#I have a picture in my sketchbook that I actually am going to scan and color and everything

[yasmeensh]

This might be a dumb question but do you do your art on paper? It looks so clean and it looks like you use pencil sometimes but now I’m not sure

that’s actually a good question! I draw both on paper and computer. It depends on where I am or if I’m at the computer already, but I’ll either draw with pencil and paper or draw digitally (I made maybe 5 different custom brushes on CSP to emulate a traditional pencil look haha) For my traditional drawings, if I don’t just take a picture of the actual paper, then I sort of ‘scan’ it (overhead shot with my phone) then I’ll edit sharpness and contrast so it becomes black and white. The biggest difference is, and depending on how much effort I put into cleaning the picture, is that it has a more ‘scratchy’ grain texture, and the charcoal is a bit more pronounced. I was going to use some examples but I just realized I have a lot of works I didn’t post on tumblr yet... oops. Will work on that. I’ll do that anyways for demonstration’s sake. these snapshots are drawn on paper:

This one is very obviously on paper because you can see the rings on the sketchbook. I did not cut that out lol. very low editing effort.

Now these are digital:

It might be easier to see the difference now? Digital brushes are usually a lot bolder than traditional and have a uniform texture, so that’s the giveaway.

[mizunetzu]

hey mark uhhh suck my dick that’s the request

no HAHAHA but I’m sure Iida will do it innnn *drum roll*

——————

Iida x reader - Iida Tenya’s Imaginary Boyfriend (pt.2)

⚠️warnings - none

Pronouns - male, he/him

Part one can be found here! 

The true ending can be found here! (Pt.3)

——————

“Alright,” Kaitekina flipped open her sketchbook, setting it back down on the easel. “Who’s going to describe something to me?”

Everyone gestured at Iida.

“I apologize once more,” Iida scrunched up his fists in his lap. “I do not wish to-“

“C’mon, Iida!” Uraraka grasped onto the sleeve of Iida’s school blazer. “You’ve been sulking for a month about this ‘(L/n)-kun’ guy! You need some sort of comfort! Or better yet-closure!”

“I am completely fine! In fact, I see him every night, and that is enough for me! Now, I do not wish to be here, and I have nothing to describe!”

Everyone fell silent. Uraraka voice was barely above a whisper. “Every night..?”

Iida sat back down, bowing slightly in apology for yelling. He said nothing. Todoroki looked down, before looking at Iida.

“If you do this one thing, we’ll let you go and we’ll never speak about it again. Just this once and we’ll leave it at that.”

Iida thought for a moment. He absentmindedly picked at the metal frame of his watch with his thumb and forefinger. Just this once couldn’t hurt. How accurate can a drawing be?

“Fine.” Iida visibly relaxed. “Just this once.”

———

“So, are you describing a boy or a girl today?”

Kaitekina’s voice was smooth like butter. Her eyes, once a chocolate brown, delved pink, bright and demanding. It was probably a side effect to her quirk activating.

Iida’s lips turned up into the faintest of smiles. A sheepish one. “I’m describing my boyfriend...”

Uraraka and Midoryia choked back a shocked gasp, while Todoroki simply raised his eyebrows. Nonetheless, they gawked at Iida like he was crazy.

Kaitekina cooed. “D’aww...how long have you two been dating?”

“Almost 5 months now.” Iida seemed more calm than before. You could almost say he was happy finally talking about his baggage. He rubbed his thumb across the glass of his watch discreetly. Kaitekina looked away from her sketch to eye the dull red watch contained under Iida’s blazer.

“What’s that red thing you keep touching under your jacket? Is that a watch?”

Iida sat quiet for a moment, before pulling up his sleeve and raising his arm. There revealed a dirty, cheap red watch, cloudy but functional. He tugged at the strap, watching as it unraveled and tumbled down onto his lap.

“It was something my boyfriend wore everyday. He wore it everyday since the start of the school year. He said he’d always cherish it, so I’m...cherishing it for him.”

“This isn’t the original one he owned though, that one...disappeared. I bought this one to keep with me where ever I go.”

The woman hummed, taking note of something on a sticky note stuck to the edge of her easel. It was most likely details to add or emphasize in the portrait.

“Can you tell me like-the shape of his face?”

“Angelic.”

Iida didn’t say anything else after that. Kaitekina waited for him to go on.

“Oh-forgive me. Round face, and his hair was a (h/c)-ish shade. It was always kept rather short/long.”

“You keep saying ‘was’. Is he no longer with us?”

Iida narrowed his eyes. Uraraka, Midoryia, and Todoroki eagerly awaited his answer, not-so-subtly staring him down. “It’s...it’s difficult to explain. But in simpler terms, he isn’t here with me anymore. Or he never was. I cannot seem to tell anymore.”

Those last parts came out as a whisper. More like he was saying it to himself, rather than to the sketch artist infront of him.

“I’m...sorry.” Kaitekina stopped drawing for a second to offer her condolences. Iida shrugged.

“...I am too.”

“Um-can you describe his eyes for me?”

“It was a bright (e/c)-color.” Iida limply held up his arm, before letting it drop back down on his lap. “They were always kind of squinted, like he was always so carefree. It was one of the things I never understood about him. Beautiful, (e/c) eyes that would stare up at me like I was the world.”

She made a noise of acknowledgement, grabbing (h/c) and (e/c) pastels scattered across her desk. Scribbling down details with her hazey glowing eyes scanning the paper, she looked up again at Iida. “What about his smile-what did it look like when he was smiling?”

“I believe it was his default expression. His lips were on the thinner/thicker side, though he kept telling me he wanted them to be a bit thicker/thinner. And-they were always chapped. I always told him to put on chapstick.” Iida chuckled.

“If you had to choose one thing-and I know it’s hard, but what would you say you miss the most about him?”

Iida fell silent. He stared down at his fingers, halting temporarily. He opened his mouth numerous times to speak, but each time, no words came out.

“His ability to make me smile.”

He said nothing else. Kaitekina inhaled to speak, but let her mouth fall closed, focusing on her drawing once more.

“Can you tell me about him while I finish up?”

Iida nodded. Midoryia, Todoroki, and Uraraka turned towards him, waiting patiently. This was what they were waiting for.

Iida pushed his glasses up with his forefinger. “His name was (L/n)-kun. He went to our school, and actually sat next to me in class-but apparently no one...seemed to remember him. It’s like he disappeared. That, or my delusions delved to the point where I hallucinated a whole five-month relationship with a boy I see every night in my dreams. It’s made me look forward to going to bed. It’s the only thing I want to do these days.”

Iida thought for a moment, before continuing. “He was good friends with these 3 next to me. But they don’t seem to remember him either.”

“It’s alright, though. I’ve grown used to it. I’ll see him again tonight and I can live on with these memories alone.”

A heavy silence filled the small studio. Midoryia contemplated setting a hand on Iidas shoulder, but as he was about to, Kaitekina clasped her hands together.

“So, I believe I’m done. I hope I was able to capture at least a small part of this person you had such an amazing relationship with.” She picked up her sketchbook, walking around her desk towards the 4 kids seated on the couch. “Are you ready to see it?”

Part of Iida didn’t want to look at it. All of his logical beliefs told him people were giving this woman and her quirk too much credit. Besides, how could she possibly know what mountain of complexity (Y/n) held, and capture it into an unworthy piece of fine-tooth paper?

He nodded anyways. She flipped her book around, holding up the displayed page in the sunlight streaming through the window.

“This is what you described to me.”

There stood a charcoal sketch of a beautiful boy, smiling so gently and earnestly. His hand was resting again set his neck and shoulder, a dull red watch strapped tightly to his wrist. There were features Iida swore he never mentioned, like the crease near his left eye, or the dimple that lay just under his cheekbone.

What captured his attention most, was his eyes. It was only pastel, but it shone and demanded attention, even if his eyes were in his usual half-lidded stance. Bright, (e/c), gemstone eyes that Iida fell in love with. Honestly, he could gaze at this picture forever.

This was him. This was his (Y/n).

Uraraka gasped. “Ahhhh! Wow! It looks really good! Ne, is this accura...Iida? You alright..?” Midoryia and Todoroki tore their eyes off the illustration to check out what Uraraka was talking about.

Iida was staring, eyes slightly wide, at the drawing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it; he didn’t want to. The drawing was more accurate than he’d like to admit. It was as if he was staring at (Y/n) himself.

He didn’t know tears were steaming down his face, until he felt small drops of water pelt down onto his lap. He removed his glasses shakily and wiped his eyes, doing his best not to take his eyes off the sketchbook.

“It’s-“ Iida’s voice cracked along with the seam of his heart. “It’s very accurate, you should be proud of the business you own, Miss.”

———

The stagnant air followed the UA students out of the building. Iida was stiffly walking straight ahead, doing his best not to look at the paper of (Y/n) folded in his pocket.

“Ne, Iida,” Iida hadn’t realized he was walking so far ahead until Uraraka had to jog up to him, followed by Midoryia and Todoroki. He hummed in acknowledgment.

“Do you feel better?”

There were two answers to this question. Yes and slowly but surely, yes. He was feeling better in the sense that he no longer had the urge to cry into his bedsheets, holding the piece of sketchbook paper firmly to his chest. He lost his dignity, and he found it again.

He was also feeling better in the sense that he finally got some sort of closure. Maybe this person isn’t real. And it’s ok. He has some sort of proof of his imaginary ‘friend’ that he can gaze at forever, instead of pitifully checking his wristwatch every 5 minutes, wishing it would go faster just so he wouldn’t accidentally forget how his face looked like.

It wasn’t healthy living day by day, waiting to fall asleep just so he could feel something again. A self imagined kiss on the cheek or just plain rest. He was willing to move on from that. It was time to start the ‘healing’ process. The drip finally stopped.

And he knew that if he got tired, if he was sad, or just needing some assistance, (Y/n) would be there waiting for him with open arms, welcoming him into his imaginary world again.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he really needed that right now.

He loosened the cheap red watch from his wrist, his head suddenly feeling empty and light.

“I’m feeling better. Thank you.”

——————

This is how this story really ends. Though, even I didn’t like it HAHAHA so I made a “true ending”. A sweeter ending without the bitter if u must LMAOO

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 3

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Ah Irony, I trust this wont be the last I’m seeing of you

First < Previous > Next

----

‘Sorry, Nino told Adrien that you guys said to go ahead!?’ Chloe explained.

“Looks like Liela’s at it again,” Marion tells Marinette.

“Of course she is,” Marinette was already hailing a cab

‘Lila must have told Alya who told Nino or something’ Marion responds.

'I am so sorry we’ll come back to get you’  

‘Dont worry bout it we’re getting a cab’

‘Dont let kags kill anyone’ He adds

‘No promises’

Marinette grabs Marion by the arm, dragging him over to a cab. Just as she's about to climb in someone grabs her, arm pulling her away. Reflexes kick in and she makes a jab at their stomach. They block her punch, but let go of her arm. Marinette looks up to see a black haired blue eyed boy who couldn't be any older than them.

“This isn’t a real cab,” He explains quickly, taking his phone out to snap a picture of the stunned driver.

“Oh? Oh!” Marinette processes, realising she just tried to punch him for helping her, “I am so sorry!”

“It’s ok, good reflexes,” He compliments, they step away from the cab as it speeds away, “I’m Tim,”

“Marinette,” She shakes his offered hand, “This is Marion,”

“Hi, thanks for that,” Marion nods towards where the ‘taxi’ was, “How could you tell?”

“You live around here long enough you learn to spot them,” Tim answers, “are you two french?”

“Yep,” Marinette chirped, “We’re on a class trip,”

“Where’s your class?” Tim frowns looking around.

“Ummm… they kinda….” Marinette looked down at her shoes.

“Left us,” Marion finishes for her.

“They left you? In Gotham?” Tim asks, the twins nod avoiding eye contact.

“Where are you staying? I’ll drive you there,” Tim decides.

“You don’t have to do that!” Marinette gestures wildly, wide eyed.

“We’ll be fine on our own,” Marion adds, because yes they did almost get in a fake cab, but it wasn't as if they couldn't have dealt with it.

“It’s all right,” Tim tells them, scanning the cars around, “Look my rides here,”

The twins turn to see a limo pull up, a well dressed driver steps out of the vehicle.

“Good Evening Master Tim, how was your trip?” He asks, taking Tim’s bag.

“It was fine Alfred,” Tim says, “would you mind if we dropped these two off at their hotel?”

“Not at all, Master Tim, I am Alfred Pennyworth,” Alfred greets the twins, “May I ask your names,”

“Uh, Marion, and this is Marinette,” Marion replies, “You really don’t have to, we’ll be fine,”

“It’s no trouble at all,” He tells them, “Where are you staying?”

“Wayne hotel,” Marinette goes to grab her bags to find them gone, turning to see Alfred already placing it in the trunk.

“Witchcraft,” Marion whispers to her, Marinette nods. She always made sure to at least be touching her backpack, as it held the Miracle box.

“Come in,” Tim offers, already sitting in the Limo.

The twins concede climbing in after Tim a little awkwardly. He had somehow gotten ahold of a travel cup and was holding it like a lifeline.

“I’m surprised you're staying at the Wayne hotel for a class trip,” Tim takes a gulp of the probably scalding hot coffee.

“Marinette submitted an amazing essay to the Wayne Foundation and won the trip for the whole class,” Marion dodges her kick, Tim hides his smirk behind his cup.

"We submitted an essay,” Marinette corrects, glaring at Marion for shaking his head.

“Thank you for the ride,” Marion changes the topic.

“No problem, I really don’t mind, the longer I stay away from the manor the better,” Tim replies sleepily.

“Why's that?” Marinette questions, concern written all over her face.

“Loud, too many siblings” Tim quickly clarified, “I need more time with my coffee before I deal with them,”

“I think I can relate,” Marion mutters, ignoring Marinette's look, “How many siblings do you have?”

“Officially? Thr-Two brothers,”

“Unofficially?” Marinette prods.

“Feels like half of Gotham most the time,” Tim sighs, making them chuckle.

“You two must be twins?” Tim guesses.

“Unfortunately,” Marinette sighs.

“You love me,” Marion scoffs.

“Unfortunately,” Marinette repeats, Tim cracks a smile.

“If it's any consolation you seem to get on much better than I do with my siblings,” Tim takes another long sip from his coffee.

“If it’s any consolation we’re always fighting,” Marion parrots, sharing a knowing glance with Marinette. Fighting? Yes. Fighting each other? Only when Chat Noir gets brainwashed.

“So what are you looking forward to in Gotham?” Tim asks.

“Lots of things,” Marinette and Marion start to tell Tim all about their(civilian) plans. Tim suggests places every now and then, he points out the hotel as they start to get closer.

“Ah!” Marinette exclaims, turning to Marion, “We were meant to check in as a class, will they even let us in?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they do,” Tim assures them. When they pull up at the hotel Alfred opens the door and Tim gets out with them.

“Thank you so much,” Marinette takes her bags from Alfred, giving him a smile.

“You’re welcome Miss,” Alfred smiles back.

Marion also gives his thanks and they follow Tim into the building. Marinette admires the architecture, brainstorming ideas for designs. Perhaps she can make improvements to the outfits they’ll be using at the concert. Tim goes straight to the front desk and explains the situation. The receptionists hands over the room keys, telling them their classmates had already grouped up, three to a room.

“That was surprisingly easy,” Marion muses, as they walk towards the elevator, “Thank you,”

“My pleasure,” Tim answers easily, as they step into the elevator, “I must be off,”

They give their goodbyes, letting the doors close as Tim walks away.

“He was nice,” Marinette hums in agreement.

“Hopefully there's more people in Gotham like him,” They step out of the elevator.

“There will be,” Marion assures, “Meet back here when they go to sleep?”

