I just had to draw it! And btw, the reason for the fluff is probably because the concerts where those videos were from? It was extremely slashy, Bela and Farin barely could keep their hands off of each other so you really can’t blame me for all this. The ship just sails itself.

***

Bela&Farin - “Zucker”

(eng. “Sugar” - this one was again in German because it wouldn’t work in English. This time I think I did all the language stuff myself but I can’t remember for sure so maybe I got help, maybe I didn’t... This is the last one of these old comics and my personal favorite. You can see that my style somehow went through some major changes but I don’t know what even happened there. I can’t remember.)

I can’t get over Farin’s hair in the last panel, I drew it so perfectly and I still don’t know how to recreate that lol. And now I’m losing it at that tiny “XD” in the grin panel because I found it so stupid looking - the first time I had even drawn a grin for him lmao. Also ignore Farin’s arm that has suddenly lost all its color. (Aka: someone forgot to color it.)

THE IDEA for this comic is simply in the name of brown sugar. At least in Finnish that is called as “fariinisokeri”, which always amuses me still after 12 years because I am a bit simple sometimes, and I figured that it can also be called “Farinzucker” in German so of course I needed to make a Bela/Farin comic about it.

The dialog for those who don’t speak German (too well) yet - Bela just goes to Farin to ask for “Farin sugar” and Farin first is like “nope” but then “jk” and they lived happily ever after. Or something.

***

BONUS:

Something I drew with a ballpoint pen once when I was visiting my aunt and cousin and was bored and doodled this. I like drawing repeated patterns like brick walls or apparently also flowers.

And I have no idea where did I draw this - maybe it was something to do with one course through the employment agency as I tend to doodle when in any kind of class. I feel like I had been watching “Die band, die sie Pferd nannten” prior to this, based on Bela’s looks.

And it was back in 2010, I didn’t have a smart phone yet so no internet to use for reference photos :D

***

So, back to the comics - I only made these 4 back then but before this I did draw other stuff and comics too. I drew several of them as horses when I still didn’t know how to draw humans, and I also have one of them as rats too. The rat one might work as a redrawn human comic, tho... Anyway, at some point I got annoyed because I didn’t like drawing them as horses or rats and wanted to invent a “human style” so then one night, this happened:

The texts are mainly just me chanting how I’m dying from laughter etc. That is actually what I do when I am very insecure of what I do and then I just start openly laughing at everything and myself, that way things don’t feel as bad failures than what they actually are :D (And yeah I know the article is wrong at some point, let’s just say I hadn’t memorized all the article stuff from German yet :D I don’t know if I had even started learning German yet at that point.)

But yeah, then I did find the style and these are the next sketches from my sketchbook:

The bottom left says “facial experessions” - and oh my god I was so damn cringe whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy---

but anyway, those were what I ended up with eventually and the rest is history. I think I’m still gonna make one post with stuff I drew in 2018 and that I haven’t posted here yet as there’s still a few of those, too.

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 2

chapter 1!!  chapter 3!! you can also find this fic on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 7500 exactly. i am so lame.

Author’s note: hello!! when i was uploading ch 1 on here it never once crossed my mind that i should probably add ch 2 as well ... but oh well! it’s here now. hope u all like it. reblogs and likes and whatever else are very much appreciated. also i forgot to say last time- i paint a little but i am NOT a professional artist! i’m making all of this up as i go! if i’m wrong with something do NOT tell me. shh. but ok now enjoy!!

A blank canvas stands before you, as big as your torso and propped up on an easel. White, unmarked, clean- pristine and teeming with potential.

You hate it.

In your lap sits your sketchbook. Pages upon pages of rough, half-baked ideas, each more mediocre than the last. You thought that maybe you could churn something decent out if you came to your studio, soaked in enough of the atmosphere to coax out some sort of productivity.

Well, you were wrong. It’s the opposite- the empty canvas is slowing your thoughts down, muddling them together, disorienting you.

You stare at it for the better part of an hour, white searing into your vision, shoulders sagging with each passing minute.

There’s something there. You have something, a rough chunk of an idea in the back of your mind that could be great, but you can’t figure out what it is. And it’s not something you can just google- you can’t search up how to think a thought you haven’t had yet- so you sit on your own, unproductivity festering, oozing out like the orange from the skylights.

You’re not doing too well. The sun sets before it’s five, it’s Monday, you have a fifth adult class to teach, yesterday you only got to a third of your chores. It sucks- you should be better than this! Put-together, neat, confident, creative, actually able to do something.

You wallow freely, feeling no satisfaction when you reach forward and push the side of the canvas with one finger, tipping it off the easel and sending it clattering to the floor.

The warmth of the sun burns into your back. You don’t like wasting time like this, never have. Maybe you needed to, though, to help get you back on track.

