#I'm using my school sketch pad for this

[azteriiverse]

now draw omori and basil

im tired

here's your order of omori pizza with extra basil

[lucalicatteart]

A few little sketches of some possible school uniforms for mage schools/learning centers for magic/etc. :0c Though because Nanyevimi is so scattered and disconnected, it'd actually vary much more by region (like not everywhere would have a cultural concept of what a suit jacket or neck tie looks like lol), so it's probably unrealistic for so many of them to follow too many traditional Uniform Conventions from cultures in our world, etc. But, still, fun to mess around with designs, and think about which would be most fun to wear/what school you'd go to just based off the clothing lol~

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography 

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta. 

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done. 

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for. 

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation. 

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for. 

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him. 

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing. 

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.” 

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?” 

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.” 

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out. 

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.” 

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.” 

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?” 

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?” 

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.” 

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?” 

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it. 

She might be. 

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—” 

“Hey.” 

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.” 

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else. 

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class. 

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on. 

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—” 

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.” 

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.” 

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.” 

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home. 

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.” 

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours. 

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream. 

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old. 

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways. 

But it’s not up to you. 

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel. 

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating. 

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome. 

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts. 

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking. 

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.  

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for  most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged. 

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him. 

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.” 

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull. 

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack. 

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy. 

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take. 

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding. 

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating. 

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed. 

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal. 

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all. 

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him. 

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself. 

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy. 

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it.. 

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you. 

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat. 

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?” 

“What?” 

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?” 

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to. 

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?” 

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself. 

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why? 

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away. 

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.” 

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.” 

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous. 

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.” 

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more. 

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.” 

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear. 

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other. 

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun. 

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?” 

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.” 

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?” 

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?” 

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?” 

“So you can get his number.” 

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes. 

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.” 

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.” 

And then you’re alone again. 

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed. 

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous. 

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing. 

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet. 

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind. 

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now. 

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion. 

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind. 

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time. 

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement. 

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip. 

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable.  He’s going to be a problem.

[skitty-kirby]

It's been… ah. December was the last month I've had the motivation to actually finish something. In fact I think I sketched this out EXACTLY 3 MONTHS AGO. But hey! I tried some new stuff out and I'm happy to finally have an updated reference of Acrid's kiddos after so many years. Feels good. Also, I'm going to start posting to Pillowfort in tandem with my other socials! Username is the same. :D Feel free to read an excerpt from their Toyhouse biography beneath the cut:

Poki (she/her) | Don (he/him) Bane's Mire, with Acrid Poki and Don are the adopted children of Acrid, the acidic swamp monster who lives in Bane's Mire. The two are about 8 years old. One day, Acrid was exploring out of his swamp a bit further than he normally would and ended up in the outskirts of a rural village- when suddenly he heard distant crying and decided to investigate. As Acrid is mostly driven by instinct, he instantly knew the sounds originated from an infant; two of them in fact. He listened closely and followed the sound to its source; a pair of twins, both swaddled in soft cloths, curiously peering out of their shared cradle at the now looming behemoth above them. Carefully keeping his jaw closed as to not burn them, he gently scooped their cradle off of the doorstep he found them on, and started the long walk home with his new family. It is uncertain if the babies were genuinely abandoned, or simply left unattended too long; regardless, Acrid has been an amazing father to the two of them. As mentioned in Acrid's bio, he encouraged them to socialize with other children of the village and to go to school so they can function in society with ease... all while watching like a hawk from a distance of course. He is extremely protective of them and would do anything to keep them safe. Also mentioned elsewhere, Acrid himself cannot speak very well- but Poki and Don are able to translate the sounds he makes. In fact, 'poki' and 'don' were simply sounds Acrid associated the children with and thus became their names.

Other facts: - Poki and Don have long, eye-covering hair because they've yet to have it cut in their lives. - The plants found in their hair is by choice! Poki found a single blossom tree she loves to take care of in the outskirts of the swamp where it's less acidic. Don looks for strong branches from bushes that can be crafted into tools/items, usually using his hair as extra storage space. Collectively, they both also like to pretend that the branches in their hair are their 'horns', attempting to resemble their father. - The twins have paw-like nubs that make it easier to grip, and actual paw-pads on their feet. It's uncertain if they'll ever develop claws. - Acrid takes great care as to not burn the children with his acid. He is more than aware of the damage it can do, as it is his main way of attacking; he's seen what it's done to his victims as well as himself given his own eyes have mostly eroded away over the years from careless fighting behaviors of his youth. Thankfully, living in such an acidic environment for so long (regarding the swamp itself), the kids have developed a strong resistance to corrosive materials as a whole and are generally fine around their father regardless.