“No, I’ll text you when everyones asleep and you can teleport in,” Marion nods, both know Kaalki won’t be impressed.

They go their separate ways. Marinette knocked on the room door that was opened a few moments later by Kagami.

“I am sorry,” Kagami immediately apologizes, “I should have known better and asked you myself,”

“Don’t worry, we’re fine,” Marinette gives the girl a hug, rolling her suitcase into the room.

“Marinette, you need to see this place, although it’s as good as daddys hotel,” Chloe grabs her by the arm. Leading her through the well furnished and decorated living room with a kitchenette to the side.

“You do live in the penthouse suite,” Marinette looked out the floor to ceiling window, displaying the view of the city, itching to grab her sketchbook.

“True, but they didn’t put me in the penthouse, so it's their loss,” Chloe guides her to a room with a large bed, bedside tables with flowers on them and a mirrored closet door. “This is yours,”

Marinette went to grab her suitcase only to see Kagami behind them with it. She thanked her and got settled in. Once she was unpacked they sat together in the living room to talk about tomorrow.

“You’d better not go wandering off, Gotham is dangerous,” Chloe wagged her finger at Marinette.

“And you’re going to protect me?” Marinette threw a couch cushion at her.

“Well, duh, I was Queen Bee,” Chloe bragged, catching the cushion and throwing it right back.

“For, like, month, years ago,” Marinette caught the pillow, sending it to Kagami, “Weren’t you replaced with Bumble Bee?”

“It was a mutual decision,” Chloe caught the pillow that Kagami hesitantly threw to her.

“Right,” Marinette said in a disbelieving tone, knowing full well that Bumble Bee was just Chloe’s new alias. “I think I’d rather stick with Kagami,”

“Rude,” Chloe threw the pillow at her.

“Didn’t we all agree Kagami was as good as any bodyguard?” Marinette asks, throwing the pillow to said girl.

“Excuse you, we said she was better than any bodyguard,” Both gave her inquisitive looks, “What? I’m just stating facts!”

“Of course,” Marinette caught the pillow, still smiling.

“I am!”

“I believe you,” Marinette threw the pillow back at her.

“No you don’t!” Chloe throws the pillow forcefully at her.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Marinette chucks the pillow to Kagami.

“You’re infuriating Dupain-cheng,” Chloe huffs, catching the pillow from Kagami.

“I can show you some… moves,” Kagami hesitantly speaks up, as Chloe throws the pillow at Marinette, “For self defence,”

“Sure,” Marinette puts the pillow down, standing up with Kagami.

They spent the next half hour with Kagami instructing Marinette on basic fencing moves. With the cardboard wrapping of the now empty Toblerone block.

“Where is she going to get a sword?” Chloe was scrolling through her phone, “Unless you want her to carry that around everywhere,”

“What do you suggest?” Kagami challenges defensively.

“Like this,” Chloe takes over, showing both Marinette and Kagami how to break out of certain holds to get their arm free or how to disarm an opponent.

“Where did you learn this?” Marinette watches as Kagami practices the motions of disarming Chloe's hairbrush gun.

“I told you, I was Queen Bee and I took that job seriously,” Chloe drops the hairbrush, Kagami kicking it away.

“Didn’t you tell all of Paris your identity and then send a train out of control,” Kagami asks, retrieving the hairbrush.

“I was young and naive,” Chloe sighs dramatically, had to her forehead.

“Three years ago?” Marinette stands up to try and disarm Chloe now.

“Four actually,”

“Oh, my mistake,” Marinette rolls her eyes trying not to disarm Chloe too quickly.

They carry on a little longer before Marinette sends them to bed.

“We have an early day tomorrow, we don’t want to be late,” She pushes Chloe towards her room.

“Coming from you? That’s rich,” Chloe laughs.

“Whatever, go to sleep,” Marinette closes the door on Chloe's protests.

“Goodnight Marinette,” Kagami nods, walking to her room without a fuss.

Marinette goes to her room, firing Marion a text.

“Alright dude,” Nino turns to Marion, “I’m with Alya, we all know who Adrien has a crush on-”

“Everyone!?” Adrien sits up from where he’s lying on the couch.

“Yes, everyone,” Nino deadpans.

“What about Marinette?” Adrien turns pleading eyes to Marion.

“Oh not Marinette, she's as clueless as you,”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Adrien frowns defensively.

“Anyway,” Nino interrupts, “Dude, who do you have a crush on?”

“Ummmm,” Marion shifts uncomfortably from where he’s perched on the couches arm rest, “... It’s sort of a celebrity crush,”

“Oh? who?” apparently that was not the answer that would make him lose interest.

“It’s not really important, not like anything could happen,” Marion looks at Adrien for help, but he seems just as curious as Nino.

“Just tell us,” Nino pushes.

“It’s a hero,” Marion immediately realises that just got them more interested. “... From Gotham,”

“Batman?” Adrien guesses.

“No!” Marion shouts, “No! He’s old enough to be my dad, geez,”

“Alright, alright, who is it?” Nino placates leaning forward on his arm chair.

“..... Red hood,”

“Isn’t he a rouge?” Adrien asks.

“No!.... Maybe, he’s still a hero ok?” Marion curls up defensively.

“Why do you like him?” Adrien is grinning, shifting closer to Marion.

“I don’t know,” Marion rolls off the armrest, onto the couch next to him.

“You have to like something,” Nino gets up to sit on his other side.

“I don’t know, maybe because he looks good in his suit?!” Marion shouts.

“You’re not that shallow,” Adrien pokes him in the stomach.

“Ugh, fine,” Marion relents, “He works with Batman right?”

They both nod.

“He’s just so unlike everyone else he works with, I just kinda…. admire how he can just be…. be himself.” Marion curls up under his friend's stares.

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Adrien teases, Marion huffs.

“He does look good in his suit though,”

“Wait a minute, is this why you always wear that MDC outfit?” Nino is clearly holding back laughter.

“No!” Marion bushes at the memory.

They were doing a practice interview about his newest song. Marinette had designed his outfit based on Red Hood's. It was something he had endured endless teasing over as he insisted everything had to be perfect, not that the great MDC would make anything less.

“Were there any problems that arose from the design MDC?” The interview asked, moving onto the outfit choice.

“We had some minor disagreements about the hood,” Marinette gestured to the outfit Marion was wearing. A red hoodie underneath a faux leather jacket(not that you could tell) on the back there were flying red bats embroidered up the side. He was wearing a black domino mask with red detailing in place of the helmet. It was the outfit they chose to alter into their vigilante costumes.

“She was getting very frustrated over it,” Marion teased, “I told her it didn’t need one,”

“His name is Red Hood! Why doesn't he wear a Hood? Robin wears a hood,”

“He looks cool without it,” Marion defended.

“You’re just saying that, cause you have a crush on him,” Marinette teased in a sing-song voice.

“MD!” He shouted, pulling the hood up to hide his blush, MDC laughing at him, he groaned. “Please tell me the cameras aren't rolling,”

“Don’t worry, nothing we say is being recorded,” The interviewer was luckily professional enough to not laugh, but was certainly amused, “I take it we will be omitting that from the real interview?”

“Yes!”

Unfortunately for him one of the staff members had been secretly recording. They leaked the footage online, getting fired, but not sparing MCD from the whole world finding out. The fanbase had been going crazy ever since they announced their concert in Gotham. Many imagining meet-cute moments or theorising that they were already dating. He shakes his head at the memory.

“I just think it looks cool,” He comes back to the present.

“Because it’s based on your crush?” Adrien teases.

“Nope, you don’t get to tease me about this, I haven't seen you not wearing something Marinette made you in years,” Marion cuts Adrien off with a raised eyebrow, looking down at his Ladybug onesie Marinette made him.

“Fine,” Adrien turns to Nino, “It’s up to you now,”

“Has Marinette made you anything Red Hood related?” Nino grins.

“Nooooo,” Marion moans, draping over the couch.

“Do you have a onesie based on him as well?” Marion finds his saving grace when his pocket buzzes.

“Stooooooooop,”

“Never this is too good,” Nino teases, “Did you bring it with you?”

“That's enough for tonight!” Marion claps his hands, standing up.

“Awwwww,” They both moan in unison.

“Nope! I don’t have to put myself through this, goodnight to you,” Marion walks straight to his room before they can protest further.

He locks the door behind him. Plagg and Kaalki are in the room chatting, they fly over to Marion.

“You ready to go Kaalki?”

“I am not meant to be used for something as trivial as a taxi,” The Kwami complains.

“We just need to grab out suits, this will be the only night, I promise,” The Kwami gives him a nod, “Kaalki full gallop,”

He transforms and opens a portal into Marinette's room.

“Ready Bug?” He asks, stepping into the room. He opens another portal to their room in Paris.

“Of course,” They step through the portal, followed by their Kwami’s, into their room as quietly as possible.

Marion drops his Marinette pulls out their costumes from the closet. They were disguised to look like regular clothing, but could be altered to quickly change.

“I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Marinette takes the hoodie he usually wears, reaching under a secret fold and unzips the hood.

“Come on bug, our hero-selves cant be seen in Gotham, and you know full well we wouldn't stand aside if someone was getting hurt in front of us,” Marion takes the body of the hoodie from her, flipping it inside out to the black side.

“True, but why do we have to do nightly patrols?” Marinette finishes pulling on her leggings, flipping her usual white jumper with a cherry blossom pattern inside out to the same red shade as the hood.

“It would look pretty suspicious if we just showed up when our class was in danger, now wouldn’t it,” Marion fasten the yellow belt around his waist, slipping his baton into the holster and pulls on his on his boots, hopping slightly.

“I think you just want to be a vigilante,” Marinette takes his Red Hood jacket, flipping it inside out to black with yellow trim.

“Well, it’s exciting isn’t it?” Marion takes what would usually be Mainette's skirt, flipping the pink inside out to the green and unzipping it along a black line, “We get to test out our skills without miraculous, and we don't have the fate of the city resting on our shoulders,”

“You could a least try to take it seriously,” Marinette flips her beanie inside out to the black side. Pulling it on after the severed hood, lining the holes up with her eyes and pulling the hood up.

“I am taking this very seriously,” Marion says with the biggest grin. Taking Marinette's infinity scarf, running his hands across it to find the secret fold. Flipping it inside out to a green with yellow and black trim. He pulls it over his head, yellow stripe to his hairline.

“Whatever," Marinette fastens her holster with a baton around her left leg. They both pull on their black gloves. "Lets go,”

Marion transforms back and opens a portal to a rooftop far away from the hotel. They take off across the roofs, using their batons to pole vault across alleys, to land on roofs and fire escapes. As they race, taunting each other, they survey the streets below. Marinette stops, crouching down as Marion catches up. A young woman was being chased by two thugs.

“Let’s go,” She whispers, using the fire escape as a firemans pole. Marion follows suit.

They land in the alley as the girl gets backed up against a wall, clutching her purse. She looks straight at them, Marion gestures her to stay quiet as they sneak up behind the thugs. Marinette takes the one on the right, as he lines up behind the left one. Marinette attacks first hitting the right one over the head with her baton.

“What the-” Marion cuts the left one off by sweeping his legs with his baton, sending him crashing to the ground. He pins them down, tying his wrist together with one hand, “You little fuc-”

Marion stuffs the mans own hat in his mouth. He then ties the crooks legs together for good measure. He looks over to Marinette, her thug unconscious, she was comforting the victim, offering her a cookie from a hidden pocket.

“Thank you,” She takes the cookie hesitantly.

“Not a problem,” Marinette gives her a winning smile.

“Wow, this is really good,” She mumbles, with her mouth full, “Um, who are you,”

“Don't worry about that,” Marion slings his arm around Marinette, "We're just your friendly neighbourhood strays,"

“Ignore him,” Marinette pushes his arm off her, “Do you want us to walk you home?”

“Uh- yeah, thanks,”

“I love your outfit by the way,” Marinette tells her, as they leave the alley way. Marion walks behind calling the police to come pick up the thugs, explaining what happened.

“Hey, can I get your number so the police can get your statement later?” Marion interrupts, as they follow the girl to her apartment.

“Of course,” He hands over the phone, letting her hang up.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” She hands back the phone, Marion walking on her other side.

“We’re new to town,” Marion smiles at her.

“I can tell,” They both give her inquisitive looks, “You’ve smiled more in the last five minutes than most Gothamites do their whole lives,”

“You’re exaggerating,” Marinette chuckles.

“I’m serious, you’re going to blind someone,” She laughs with them.

They walk her to her apartment, holding polite conversation the whole way.

“This is it,” She announces, “Thanks again,”

“No problem,” They both say, turning to leave.

“Wait…. Um,” They both stop looking back at her holding her phone, “Can I get a picture?”

“Of course,” Marion bounces over to her, Marinette taking the other side.

They give the same big smiles they do as Ladybug and Chat Noir. Marion throwing up bunny ears behind Marinette's head. They say goodbye and run off to find someone else to help.

“Whatcha doing Tim?” Dick looks over his shoulder, still in his Nightwing costume fresh from patrol.

“I ran into some French students who were left behind by their class at the airport,” Tim scrolls through a word document, complete with pictures of smiling teens doing a mixture of charity work and sports among other activities. “They won the Martha Wayne educational trip, I was just looking through their entry,”

“They got left behind, in Gotham?”

“That’s what I said! I actually caught them just before they got in a faux taxi,” Tim reaches the end of the rather long essay.

“They could have been mugged, or kidnapped!” Dick slams his hands down on the desk.

“I know , Dick,” Tim rubs his face, “The worst part is they didn’t seem at all surprised about it either,”

Dick leaves Tim to his work to change, muttering to himself.

“Is everything alright, Master Dick?” Alfred appears with food for after patrol.

“What if it happens again?” Dick asks.

“I assume you’re referring to the lovely twins Master Tim met at the airport?” Alfred nods knowingly, Dick nods back. “Well hopefully something similar doesn't happen tomorrow for their tour of Wayne Tower,”

“.... Alfred can you place me in charge of the tour?”

“Consider it done, Master Dick,” Alfred leaves him to get changed.

He finishes changing into regular clothes as the Batmobile pulls in. Batman and Robin exiting.

“We need to discuss security measures for the upcoming concert,” Batman tells the room, they gather around,

“MCD is known for his advocacy of superheroes, so we can expect a few villains to make trouble,” Tim pulls up a picture of MCD with MDC as they walk down the red carpet for some event.

Dick is amused that the picture he pulled up had them in Batman and Robin themed outfits. MDC wearing a beautiful black dress with the bat symbol subtly incorporated into the bodice. Her dress trailed behind in sharp points like Batman’s cape. MCD was wearing a suit with a red shirt, his tie green and some yellow detailing.

“You are going to be professional aren't you?” Damian gives them both pointed looks.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Dick asks innocently.

“You two are always jabbering on about these two,” Robin glares.

“We do not-oh that reminds me, if we’re going to be guarding this event we have to invite Jason,” Dick addresses Bruce.

“He is worse than you two, going on about that interview,” Damian must be rolling his eyes under the domino mask.

“Come on little D. how often does your celebrity crush like you back?” Dick smiles, remembering the night Jason called him yelling in excitement telling him about the leaked footage. He had also asked him to get Tim to find out who leaked the footage and have them fired.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,”

“As for actual security measures,” Batman redirects the conversation.

“Master Jason has arrived,” Alfred reports, coming to stand with them.

“Speak of the devil,” Tim mutters.

“BRUCE YOU MOTHERFUCKER,”Jason bursts into the bat cave, “I need to know these things!”

“We were just talking about the concert,” Dick tells him.

“What? No! Why didn’t you tell me you adopted more!” He yells at Bruce. “I need to know when you’re planning to traumatise more kids!”