You heave out a sigh and crack too many joints as you stand up, folding up your easel, picking up the dreaded canvas, shoving your sketchbook into your purse. The drawing pencils you set out on the table are neatly lined back up into their metal tin, the kneadable eraser kneaded for a few frustrating seconds before it’s put back as well.

You zip your coat all the way up to your chin. It’s still freezing outside, and the walk from your studio to the subway, from the subway to the other studio, is always a cold one.

***

At least you can move on from the watercolors.

Oil pastels! Still not a very desirable medium, but for today, you’ll take it. At least it’s saturated, at least you don’t have to worry about the whole thing coming apart with a spare drop of water. The way it stains your fingers and blends unpredictably is kind of charming, too.

You run through your demonstrations. You gesture to where the paper is located. You make a few suggestions for what people could draw: trees, landscapes, birds. Then you remember a box of handheld mirrors the studio owner keeps in one of the storage closets, and run over to get it.

“You can use them for self portraits,” you say, and then a particular man in the back scowls, and then you add that it’s optional.

But Steve takes two mirrors.

You don’t have time to analyze all of that. You walk around, offer a few words of advice. Shonna lays the preliminary sketch for a heron, and you’ve never seen grey and yellow look so nice together. Your favorite couple, Marcie and Ahmed, draw each other, but neither of them can draw. They laugh at themselves as they misshape each other’s noses, miscalculate the distance between each other’s eyes.

It’s cute. You stop at them and laugh a little, before continuing your round to the back of the room, to Steve and Bucky.

“Everything working out okay?” You say, while Steve frowns into a mirror.

“I feel kind of stuck-up doing this,” Steve says, and brings the mirror even closer to his face, right up to his eyes.

You laugh a little. “Don’t worry,” you say, and peer down at his sketch, which is already looking uncannily like him. “It looks just like you! You even got the nose right.”

Steve nods, still bothered by the apparent narcissism of this activity. He pulls a peach pastel from the set. “I guess,” he says, unconvinced, and streaks the pastel over the side of his drawn face, and you quietly marvel over how well he understands shadow. “Are you okay?”

The question catches you off guard.

“What?”

Steve sets his mirror down.

Next to him, Bucky glowers at you, like he wasn’t smiling at your bad jokes in the cafe, like, two days ago. He’s so vehement- you’re starting to think that you dreamt up the entire encounter.

“You look kind of stressed,” Steve says, and then winces. “Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, and hesitate for a second, before thinking what the hell, and deciding to just let it out. “I am stressed. I’m so stressed- Steve, I’m, like, this close to losing it.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

He’s so sincere. Always so nice, and you don't even care that Bucky’s glare deepens when you pull out the seat and sit down in it, because you are dying to tell someone.

“I have this show in the summer,” you say, and clench your hands, because just the thought of the show makes you want to wring your own neck, “but I still have no idea what to do. I mean, I do, but it’s like, I have point A and point B, but I don’t have the line connecting it. Does that make sense?”

“What are the points?” Steve asks, and takes up the mirror again, to analyze the lower portion of his face.

“Okay,” you say, and lean back in your seat, and maybe it’s a little unprofessional, but you’re cool enough that it really isn’t, “Point A is that I want everything to be busy. Lots of patterns and fabric and plants. Like, I don’t want there to be any resting space for your eyes, because that’s boring. And point B is that I want to use people- and this is where the problem comes in, because I don’t know what people to use.”

You’re talking kind of fast, but Steve seems to still be understanding what you’re saying.  “Why not?”

“Because I want it to be personal. For my previous stuff, I would just post ads on Instagram whenever I needed models, and take pictures of random people and paint them. But I don’t want to do that again, but I don’t know what I want to do. I want people to look at the people and say ‘wow, that’s personal,’ but I don't want them to be able to tell how personal it is. Like, personal at an arm’s length.

Steve stares at you like you have definitely lost it.

You pointedly don’t look at Bucky.

Then he reconsiders, and gives you a supportive little smile, and you can feel your stomach sinking further and further down.

“I don’t fully understand that,” he says, and reaches not for the orange or red pastel, but the pale blue one. “But I’m sure you’ll get it. Just give it some time.”

You watch him outline his chin, the left side of his nose, little strokes of his eyebrows. Blue and leaving little smears and flakes of color, and creating this swirling pattern with one of the streaks of peach, like ocean and sand upon each other, so pretty and bold.

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, and he grins into his mirror, still adding blue. It looks amazing. “Also, would you ever consider switching careers? The art world is missing out on you.”

He blushes.

“Use people you know.”

You and Steve turn fast to look at Bucky, still glaring. His red oil pastel, held tight in his gloved hand, looks ready to snap.

At least you’re sitting diagonally from him, instead of directly across. At least you don’t back down from looking him in the eye.

“For what?” you say, like you aren’t following, even though you are- you just have a feeling that he won’t tell you what he’s thinking unless you ask for it.