[crystallizedshowers]

Heteroclite

~Sally Face OC Story~

It was finally my favorite day of the week, Friday. Oh how I couldn't wait to sleep in and rot in my bed all weekend long. Well sleep as best as I could. My sleep was consistently getting interrupted by nightmares that progressively got worse by each passing night. First couple of nights I was simply walking around aimlessly in the black room by myself. Thankfully I hadn't seen Rose or the red eyed shadow since my first encounter. By mid week I started having dreams that occurred in the body of someone else. People would always refer to me by a variety of names and although my mind knew that I was not the person they were speaking to, my mouth opened and responded as if I was simply a NPC reciting whatever sentence I was programmed to say. Each person I inhabited always had the same fate: death. I would wake up in the middle of the night clutching my chest, breathing heavily and sitting in the dark for hours before trying to go back to sleep.

Waking up in the morning was becoming harder and harder. At times mom literally had to shake me awake instead of me usually waking up to my alarm or the sound of the door creaking open. "Are you sure you're getting enough sleep Kitty?" Mom asked me on our way to school. I let out a loud yawn and answered, "Yeah I'm just tired here lately. I dunno what's going on." She looked at me sympathetically and the dreaded school came into view. She pulled up to the front and waited on me to grab my stuff and exit the car. "Hey Kitty, I've got to talk to about something important later okay?" She said handing me my water bottle out of the cup holder. I nodded my head and got out waving my hand and watching her car receding into the distance. She'll go home and pass out and wake up when it's time to come get me.

School went by fast and it was already lunch time. I've grown accustomed to sitting outside and eating the lunch I packed from home. I'd do my usual thing of listening to music and draw in my sketch pad. Typically the courtyard was vacant, but unfortunately today I was accompanied by a few other people from various classes. I paid them no mind as I continued to doodle enjoying the cool breeze in the air. It had rained the night prior leaving the air chilly and ground still damp and decorated with various puddles due to the lack of sun.

Above my music I could hear chattering, or arguing perhaps? I looked up from my book to see that Sal and his group of friends arguing with some multiracial  blonde kid. By the looks of everyone's faces I could tell the conversation was not a pleasant one and decided it was best to mind my business. As shitty as it was to admit I was scared to get involved with a bully and although the group of friends were friendly and even invited me to hang out with them at lunch, I felt as though it wasn't in my jurisdiction to get involved in their business. I continued to work on my drawing ignoring the growing conflict to my right.

My headphones were ripped off my head, snagging my industrial piercing on my left ear causing me to yelp out in pain and cover my ear. I looked up and was met with the disgusted face of the blonde kid. Guess he  decided to turn his sight onto the fresh meat of the school. "Think you're some kind of hot shit not talking to anyone?" He sneered. I scoffed rolling my eyes, "Why does me not talking to anyone have anything to do with you? Give me my cd player back dude." I reached for my cd player he held in his hand and in response he yanked his hand away. He snatched my sketch book out of my lap with his other hand in the process. "Dude leave her alone!" Larry called out from behind the guy, fists clenched. "Yeah Travis leave her alone!" Ashley followed suit.

"Aw you need your buddies to answer for you, huh scaredy Kat?" I rolled my eyes at the use of my name and extended my hand. "Give me my stuff back seriously." "Oh my bad! Here!" Travis let my cd fall out of his hand and it hit the ground with a clack. I scoffed at his childish nature and bent down to pick it up off the ground. His foot came crashing down over the plastic device and pretty much shattered upon impact. I stared at the broken device on the ground desperately trying to not lose my shit on this guy. "Whoops my bad." He voiced, laughing lightly.

I clenched my fists not looking up at him and instead focused on the ground. "You gonna cry scaredy Kat? Aw boohoo!" Travis laughed. I lunged forward trying to grab my book out of his hand, but he moved his arm and raised it above his head. The dude was like almost a foot taller than me and with his arm stretched above his head there was no way I could reach my book. Leaving me jumping up and down like an idiot in a pitiful attempt to grab the book.