“Jason what are you talking about,” Bruce only lets a hint of irritation into his voice.

“THis,” Jason slams down his phone to a screenshot of a tweet. It showed a picture of a boy and girl, both with black hair and blue eyes, following Tim into a limo. Written underneath was;

Wayne Twins? How long has Bruce Wayne been keeping them from Gotham? Are they adopted? Or could the Family resemblance be more than coincidence?

#wayne twins #Bruce Wayne's secret children #aren’t they just adorable

“What is this?” Bruce asks Tim.

“They’re the one who won the Martha Wayne educational trip, their class left them at the airport, I gave them a ride,” Tim briefly explained, noticeably omitting the taxi part.

“Wait so you didn’t adopt them?” Jason picks his phone back up.

“No, Jason, I didn’t,” Jason’s eyes narrow.

“... Are you going to?”

“... No, I’m not,”

“Keep an eye out,” Jason not at all subtly whispers to Dick, “He hesitated,”

“What are we going to do?” Damian cuts their growing argument off.

“We could release a statement?” Tim suggests.

“Drawing attention to it will only fuel the flames, let’s just let it die out,” Bruce decides, getting nods of agreement.

“By the way Jason, we were talking about security measures for the MCD concert,” Dick changes the topic.

“Without me!?”

They go back to making security plans for the concert, including Jason.

“I think we should have someone inside,” Jason looks over the blueprint of the venue.

“Of course you do,” Damian remarks snidely

“You little-”

“Bruce!” Superman's face pops up on the main computer, “You can’t just take in new kids without warning!”

“They aren’t my children,” Bruce clenches his fists, “The pictures with Tim are taken out of context,”

“What? I’m talking about the new Robins-,”

“THE NEW WHAT!” Jason and Damian shout at the same time.

“What are you talking about?” Bruce probably asking that question more times today than he would like.

“Uh, this,” A picture is sent through a screenshot of another tweet that was steadily becoming viral.

The picture had two teens in masks on either side of a civilian, giving the biggest smiles that had probably ever grace Gotham. The boy giving the girl bunny ears. Underneath was written:

Almost got mugged tonight and was saved by these two. Didn't tell me their names. They kinda look like Robin right? Also they gave me a cookie? It was actually good too.

#new Robins #Robin #Batfam #OMG their smile are pure sunshine #send help I might be blind

[luvlyrv]

My Model | Yeri x f!Reader College!au

Genre: College AU, fluff

Summary: Yeri needs a model for her final project. You need some money. With the time you spend working for Yeri, something starts to bubble up in your heart.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Ah, school's already started again. What a bummer. It's almost 2AM and my sleep schedule is still very much fucked. Whatever, I'm feeling kind of down in the dumps so I wanted to write something cute. I also am considering writing a mafia!au series for Irene, please tell me if you'd like that or not! Otherwise, just enjoy this writing please :) even though I feel like the quality is significantly worse than my other writings. OH AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! AHH ALSO IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING YERI POSTED ON IG. 

Date: 1/6/2021

It all started when you spent Saturday evening venting out all your stress to your close friend, Sooyoung.

"I'm sorry, I know we're supposed to be relaxing together right now but it's the only thing on my mind! I mean, they laid me off work last second and it's not like I have another job lined up and waiting for me. I wasn't even a bad employee! They were just trying to cut costs!" You tiredly half-shouted to Sooyoung.

She sat on the other end of the couch, body bundled up in your blankets while nodding. She patiently listened to your worries and complaints. After you had said what was on your mind, you both decided to binge some awful zombie movies.

* *

You were quickly redoing some of your notes when you heard a faint vibration coming from your phone. You picked up your phone, checking the notification from Sooyoung that just appeared.

"heyyy, i know this isn't an actual long-term job that ur looking for but i have a friend who could use some help rn! she'll pay!"

You feel a spark of excitement as you begin to type back a reply.

"Yes!! Anything helps. I don't care what it is I'll do it."

"are u free tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"her name is yeri and she just needs a model for her to create some outfits and shoot pictures of. meet her tomorrow at xxxx at three?"

"Tell her sure thing :)"

With that you returned to studying with a small smile on your face with a little bit of your worries melting away.

* *

You rock back and forth on your heels, nervous to meet a stranger. You knock on Yeri's door only to be met back with a faint clatter and muffled footsteps. A short while later you hear some muttering as the door finally opens. 

"Hello!" 

While you were curiously scanning the area around her dorm room, the sudden sound of her voice made you shift your focus to the now open door and the girl standing in front of you. You felt your body stiffen as you made eye-contact.

"Ah, uhm, hello! Hi, you must be Yeri, right?" You manage to say aloud.

"Yeah, and you must be Y/N! Nice to meet you. You can come in." She says as she steps aside to make room for you.

You enter her room, only to be greeted by materials being strewn across nearly every piece of furniture possible. A clean mirror was in the middle of her room and a sewing machine sat off by the side.

"I'm a fashion major if you couldn't tell already." Yeri half-joked with a smile gracing her lips.

You smile back at her. "Yeah I assumed so from what Sooyoung described yesterday. How much are you paying again?"

"Well, I assume you took this job because you're a desperate broke college student. I am also a desperate broke college student. I'll give you around $25 after every session. I can't pay much but I'll try. I mean, you're giving me your time after all."

You nod at her answer. "Sessions? Am I going to have to come over multiple times?"

"Yeah, I have to create three different outfits. I'll just get your measurements today. After that you'll have to come over and model and make sure that they fit well and so I'll know if I have to do any revisions. So, mind if I start taking measurements now?"

"I wouldn't mind at all."

Yeri pulls out a measuring tape and begins to measure your body. She makes sure your posture is correct, placing a hand on your back, sending miniscule shivers down your spine. She moves around your body carefully making sure everything is accurate all while giving you the faintest touches around your body. You felt bad. There wasn't anything unprofessional about this situation at all, yet you couldn't help but to feel your face heat up a little. Yeri was a pretty girl and you just couldn't help but to melt around pretty girls. You found it a bit adorable to see her so focused on her task at hand. 

All too quickly Yeri announced that she was done taking your measurements. 

"Is that going to be all for today then?"

"I guess, I'll start working on the outfits now that I know your sizes." Yeri is already going to her sewing machine, her hand reaching out to a sketchbook you didn't realize was there before. "Oh! By the way, we should exchange numbers so I can tell you when we should meet up again." She says while looking back at you.

You pull out your phone and walk closer to her, the both of you exchanging contact details.

"Thanks for today, Y/N. I'll pay you next time you come. I'm sure you'll love the way these outfits look on you too!" 

You make your way out of her room and shut the door behind you for her. 

* *

Time has passed and you've already been to Yeri's place a couple times. Each time feeling a little bit more suffocating under Yeri's overwhelming presence. The way her eyes would look at you, carefully judging the details of the clothing she put hours of hard work in. The way she'd always thank you for your time. You couldn't help but want to know her more.

Despite wanting to get closer with her though, you never seemed to text her for any reason besides modelling for her. Sooyoung kept encouraging to just talk to her casually. You tried to follow her advice, tried to convince yourself that it wouldn't be the end of the world if Yeri didn't want to text you back, but every time you began to write a hello or considered sending her something you chickened out.

Today was another day where you would visit Yeri. You enter her room, basking in the warmth of Yeri's now familiar and welcoming smile.

Wearing the third and final outfit of Yeri's project you shyly spoke out, "Well, do you think this one needs anymore revisions?"

You watch as Yeri once again eyes you up and down. Yet, something felt different this time. Or perhaps you were making things up in your head. You watch as she turns her head back up to you with shining eyes.

"I think you look wonderful."

You purse your lips as you feel your heart beating way too fast.

"Honestly, this is my best work yet! God, I'm a genius. Hey, one day Y/N I'm gonna become a top designer and you'll be my model again. Got it?"

You crack open a smile along with Yeri at the sight of her enthusiasm. Although you didn't really feel close with her, let alone as close as you wish the both of you could be, over the past couple of weeks it felt like the two of you had warmed up to each other.

"I really appreciate the offer." You tell her with sincerity in your voice. It seemed like there would be no more revisions though, and no more revisions meant no more modelling for Yeri. With that your happy mood seemed to be ruined as you sighed and spoke out. "Well, I guess I'll change and be on my way then. Thank you so much for allowing me to work with you, Yeri."

After all this time, you failed to get to really know Yeri. You felt upset at the fact that it felt like you just wasted a chance to do something. Even though you'd still have her number after today, it was a near guarantee you'd still be too chicken to ever message her something. Disappointment began to build up in your mind as you made your way towards a room to change clothes. All of a sudden you heard Yeri's voice calling out to you.

"Y/N, if you really want to thank me, why not go on a coffee date with me sometime?"

[cornerstonc]

🖍️ When did you start drawing? Do you remember? 📏 What’s your go-to canvas size?

Artist Asks | Accepting

i couldn't actually tell you when i started drawing bc i kinda remember just Always having it as a hobby. granted what i drew as a really young kid wasn't amazing lmao but i am pretty sure i was doodling bad pictures before i learned how to read and write

it's my oldest hobby. i remember spending a lot of time in my room when i was nine or ten or so just drawing and listening to music laughs

well, i'm not a digital artist so i'm not sure this is quite the Same Thing but i do tend to draw on just your everyday 8x11 paper. one of my newer sketchbooks is 9x12 and honestly i like that better, buuuut tbh i'd like to start using a little bigger-- 11x14 maybe. i draw a little too big for the former two so i'm constantly going through paper rip

the only issue will be scanning, but i’m sure i can work around it thinking emoji

[unironicduncanstan]

Gwanon x Trustin Spa Anon - 700 word oneshot (angst) (plot twist) (cliffhanger)

Pairing: Gwanon x Trustin Spa Anon

Rating: PG-13

Pov: First person (Gwanon)