“For your painting thing,” he says. “Because it’s personal. To you.”

You stare at him like he’s crazy for a second or two, and he looks into his own mirror, set flat on the tabletop, without peering at his face. You glance over at his paper, at half a page full of perfectly identical red boxes, and realize that he’s drawing the ceiling panels.

Okay- lame.

But also, like, funny.

Then it starts to click.

“Wait,” you say, and you feel bashful, because he’s been listening to you this whole time, and in his silence he must have been thinking of you, and the thought of that is just too satisfying for you to let go of. He’s been thinking of you.

Or maybe he just wants you to leave.

“That works,” you say, and then you suddenly have the connecting line. “That works perfectly. It’s, like, not personal, but…”

“Familiar,” Bucky says, and you are half a red box away from leaning over the table and throwing yourself into his arms.

That’s exactly it.

“Thank you,” you say, and your brain is running a mile a minute, and he’s just staring at you. “Thank you so much. That’s exactly it, oh my god.”

You don’t even realize how far you’ve leaned over, hands balanced on the table, craning your head towards him. And you don’t even care- pieces are shifting and everything makes sense, and the weather outside isn’t cold, it’s beautiful! And this class is wonderful. Bucky himself is wonderful.

You float through the rest of the class. The clarity of your thoughts is jarring, the way you understand what you’re trying to do now. Flowers, fabric, and then you have an idea with a pair of earrings. You ache for a pen and sheet of paper to write it all down, but if you started doing it now, you don’t think you would be able to get up once the class ends.

Once, you smile at Bucky. He doesn’t return it- and you’re too in over your head to care.

***

He’s not genuinely interested.

This is a precaution. Bucky takes lots of precautions- he sleeps with weapons at his bedside, goes out with knives strapped to his body, always sweeps unfamiliar rooms before sitting, doesn’t tell anyone anything. This is just another thing thrown on top of his already exhausted routine, necessary to his safety and sanity and-

To his basic peace of mind.

He’s not a very good typer, so he asks JARVIS to look it all up instead, and transfer it to his overpriced, Stark-issued laptop.

There’s relief in that action itself- he tells JARVIS the wrong name twice, because that’s how personally disinterested he is. So disinterested that even something as simple as a name eludes him.

He doesn’t care.

The information gets transferred to his laptop. Bucky takes his time, carefully scanning the screen, preparing to tuck away anything concerning, for future reference.

There is a lot of information.

Articles- too many articles. Editorials, interviews, reviews. And pictures, and even videos, and he wonders if Steve ever brought this up to him, this level of renown that apparently you possess, and Bucky just wasn’t paying attention. But no, that couldn’t have been true- he’s been genetically enhanced to always be paying attention.

He’s a slow reader, and whenever the fonts are too small it gives him a headache, so rather than reading an article, he goes to the pictures tab.

Your art shows up first. He clicks on the picture to enlarge it, and it takes a long while for him to fully comprehend what he’s seeing.

A woman dancing with a cow in the background, a woman with butterflies on her eyelashes. Two men wearing crowns of pearls, but when he zooms in closer, they’re birds. A figure in a dress, wearing sleeves that resemble fish, with a halo of koi fish circling her head. Everything has to do with animals, and there’s so much movement, and he doesn’t like art, but he does have to admit that it’s all so pretty.

And there’s lots of yellow.

And as he scrolls further down, there’s pictures of you. In some, you stand with people who look ridiculously pretentious, with weird hair and odd clothes and thick-framed glasses. Other artists, he guesses, who have to let everyone know that they’re artists before they even open their mouths.

Then there’s pictures of just yourself. You, unsmiling next to a half-finished canvas, in the middle of twirling a paintbrush between your fingers. You, unsmiling in a white-walled photography studio. You, smiling while wearing a ridiculous sequined dress, which confuses him until he reads the description, and learns that the dress itself is an art installation.

It makes his head hurt.

He looks some more, even though he’s not really learning anything. Or maybe he is learning, just nothing concerning like he was hoping for. Something that would justify this search in the first place, but all he’s found is that you have pretentious colleagues and wear ridiculous dresses and deserve Steve’s admiration the way you’ve been receiving it.

Eventually, he coaxes himself into clicking a link. An article with a big publication, too big for just an art instructor- but you’re not just an art instructor. you’re, like, good. The article is an interview, which could have just been recorded and uploaded, but for some reason, it was transcribed and written in article format anyway.

The twenty-first century is stupid like that.

When it was written, you had just had your first solo exhibition, and it was more successful than anybody ever anticipated. The interview is meant to be a little off-the-wall, charmingly eccentric, asking about favorite foods and then your future aspirations in the same sequence, and then debating different colors and some political situation within the same question.