Several whispers and mutters echoed across the courtyard, and all were about the situation playing out in front of them. I inwardly groaned at the unwanted attention that was being drawn to me due to this. "Here you can have your book back." Travis stated extending his arm to his side. Upon reaching for the book, he yanked it backwards kicking my feet out from under me in the process. It felt as if the world moved in slow motion as I tumbled to the ground my hands out in front of me bracing for impact. I landed on the ground, with a soft smush underneath me meaning I had landed in one of the various puddles of mud in the courtyard.

"Travis what the fuck?" The words echoed into the yard followed by the laughter of the guy standing above me. "Oops my bad!" he stated dropping my sketch book in the puddle of mud essentially ruining everything in the book. This fuck nugget. It wasn't my first experience with a bully, but damn this is the first time I've experienced one so fast upon my arrival at a new school. I gritted my teeth as my patience was running thin. "Aww are you mad?" Travis asked leaning over my body as I propped myself up on my forearms trying to get up off the ground. My hands burned like hell due to the fall. I looked up at Travis and I could only imagine the sheer amount of anger that decorated my face. "That's quite a look. Now we've got an angry pussy Kat!" He laughed, leaning back his head back.

"See ya later pussy Kat!" Travis began walking off towards the door, but if he thought he was walking away from this having the last laugh, oh was he mistaken. I extended my arm causing him to stumble over and fall to the floor, face planting ungracefully. The courtyard was erupted into bits of laughter seeing the bully getting a taste of his own medicine. I finally gained my balance enough to stand up and look at my hands that were decorated with dirt and some scrapes from the rocks in the yard. I went to wipe them off on pants and realized my ripped jeans were covered in plethora of mud as well as my navy blue jacket. I cussed under my breath, mom was sure to ask questions later.

"You bitch!" Travis's voice rang out scrambling to his feet. He stormed up to me and the sound of the door to our right stopped him in his tracks. Everyone's attention turned to the door next to the teachers lounge opening and Mrs Packerton as well as another teacher coming out. "What's going on out here?" the teacher asked. A dead silence fell upon everyone in the yard as we waited for someone to answer the question.

The teacher directed her eyes at the two of us in the middle of the courtyard, "Why are you two covered in mud?" Me and Travis exchanged a look before I spoke up, clearing my throat, "Oh um it's still muddy out here from the rain and I went to walk and slipped and fell in the mud." She turned her gaze to Travis, "so why is he covered in mud as well?" "Oh well Trevor-" "Travis," he corrected. "Travis," I emphasized turning to him eyes wide, "came to help me and slipped as well and here we are!" I motioned between the two of us. The teacher waited a few moments before nodding her head. "Are you okay dear?" Mrs Packerton spoke looking at me, smiling slightly. I looked down at my hands and wipe them on the sides of my already ruined jeans and nodded, "Yep I'm good."

"Okay well lunch will be over soon guys, just try to keep it down alright. You two go get cleaned up," the teacher spoke, glancing at me and Travis and heading back inside, Mrs Packerton following suit. As soon as the door clicked shut everyone turned their gazes back to us. I looked at Travis one last time before turning around heading back to the bench to grab my satchel bag. I unzipped my hoodie and pulled it off, revealing a simple band T-shirt underneath. "You think you're doing me a favor by not telling on me? I don't want your pity pipsqueak!" Travis voiced rang out. I merely rolled my eyes and walked over to him grabbing my destroyed items off the ground and turning to walk to the door the teachers had just left from.

"Hey don't ignore me!" I felt Travis grab onto my shoulder and I turned around yanking his arm off of me looking up at him. "Piss off prick!" I spat turning on my heel and hurriedly walking off to the door.  The courtyard erupted into another fit of laughter upon my outburst. I looked over to the left and made eye contact with Todd and his friends, sympathetic looks across all of their faces. I threw my broken items into the nearby garbage can, clicking my tongue and opened the door, slamming it behind me and heading for the bathroom. My hair was an absolute mess. Little splotches of mud decorated in various spots in my purple waves. Grabbing my hair brush out of my satchel I began brushing hair out and rinsing out the mud. When I finally freed my hair of mud I tied it up in a high bun with one of the various pony tail holders that decorated my wrists.  Using paper towels I tried to get rid as much mud off of my jeans and knees that peered thought the decorative holes. Next was washing my hands which burned like hell due to the cuts I had acquired from landing roughly. Thankfully there wasn't too much blood and the scratches had already stopped bleeding.  When I was somewhat satisfied with my appearance I left the bathroom, only to be greeted by some familiar faces.