Plot: gwanon gets a mysterious anon of her own, it sparks her interest but just when it seems all is well, a mysterious third party enters the scene. . .

~~~~~

the keyboard clacks beneath my fingertips as i update my sierra blog. im deep in my research for an overlapping slur that i could conveniently use against both fans of courtney and nicki minaj at the same time. as i find a particularly outdated one, in my intensity i accidentally knock my all lives matter mug off the table. it spills the blue paint i was drinking all over the floor.

“Oh no!” i say, capitalizing the first letter and ending with an exclamation point in real life.

i look down only for a moment to clean up my mess, and by the time i look back at my screen, i see that someone has answered my anon hate. this had better be good. i even made sure to use the word whore, which is #3 on my slur list

to my dismay it looks like they just posted some stupid meme of cody. i sigh. courtneys war crimes go unchecked yet again. i stroke the picture of gwen i have in my locket. it makes me feel better. maybe theres some new content for her in the tag. . .

i open up a tumblr search and scroll around a bit, passing what looks like hieroglyphs and a random picture of fondant, but i’m only ever searching for one thing. the chance to avenge her. i refresh. there at the top, a brand new post reads; ‘hey guys. gwen stinky’. i take a deep breath and try to keep going. i take another large swig of paint to calm my nerves down.

hey, whats this? i have a new ask! but i havent sent any more death wishes today. . .

the message takes me off guard. its short and concise. “draw trent justin spa art please.” i stare at it for a moment, trying to register what it could mean, when i suddenly receive another. 

“trustin Spa now. 😡” i wonder quietly to myself if they have the wrong person. before i can think of what to respond with, i see yet another ask. i refresh, assuming its them, but to my disappointment its another anon hate response. this time im met with a poorly edited meme of gwen confessing to war crimes. i had forgotten, id asked someone for a character tier list last sunday. i didnt think theyd catch on so fast. with every passing day, my notoriety grows, and the loyalty to my queen becomes harder to bear. . .

my mind goes back to my previous contact. i decide to go back into the tags and see if there’s anything to make sense of this. there i see it, hate blog after hate blog, anon after anon. i sit back in awe at the craftsmanship and dedication. the crackhead energy actually makes my heart skip a beat. my gwen locket clinks against my chest as i reread their absolutely spot on death threats, sprinkled in emojis.

what is this feeling. . . am i impressed or . . . something else. . . ? i shake my head, going back to my askbox and preparing to finally type a response. i try multiple times, but i cant figure out what to say. just when all hope seems lost, i realize what i have to do. i have to make my own move. i get into typing position.

“Do you think gwen deserves to die? Is she a monster? Is the name Courtney kind of whoreish?” i hit post. my heart races. i wait for a response as patiently as i can, on the edge of my seat until i Finally see my askbox light up.

“all i want is trustin spa”. i settle back into my chair, staring wistfully at the ceiling. finally, ive found someone who can accept the truth without a fight. their passion inspires me. i know in my soul what i have to do. . . i get out my sketchbook and start on a trustin spa piece, working with as much effort and swiftness as i can. ive never been more passionate about a project before. i cannot wait to show them, that is until i get another message. . .

this one is unfamiliar. in fact, it might throw a wrench in my entire plan to woo my anon, as it appears to be a callout. the only problem is, i didnt do the thing im being cancelled for this time! with confusion, my eyes scan it one more time. . .

“i used to really respect and admire you but i have no idea why you would make up a rumor about amegaotaku being a Zionist. it’s not true so leave her the fuck alone.“

[miraculousmarifan]

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 8: Blind Date

A prompt from @felinettenovember

Part of me imagined a reversed version of the art for this prompt by @emzurl, where they’re leaning together in interest instead! Check that out if you have time!

Aged up AU, I’m picturing early 20s.

Chat!Felix, and Felix is completely unrelated to the Agrestes, just friends with Adrien. 

Around 1500 words

Felix was always early to events and a blind date was no exception. He couldn't believe that Adrien wouldn't even tell him the girl's name, let alone see a picture. "It'll feel more like a natural meeting if you don't know anything beforehand!" and "Isn't it more romantic if all you know is she's wearing a red top and black scarf?" Right Adrien. Because that makes a blind date sooooo much more natural. I would never take a girl to this nice of a restaurant for a first date either. It's obviously better to do something like tea or coffee so we can part quickly if needed.

Felix’s brain stopped so suddenly when he entered the restaurant that he nearly fell as his body ground to a halt. A few tables behind the host stand, near a window, was a lovely woman in a red dress with a black scarf. She had an open book and a flower with her, looking very much like she was waiting for someone before ordering food. He had shown up 15 minutes before the agreed on time to give him time to settle in before she got there. She appeared to have been here for a few minutes already, drink in hand (is that a teacup?) and looking out the window. He had brought a flower for her, to make a good impression, and it happened to be the same kind. Had Adrien told her all about me to make her first impression better?

With a quick word to the host that he believed he saw his date, he began walking towards her chosen table. As he approached, he realized the book was actually a sketchbook. An artist… interesting…

"Hello. I'm supposed to be meeting someone here for a blind date. You wouldn't happen to be waiting as well, would you?" Felix tried to smile warmly, hoping that he hadn't just interrupted a random woman for no reason as he stood across the table from her, one hand on the chair back. She looked over him critically, processing how his green tie fit with the rest of his black and white ensemble, then eying the flower in his hand before answering him.

"I am waiting for someone. Were you given a name for your date?" She cocked her head, smiling gently at him. Felix flushed. Had Adrien given her his name and not vice versa? What about the romance of it? His empty hand reached up to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Actually the friend that set this up didn't tell me her name. He said it would be more like a natural meeting if I didn't know anything about her coming in…" he stared down at the chair in front of him. He could feel the warmth radiating from his face as his smile turned uncomfortable. She laughed. A beautiful sound that drew his eyes up to her face.

"I actually don't know my date's name either! My friend thought it would be more romantic if we just met and connected 'naturally,' even if it was staged! I'm so glad to know we’re in the same boat," she giggled out, a bright genuine smile and a small flush in her cheeks. Felix relaxed, coming to the same conclusion. "I'm sure there wouldn't be two blind dates set up here with almost no information given about the other person! I will admit though that I managed to pry out that you were blond so I could at least rule out anyone with darker hair."

Felix pulled out the chair and sat down across from her, setting the flower on the table between them and leaning on his elbows. Then he thought better of it and held out a hand, "I'm Felix."

"Marinette," her small hand settled into his for a small shake. Felix felt like he could soak up these smiles forever. Oh goodness, I'm already being as sappy as Adrien. The blush in her face increased slightly as Felix held her hand a little too long, still thinking about her smiles. He snapped back to attention and released it, pulling his hand all the way back to his chest and looking away to clear his throat.

"So you're an artist of some type?" Felix hated the awkwardness in his voice but needed to distract from his embarrassment somehow. She appeared startled at his question. 

"Yes… sort of… how did you… oh. Ha. The sketchbook on the table. Yes, I'm a fashion designer, or at least I'm training to become one," she smiled softly again, gently closing her sketchbook and setting it down in her purse before turning her full attention back, elbows resting on the table. "By the way, I like your choice in tie. Themed for our local heroes, I presume?"

She was definitely referring to the small cat prints along one edge of the otherwise plain green tie. It was a gift from Ladybug some time back and the only green tie he owned. Since his date was expecting green and it was fairly subtle unless specifically looked for, he thought it would be appropriate to wear this rather than buy a new one. If he had anticipated a fashion designer, he probably would have bought a new tie… 

"It is actually. A friend made it for me and I thought it might bring me some luck today," Felix smoothly replied, hoping it would appease her critical eye. She grinned slyly, as though she had an inside joke.

"I'm sure your friend would be happy to lend you some luck. And I imagine Chat Noir would be pleased to be represented too," Marinette’s smile deepened and Felix began to feel like a mouse being toyed with by a cat… 

"I'm sure he'd be paws-itively tickled," he hoped the joke would turn her attention away. This felt a little too close to home, even if she couldn't possibly know who made this.

"Did you just make a pun?" She looked shocked. Felix laughed at her expression and the waiter interrupted to inquire about food orders. After placing their orders, the two fell back into easy conversation.

Engaged as they were with the other's company, both missed the entrance of a blond man carrying a large bouquet of flowers. He checked his watch before looking around the room. Not seeing a woman waiting alone with flowers, he was seated at a table further in the dining area, adjacent to the pair.

The entrance of a young woman in a red blouse with a skirt and small black scarf was also missed by the pair five minutes after the originally agreed upon meeting time, however her scan of the dining room had different results than the man's. She swiftly approached the table where Felix and Marinette were talking and holding a single hand across the table.

"Felix! I'm sorry you had to wait for me! I hope you weren't here long! Who is your friend?" The new woman placed her hand on his arm, scrutinizing Marinette. Marinette studied the two with evident confusion. Felix shot an annoyed scowl at the interloper, then slowly removed her hand from his arm. It didn't take him long to put two and two together.

"I'm sorry but I think you have the wrong person. My name isn't Felix," he responded quickly, schooling his expression into a more neutral (though still annoyed) expression. She blinked a few times. Marinette’s confusion turned to suspicion. Hopefully Adrien doesn't kill me for this… "My name is Claude and I'm currently having a phenomenal time with my date so if you wouldn't mind going away, it'd be appreciated."

"Oh… Really? I'm sorry! I mistook you for someone else!" She turned and walked back up to the host stand to ask about another blond man wearing a green tie. Figures that he'd send me out with one of his gullible coworkers. Felix turned his attention back to Marinette with a satisfied grin.

"Claude huh?" Marinette had an eyebrow raised at him, clearly noticing that his story didn't add up. 

"I am definitely having too good of a time with you to cut this off and go eat with a random woman I've never met before. Would you rather I rectify this and go on a date with her so you can find your rightful man?" He put as much bravado into his tone as manageable but his eyes were glued to her, anticipating her answer. If she wanted him to leave so she could find her original date, he would. He would hate it but for her, he'd do it.

"No. I prefer this. If I had to guess, that guy over there--" Marinette subtly gestured to bouquet man "-- was probably supposed to be mine and you seem much more interesting. You definitely have better taste in clothes." She delivered this with a wink that made Felix’s heart skip a beat.

"Can I get your phone number too then?" he blurted out and blushed. He wanted to see her again, possibly every day. Marinette leaned forward with a devilish smile.

"Is Felix your real name?" He gulped as he saw how close she was. She's dangerous… I might just get addicted to her teasing… 

"Of course…" his mouth was so dry that the words were just above a whisper. She smiled and put a hand out for his phone. Dangerous isn’t a strong enough word for her...

[tinkerd]

Interview with Anne Both & David Litchfield first published on www.readingzone.com

A SHELTER FOR SADNESS TEMPLAR PUBLISHING JANUARY 2021

A SHELTER FOR SADNESS is a profound and moving picture book about how a young boy manages his feelings of sadness, not by ignoring them but in giving his sadness the space, care and thought that it needs. We asked author ANNE BOOTH to tell us what inspired the picture book, and illustrator DAVID LITCHFIELD about how he approached the illustrations: Q: What for you are the key ingredients for a great picture book? ANNE: For me, the words have to leave room for the pictures, the pictures have to capture the feeling of the words and extend the story, and both the words and the pictures have to be the best they can be for the demands of that book - be it a funny or a sad book or any other type. DAVID: Oof! that is a BIG question. I'm still trying to work that one out if I'm honest. For me what I personally love about picture books is that you can be transported to the furthest part of someone's imagination but still recognise yourself, and the world, in its pages. It's escapism but also empathy. It's crazy looking animals and creatures but they are experiencing some of the most human emotions of all. There are so many different ingredients that go into these books. But for me I think the ultimate goal is to tell a story that connects with children in the most imaginative way possible. Q: Can you tell us what you wanted to achieve in this book, about how we deal with sadness? ANNE: I hoped it would be good for both children and adults, and that it would help them cope with the type of sadness which stays with us and has to be coped with alongside everyday life. I wanted children to be told that they can build their sadness a shelter as early as possible, as I think that telling children to be 'resilient' (which is a good thing in itself) can sometimes be abusive - it can sometimes really be just saying 'don't tell us you are sad, even though as adults we are doing things which make you sad'. I think children have lots of things to be sad about - big and little things - and learning to build a shelter for their sadness can, paradoxically, help them have permission and space to be happy. DAVID: My hope for the book was to get children - and adults - to talk more about their emotions and how they are feeling. Don't just bundle them up inside. It's important to recognise how you are feeling, recognise that it's there and it exists. And talk it through with someone. A parent or a teacher, or just someone that you trust. The worst thing we can do as human beings is pretend that these feelings are not real and that we should just get over it. Q: Was there one thing that helped inspire the text? ANNE: Yes. I went to a talk at my church, and the speaker quoted this passage from Etty Hillesum; 'Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge - from which new sorrows will be born for others - then sorrow will never cease in this world. And if you have given sorrow the space it demands, then you may truly say: life is beautiful and so rich.' (Esther 'Etty' Hillesum (15 Jan 1914 - 30 Nov 1943) I wrote our picture book text in response to Etty Hillesum's words, so I was trying to expand on her idea that we need to give shelter to our sorrow / sadness, as I thought she had such a wise and beautiful vision, which was, amazingly, born out of her immense suffering as a Dutch Jewish woman under the Nazis, and someone who would actually die in the Holocaust. It was written as my creative response to her words, so writing it actually helped me to think and pray about my own sadness, and I felt it would be a good picture book, to help people cope with sadness that just can't be fixed, but which we need not to overwhelm us or turn us to hate or bitterness. I loved the idea that if we give shelter to our sadness we can truly say that 'life is beautiful and so rich'. Q: Was it a difficult text to write, as it is so pared back? ANNE: I think that because it came after the talk, and hearing Etty Hillesum's beautiful words, and after meditating on, and praying in response, to them, I didn't actually want to use many words. I wasn't paring back anything as such, I was just trying to find my best response to her words, and the writing of it came all at once, but I think the writing wouldn't have come that way if I hadn't already experienced and thought a lot about sadness for years, and hadn't deeply connected with Etty Hillesum's words. Q: Why did you decide the main character would be a boy? ANNE: As I was writing from my own point of view, and in response to Etty Hillesum, I suppose I thought the narrator might be a girl, but I was open to any interpretation. I'm not sure if it was the publisher or David who decided the main character would be a boy, but I am very happy with that. I hope it speaks to boys and girls, men and women, and I think that there is actually something good about it being a boy, as from a very young age, little boys are told to 'man up' and are put under particular pressure not to cry or express sadness - all part of toxic masculinity - so hopefully this will play a part in countering that and telling boys and girls that there is nothing to be ashamed about being sad. DAVID: I'm not sure how this was decided. For some reason I just instinctively drew a boy when I was sketching the book out. I think that's a case of me very much seeing myself in the character as I was making the book. Perhaps an argument can be made that some boys need more help in facing their emotions than girls. But to be honest, I think I just instinctively recognised myself in that character and drew him as a boy. Q: David, what drew you to this text, why did you want to illustrate it? DAVID: As soon as I read Anne's manuscript I knew that I 100% wanted to be the illustrator. I received the project over two years ago and I couldn't start straight away due to other project commitments. I was so scared that Templar would not be able to wait for me. But I was so happy and relieved that they decided to wait until I had finished the other books I was working on. The text just really connected with me and it stirred up some very raw emotions in me. I also recognised that it would be unlike any book I had ever drawn before and the challenge of creating it was something that I really wanted to take on. Q: How did you decide how to depict Sadness? DAVID: There have been a few really fantastic books recently that depict sadness and other emotions as an actual character. Some of my favourites are 'When sadness Comes To Call' by Eva Eland, 'Me and My Fear' by Francesca Senna, and 'Ruby's Worry' by Tom Percival. All of these handle these sensitive subjects so beautifully and visualise what an emotion could look like in the real world. I see our book very much as a continuation of these series of books and the themes they follow. They were definitely a big influence on me when I was drawing the book. In terms of the look of our Sadness, I came up with a number of ideas in my sketchbook. One was