Bucky stumbles through a paragraph or two, not really comprehending anything but getting the gist, and his head hurts more, but he’s blissfully relieved of it all when Steve barges into his room without knocking.

He shuts his laptop screen so hard that the screen nearly cracks.

“Woah,” Steve says, and puts a hand up, but doesn’t take any steps back. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, and stares at the laptop with fury, as if he’ll be able to close the tab that was still open through telekinesis alone.

“O-kay,” Steve says, totally unconvinced. He hoists the bag on his shoulder- his gear bag, with his supplies. He’s headed out for an indefinite period of time, anywhere between three days and two weeks. In the bag is his suit, in its patriotic spandex glory, his other supplies, bandages and a gun and a sketchbook.

To pass the time, if he gets bored on the flight.

“Are you leaving now?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods his head. “Yeah. Just came to say bye.”

“You mean see you later,” Bucky corrects, because those two things mean different things, and the difference is enough to matter to him.

“See you later,” Steve says, and he shifts, one massive wall of muscle leaning from one foot to the other. He’s uncertain of something- like Bucky can’t handle himself on his own.

He can handle himself.

Bucky lifts one silver hand and waves.

***

He doesn’t need to go.

Steve hasn’t returned, still somewhere in South America, away on a mission. It’s not like anyone is going to check, either, if he attends or not. It’s not like this is required, like he has some sort of moral or contractual obligation to show up.

Still, it’s become part of his routine, and deviating from routine makes his skin itch. As Monday strikes again, he slides into his seat in the art studio. At least he’s not too early; he doesn't know how he would be able to handle any pre-class conversation without Steve being there to do the actual conversating.

You start right on time. Always so prompt.

“We’re going to be working with oil pastels again,” you say, and make a big gesture with your hands. You wear chunky gold earrings that wink under the lights. “But I’m going to let you do whatever you want. Draw whatever. I’ve got out a few different types of paper, and some different tools for creating textures- I’ll show you all how to use them really quick.”

You scrape a sheet of paper hastily colored purple with something that looks like a plastic knife. Then you use something that looks like a plastic-toothed comb, and then some other pointy plastic objects to make lines and whirls on the paper. Texture. He watches the paper, some, but mostly you.

You look over at him two times. No more than you do at anyone else, but he still notices- as a precaution.

“Okay, I'm done. You all can get to work,” you say, and set the purple sheet down on your own table, at the front. “Have fun. Get crazy with it.”

Bucky looks down at the paper he’s set on the table, yellow-white and slightly textured. He looks at the oil pastels, sitting so dejectedly in their little cardboard dish, a product of low budget and disuse.

He takes the yellow one.

You come over to his table some time later, after getting to everyone else. He’s always last, he’s noticed- because he sits at the back, and because you like to take your time talking with Steve. But Steve isn’t here today, which means you won’t linger, which means he can continue on sitting in peace.

“How’s it going?” You ask. One of your hands comes to rest on top of the chair across from him.

“Your shoe is untied.”

Your smile falters as you look down, at your red sneaker- you wear hot red sneakers- but reaffirms itself a second later as you slide the chair out, and prop your foot up on it.

Bucky suddenly feels off. Your knee rests slightly above his head, and your head is tucked down but still looming high over him, cast in shadow. He’s beneath- under. And you’re double-knotting the laces of your shoe.

“Thanks,” you say, and it’s awkward to thank someone for something so little, but you don’t say it like it’s awkward. “I probably would’ve tripped on the laces. Anyways, again, how’s it going?”

He considers the question. “Fine.”

“Fine,” you repeat. You take your foot off the chair and tuck it back in, and then lean- loom even more- over him, looking over at his piece of paper.

He glares at you, even though you’re not looking at him.

“Wow,” you say, and your eyebrows are creasing, and he thinks that you’re struggling to come up with something to say, and after seeing those paintings online, he can’t even take offense at it. “Those lines are so… straight. How are they so straight?”

Because his metal hand has an internal stabilizer.

“They just are,” he says.

You look at him. Everything suddenly feels stuttered and slow, drenched in honey. He’s expecting some type of joke, and praying for the ground to open and swallow him up, bury him under six feet of tile. Has silence always been this unbearable?

“Awesome,” you say.

Then you look away and he’s able to breathe again, and you’re turning away, ready to flounce back over to someone else. He looks back down at his paper and picks up the pastel again, fingers pressing over the paper wrapper, so that he doesn’t get anything on his glove. He draws another straight line.

“Wait, one more thing.”

You turn around and his head snaps up, fully alarmed.

You take in his expression and look like you’re about to laugh. But you stifle it back, bite on your lip as you pull the chair back out again and sit down, across from him. Steve isn’t even here- Steve isn’t even your motivation for being here, today, and all he’s thinking about is you in that ridiculous art installation of a dress.

Floor-length. V-neck.