"Are you okay Kat?" I jumped at the un expecting voice of Ashley. I turned and looked at her, her face held a sympathetic smile. I waved my hand away, "I'm fine. It's not a big deal." "Not a big deal?" Ashley cut me off, "The guy destroyed your book and smashed your cd player!" I shrugged, "Oh well what can I do now?" "We can go report him!" Todd's voice rang out to my left. "Yeah dude why didn't you report him when the teachers came out?" Larry spoke up next. I sighed rubbing my forehead, "Look it really isn't that big of deal guys. If I snitched on him then the only thing that does it tell everyone else that I'm a tattletale." "Better to be a tattletale than not do anything about it." Larry stated raising an eyebrow at me. "Yeah Kat do you want me to go talk to a teacher for you-" "Absolutely not!" I cut Ashley off. "I appreciate the gesture, but I'm fine really."

The group paused for a minute and opened their mouths to speak again only to be cut off by Sal, "Guys if she said she alright then let's leave it at that instead of pestering her." My gaze turned to the blue hair guy and met with his eyes staring back at mine. Although only being able to see a little bit of his eyes, I could tell he wore a sympathetic expression behind his mask. "Alright Sally face whatever you say man." Larry replied stretching his arms out above his head. "Sally face?" I asked slightly turning my head to the side. "I had some assholes back in New Jersey call me that and decided to own up to it so they couldn't use it against me." Sal spoke.

"Ahh" I answered unsure of what else to say. "Are you hurt? That was a pretty nasty fall," Ashley asked examining my features. "I hurt my hands a little bit but no biggie" I shrugged. Ashley grabbed both of my hands bringing them up to her face so she could see better. She sighed in relief and smiled back at me, "I'm glad you're alright!" The bell rang indicating lunch was over, thankfully. The group groaned as we readied to part ways with one another. I tried to excuse myself from their group in order to leave, but was stopped by Larry throwing his arm around my shoulders. "Hey we're going to the same class what's the rush?" He stated.

I wasn't against opposed to physical touch with others, but for a guy I randomly knew to touch me made my stomach drop. "Larry don't touch her so casually!" Ashley stated which caused the boy to remove his arm around me. We had walked to our assigned lockers and everyone started picking their lockers open. Ashley used a bobby pin while the three boys used paper clips. Why not just use their locker codes? Larry turned to me closing his locker, "Do you know how to pick locks?" I stared at him dumbfounded, "Do I look like someone who would know how to pick a lock?" The group chuckled and he nodded his head, "Good point. Which one's yours?" He pointed at the various lockers along the wall. I pointed at the locker directly below his and he grinned, "Ahh look at that. We're locker neighbors!"

Larry gave me a quick demonstration of how to use a paper clip to pick the lock before we headed to our class biding farewell to the others. He complimented my T-shirt saying he enjoyed the band and asked my taste in music. "My music taste ranges from sappy sad music to complete gibberish nonsense but as long as I vibe with it, I can listen to it." He chuckled at my response fumbling with his hands in his pockets, "You're pretty chill Kat. I think we'll get along great!" My heart warmed at the slight compliment and I gazed back up at him matching his smile.

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

School was over and I was excited to go home. Several teachers had commented on my lovely appearance being covered in mud. Larry had offered me his jacket to cover up with in our class together, but I immediately denied it. I didn't want to have to repay the guy for his good deed so rather owned the fact I looked like I just got done rolling around in the mud. I saw my mother's car approaching in the distant and felt my stomach drop. I knew she was going to ask me what the hell happened.

Her car pulled to a stop and I saw her eyes immediately drop down to my jeans and my jacket I was holding in my arms. "What the hell happened to you?" She asked upon me opening the door. I sighed climbing into the seat and buckling up, "long story." "Well it's a good thing it takes us about 20 minutes to get home then huh?" She retorted, stepping on to the gas. I sighed burying my head into my hands. "Some dweeb tripped me and I fell in the mud." She glanced over at me with a face pretty much saying 'and?' I filled her in on the encounter from today.

By time I got done with my story we were passing by the Addison apartments. The crumbling building sat down the long side walk and I heard a soft whisper in my ear, "You made a mistake coming to Nockfell dear." The vehicle suddenly came to a stop causing me to be thrown into the dashboard. "Jesus Christ what?" I yelled at my mom. "Do I need to turn around and go have a chat with your principal?" She spit out angrily, the car completely stopped just a few feet down from the apartments. "It's not that big of deal mom. Trust me the guy will lose interest if I just leave it alone." I turned looking out the window to the apartments. "Kitty seriously I wish you would knock one of those motherfuckers out. I promise you I won't get mad." I laughed at her choice of words. Noticing something out of the corner of my vision I adjusted my eyes to its source.