a very ghostly, scary looking thing. The other was a teardrop and one was a cloud. But then I just thought about what a typical six or seven year old might draw if I asked them to visualise their sadness. All these confusing and conflicting emotions might come together and it felt like a really messy, scruffy scribble would fit the bill perfectly. Also, I remember trying to articulate how I felt when I was young and the words just wouldn't come out. So drawing a confusing, mess of emotions just felt right. It's also a really great character to draw. you really do feel like you are getting some emotions out of your system and onto the paper when you draw Sadness. Q: David, Can you tell us how you create your images and that special luminosity in your pages? DAVID: Everything starts in my sketchbook and I will plan the whole book out with lots of scruffy sketches. But once I start making the final artwork I usually begin by making lots of very messy watercolour washes, letting the different colours naturally mix into each other. I will also take photos of other textures such as the bark of a tree, or concrete or the sky. I will then scan all of this into my computer and experiment with overlaying each of them together until I find a look and feel that I like. These will then generally take the form of a background for a spread. The characters and buildings I will usually draw out in my sketchbook and then scan these into my computer also. Using Photoshop I will position these over the backgrounds and add other textures over them and just see what works. Basically, its a lot of experimenting and seeing what works with all these different types of media and textures. The luminosity is just an extension of what my art teachers have always taught me about shade and light. But I do like to play around with light and the atmosphere that can bring to an image. I think I really appreciated the drama of light from watching too many Steven Spielberg films growing up. Q: Do you have a favourite spread? ANNE: I love them all! I think the last page is so, so beautiful and gives me hope, but that is because of all the pages that came before, so I couldn't choose! I think David has done an amazing job - the book is so beautiful. DAVID: I like a lot of them. I love the penultimate page where the boy and sadness are walking through the blooming garden. I like the spread early on where Sadness is going through all of the different ways it is feeling and all the different actions it is taking. But I think my favourite image is the simple one of Sadness and the boy sitting together on the log. They are not saying or doing anything, they are just together and there for each other. That's one of my favourite illustrations I have ever drawn in fact. I love it. Q: Will you be creating any more picture books about emotions? What are you working on now? ANNE: I would love to write more picture books about emotions. I have an idea I am trying to find words for - it isn't coming as easily as A Shelter for Sadness but I hope it can work. I also have a little picture book story I am working on, and I am revising and rewriting a middle grade novel, and am waiting to be given edits for an adult novel and should be starting a second adult novel, so I have lots to be getting on with! DAVID: I hope so. I think I will always try and convey emotion in my books and hope that the reader can recognise their own emotions in these stories. Q: Where is your favourite place to work? ANNE: I work in bed (where I am typing this) and in a little writing hut my husband built me in our garden. I also write sitting on the sofa or at the table. When the pandemic is over, I am so looking forward to working in a coffee shop again! I do find it very helpful, when I have lots of work to do, to go away for a few days, to somewhere like Gladstone's Library in Wales, or beautiful retreats in England or France or Ireland I have been to. DAVID: My favourite place to work doesn't actually exist yet. I would love to create art in a cabin in the woods, surrounded by nature. Unfortunately I haven't found that place yet, but I have hope that I will one day soon. At the minute, due to lockdown, I'm drawing my books in the corner of my bedroom, which is not ideal as I'm quite messy and it's quite a small space. It can get a bit frustrating. But, every once in a while I can pretend that I'm in that cabin in the woods and everything feels right again. Q: Where are you most likely to be found when you're not at your desk? ANNE: Maybe out with my husband, walking our dog, or reading in bed, or sitting watching something lovely - I really appreciate good TV and films and I love watching them with other people. I love chatting with family and friends and visiting them. For a post-pandemic answer, I want to leave my desk and travel to see friends and family. DAVID: Mainly riding my bike with my two sons, or walking our dog Maggie, or listening to music very loudly on my headphones. Thank you Anne and David for joining us on ReadingZone!

See original post here: https://readingzone.com/index.php?zone=sz&page=interview&authorid=623a7c5192eb0909e0d251c44bae33c1

[ghosttotheparty]

cotton candy skies always look better in person

6. also on AO3 chapter five

The wind is cool on Lucas’s neck as he looks down at his phone. The bright green grass of the park he’s in is scratchy on his ankles as he crosses his legs in front of himself.

He has Instagram open, but not his personal account, not the one that Kes and Isa and Liv follow. Not the one with his face and funny captions and comments by his friends. Not the one people know about. 

This one, he started sometime last year, when hiding became too much and needed an outlet, and a diary didn’t work. He never posts pictures of himself (the profile picture is of a Greek statue), and never posts regularly. The captions never really make sense, are never thought out or planned. And the pictures are all of buildings, art, flowers, trees, the skyline of the city, Every last one: black and white. 

Until today. 

The photo he posts isn’t very colourful. It was taken at night, as Jens walked away from him down the street, illuminated by the yellow streetlamps, his arms extended in an impromptu pose as Lucas called, “I’m taking your picture!” The photo was taken seconds before Jens said, “Wait, shit, my bag!” and bolted back to the alley, emerging with his duffel bag hanging off his shoulders and Lucas nearly dropped his phone laughing. Lucas types out a quick caption, nothing thinking as his fingers move across the letters on his screen, posting it to the very few accounts that follow him. 

Lucas sighs, clicking his phone off and tilting his head back to look at the sky. It’s overcast, cloudy, but not gloomy exactly, the sun peeking through gaps in the clouds as they shift and flow above him. He reaches out, picking up a disposable coffee cup, and takes a tentative sip, watching as an old man through the park with a dog. The dog walks slowly for him, and Lucas smiles as he lowers the cup. The coffee isn’t too hot anymore, although his tongue still hurts from when he burned it earlier. He sets the cup on the ground, taking his hand away slowly to make sure it doesn’t fall in the grass, and leans over his legs, picking up his pencil and looking at his sketchbook in front of him. The page is blank, inviting. 

Lucas picks up the sketchbook, setting it on his lap and looks up at the building in front of where he sits, scanning the lawn, the door and windows, the trees, the roof, looking at the people walking past. Glancing back and forth, the building begins to take shape on his paper, light, straight lines stretching across the page. The building looks more geometric on his paper, faint guidelines just visible at every corner, every line rigid and straight, except the scribbles filling spaces for the trees.

This is peaceful, listening to the birds, to the faint sound of people talking across the park, hearing his pencil slide across the paper. Hearing dogs barking, cars passing, wind rustle through the trees. He hears faint laughter by the street and smiles softly. 

He drops his pencil on instinct when he hears his phone buzz, looking at it as it vibrates with the screen alight on top of his bag. At first, he rolls his eyes in annoyance at the interruption, but his face brightens when he reads Jens’s name on his screen.

He beams, leaning over and picking it up, a sudden giddiness glowing through his smile, the same giddiness that glows every time Jens calls, every time he texts, every time Lucas so much as thinks about him.

He pauses before answering, taking a breath, and notices the time before pressing answer and lifting the phone to his ear.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” he asks before Jens can say anything. 

“I’ve got a class in five minutes and I’ve managed to escape my friends for the time being, I have a question!”

Lucas raises his eyebrows and grins as his sudden urgency.

“Ask away,” he says, leaning across his crossed legs and lifting his pencil, looking back at the building as he adds details lightly around the roof.

“Do you have any plans this evening?”

And Lucas drops his pencil again. 

“Uhm…” He thinks, heart pounding in his chest excitedly. “I don’t think so.” And if there are plans, Lucas is more than willing to cancel.

“What do you think about going to that cafe I mentioned?”

“The cake one?” 

“Yeah.” It sounds like Jens is surrounded people, his voice a little breathless. 

“Yeah, I’d love to.” He pauses. “You don’t have a party or anything with your friends?” 

“I—Yeah, there’s a party, but I…” He trails off. “I’d rather be with you, to be honest.” 

Lucas squeezes his eyes shut and grins. 

“Okay.” 

There’s a moment of silence and Lucas can hear people talking and the sound of Jens’s breath and steps as he goes down stairs. He wonders if Jens can hear the birds on his end of the line.

“So yeah?” Jens asks. “I’ll meet you at our spot?” 

Our spot.

“Yeah, what time?” 

“Seven?” 

“That works for me.” 

“Okay.” He can hear Jens’s smile. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight.” “Bye.”

“Bye.

Jens hangs up and Lucas slowly lowers his phone, smiling. He’s going on a date. A real, actual date, with the prettiest boy in Antwerp. The prettiest boy in the universe, really, as far as Lucas is concerned. 

And fuck, if he doesn’t look pretty in a button-down.

“You clean up nice,” Lucas says, reaching out and straightening his collar. Jens flushes under the lamplight, looking away and scratching the back of his head. 

“Thanks.” Jens takes a deep breath, looking Lucas up and down and suddenly Lucas feels self-conscious in his sweater. 

“Am I underdressed?” he asks, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his feet. 

“No, you look good.” Jens is smiling softly. 

“So, where are we going?” “Cafe. Come on.” Jens cocks his head and turns to go down the sidewalk. Lucas joins him, walking at his side silently. It’s already dark out, the street lit up by streetlamps, and Lucas looks up at Jens’s face, seeing his eyes shining in the light. 

“Yes?” Jens looks at him, smiling again.

“You’re pretty.” He looks ahead of himself and hears Jens scoff lightly.

There’s a moment of silence before Jens asks gently, “Can I hold your hand?” and Lucas grins, pulling a hand out of his pocket and holding it between them. Jens laces his fingers with Lucas’s, brushing his thumb over the back of his hand. Lucas sighs happily. 

“So you’d rather get cake with me than go to a fun party?” Lucas asks, and Jens swings their hands slightly.

“I’d rather sit on a dumpster with you than go to a fun party.” “That’s sweet.” Lucas squeezes his hand. 

“If I had gone, though, I probably would have ended up calling you again. 

“Also sweet.” 

Jens lets go of his hand to open the door of the cafe, stepping aside so Lucas can enter. ( Lucas tilts his head and says, “Oh, a gentleman.”) They sit at a small table against the wall, away from the door. There aren’t many other people, an elderly woman near the window with a thick book and thick glasses, and a middle-aged couple sitting in a booth, a small bouquet between them. The lighting is dim, yellow light omitted from hanging overhead bulbs and fairy lights. 

Jens sits against the wall, looking up at Lucas and propping his chin on his hands. 

“Hi,” Lucas says as he sits, copying him. “You know what you want?” 

“Uhm…” Jens scans his face. “I don’t know.” 

Lucas slides the menu next to him across the table and Jens takes it, opening it and looking down. 

“Coffee...Tea...Croissants…” He looks up. “Cafe basics.” 

Lucas laughs, cocking his head, and Jens looks back down at the menu. As Jens continues to read from it quietly, Lucas reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of him. Jens hears and lifts the menu to cover his face, smiling bashfully. 

“Do  you think it’s too late to order a coffee?” Lucas asks, setting his phone on the table. 

“Oh, never.” Jens sets the menu down. “My mother would say yes, but I don’t feel like an herbal tea right now. 

“All I know is I want cake,” Lucas says, spinning the menu to see it. 

“Okay.” Jens snatches the menu and moves it away from him. Before Lucas can protest, Jens is standing. “I’ll surprise you. You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” 

Lucas looks up at him and shakes his head. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Jens leaves to the counter and Lucas sighs, running his hands over his face and smiling. He takes a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, before opening them and grabbing a napkin with one hand and reaching into his pocket with the other, pulling out a pen. He’d almost forgotten the pen on his way out his room. He likes carrying a pen with him, usually doodling on his hands or his ankles as he crosses a leg on top of the other. Other times, he doodles on trash, spare paper or receipts, napkins. The ink is black and light over the soft paper, a small flower taking shape. The lines are rough and sketchy. He tries to do a straight line but stops when the paper almost rips. 

There’s a small square of flowers by the time Jens joins him again, placing a mug in front of Lucas and another across from him. Lucas looks up and drops the pen, but Jens is walking back to the counter. Lucas watches as he lifts two plates and comes back, and moves the mugs and napkin out of the way for the plates. 

“Okay, I’m back now,” Jens says, flopping in his seat. He drops several packets of sugar on the table. “I figured with the cake that you have a sweet tooth, so here.”

Lucas smiles and grabs three, ripping them all together and pouring them into his coffee. 

---

“You’ve got…” Lucas gestures to Jens’s face, suppressing a smile. 

“What?” 

There’s a smudge of chocolate on his cheek, and Lucas hesitates before grabbing another napkin and leaning across the table and carefully wiping his face. Jens lets him, his cheeks and ears turning red. 

“Oh.” 

Lucas giggles and retracts his hand, letting Jens take the napkin.

“You’re an idiot,” Lucas says softly, affectionately, picking up his pen and adding some tiny lines to his doodle of Jens on the napkin. He hears Jens scoff. 

“Fuck you.” There’s laughter in Jens’s voice and Lucas smiles.

“Take me out to dinner first, damn…” 

He finishes the sketch and looks up to see Jens staring at him with a straight face, his lips pressed together. Lucas stares back, trying not to smile, and Jens takes a deep, slow breath, exhaling shakily before bursting out laughing. Lucas laughs, shushing him.

“Shut up!” 

“Sorry, I’m just—” Jens covers his face and turns away. His eyes are squeezed shut and Lucas can hear his short breaths as he laughs, making Lucas laugh harder.

Jens takes a deep breath and lowers his hands, gesturing to the two almost-empty plates of cake between them.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” 

Lucas laughs again, dropping his head against the table, his shoulders shaking. He’s glad there aren’t many people in the cafe. 

“Cake doesn’t count as dinner,” he says, lifting his head.

“What do you mean?” Jens leans in, tilting his head and furrowing his brows. “Anything is dinner if you’re not a coward.”

Lucas snorts and takes another bite of cake. 

“Okay, fine.” He starts to draw more flowers around Jens. He can feel Jens’s eyes on him as he does, and the air has shifted around them slightly, but he ignores it as he feels Jens’s knee press into his under the table.

---

He walks Jens home. Really, he just wants to spend every last second possible with him, but the excuse he says is that Jens was the gentleman at the cafe, and now it’s Lucas’s turn.

They stop outside an apartment building and Jens turns to Lucas, his fingers twisting in Lucas’s so he’s holding their hands between them. Lucas’s eyes flick back and forth between his, both their eyes glistening in the light of the streetlamps.

“I’ll see you on Thursday?” Jens asks after a second. 

“’Course.” 

Jens smiles softly and Lucas watches his mouth as he does, tightening his grip on Jens’s hand, and leans up slightly, bumping their noses together. Jens’s eyes flutter shut.

There aren’t just butterflies, it feels like there’s a flock of birds in his belly. And in his lungs, making it hard to breathe. He can feel Jens’s breath on his face, soft as gusts of wind from a butterfly’s wings.

Nudging their noses together, Lucas leans and turns his head, and presses his lips to Jens’s cheek gently. He can feel Jens’s cheek move as he smiles. 

“I’ll see you Thursday,” he says after kissing his cheek again and Jens nods. 

“Bye,” Jens whispers.

As Lucas walks away and he knows Jens can’t see him, he beams, squeezing his eyes shut. He turns a corner and presses his back to the wall, covering his face with his hands.

He stays there for almost a full minute, breathing deeply, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down. 

The napkin is stuffed in his pocket.

[where-is-francis]

Boys Don’t Cry

Steve Harrington x Male Reader

Request:

Prompt: “I came by your house late at night for advice and you’re dancing in your bedroom to The Cure and, not gonna lie, it’s pretty amusing.”

A/N: And the slowest writer ever award goes to: me. But ok Boys Don’t Cry is one of my favorite songs to dance to in an over-dramatic fashion while I’m alone in my bedroom. And I figured like. Why not.

TW: underage drinking, Guys Bein’ Dudes™️, slight language, you dated Nancy but the sexuality is never specified.

Cliques were always dangerous. You never really fit in with any specific group. Fellow peers at Hawkins had just kind of dubbed you a wanderer. And for as much as the teachers liked you, you found yourself in detention quite a bit. Not because you actually started fights, but pissing off Steve Harrington was one of your favorite hobbies. And when Billy Hargrove moved to town, your focus simply shifted to tormenting him instead.

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the attention. For whatever reason, aggravating each other was the main basis of your friendship.

It was about third period and you’d come in to school late. The secretary noticed you weren’t at roll call for algebra or science, so she called your house. And before you could get to the phone your mother picked up and began screaming at you, whom she just assumed had already left, prompting you to get ready and leave.

The hallways were empty and it was fairly quiet, save for the noises of one of the gym classes going on. Your locker, unfortunately, was in the hall right beside the gym. Squeaks from sneakers and thuds from a dribbling basketball came from behind closed doors. Every time that damned ball hit your head throbbed more, still recovering from the party last night.

Tossing your Walkman inside, you began to grab out one of the books you’d need. English had been boring, but not as laggy as math and science. For a kid who was good with numbers you were surprisingly bad at the two subjects.

A sudden break in your thoughts came when a familiar face spotted yours and began to walk over. You could sense the uneasiness in the way he walked, normally he’d be trying to scare you. With everything in your hands, you nudged the door to your locker closed and waited for him to say something snarky as a greeting.