“So,” you say, and Bucky can’t look at you. In his peripheral vision he sees you curl your hands together, resting on top of the table. The glass on the watch flashes. “So, you know the idea that you gave me last week? With painting people I know? I started this painting of my mom- and all of these ideas in my head make sense to me now- wait. Let me show you, first.”

He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on his paper. Still, he can hear the smile in your voice as you pull your phone out of your back pocket, tapping away at something before turning the screen around for him to see.

Your arm is stretched all the way across the table. Bucky leans in a little bit, to see the picture you’ve pulled up.

A partially painted image of a woman that looks like you but not you, with almost the same face as you, but with hands mottled with age and a mouth starting to droop at the corners. Your mom, apparently, sitting with her hands clasped the way you’re clasping yours. She wears earrings that look like huge flowers, lilies, or something, and in a white dress that looks halfway like a swirled illusion.

“Nice,” he says, grudgingly, and you keep your hand outstretched. He wonders if you want him to take the phone from you, if you’re waiting for him to say more. “I like the dress.”

You beam at him. He’s been looking at you without realizing. “Thank you. I actually got the idea or the pattern from Steve- I’m just stealing ideas, aren’t I- but did you see the thing he did with his self-portrait last week? The swirls? It was so pretty- I couldn’t help myself. Anyways, where is he today?”

“Out of town.”

Dread curls at the pit of his stomach.

Bucky doesn’t know why, but he has the heavy, stone-cold realization that he does not want to be talking about Steve right now.

It must show, because you’re in the middle of opening your mouth to say something, and then abruptly close it.

“Oh,” you say, and you shift. He realizes that he doesn’t want you to leave yet, either. “Nice.”

You’re getting out of your seat. You must be feeling it too, the heaviness, the atmosphere so overwrought with polite dislike, because he still doesn’t like you, even though he knows your name now, but-

“What’s your next painting going to be?” he asks, so quickly that it comes off as a little frantic.

Your eyes widen and you’re carried back down, drifting back into your seat.

“I’m so glad you asked that,” you say, as you settle in. For a second, you’re frighteningly put together, shoulders straight, hands neatly folded, earrings glinting. “I’ve been wanting to tell someone about it so bad.”

You want your next painting to be of your dad. A portrait of just his face, close enough to add little, inconsequential details. You have this idea where you create patterns that look like flowers out of his wrinkles. He has teeth that are always yellow, because he drinks so much coffee, you say, a habit you’ve picked up, but you want to paint them almost neon, bring as much attention to it as you can. His hair is thinning and you want to make it all blue, like a receding tide.

It devolves, and his grip on the pastel loosens as you fall into something more and more jumbled, divulging other ideas you have, about things that aren’t directly related. You want to go big- much larger than life. A canvas as big as your body, just to paint a head. You make your own canvases, too, and you show him your palms, skin beneath your fingers raised and bumpy, with a ropy pink scar on your right hand. It’s from an incident with a saw, you say, even though you know your way around a saw. He almost wants to touch it.

Bucky thinks of his own right hand, with as many scars as it has lines. What does that mean, in terms of fate? He knows his way around a saw, too, and many other bigger, dangerous things, but you don’t know or don’t care about it. It devolves further, you sink lower in your seat, shoulders curving forward, and you’re telling him something else about nothing, and you aren’t minding that he’s mostly focused on just listening.

*

You’re laughing when someone behind you clears their throat.

You turn back, to see Shonna, looking uncomfortable as she fiddles with the strap of her purse.

“I’ve got to go,” she says, and, for whatever reason, gives you a look. “I finished my drawing, so I’m taking it with me. See you next week.”

“Have a good night!” You say, and cast a spare glance at your watch, to see how early she’s leaving.

She’s not leaving early.

You’re running nearly twelve minutes over.

“Oh my god,” you say, quietly, and pull away from Bucky. You have to pull this back together, quickly, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, everybody,” you say, and so many people older than you turn to look at you, but the situation you’ve put yourself in doesn’t let you appreciate the thrill of it. “I wasn’t paying attention- we’re running past time. You all can go ahead and head out. I’ll clean up today. I’m sorry.”

Bucky is ignored, and it’s funny how quickly you’re able to slip away from him, him and unrelenting blue eyes and a stoic silence to bounce all of your thoughts off of. You keep your back to him and head back to the front of the room, standing and exchanging pleasantries as everyone heads out, apologizing with smiles and chastising yourself for being so careless.

Nobody berates you, though. You keep on expecting them to. There’s a sudden, sharp pain in the back of your neck. They all leave, and then it’s just you, standing by the entrance and staring at all the tables you have to clean, all the unfinished art projects you have to slide on the art racks, alongside the sticky poster-painted houses and clouds and corner-suns drawn by the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes.

All by yourself.

Or not.