In one of the first floor windows sat Rose although looking more alive than she did in my previous encounter. I'm not entirely sure what she was looking at, but I became very aware of when her gaze shifted to me. A smile creeped along her features and suddenly an intense pain shot through my head. Wincing I grabbed by head tearing my eyes off the old woman. "Kitty are you okay?" Mom asked voiced laced with worry. I nodded my head in response. My ears were ringing so loud it felt like my head was going to explode. "Kitty look at me!" My head raised and I looked at my mom. Her green eyes filled with tears, "Jesus your nose is bleeding!" Her hands fumbled trying to open the center console and grab the abundance of napkins she stored inside. I hadn't even realized my nose was bleeding until I felt a steady drip coming from my nose.

"I'm fine mom." I replied feeling the pressure in my head die down as well as the ringing. Her hand gripping the end of my nose with a napkin trying to catch the blood dripping from my nose. She stepped her foot on the gas leaving the apartments in the distant. Thankfully we don't live too far from the apartments so we arrived home 5 minutes later. Mom got out of the car rushing to the passenger side and opening the door for me. She helped unbuckle me and led me into the blue trailer while I assured her I was alright several times over again.

She helped me to my bathroom telling me to rinse my face off, and opening the medicine mirror cabinet and pulling out some pain meds. I repeated the act of filling my hands up with water before splashing it on my face over again and till finally the water began to run clear. The cold water felt soothing on my flushed face and offered a sense of relaxation from the stressful day. Mom offered me a tan hand towel to dry my face off with and handed me a cup of water and two multicolored pills to take.

"Feel better?" She asked after I finished swallowing the pills. "As good as I will be." I answered handing her the now empty cup and wiping my face off with the towel. "Okay now go change out of those muddy clothes and come sit with me in the kitchen." I nodded my head. I had forgotten about her telling me she needed to talk to me after school. "My little piggy!" She grinned at me and began snorting. I laughed at her impersonation and shooed her out of the bathroom. I decided I wouldn't feel clean until after I took a shower and washed away all the grime and muck from today's adventures. I turned the faucet on and began undressing out of my muddy clothes and throwing them in the hamper in the bathroom. Stepping into the oh so graciously hot water and scrubbing away today's disappointment I immediately felt better.

I went into my bedroom and changed into some comfy pajamas and headed to the kitchen, grabbing the laundry basket from the bathroom to load up washing machine while on my way. "Everyday I become more and more thankful of your independence." Mom was standing over the stove cooking dinner. I helped with the daily chores although she never asked me to, it just felt wrong to see her work a long shift at the hospital and then come home and clean. The times she did run late from the hospital she'd come home to a clean house and dinner cooked. I nodded my head, "I know I know, I am the greatest." I heard her giggle behind me.

I pulled out my black ripped jeans and dug through the pockets of them, double checking to make sure I didn't throw unnecessary stuff into the washer. I felt a small piece of something and pulled it out to reveal a paper clip Larry had given to me after showing me how to pick the lock. I threw the jeans into the wash followed by an abundance of other clothes all ranging in the same colors. I dusted the powdered soap on top and pulled the dial to start the water. Walking over to sit at the dining room table, mom met with a plate of food being sat down in front of me before taking a seat across from me.

"So I have some bad news," mom began. I racked my brain through a long list of every possible thing she could say as I waited for her to continue. "My shift was changed." she finished. I stared at her, mouth full of food. "To what?" She sighed rubbing her head, "3pm-3am." I stared at her in disbelief, "so that means you're not going to be here after school?" She nodded her head. "That means I'm not going to be able to take you or pick you up from school. Also means by time you get up for school, I'll be asleep and vice versa." "Why would you change your shift?" I placed my fork onto the plate and pushed it to the side no longer feeling hungry. "The hospital wasn't aware of my schedule prior to me being hired and unfortunately there's already too many people working the 7pm-7am shift." I felt a deep sense of anger and sadness form in the pit of my stomach. It was bad enough I already barely saw my mom as it is. She typically would work overnights while I was asleep and get off work then take me to school. While I was at school, she would sleep and come pick up then we'd come home and eat dinner together before she took off to work again. Now I'm not going to see her for 4-5 days at a time and on the days she isn't working, she's normally so exhausted she spends her time sleeping.