But he never did.

(E/c) orbs met dark brown ones. The light behind them was gone, now replaced with a sorrowful expression.

“You good?”

“Not really,” he sighed defensively.

“What’s got you—?”

Memories of the party from the night before came back in a blurred montage. Drinking, dancing, smoking, laughing, making out, repeat. You didn’t remember much, but at one point Nancy spilled her drink and went to the bathroom. What seemed like five hours later, Steve was pissed and ended up leaving.

“Oh, shit.” You visibly cringed.

“Look, I’m going to go talk to her.”

“It’s a wasted effort, man.” You reasoned. “Coming from somebody who’s been with her, just trust me.”

He always went to you for advice when it came to her. Nancy Wheeler was a very complex person, but you two dated for a while, and you kind of knew everything. A breakup came after about ten short months when you grew apart, but after a bit of a chat you two decided to stay friends.

The brunette shook his head slightly and glared. Reaching a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, he muttered something about just getting it over with. You opened your mouth to speak just when the secretary stepped out, a less than pleased look on her face.

“(L/n), you better get to class before you end up with another detention. You too, Harrington.”

A small smirk crossed your features. “Aww, that’d be such a shame, huh?”

Steve quickly sauntered off, presumably to talk to Nancy, and you were left with the secretary. The look in her tired eyes that reached your own pleaded for you to just shut up and go to class.

“They aren’t paying me enough for this,” she groaned.

The smirk on your face morphed into a full shit-eating grin, then prompting you to make your way down the hall and into your English class. Just another average day would follow, nothing out of the ordinary.

Later that evening as you got home, you decided it would be best to unwind and listen to music. Nobody else was home, your parents both at work, so that meant you could do pretty much whatever you wanted. Reaching your beat up door, you began to tug your denim jacket off and toss it onto the chair in the corner.

Everything about the room was overdone; posters adorned the off-white walls, the pictures overlapping at times, and stickers thrown onto the closet door. Two large bookshelves were filled to the brim with your music collection, some sketchbooks, and whatever other junk you had that couldn’t be left on the floor.

Nancy always hated your room but that was to be expected. It didn’t bother you much, you’d rather be at her house anyways.

You shut the door and began to change into something a bit more comfortable, wondering what you’d do with yourself for the remainder of the night. Ordering a pizza sounded pretty good, considering nobody was home and you didn’t want to cook. Most nights alone you’d end up watching TV, playing video games, and then crash at about 2 AM. A vicious cycle, one you never grew tired of.

Without thinking, you reached over and grabbed your phone from the receiver and dialed Steve’s number. It seemed like a good idea at the time, the two of you could hang out for a bit without getting yelled at.

Last time he was over, your parents came home earlier than anticipated and found the two of you sat on the couch, drunk, reading through the phone book (for whatever reason), only to just lose your shit whenever you saw a name that sounded even mildly amusing.

The phone rang a few times before eventually being picked up.

A sigh could be heard. “What?”

“Hey, loverboy. I’m ordering pizza tonight. You wanna come over and hang out?”

“Are we going to get our asses ripped this time?” The brunette retorted.

A fake laugh came from you. “That was one time, so are you coming or not?”

There was a minute long pause between you two. No matter how much you annoyed each other, you were one of his weaknesses. And pizza was something that he couldn’t say no to.

“Fine, but—”

“Great! See you in a few.” You chirped and practically smashed your phone back onto the base.

Steve lived only a couple streets down from you. You met back at the beginning of elementary school, both of you riding the same bus. Neither you, nor him, could really remember when you started to consider the other a ‘friend’. But it mainly had something to do with him and Nancy being a couple.

Since she and you dated before and were still close friends, somehow you ended up becoming the marriage counselor along the way.

But hey, the more the merrier, right?

Your mind couldn’t help but drift sometimes. Steve was pretty cute in your eyes, even with his weird hair. Generally the same taste in music, shows, movies, and obviously the same taste in girls. And although he was stupid (sometimes), he was a good dude.

It wouldn’t take long for him to reach the house. In the meantime you decided it would be best to put in the order for the pizzas. A quick call to the nearest shop, and they’d deliver it as soon as it was done.

After scanning through some music, you finally settled on one: a mixtape of your favorite songs from The Cure. You popped it in with no hesitation and set your player to max volume. The intro to Siamese Twins rang out in your bedroom, the beat eventually making all of the furniture thud in perfect time. Glass window panes shook as well, you’d probably have the neighbors complaining in the morning.

Your feet guided you around the house aimlessly as you searched for something to drink, the sound of music becoming more muffled as you entered the kitchen. It reminded you of the party a few nights ago, but far less stuffy. And with better music.

“I chose an eternity of this; like fallen angels, the world disappeared,” you sang slightly to yourself as you rummaged through the cabinets.

Nothing.

Onto the fridge, stocked full of Coke and other stuff you didn’t much care for. Nobody

Meanwhile, down the street, Steve could hear loud music coming from your street. Which was odd, if there was a party he would’ve known about it. Upon further inspection he realized it was coming from your house. The sun was already starting to set behind said abode, nestling itself deeper and deeper into the rows of houses that occupied the area.

The Harrington boy stepped a bit closer and took in the view; your house covered in orange and red tinted leaves, the living room and kitchen lights shining through their respective windows. Your silhouette moved about inside, gracefully, to the beat. Almost like a shadow with perfectly fluid movements.

His focus shifted to the porch lights, then the door, the doorbell, and back again. He only assumed your parents weren’t home but he wasn’t sure, although with as loud as the music was, ringing the doorbell or knocking wouldn’t have done any good anyways. It took him a bit to move, then walking around to the darkened backyard where he counted the windows.

The first one was your parents’ room (he learned the hard way), the second belonged to the bathroom, and finally, the third was the entrance to your bedroom. He glanced down, careful not to step on the flowers, then maneuvered his way around to find a spot where he could see through the gap blinds. What he got was something out of a renaissance painting.

You with your mom’s pearl necklace and matching earrings draped carelessly, your shirt all the way unbuttoned, and a wine glass in your hand. To top it all off, your hair was a mess, but complemented the askew lipstick that painted your lips. Your hips swayed back and forth in a graceful yet drunken manner. Inside, Boys Don’t Cry came on the stereo.

Each step you took was calculated to sync with the beat, the only thing that could’ve made it more amusing was if you would’ve been wearing heels.

“What is that moron doing?”

“I would say I’m sorry

If I thought that it would change your mind

But I know that this time I have said too much,

Been too unkind,”

You sang along, a slurred version not being heard by the other male as he watched from the window. Brown eyes were fixated on your form as you leapt up onto the bed, forcing a bit of a stumble from yourself. After almost toppling over, you continued on.

“I tried to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies

I tried to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes cause—”

“Boys… don’t cry.” Steve finished.

In the midst of the dancing spree you turned and locked eyes with said boy. The room was swaying about and took a minute to stop, your vision focusing on him. Each step you took closer to the window made your knees feel weaker, but somehow you managed to pull the screen up to let the other boy in.

The room was almost like a time capsule; nothing really moved or touched since the last time he’d been there, the only difference being the clothes that had been strewn across the floor. Sudden weight on the bed caused it to dip behind him. When he turned, your body was draped gracefully across the dark (color) sheets. Almost something out of an erotic painting, the clash of textures and colors alike.

Originally, the plan had been to come to wallow in self pity and ask for advice about Nancy. Now all he could think about was you, tipsy, singing along to music so loud it would rival an actual concert.

“You—you want a sip?” You shouted over the lyrics, somewhat slurred.

Steve thought about it for a minute, taking glances at your extended hand every so often. A slight sigh escaped him, then taking the glass and downing whatever was left. He started coughing and gagging as a result of the cheap liquor hitting, but didn’t care too much to do anything besides wipe his mouth off.

Everything in that moment was fuzzy, and loud, and warm. Time was stopped for you two. Nothing really mattered except the exact moment you were living in. Not some dumb party, not some spoiled suburban girl, and most certainly not being sober.

Steve’s hands fell to his hips. The newfound anxiety on his face made you wonder, but still too afraid to ask.

“Is there more to drink?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen… come on.”

Everything that happened afterwards became a blur of colors and muffled noises. Almost like going under anesthesia in the hospital, you couldn’t really remember what went on until something triggered it. And from then on you’d spend your time wondering if it was real or not, trying so hard to distinguish a vivid dream from a drugged reality.

One thing happened to stand out. The single thing you could remember.

Not so many hours later, bottles of liquor had been spread across the floor and the lights turned off. The music that once blared and annoyed the neighbors was turned down now, a much softer volume. Melodic hums came from your lips as Steve ranted about Nancy. The party, it was all because of the stupid party.

“— and, I mean, I apologized. Me. Steve fucking Harrington.”

After what seemed like four rounds too many, his speech was slurred.

Steve buried his face in his hands.“I don’t know what I did wrong…”

“You didn’t do any-anything wrong, man. Nancy just... has a stick up her ass, nothing new.” You assured him with a soft shove to the shoulder.

Your eyes met for a brief moment, his hands sliding down the sides of his face. A pitiful laugh found its way from his throat, soon after turning into something far more maniacal. Something about the situation was funny to you as well.

But not what you had said about Nancy, no. What made you laugh was the look on this idiot’s face, perfectly illuminated by the neighbor’s porch lights. How he slid down deeper onto your floor, ribs aching from giggling too hard. Though he was drunk, the smile plastered on his face was genuine.

Two separate roars were only extinguished after a few minutes, but at the time it felt like hours. You attempted to regain your composure but it was hard when his face was right next to yours. Once perfect brown hair was now askew, the result of the perfect night in. Eyes in the color to match brimmed with tears from laughing, something he felt like he hadn’t done in a while. Nearly perfect skin and perfect lips almost begging for some action; it was too amazing.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you wanted to make out with me…”

It took a minute for his words to sink in. Even in the dark he could see the red flush rise to your cheeks. You swallowed a bit, hand rising to comb through (h/c) locks anxiously. Harsh shadows covered your (s/c) face but even then Steve could still tell you were biting your lip.

It seemed he had his answer.

“Oh,”

“Yeah, oh,” you mirrored.

Everything happened what felt like hours later, but at the same time, all at once. Your bodies had been forced together, the taste of long forgotten cheap wine playing on your tongues. His hands reached up to tangle gently in your hair, all while yours gripped desperately at the lapels of his denim jacket.

The kiss was soft and messy, but whether it was the alcohol’s fault or the fact he was nervous was anybody’s guess. For whatever reason, Steve expected it to feel different but it didn’t. The kiss was just that; a kiss. Not a kiss with a boy, just a kiss.

Clumsily, he straddled your lap to get a better angle. It still felt the same. The time had come to an end, your lungs begging for air, forcing the two of you to pull back. His shoulders heaved, the room only being filled now with the slight sound of you both panting.

(E/c) hues opened to take in the view. Steve Harrington straddling your lap, breathless, disheveled, only being lit by the light that came through the window. The grip you had on his jacket slowly loosened, only to be stopped by his hand on yours. Red lipstick that once adorned your lips was now shared. The Cure that played in the background had finally come to a complete stop. But the gaze Steve had on your lips didn’t, especially when he began to lean in again.

“Don’t tell Nancy,”

[bowldeepfannish]

Fanart commision: scene from the Sailor Moon Shakespeare pastiche AU titled All The World’s Stage being developed by  @coppercrane2​​  . She’s the most Penguin Lady of them all and one mighty pillar of the SenshixShitennou corner in the Sailor Moon fandom. ---> @ssrevminibang Feasting on the juicy plot previews and picking each other’s brains was a delight and the highlight of my Summer <3. Thank you so much Charlie <3.

All handmade traditional in pencil , just scanned and sepia-ed to enhance that Renaissance period feel a-la Da Vinci sketchbook.

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INFO AND #SYMBOLISM ahoy (inner history nerd unleashed alert!)  so buckle up XDDD

Jupiter/Makoto (aka Viola) Capulets-Prada is here disguised as a (male) page ‘Cesario’ in the Montague-Moschino-Gucci (M-M-G for short) noble household, in order to investigate the murder of her parents. The M-M-G clan is likely involved in the murder but the lady is determined. Keep your friend close and your (likely) enemies closer? Yep.

The Montagues’ first son and heir Nephrite/Orsino ‘s troubledar (and also his UST) is pinging at the new page. Dun dun dun dunnnn.

While ‘Cesario’ is at it he tries to polish his fencing and fighting skills too, to the delight of Montague cadet’s branch cousin and blades wizard  Zoisite/Benvolio. Hence the dagger&swords lesson in their inner yard depicted in the above art happens. Orsino closely watches them on the ground while his sister Rei/Beatrice Montague gazes at the trio from her chamber window on the first floor >D.

Clothes, heraldic motifs and stonemasonry for the scene above are a mix of both authentical late medieval/early Renaissance refs, plot clues hidden in  plain sight and a nod to the source characters >D.

- butterfly/moth & flame motifs, heraldry for the Montague-Moschino-Gucci are peppered all over the picture:

1) moth to flame, anyone? It ‘s a nod to desires and ambitions of more than one kind in the fic, and a sign of danger. 2) moths partake with the meaning of butterflies but also bring a note of ambivalence compared to the diurnal, pretty butterflies. (They’re both awesome :P ).  3) flame: It brings light and warmth but also destroys. Ditto on passion! Also nod to Mars/Rei. 4) moths were also a signature Gucci feature in one of their recent-ish fashion collections so it seemed a perfect fit for the Montague-Moschino-Gucci family crest :P.

- spring (?) water well:

1) a private and handy source of drinkable water is a major boon in an era without tap water and no plumbing and hit-and-miss sewers. Another sign of status & luck. Plus water symbolism!

The water bucket is there but hidden behind the central character. We just see the rope attached to it. --> Things hidden in plain sight, the dive for truth at the botton of the well/under the surface.. and thirst in more ways than one X°D.

2) nod to Ami/Portia being part of the M-M-G family (married into).

3) water inside the well, flame motifs bas-relief outside to surround it, a metal moth on top of the well... yes all these bits are there and placed just like that and there for a reason. The whole metalwork atop the well included. Start speculating my darlings >D. 4) there is more but see point 3).

- swords & dagger:

1) if you are a novice daggers are better/more effective a weapon than futzing with a rapier. 2) Zoisite/Benvolio loves shiny stabby things :P . In any universe he values the aesthetic. To thyne own Extra self be true. Also him: dagger vs rapier? Why choose one?  :P

- hair/hairdo (or lack thereof):

for all the variance of styles in history strictly speaking for many centuries no respectable woman would go around with her hair down and loose.

Hence Rei’s hair at the window is properly braided and covered ( also a little nod to Olivia Hussey in Zeffirelli’s movie adaptation of Romeo & Juliet ) . Makoto/Viola here is disguised as a boy hence she let her hair down to blend with the males in the household + that combined with the ruffled collar helps disguising her lack of an Adam’s apple 8D .

Zoisite is still tying his hair in his trademark canon ponytail also because he’s such a wild walking genderbent Rapunzel his locks would get in the way of fencing XDD.

- hats (or lack thereof):

Nephrite/Orsino hates, hates, hates that cumbersome poofy embroidered hat. But for all his discomfort he’s a Good Kid (Mama Beryl/Tamora is a stickler for heraldic paraphernalia and power dressing) and as the first son and designated heir he gotta.

Rei wears her headband/hair cuff and and ribbons interlaced in her braid like a proper refined aristocrat young lady of means.

Zoi should probably wear some sort of hat and also tie his shirt laces but he can’t be bothered plus he’s from  the cadet branch: he’s gotta play such a non playing straight card whenever it suits him amirite :P

- miscellaneous wall work: it recycles elements from previous buildings, preferrably Romans. Includings choice bits from Antiquity in your very building was as much a sign of status (Roman Empire mystique!) as sometimes a necessity due to lost techniques/expensive exotic materials.

- lozenges/trellis window glass and decorated ceramic + ornamental bricks framing the window: very period. A handful of such windows still survive 50 metres from my house :P.   XV century Italian goodness <3. I actually sneaked a tad of late XIX century feel in too :P (medieval-ish Art Nouveau architecture is quite a thing where I live).

- glimpse of Rei’s chamber: carved and painted wooden ceilings, tapestry (landscapes with castles and/or mythological themes usually) hanging on the wall for both decor and shielding from drafts belonged to the noble class taste of the period ( a rather long period and large area in the Westt... much beloved in the middle ages up to well into the Tudors’ era at least :). Sometimes if you could not hang tapestries you would commision trompe l’oeil of tapestries :D ) .

A repeat of the pics as sometimes Tumblr doesn’t display the top pic in pic posts  for me :°D. Thank you for reading if you have made it to the end!