Bucky lingers, putting his pastels back in the tray. He’s so silent that you missed him the first time, even though he was standing right there. Isn’t he some type of spy?

“Bucky, I got it,” you call. Without anyone in the room, it's like everything you just said to him didn’t happen. There’s no buffer and it’s just you and just him, and it's so empty. “You don’t have to clean up.”

Something in his gorgeous face shifts. You wish he was a little more expressive. His eyes hang dark underneath the brim of his dorky hat.

“I can help you,” he says, and adds, after an impossibly long second of hesitation, “I’ll make sure you don’t break any jars.”

You laugh out loud, but you’re confused. First listening to you talk on and on, now offering to help you and trying to make a joke- he doesn’t like you enough to be doing any of it. 

You know you like him, or at least find him intriguing enough to disregard his douchiness, but, like, still. Something’s off.

But then again, how do you deny him after that joke?

“Thank you,” you say, so formally, and you want to grimace. “That’s really nice of you.”

He blinks slowly, and you think that he’s going to smile, catch a ghost of it in his eyes.

It vanishes too fast, as he slides the cover back on the tray of sad oil pastels. You’re about to make some cynical comment about the lack of funding for the arts, just so there’s something to occupy all this new space between you and him, so you don’t accidentally lessen the space by doing something dumb, like moving closer to him.

“Where do I put these?” He asks, holding the sad tray up.

***

Steve returns for the seventh Monday class! You’re so happy when he walks in through the doors, abandoning your stacks of paper and speed-walking toward with a smile and a bouquet of paintbrushes.

“Hey, Steve!” you say, and he spooks, a little, but relaxes when he sees it’s you. No Rina today- she’s been leaving early lately. Maybe there’s some residual fear in her, just from that stare she was subjected to, all those weeks ago. “It’s good to see you.”

You get those stares every week, multiple times an hour, are getting one right this second- she needs to get over it.

He smiles and comes further into the classroom, meeting you over one of the tables. “It’s good to see you, too. Sorry I missed class last week.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. Here, take these for a second.”

In his massive hands, the paintbrushes look silly. Like dandelion stems, but it’s Steve, so he holds them gingerly, at a distance, like the wood might snap if he applies even the tiniest bit of pressure.

It’s not a good thought that you have next- it’s a deplorable thought- but you wonder if all super-soldiers have hands like that.

Behind Steve, there’s Bucky, standing in his usual black ensemble and glower. You know, now, that if you asked him to help, he would, but your mouth suddenly goes gummy and you trail off to the shelves instead, talking yourself up as you try to find a container for the brushes.

There, on the top shelf. How did it get all the way up there? You swipe it off and turn around, cheery and hopefully composed enough to not let any of your deplorable thoughts slip, and-

He’s there.

Not there, not all up in your face the way you would not want him to be, but closer, next to Steve instead of behind. His cheeks are rosy. You look out the window, to see if it looks cold. His face is pink, but he looks cold. Winter Soldier. You’re running hot, hot, hot.

“Hey,” You say, and politely smile, like while cleaning up last week, you didn’t spend an extra twenty minutes just talking to him.

“Hey,” he says, and does nothing, like the impassive brick he always is.

God.

You can’t be like this. This isn’t… it’s not cute. It’s embarrassing.

“Help me find the palettes,” you tell him, and place the container on the table for Steve. “I’ve been looking for them, for, like, ten minutes, and I can’t find them. And we’re painting today, so we need palettes.”

Steve dumps the brushes into the container. Bucky nods. He understands the importance of the palettes.

“Okay,” he says, and in the time it takes you to turn back to the shelves, he’s already standing behind you, surveying the shelves with you. Steve is probably giving you a look- he and Bucky seem like the kind of friends that tell each other all of their feelings, paint each other’s nails and read each other's diaries- he probably knows what’s going on.

If he does, you would like for him to tell you. All you know is that you’re really liking this.

Bucky finds the box of palettes wedged in the back of one of the shelves, in between thick pads of watercolor paper and glass cases of craft knives.

“Thank you,” you say, as he hands the box to you, as his fingertips just barely brush against yours. “Thank you so much.”

You catch another ghost-smile. “You’re so welcome,” he says.

Behind Bucky’s back, Steve gawks at you in disbelief.

*

Acrylic paint- the love of your life.

“It’s best for me to just let you guys loose,” you say, in your spot at the front of the room. Even now, your hands are itching, humming with energy, humming for a paintbrush. “If you need help, ask me, of course, but it’s more fun to just try and see what you can do.”

That’s part of why you love it- for its ease. Quick-drying, not water-soluble once dried, saturated. What is there even to explain? That you apply it with a brush? That you can blend with it? All of that is, like, obvious. All of it can be learned from trial, and any error can just be painted over.

Expression is so simple, with acrylic paint.

It’s messier, too, but nobody’s perfect.