"Kitty I'm sorry but unfortunately I gotta do what's best for the hospital." She sighed placing her hand on top of mine. I felt tears prick the corner of my eyes as I desperately tried to not let out a cry and smiled back at her. "Of course mom I understand!" She smiled at me, "I'll buy some of those microwave dinners and some easy food for you to make since I won't be here alright?" I nodded my head, "Okay thanks mom." "Oh but I do have better news!" She grinned. I raised my eyebrows at her waiting on her response. "David should be coming back by this evening!" I tried my best to fake an ecstatic reaction to her husband's name coming into conversation. David was a truck driver who traveled across the states and was home a couple of days every month or so. I was always happy to hear that his trip was prolonged and he'd be home a couple of days later than expected. To be honest I couldn't stand the guy. The dude was always starting fights with me when mom wasn't here. One time mom was running late from her shift and David told me I needed to have dinner ready by time she got home because 'It's a woman's job to provide for the men in the house.' I internally cringed at the statement that played across my mind. "Ooh that's great mom!" I muttered going back to eating the food in front of me.

The rest of dinner was mainly mom talking about David and upon us finishing the food, he made his appearance in the doorway. David was a tall man with dark hair, albeit slowly balding, and dark eyes. He was roughly half a foot taller than mom and sat over a foot taller than me. I muttered out a quick greeting before I withdrew back to my room and sat at my desk, finishing the small amount of homework I had. I hated teachers who sent homework out the last day of the week. I finished my math homework and pulled out my drawing book among various other books lined along my desk. This book consisted of sketches of various people and things I witnessed while dreaming. I flipped it open to a blank page before I started drawing. My drawing consisted of a young girl with purple hair wearing a dress. My dream the night prior consisted of me in a woman's body who presumably this girl's mother. Based on the dream itself I could tell that she cared for the girl deeply and even provided the girl with a good luck charm: a gold necklace with a cross. Unfortunately the lady ended up with the same fate as all the others, which was gruesome: lying in her bed when her husband entered the room wielding a knife before plunging it onto the unsuspecting victim, brutally mutilating her.

After I finished sketching out the young girl I drew her good luck charm next to her trying to recapture the details from my dream. I pondered many thoughts and reasons for the bizarre dreams before narrowing it down to watching too many horror films. I closed my book and slid it back into its designated spot on the shelf before heading to bed for the night. I didn't count on getting a decent amount of sleep, but hoped for the best anyways. I heard a knock on my bedroom door and my mom followed in shortly after. "You going to bed already?" She asked. I nodded my head letting out a loud yawn and stretching my arms above my head. She walked over to me and gave me a hug before placing a kiss on top of my forehead, "Thanks for always being so understanding honey. I know it's rough with me working so much but I truly appreciate it." She rubbed her cold hands across my cheeks and I lazily smiled back at her. I slid under my covers and mom tucked me in despite me insisting that I was too old to be tucked in now. She laughed and assured me that regardless of my age I'd always be her baby before wishing me a good night and leaving my room, turning off my light as she went. My eyes drifted close and I slipped into a dream that would soon turn into another nightmare.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Hello, I want to share this idea with you that I had from the Turkish TV show... I don't if you know about Turkish soaps...

So, reader is District Attorney’s daughter and Steve is the son of the mafia/mob.. they’re both artists and met in same art school. They started with love hate kinda relationship, then some mutual pining but they still can't tell each other they’re in love because its forbidden. They’re from two different worlds and in love. Steve doesn't have any criminal record YET but he's still a mob's son...

I'm just sharing it with you, if you want to write a one shot perhaps turn it into a series... whatever... or maybe you won't consider giving it shot.. that's okay...

Thankyou for providing a safe space for everybody and let me share it with you...❤

Bad For Me

It’s immaculate, the dark walls that are encompassed by rich gold trim around the baseboards and crown moulding. There’s a oversized chandelier hanging above the bed with teardrop crystals and the same gold trim that surrounds the room, the base of the chandelier that holds it against the ceiling is carved and etched metal that mirrors the sconces on the wall.

The bed is an Alaskan king, the size would have seemed almost outlandish if the room was smaller, but as it is the bedroom is as expansive as you would have imagined.