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I am looking foward to the published fic. Thak you so much again for this fantastic commission chance Charlie I loved working on this :,). -------- my twitter

[picturebookmakers]

Marika Maijala

In this post, Marika talks about ‘Ruusun matka’ (Rosie’s Journey), her wonderfully fresh debut picturebook as an author and illustrator, published in Finland by Etana Editions. She talks openly about her intimate creation process, and the challenges of writing.

Visit Marika Maijala’s website

Marika: When writing this blog post, I am completely stuck in my writing process. I am trying to write a new story, but it keeps escaping me. Actually, even this blog post makes me a bit nervous, because it is a story as well: How did the book turn out the way it did?

Rosie and the race dogs in ‘Rosie’s Journey’ (Etana Editions, 2018)

My first picturebook as an author was ‘Rosie’s Journey’. It’s the story of a race dog, who runs away from the race track to find a place where she can run the way she likes to. Now, as I am struggling with my writing, I have returned to this project often and tried to figure out how I did it. It is hard to reach, as now, looking at it after a couple years have gone by, I only remember chaos, randomness and doubt, exactly the same feelings I am having now. I think I need to go further back to see how it started.

I remember sitting in a book meeting in a publisher’s office a few years back. We were discussing a forthcoming book project. There were two stories on the table, and the publisher asked which would I rather illustrate, this other story, or this one, with two happy dogs? I remember replying immediately: “the one with happy dogs”. The other story got selected, and it turned out to be a great book, but I think that deep inside of me I only want to draw happy dogs. In the end I even made a very stupid story for myself about four dogs driving around in their car. They are happy.

So maybe that’s why the main character in my first authored book is a dog. She just appeared in my sketchbook one day. Here is the first sight of Rosie. She seems happy.

This was a new notebook – an A3 Moleskine I had bought on one Interrail trip in Italy, and I carried it all the way home through Europe; how stupid. Especially as it was still empty after two years. That was a time when I was very tired of my work. I had illustrated children’s books for over a decade, worked with wonderful writers and received nice reviews for my illustrations. But I felt I didn’t really enjoy drawing. I used computer a lot, because I didn’t trust my drawing skills. So I took out this huge notebook and started scribbling, messing around. Drawing badly. Pictures came out. They were bad, but I enjoyed making them.

Around that time, I was selected for a masterclass with some other Finnish illustrators. Our teacher was Kitty Crowther, whom we all admired very much, so this was a special weekend for all of us. January was cold that year in Helsinki, and the course took place in a spooky old house by the sea. We were running on the frozen sea and making all kinds of exercises to free our creation and find our inner stories.

That weekend, I showed my new drawings for the first time to other people and got encouraged by the feedback I received from Kitty and other illustrators. Maybe I really was going in the right direction? We still often talk about this weekend with those artists, and looking back at it now, I think it was an important turning point for many of us. For me it was.

This is one of the drawings I did on the course. I still look at it when I am having a bad day, or I feel lost. Depending on the day, I am either the lion or that person getting eaten by the lion.

More drawings of Rosie started to appear in my notebook. I dared to show them to my publishers Jenni Erkintalo and Réka Király at Etana Editions. They were also encouraging and said that there was a story building up. I think it has always been difficult for me to see value in my work and ideas; this is why having friends and colleagues whom I can trust has been so important. When I doubt, they say just go ahead. I try to do the same for them. Through this whole process I was not alone, and so many decisions concerning the images and the story we made together with Jenni, Réka as well as the editor Kirsikka Myllyrinne, who encouraged me to keep the story very simple.

Here we get to the point where I always struggle: the story. When I was forced, I was able to produce this synopsis for the book:

The story goes: First, Rosie runs at the stadium, then she runs to escape the stadium, and in the end, she runs with friends because she wants to. And at the turning point, she stops. How did this scribble grow into a picturebook with 25 spreads (normally the picturebooks I illustrate have about 12 spreads)?

I think this book grew out of drawing – the joy of drawing. In a way, this is the content of the story as well, to find your own way of being, your own expression. For Rosie it is running, maybe for me it is drawing. And when I found the enjoyment in drawing, I got enough courage to finally write the words too, which so often escape me.

And maybe, in the end, it was just about finding the right tools for drawing. I remember an exercise from Kitty’s course, in which we were drawing, eyes closed, only feeling the paper, and the pen touching the paper. I really love how the crayon feels
 on this particular type of paper. And funnily enough, to approach a visual task through some other sense than vision, helped me to create an image I felt was also interesting to look at.

Drawing in these notebooks was a very physical act: I filled five of them, drawing dozens and dozens of pictures. Also, scanning the images from these books required some patience as they are large, heavy and annoying to handle.

One of my crayon boxes is an old Russian box of chocolates given to me by Finnish writer Hannu Mäkelä. We have made many books together. He is also the creator of my favourite books from childhood: the ‘Herra Huu’ (Mr. Boo) series.

It is quite an exhausting method to search for the story through drawing. I guess I sort of needed to live the story myself, to know how it goes. There are a large amount of drawings that did not end up in the final book. But I think I still needed to draw them.

Life on and under the bridge in a sketch for ‘Rosie’s Journey’. Unpublished.

Rosie makes a leap. Unpublished.

I don’t like to put morals in my stories, because who am I to teach anyone. I would rather let people find their own meanings in the story. Maybe I am more trying to find out about things myself, I have questions in mind, not answers. And some questions get answers during the process, some don’t.

Maybe the questions in this story were: What is it to be happy? What is it to be free? What is keeping us from doing things we love? Why do we hurt, imprison and enslave each other: humans, animals? Can I do something? If I save myself, what happens to the others? What can be discussed in a children’s book?

In the story, I combined my own history and happenings during the past few years with the story of a real rescue dog, Rosie. My friend saved her from a bad place and took her to her home, where she lived peacefully with three other dogs. She was a hound dog, just like Rosie in the book, the most elegant creature I have ever seen. I thought that maybe through my experiences I was able to understand her, that there are feelings, desires, experiences, all living creatures share.

An early sketch for ‘Rosie’s Journey’.

Race depot in ‘Rosie’s Journey’.

This I try to keep in mind when I draw and write children’s books: we share so many things, even with those we think we don’t share anything with at all. In a way I want to stress that, as much as we are and will always be focused on our own little lives, and the ups and downs in them, there are millions of others doing the same thing. And these ups and downs are very precious for those experiencing them. Kindness I also like a lot.

A sketch from my Italy notebook.

I love to watch people and animals doing their things. At the stations, in malls and supermarkets. On the streets and in the parks.

The train station in ‘Rosie’s Journey’.

I love to draw so many details in my illustrations that they often almost steal the story. Or they become the story, which actually I don’t mind. Something I really was fighting against in Rosie’s story as well was its linearity, the basic narrative structure it follows. Maybe I was trying to show options of where the story could go. Or that in a way our stories depend on other stories.

Spring in the city from my second authored picturebook ‘Suden hetki’ (Etana Editions, 2020).

People and animals living their lives in ‘Joulu juksaa’ (Etana Editions, 2019), a Christmas story written by Juha Virta and illustrated by me.

For many of the ‘best’ pictures (in my opinion) in ‘Rosie’s Journey’ I don’t have different/alternate versions. The pictures came out in one moment, with no effort, no planning, no pain. I didn’t want to redraw them; they had everything I wanted in them. In a way, I had made it easy for myself, as the concept of the book is so clear: Rosie is just running through different sceneries and settings; all I needed to do was to draw them. The themes – freedom vs imprisonment – I had in my mind and they can be found in the pictures when you study them.

I said that creating the story was a challenge for me. Still, I guess I know what I like in a story. I wanted it to be a simple story. And I didn’t want there to be any big climax in the end. Rosie just finds two friends and they run together. As simply as it sometimes goes in life. But we made a little change in the way of telling things, when the dogs start to run together. Until this point, Rosie has been running alone through large panoramic scenes, in an undefined time. In this important moment, when the dogs find each other, the story time is slowed down, and cut into a sequence of images, like in a film.

Rosie, Siiri and Iida in ‘Rosie’s Journey’.

In a way ‘Rosie’s Journey’ is a classical coming-of-age story, which pictures the growth of a protagonist to selfhood. I think the story became clear to me only when I made the last image. And it really is the last one in the book (although of this portrait there are at least five different versions). Also, the text on the last page was the last thing I wrote in the book. It came after long discussions with many friends, having gone through some small hardships in life, having tried terribly hard to find the right words, and then they came, immediately when I stopped trying:‘I am Rosie’, says Rosie. — ‘Shall we run again?’

There are so many ways we can express ourselves, and no way is above or below. I guess it depends on each of us which we find most important, or dear, easy or hard. I noticed that for me, when making this book, it was important to utter words as well. At first, we had thought with the publishers that it would be a book without words. But to dare to use words, and to use my own words, felt very important to me. Maybe for me, an essential way to express my thoughts and feelings about this life is to combine words and images. A long time after finishing the book, I found this drawing in my childhood home.

“I am Marika Maijala. I am 4 years old, my sister is 7 years, and my mum 8 years.”

I tried to draw a picture of my writer’s block. I am the tall creature piling heavy stones into the hot air balloon. A little girl asks, “What are you doing?”. I am making an easy thing difficult. Instead of just letting the balloon fly, I fill it with stones. Or, maybe I am making the impossible: I’m going to fly with a balloon that really cannot fly. I guess I can choose.

Illustrations © Marika Maijala. Post edited by dPICTUS.

Buy this picturebook

Ruusun matka / Rosie’s Journey

Marika Maijala

Etana Editions, Finland, 2018

Rosie is a race dog. By day she runs at the track. By night she sits in her little room. One day she doesn’t stop at the end of the track. She jumps over the fence and runs away. Rosie keeps running. Where does she go? A sensitive portrayal of a special journey by award-winning illustrator Marika Maijala. This large-format book is Marika Maijala’s debut picturebook as both author and illustrator.

Finnish: Etana Editions

Swedish: Förlaget

French: Hélium

Spanish: SM

Italian: Clichy

Korean: Munhakdongne

Chinese (Simplified): Gingko/Post Wave

Chinese (Traditional): Pace Books

[glorifiedpigeon]

Fluffuary - My Muse and Inspiration

A Loceitmus oneshot for Choice OT3 day! Darren has to clean up yet another one of his best friend's messes. Unfortunately his kinda sorta maybe crush is Remus' brand new mess. Way to go, buddy.

AO3

"Dee, you've gotta help me!" Remus shouted, bursting into the room with a wild expression, the dramatic cape hanging off the shoulders of his frilly waistcoat fluttering with the movement.

"What is it now?" Darren asked with a heavy sigh. He glanced up to see Remus now engaged in a very odd tug of war over his cape with- "Logan Croft?"

"Oh good, you know him!" Remus exclaimed, sounding relieved.

"Ah, Mr. Salazar! I see you're familiar with my muse," Logan announced, and he straightened, fixing the glasses on his face.

"Your muse?" Darren asked, glaring at Remus.

"Loogie, why don't you go draw my face in the other room? I'm sure it's burned into your cranium, yeah?" Remus suggested.

"But the light was hitting you just perfectly ten paces over there, I was hoping-"

"Go draw me as a fish, that sounds fun, huh?" Remus suggested. Logan gasped, and he scrambled for the bag at his hip. Remus shoved him out of the room and slammed the door, quickly locking it.

Darren blinked. "Remus, what did you do?"

"I just wanted him to pay attention to me," Remus exclaimed.

"You charmed him to get his attention!? What spell did you use, because a simple glamour would not have him acting like he needs you to survive!" Darren snapped, gesturing angrily towards the door.

"He's an artist! His pictures are so pretty, I just… inspired him a little?" Remus said nervously. Darren gaped.

"Of course you used a muse spell, you goddamn romantics don't think about the consequences of anything!" Darren snapped, shoving Remus. "He's just a sketch artist, right? He won't be singing ballads to you in the dark of the night, or chiseling your face out of stone?"

Remus coughed and rocked on his heels. "Ah. He might be an everyman? Jack of all trades?"

Darren could've strangled Remus in that moment. "Remus. Fix it."

"I don't know how! How did you fix it when you accidentally spelled that theatre kid in seventh grade?" Remus demanded, flicking his cape aside and getting down on his knees. "Please, Dee, I need you to help me out!"

"My parents handled that for me, and I haven't studied a single charm spell since- I don't know how to fix this!" Darren protested. Remus whined.

"He hasn't let me eat my lunch, or bother my brother! He's just been making me pose for him!" Remus complained.

"That's your own fault!" Darren snapped, but he made his way over to the spellbooks on his shelf, disguised as law books.

"I wouldn't mind so much if he took a break. I'm pretty sure he sprained his wrist trying to paint me on a wall last night, but he won't stop- it's even freaking me out," Remus said, glancing at the door. Darren scowled.

"He's going to keep drawing, and painting and whatever else until he wastes away, Remus. That's the nature of the spell, he can't think of anything but you now," Darren explained, as he began paging through his barely touched book on charms. Remus frowned.

"I just wanted him to notice me. You talk about him all the time, and I just wanted to get his attention," Remus moaned.

"I talk about him because there's no way in hell that he'd be interested in me or in you. Logan Croft is a man of high standards," Darren scowled. Remus whined wordlessly in complaint. There was a knock at the door. Darren sighed heavily. "At least try to feed the poor man something while I work on reversing your stupid mistake."

Remus grumbled, but he opened the door anyway. Logan stood behind it with a big smile.

"I came up with a poem about your smile," Logan announced, looking more than proud of himself.

"What, you didn't set it to music and make a song?" Darren snorted to himself. He immediately regretted it as the man nearly dropped his sketchbook.

"Brilliant idea. I have to go home and get started right away-"

"Hey, Loogie, wait!" Remus exclaimed, but Logan was darting down the hallway too fast for Remus to stop him. He turned to Darren with an icy cold glare.

"Sorry, I didn't realize he could hear me," Darren said, feeling more than a little chagrined.

"I'm going to go catch up to him and try to bring him back," Remus sighed. "You worry about the reversal spell."

Darren began flipping through the book. Of all the goddamn spells, Remus had to choose the muse spell. It was a terrifying charm, a spell that twisted the mind of the affected party, causing them to lose sight of anything that didn't have to do with the caster. They would simply create tributes and fawn over the caster. Eventually, like poor damned Ameinias, their "love" would drive them to their deaths.

Or, at least, landed them in the hospitals and kept under watch so they didn't hurt themselves to try and use that… "inspiration" their muses gave them. Darren remembered being thirteen and terrified, finally begging his parents for help and confessing that he'd gotten Jeremy Olsen hospitalized. It was horrid, an absolute nightmare. Afterwards, his parents had sent him away to a boarding school, where he was not allowed to practice magic at all.

Darren never relied on magic to charm people again, especially not people he was fond of, like Logan Croft or Remus. And now his idiotic friend had gone and made the same terrible mistake. Well, he was determined to help him solve it.

Muse spell, muse spell, muse spell. Darren sighed as he scanned the page the spell was located on. Oh thank god, the reversal looked simple enough.

Suddenly, Remus kicked open the door, Logan Croft slung over his shoulder like a child throwing a tantrum.

"I wasn't finished! That child was about to lend me her chalk!" Logan cried out.

"Nope! You're gonna sit your pretty little ass down and let Darren here fix you up all nice and normal, yeah?" Remus interrupted. He shoved the door shut with a foot, and dropped Logan into a soft armchair.

"At least give me a pen and paper-"

"Nope!" Remus said, and he kicked the notepads Darren had been doing homework on off the coffee table so Logan couldn't reach them. Darren sighed heavily.

"I have the reverse incantation, Remus. Go stand in the corner and think about why a muse spell is more than a bad idea, okay?" Darren suggested. Remus pouted, but he still moved away to give Darren his space. "Hello, Croft."

"Salazar. Are you and Remus friends? You know, the light catches on him just splendidly, I'm almost jealous of what a pretty picture the two of you mak-"

"Yes, yes, he's utterly fascinating- do you have a middle name at all?" Darren asked.

Remus piped up, "It's-"

"I've heard just about enough out of you, Remus!" Darren snapped.

"My middle name is Berry," Logan informed.

"Wait, seriously?" Darren asked. He shook his head and looked back down at the tome in his arms. "Nevermind. Okay, well Logan Berry Croft… Notsgnik sumer esum wen eniht morf noitaripsni ekat dna eeht erofeb ytuaeb eht ezingocer."

In a sudden flash, Logan was blinking up at Darren in confusion. He looked around the room. "I- I feel as though I've made an awfully big fool of myself."

"No bigger a fool than Remus is every day," Darren assured. "Are you alright?"

"Ah… no? I mean- magic is real, I was charmed by a classmate, and I am currently in the apartment of another classmate, both of whom are technically strangers to me," Logan summarized rather succinctly. He glanced at the pile of notebooks on the floor, then at his left hand. "I didn't think there was anything other than drugs that could take away one's self preservation."

"Oh, are you in pain? Remus said he thought you hurt yourself earlier," Darren asked. He hovered over Logan, worried about his wrist. "He said he thought it might be sprained."