You walk around. Shonna sketches out more birds- finches, yellow and mid-flight. Marcie and Ahmed start by painting without sketching first- one going for a sunset, the other palm trees. Classic. You catch a few others, silhouettes, some flowers, some abstract paint splatters.

Then, of course, you head to the back.

Steve is something out. You can’t tell what it is, yet, but you know that it's going to be beautiful. It’s already beautiful. He looks up and gives you a wordless smile, then gets right back to work. One of his hands is splayed over the sheet of chipboard, the other drawing quick, light lines with his pencil.

You wish that you could give them canvas. But canvas is expensive, and again- funding is bad, and you want to save the few you’ve scrounged up for one of the later classes, when everyone is more confident in their abilities.

Bucky mixes paint on his palette. Red and… black.

“That’s a pretty color,” you say, nodding down at the sad maroon. He looks up at you and you ball your hands into fists, placing them on your hips, not because you put your hands on your hips, but because you feel like you should be doing that right now, with how he’s looking at you. Gutting you.

He acknowledges you with a nod, and goes back to mixing the colors. 

Good grief, how much more is he going to mix?

You’re suddenly searching your mind for something interesting to say.

It’s awkward, and you’re even more mad at yourself- how can you be awkward in your own class? You’re so off today. Even Steve is solely focused on his canvas, and you’re happy for it- he’s drawing and really getting into it, but now you have no reason to linger!

You stay, for another awkward, insufferable second, before moving on to somewhere else.

It’s whatever. You want to think about it, but you push it out because there’s so many more important things to consider- like the painting of your mom nearly finished in your studio, the sketched-out canvas of your father, the dozens of other little ideas pushing up through the cracks in your thoughts, like delightful weeds.

You want to paint Rina. If her hair is still red when you see her, you’ll draw her upside down with poppies, wearing whatever crazy outfit she wants. You want to paint another friend, who’s constantly travelling but might be in New York next month, draped in gold jewelry and marigolds. You might even- you might even draw a few people you don’t talk to anymore, or people you don’t talk to enough, draw them with pansies and chrysanthemums.

Flowers. First, you were fixated on animals, but now it’s flowers- but it’s wholly unsymbolic, because symbolism gets trite, and you just want to make something that looks pretty.

Nobody asks you for help. Acrylic is fun like that- it’s a medium where you can help yourself.  The class gets loud- lively, even, and you just sit in your chair at your table and take it all in.

Bucky, in the far back, works on his painting with concentration that rivals Steve’s. You look for too long.

He can probably feel your eyes on him. You wonder if you should look him up, but that’s weird. Really weird, and what would you even search for? A Wikipedia article? Pictures? An interview?

Maybe you should, but you like the hot-and-cold mystery just how it is.

*

The class ends on time. You’re extra vigilant today, showing people how to lay their paintings on the drying racks, showing them where to dump their paint water.

You say that you’ll wash the brushes. Bucky can tell that you don’t trust anyone else to do it properly. You say that you’ll wipe down the tables, too, and you’ll move all the supplies back to the shelves. All you want is for everyone to put their paintings away and wash their palettes.

The work is done, and everyone files out, spurred by you wishing them all a good week. Steve lingers, as usual, and Bucky follows behind him.

You didn’t talk to him that much, today.

“Did you figure out your painting yet?” Steve asks.

“I did,” you say, and tell him exactly what you told Bucky, but more clearly, more well-articulated.

And less… elaborate. No talking about the idea for the second painting, no mentions of the canvases you make yourself. You don’t show him your palm.

Steve chats with you for a few minutes, until the conversation fizzles out. He shifts his shoulders and tells you he’s going to go.

“Have a good week,” you say, smiling, looking back at Bucky.

Steve gets to the doorway, and Bucky stays right where he is, and his stomach does a flip, because he can’t believe that he’s really going to be doing this.

“You coming, Buck?” Steve says.

“I’m going to stay back for a minute,” Bucky says, while looking at you.

He’s not a confident person, but he’s also not not confident. He just does what he has to do, without thinking, without sitting on it long enough for it to morph into anxiety, because when you've been impassive for seventy years, it’s hard to turn the faucet back on. 

Right now, though, he might be getting what they call butterflies.

“Why, is there something you-”

Steve cuts himself off. He understands.

“Nevermind,” he says, backtracking. “Okay. See you later.”

He leaves.

“What’s up?” You ask, as you head over to the sink. You’re so nonchalant, and he doesn’t know if he’s resenting it or grateful for it, so he just watches you pull cleaning supplies from the cabinet underneath.  “Are you here to help me clean up?”

No, but he’ll do it, if...

“Yeah.”

You reach out and rip a wad of paper towels from the dispenser.

“Great,” you say, and he’s just thinking, No, this is not great. You hand him a spray bottle and the paper towels. “Wipe down the tables, please. I’m going to get started with these brushes.”