"I don't think so, but it certainly smarts. I won't be writing for a day at least," Logan said with a disapproving frown.

"I'll take notes for you in class," Darren offered. Logan managed a smile.

"That would be rather kind, thank you, Mr. Salazar," Logan stated.

"Just call me Darren." He probably sounded desperate, but Darren had never had this long a conversation with his classmate. He was relishing it.

"Wait, hang on, that reversal incantation was just the actual spell backwards! I could've done that easily!" Remus protested suddenly, and Darren rolled his eyes.

"The spellbook said it was a literal reverse incantation. Of course it was the spell backwards," Darren said drily. Logan snorted out a laugh.

"Is magic particular about language then?" Logan asked.

"Well, translations always have to be done carefully for a reason, you know," Darren pointed out.

"Or else someone could lose their head trying to cast a dancing spell!" Remus piped up, grinning wide. Logan actually burst out with a warm laugh. Darren stared at him, mystified.

"Well, I'd love to learn more about magic, then. If you're both available on Saturday, we could discuss it over dinner?" Logan suggested. Darren's heart skipped a beat.

"Sure! We'll see you at six?" Remus suggested.

"Six," Logan confirmed with a nod.

Darren squeaked, in a horribly undignified way. "Six."

@tsshipmonth2020

[ubernoxa]

The Dare: A Guns N’ Roses FanFic

Chapter 24: Trixy that Bitch

(Masterlist)

Taglist: @queen-crue @gingerspicetalks

Delilah sat at the kitchen in the guys apartment listening from a distance as they practiced for their next gig. Sitting in the disgusting kitchen wasn’t her first choice, but at the moment she didn’t want to be alone.

She hadn’t heard him when he first walked in, but that wasn’t uncommon for Izzy. Izzy was always a ghost to Delilah. Never here nor there, but still present when needed. There was something off about him, but she just shrugged it off. She never throught that he would be hooked on drugs or even associated with them. She would soon find out that she was more wrong.

“You know you’re really good at that,” Izzy pointed out to Delilah as he watched her sketch.

“Thanks, Izz. Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that...it’s just what everyone else calls you so I thought,” before Delilah could continued rambling Izzy interrupted her with laughing.

“Izz is fine, I have been called much worse,” he shrugged earning a giggle from the girl.

“I’m assuming that’s for Duff,” Izzy watched as she was shading Duff’s hair.

“Yeah, please don’t tell him I want it to be a surprise for him,” Izzy watched as she smiled from ear to ear.

“Of course! .....You doing okay? You have seemed off lately. If you ever need to talk, you know where I live,” he replied.

“Why do you ask?” Delilah scrunched her face at Izzy. What did Duff or Axl tell him?

“Well you have a perfectly clean apartment that isn’t full of bugs, and yet you draw here,” Izzy wondered if she didn’t want to be alone. That had to be it. No doubt both of her roommates were busy working, so she would be completely alone.

“Don’t make fun of me, but it’s too quiet. Plus most of the bugs are either in the pantry or living room, not by this table that Mags and I religiously clean,” Izzy nodded at the girl’s sheepish response.

“No I get ya, the quiet is nice, but sometimes it’s eerie,” he shrugged before he grabbed a beer from the fridge and offered another to Delilah.

“I know what you’re thinking, it’s too early to drink, but we both know that our tap water is questionable to say the least, and the beer is the only drink we have cold,” Izzy offered the girl a beer again and she eventually caved.

“Just don’t chug it okay?”

“I promise,” Delilah held her pinky up as she spoke.

“Hey Delly,” she felt is warm arms wrap around her. On any other day she would have been ecstatic, but not today. It was hot as fuck, at least 100 degrees and she hated it.

Mags ended up loaning Delilah a crop top and a pair of cloth shorts she had to roll up to get them to fit around her waist.

“Want a beer?” Delilah escaped Duff’s embrace and walked towards the fridge. Izzy rolled his eyes and elbowed him, making him stop checking out Delilah. Izzy shared a look with Duff before he left.

“Thanks Delly,” Duff sat down at the chair next to where she was sitting and started to look though the sketch book.

The first think he noticed was that a lot of the pages were torn out. Were they of drawings she hated or drawings she wished she could forget?

“You’re talented,” Duff scanned the picture that she drew of himself. He wondered how long she had been working on it.

“Heeey that was supposed to be a surprise!” She pulled the sketchbook from him earning a laugh from Duff. He watched her as she quickly closed it. He couldn’t tell if maybe the heat had something to do with it, but she was blushing, heavily blushing.

“How about I’ll pretend to be surprised when I when you show it to me?” Duff couldn’t help but join her in laughing, her laugh was contagious. He would do anything to make her laugh.

“That sounds perfect,” she smiled back feeling butterflies grow in her stomach.

He stood up and whispered in her ear. “The guys are taking a smoke break, I wanna show you something,” he whispered into Delilah’s right ear before beginning to kiss Delilah’s sweet spot on her neck.

When she showed up this morning, Duff wanted to take her to his bed and fuck her right then and there. She was barely wearing clothing. She had on a bright blue crop top that left little to the imagination, and when paired with her barely there shorts, it took every ounce of Duff’s will power to not take her to his room.

—————

“What a slut,” Trixy sat at the kitchen table looking through Delilah’s sketch book.

“Like you’re any better,” Izzy took another drag of his cigarette. Delilah and Trixy didn’t have a lot in common, but being loud in bed was one of the few things.

“Shut up Izzy no one asked for your opinion,” Trixy snapped back. Why was everyone so quick to defend Delilah. Something was off about the girl, and she was determined to find out what it was.

“No one asked for you to be here,” Izzy went back to the living room to join Slash when Axl showed up.

“Why are you going through Delilah’s sketchbook?” Axl had seen her sketching in it a few weeks back when they were designing the logo.

“She left it out, so I am going through it,” she shrugged returning to searching through the drawings.

“Like who is this guy? Like honestly she could be cheating on Duff, but she just giggles and bats her eyelashes and y’all let her do whatever she wants. She has you all wrapped around her finger, and somehow you guys don’t notice it. She was gone for a week and you all didn’t care,” before Trixy could continue Axl interrupted her.

“Shut up Trixy and leave her the fuck alone,” Axl was done with her bullshit. The apartment went silent as he yelled at her.

“Ohh you’re quick to defend her,” Trixy rolled her eyes and turned her attention to him.

Even her own boyfriend was defending the bitch.

“You’re quick to being a fucking bitch,” Axl howled back.

“Can you two stop fighting, I would rather listen to Duff finger Del than you two scream at each other,” Izzy yelled from the other room.

Slash’s laughter quickly filled the apartment.

“Jesus Christ,” Steven mumbled leaning back in his seat not wanting to know what was going to unfold.

Izzy and Slash, in fear of Axl doing something that he will regret, joined Axl and Trixy in the kitchen.

“Shut up, Izzy! Axl it’s like you’re fucking her or something! What is she fucking all of you guys or something? Axl are you cheating on me with that religious bitch?” Trixy yelled.

Slash rolled his eyes after every wild accusation Trixy said. It was clear she wasn’t thinking straight. Slash stood in front of Axl in between him and Trixy, blocking his line of path.

“Don’t tell my band mates to shut the fuck. If anyone is a whore it’s you!” Slash interrupted Axl before he could continued.

Izzy shot Slash a warning look to watch his temper before Slash’s voice was the only noise that filled the room, “get your ass out of here and cool down.” His tone was calm and warning at the same time.

In an instant it could escalate beyond their control.

“Can you put that down please?” Delilah’s soft tone had cut through the room. Everyone looked at her and Duff as they stood in the kitchen doorway.

There was no way that Duff and Delilah didn’t hear what was going on in the kitchen. This was only going to get worse.

“Trixy, can you please hand me my drawing pad,” Delilah stuck out her hand waiting for Trixy to offer it, but she never did.

Delilah took a deep breath and took another step forward. What the hell was wrong with Trixy?

“You are fucking her,” it was as if Trixy had an epiphany. She looked around the room to see the guys all starring at Delilah. In her blind rage, Trixy missed the actual expression on their faces. They were worried. Not for what Trixy would do, but what Delilah was capable of.

“My drawing pad, can I please have it,” Delilah asked again, her tone getting a little more sharp. The please was only there to attempt to make some sort of peace. Delilah could read the room like a book. This was a scene she had seen many times at home. It was an interrogation, but instead of a broken plate Trixy was accusing Delilah of so much more. Delilah held her hand out waiting for Trixy to hand it to her.

“Why? To busy drawing your other lovers in it?” Trixy held the picture of Delilah’s older brother, showing it to the room.

“Give me back my fucking drawing pad!” Delilah screamed, and Duff quickly held her arm holding her back. He tried to calm her by rubbing his thumb on the top of her hand, but he knew it wasn’t working.

The room once again fell silent. All eyes on Delilah. Everyone was in postion and ready for whatever the hell was about to happen. Either Delilah was going to lunge at Trixy, or Trixy was going to attack Delilah.

“Grow the fuck up Trixy. Cut the bullshit, and hand her the drawing pad,” Duff was over with Trixy’s shit, so was everyone else. Why the fuck was Axl still fucking her?

The sound of ripped paper filled the room, followed by Trixy saying, “Fine here Duff, don’t worry I removed the drawing of the bastard she is cheating on you with.”

It was like a bomb had gone off in Delilah. Something must had snapped in her because the second Duff let go of Delilah’s hand to grab the pad, she lunged at Trixy.

“That’s my fucking dead brother you fucking bitch,” Delilah screamed and lunged after Trixy. All Delilah could do was punch her before Duff pulled her back.

Trixy fell on the ground and held her cheek where Delilah had hit her.

“I drew that picture the last night I saw him. It’s the last drawing I have ever shown him. How fucking dare you!” Tears we’re streaming down Delilah face as Duff carried her to his room. He was terrified. He had never seen this side of her, and he wanted to make sure he never had to ever again.

“Breathe, just breathe,” Duff refused to stop hugging her as he held her in his arms. The two of them stood in his room neither wanting to let go.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. If you want to break up with me because I’m a bitch, I get it. If you think I’m a crazy bitch, I don’t blame you either. Just at least let me down gently because I fucked up the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time...and...and,” Duff interrupted Delilah before she could continue hyperventilating.

“Shhh shh shhh, just breathe Delilah it’s going to be okay. I’m not going to break up with you. You’re one of the best things to happen to me. Just breathe Delilah. Okay? Just breathe. It’s going to be okay,” Duff whispered into her ear before pulling her in closer.

[draconesmundi]

Which dragon has gone through the most redesigns?

Good question!

But also a hard one to prove as I started this project years ago so a lot of my sketchbooks are hidden away in a box somewhere at my parent’s house, so I can only go with the images on my computer.

So my first fully illustrated draft is called ‘dragon book 2′ (2nd draft I guess?) from 2017. My current working document is ‘book 6′ which is actually my 7th draft, although I am slipping into my 8th draft right now. ‘Book 6′ only has 14 /15 fully illustrated dragons.

The longdraconid or ‘eastern’ dragons went through a huge design change between book 2 and book 6, mostly in that their manes went from hairy, fluffy things to wattles. Of the longdraconids, I think Huanglong went through the most changes; at first Huanglong was two species - Yinglong (a winged dragon) and Huanglong (a yellow dragon with complex black markings on it).

In the later versions, these two dragons were combined - the winged dragons were adult males.

In my latest rewrite, currently in a document called ‘w’ (the computer did not let me type a full title, booooo) I’ve changed the design A LOT. I went to a Buddhist temple with my partner and there were dragons EVERYWHERE - and 99% of them were yellow dragons with GREEN MANES (the 1% being yellow dragons with orange manes). After much ‘visual research’ (image searching on the internet for ye olde dragon art) I found a few things about Yellow Dragons - they have long white whiskers under each eye, they have green manes and beards, and they have long white horns usually with one branch.

The white wattles I had used in my 2018 ‘book 6′ design were based on ‘dragon wall’ designs, where 9 dragons are depicted usually with white manes and whiskers, but dragon walls are not the majority of dragon art, so I’m going with green manes for now (dragon walls however are very famous works of art, and have very good looking dragons on them!)

So huanglong has 3 definite visual styles, so that’s 2 redesigns.

However, a lot of dragons have gone through many doodled redesigns, none of which I have saved on my computer at present!

The knucker and the lindorm were two different dragons back in ‘book 2′, and now the knucker is just a type of lindorm. The new lindorm has NEVER had a proper face drawn for it, and gets doodles every day.

I have not settled on a proper makara/grootslang design so it gets drawn anew every time, with some 30 doodles of a snake-elephant-dragon-naga thing, none of them truly getting what I am after.

One that has a lot of drawings but not a lot of finished pictures is the yong, or Korean dragon. At one point I had a red-and-gold Chinese dragon, and I decided to make this a dragon also found in Korea. I was advised that Korean dragons should not be an afterthought, and to make the yong it’s own species. The yong became a red and gold dragon, while the Chinese red dragon (a mix of the futsanglong/fucanglong - dragon of hidden treasures - and the vermillion dragon of the south). I presented this design to someone who knew more about Korean dragons then me, and they pointed out most Korean dragons tend to be blue - after doing a little digging I found Korean dragons tend to be blue with green manes and white whiskers, so I drew another dragon, but to this day have not fully finished and coloured the drawing in. The current profile pic of Dracones Mundi was the red yong - red/brown/yellow dragons had one design of wattles and horns whereas blue/green dragons had another. In my current rewrite things are changing again.

I suppose one of the biggest changes was the Ethiopian elephant-eating dragon:

One was a wyvern that was a pack-hunter, lots of little wyverns envenoming an elephant then waiting for it to die like some sort of komodo-dragon ripoff, followed by a giant majestic noodle that kills elephants by constriction. Both based on the same medieval concept of ‘dragons hunt elephants in Africa’, but one is more closely based on the source material.

So for visual designs, most have gone through at least 1 redesign, now many are going through their 2nd redesign, but some go through hundreds in the form of doodles which have not been scanned into the computer.

Thanks for the question!

[oinkawater]

11 angst with Tendou-san?

idk if you’ve caught on yet, but i am an absolute sucker for the hq boys comforting a y/n while they’re having a mental breakdown

and i might post 2 today, so we’ll see how far my inspiration will take me. i have a lot of requests to finish up but i’m currently having a mental breakdown over the fact that school is starting again lmfaoOoOo

-

“Why am I so incredibly untalented?” Tendou is drawn in by your muffled scream, head tilting as he mixed his hot chocolate.

“Are you okay?” He questions hesitantly, eyes narrowing down at the pillow pressed up against your face as you lied back in your bed. “I heard you screaming.”

“I can’t finish my god damn art piece that’s due Saturday!” You screech, sitting up and hurling the throw pillow across your dorm room. He notices the distress in every single part of you and it makes him frown. “I’m never gonna bloody graduate high school!”

You’ve been having several meltdowns the past couple weeks and he’s not very used to it. Since he met you, you have always been able to handle your feelings quite well.

Now that finals and graduation are drawing near, it’s been difficult for you to keep yourself sane.

“Hey, don’t say that,” he answers in a soothing tone, hurriedly placing his mug down onto the table by your bedroom door. He jogs on over to your bed and sits next to you. “Do you want to go take a break? We can go for a walk.”

“Do you not see this mess that is my final artpiece?” You yell, reaching back for the piece of watercolour paper. You fill up the space between you and make him stare at it. “I don’t have the time for a break, Satori!”

He’s silent for a moment. His eyes are scanning the sketches for your final piece and admittedly, it’s actually really good. It seems oddly familiar too.

“Is that Wakatoshi-kun?” He grins slightly, pushing the paper down to meet your eyes. “He’s so cute in this.”

“I get that you’re in love with your captain, but can you please admit that this looks so hideous!” You snatch the paper away and stand up from your bed. “What am I going to do? I’m going to fail high school and I’m never gonna be successful!”

Tendou tilts his head and his expression changes into a more solemn one. “You have got to stop being so hard on yourself,” he sighs, standing up to follow you around while you paced in your bedroom. “It’s a great sketch.”

“It’s ugly! You’ve seen my sketchbook.”

“It’s not ugly. I’ll take a picture and send it to Wakatoshi-kun right now just to prove it to you.”

“I’m going to strangle you if you do that!”

“Okay, but can you please admit that that’s a pretty sketch?”

“Satori!” You screech at the top of your lungs, stomping a foot onto the ground. You stop pacing abruptly and turn to him with a crumpled up face.

Soon enough, your lips pout out, your eyebrows furrow and an all too familiar crease appears in between them. Before Tendou knew it, you’re whimpering with your hands covering your face and your breath is hitching.

“(y/n)?” He perks up at your sudden silence and his eyes widen. “Are you... crying?”

“Piss off,” you grumble, turning away to lean your head on your wall. “Let’s just face it. I’m never going to graduate.”

“Don’t say that,” he coos. A pair of arms wraps itself around your shoulders and he rests his head on the back of yours. “Don’t cry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

You shake your head. He forcefully turns you over and lets you cry into his chest, his fingers brushing through your hair. “I’m just so tired. These finals will be the actual death of me.”

“I know, sweetie,” he answers softly, swaying side to side in attempts to calm you down. “But you’ve got to give yourself a break. Let’s go for a 15-minute walk. When we get back, you would have your head all cleared up.”

“Can we shorten it to 10 minutes? I’m really lazy,” you sigh, wiping off your tears with the cuffs of your sweater. You pull away to look up at him. “Do you think I’m going to graduate?”

“With flying colours, sweetie. Now let’s go walk.”

-

feel free to request!