He starts to wipe down the tables.

You get the sink running.

The streaks of paint on the tables haven't dried yet, so it all comes off with no effort. He gets through it all pretty quickly, one table after another.

Then he’s at your shoulder, tossing the wad of paper towels in the trash, setting the spray bottle precariously on the sink’s edge, since your legs are in front of the cabinet.

What else could he do? Sweep? Turn off the lights? He doesn’t know if you would trust him to do either of those things. He could close the blinds, but the sky is in transition, from grey to blue to ink, and he likes the way the dark seeps into the room.

It sets up the atmosphere.

You give him a quick smile, rub your thumb over the bristles of another brush. “That was fast.”

He shrugs.

It’s a dead conversation- he’s not used to this. Maybe he should be chatting you up, but he doesn’t chat people up, ever. You’re supposed to be the one that talks first, says something for him to go off of. He’s not good at this, but he suddenly wishes that he was.

“Cleaning brushes is such a painful process,” you say eventually, trying to sound exasperated, even though you’re  clearly not. “Takes forever- oh, wait. Not painful, paint-ful. Get it? ”

He gets it.

“You’re funny,” he says, and it’s not much, but it’s something. He wants to laugh but doesn't.

You add another brush to the growing pile of clean ones, laying on a bed of paper towels. The sink water drains slowly, dirty grey-brown.

“I know,” you say. “But anyways, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Is Bucky your real name?”

The fuck?

You’re genuinely asking, brows drawn close together. He wants to reach out and smoothen it. And also tug the strings of your apron loose, and hook a finger inside the hoop of your earring. He’s wanting to do lots of things- all crazy, irrational things.

“No,” he says, and he sounds weird saying it, when all that’s weird is you having asked in the first place. Your frame of reference for him is so poor- which is better for him, better for everything. It’s almost flattering. “It’s a nickname.”

You open your mouth for the next question, but he beats you to it.

“My real name is James.”

You abruptly look over at him in disbelief. “No way. Really?”

“Really.”

You’re on the last brush. You run it under the tap and the bristles send streams of purplish paint water over your fingers, and turn your head, looking over at him. He meets you back, glare icy, even though inside, he’s burning up.

“You don’t look like a James,” you say, and grin at him, and keep yourself looking at him as you finally shut off the sink.

He knows he doesn’t- that’s why he doesn’t go by it. But he’s going to indulge you, because he wants to.

“Don’t look much like a Bucky, either.”

“It’s a cute nickname, though,” you say suddenly.

His heart leaps to his throat.  

“You think it’s cute,” he says, and he shifts over and leans, against the wall, crossing his arms. He’s been standing too close, feels so unnaturally light. He can’t even pretend to dislike you anymore, not when you use the word cute to describe him, not when he likes it. Not when your name is rattling through his head over and over, a mile a minute.

“It’s so cute” you start, nodding along to yourself, “It’s like… nevermind. I don’t even remember what I was about to tell you. Can I get your number?”

That was not smooth.

At all.

But it still works, doesn’t it? You’re not trying too hard, so he doesn’t have to try too hard, either.

“Yeah,” he says, and smiles at you- and takes extra satisfaction in the way you light up. Yellow and radiant.

“Okay.” You wipe your hands down on your apron before pulling out your phone. Its case is glittery pink. The tips of your fingers have pruned.

Before, this would have all been so easy. Bucky could have you beside him the day he met you, turned you over in a whirlwind, in a flurry of milkshakes and dancing to music nobody listens to anymore. He wonders if he should miss you- and then tries to imagine you in a red lip, peroxided curls and a modest day dress, and gets the answer for himself.

He doesn’t miss it.

“Here,” you say, and hand him your phone, and he takes it immediately, he’s so over in his head.

He types his number in with his right hand. When he hands the phone back, the question is already burning in his mind.

“When will I hear from you?”

He shouldn't ask. But he needs to know, always needs to know things. Things can only be so irrational, it has to start making sense sometime- and anyways, it doesn’t seem to bother you. You stare at his number, type something in and put your phone away, and the whole time you’re grinning, and he realizes.

You’re pretty.

“Sometime.” you say, and you reach behind your back to untie the strings of your apron. As you bring the neck of it over your head, you wink.

Sometimes, parts of him still feel frozen, trapped in ice, like he wants to smile but can’t remember how, like he’s forever moving too slow, falling too far behind and below.

Right now, he’s all thawed out.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting like that?” He says, and he takes a daunting step forward, cocks his head to the side. He’s on autopilot, reacting on muscle memory alone- this is flirting, this is charming like it’s ‘38.

You nod, adopt a mock seriousness. “I am,” you say. “I like to keep a little bit of mystery.”

“Mystery girl.”

“You know it.”

His heartstrings loop over themselves, tying into in a double-knotted bow.