The bed is made of sturdy wood, dark to match the colour of the paint, with a curved headboard that rests high against the wall, almost like the back of a throne, and there’s two distinct round studded holes that you can only imagine would be for your restraints. There is a section of padded material to keep you from injuring your head should you throw yourself against it.

The rest of the room is as breathtaking and stunning to match, across from the bed is a fireplace that’s still burning leftover logs. There are walk-in closets set against the right half of the room, both are placed precisely between two floor to ceiling mirrors. Across from the closets is the ensuite bathroom with the shower and bathtub placated flush against each other a design, he had claimed, was to bring an air of intimacy to the relationship.

And to finish off the room, there was a chaise set before the windows, the furniture designed to be the focal point for his artwork. He had claimed, again, that it was meant for intimacy.

“And I will be drawing and sketching you.” He promised you that everything in the room would come to good use.

The heavy door opened and his footsteps were heard on the hardwood floor. You had stood before the windows, glancing out at the property below, so entranced by the prospect of escaping.

“There is no running from me.” His voice had hit your ears, the scent of his cologne invaded your senses and you had wished you hated it more. “Why so somber, my wife?”

He was the son of a ruthless Don, and you were the daughter of the district attorney. He was attending art school where you had taken a few classes, your main focus was classical and contemporary dance while he was dabbling in sketching, drawing and painting.

You didn’t know who he was, he had only ever given you his middle name but he knew who you were. He had you figured out on day one, and you knew you should have left his presence before he got in too deep.

It was your fault, it was your fault that you were here.

“Steve please don’t do this.” You begged him, you pleaded with him to let you go. “Choose someone else, anyone else.”

“You know the tradition of bride kidnapping?” He brushed your hair off your shoulder, his large hands had come to rest on your waist as his lips met your jaw.

“You could have anyone else-“

“The groom snatches the woman he wants as his bride to save her from any other suitors. It’s most common in other parts of the world, but its a practice that suits me well.” He was possessive yet tender, kissing your neck as he pulled you back flush against him.

“You’re the most dangerous man on the east coast, you could have-“ you stopped breathing, negating your reaction to his fingers tugging on the silk tie that held your robe around you.

“I know what I am,” he hummed, his cock twitching against your ass, “I know what I want. I know who I want, that’s why I had to take you.”

“We met at school, we didn’t-“

“I know how you felt about me. Before you knew what I was, we had gone on a date. We had fun and you let me taste you. Did you really think-“ Steve groaned in your ear, hands running up your abdomen to your bare breasts.

“-I could handle just one taste?” Steve’s hands grasped your breasts, his fingers squeezing as you moaned and pliantly pushed back into him. “You are not the kind of woman who only requires one taste.”

“Please…” you whined, cratering with your willpower. “Steve…”

“Yes, Mrs. Rogers.” He nipped your neck and let go of your breasts only to sweep you into his arms and take you back toward the bed. “I will feast on your sweet pussy again. But…”

Steve leaned back and looked down at you, your chest heaving and your legs spreading to reveal the dampness of your thighs.

“I think its time,” Steve pulled you up and switched positions with you, this time it was him laying back on the bed, “you ride my face.”

“Steve I-I can’t…I’ve never-“

“Yes, darling wife.” He snatched your wrist and pulled you forward, dragging you until you had sat on his chest. “Don’t leave your husband starving. Ride my face.”

He settled his hands on your hips and dragged your forward until you hovered above him. “Don’t hold back, fuck yourself on my tongue.”

[brb-on-a-quest]

BIRBBBB

For the ask thing!! (Sorry there’s so many lol)

ballpoint pen: tell me about the day you’ve just had

highlighter: what are your best qualities?

felt-tip: describe your aesthetic

sketching pad: describe yourself from a stranger’s point of view

(so sorry for the delay in answering needed brainpower and laptops)

✒️ It started off as a really dead day at work at 5am (always strange fo a Saturday, of all days) and then got really really busy. I have only burned myself twice and only sipped and fell on my face once (I am fine just am a klutz and permanently in a constant battle with teamwork to make things more accessible/less likely to spill (for the love of TARDIS PLEASE DONT DROWN THE CARROTS YOU No ONE LIKES SOGGY CARROTS). I then, apparently, got even further swept up in the #the unmasking of the aussie anon debacle (you know, *that* one). Can't speak much about it, yk, messy legal stuff. I do have a lawyer I have complete trust in so I pray that justice will be delivered soon...

Just finished watching the 2011 recording of the Phantom of the Opera stage play and lskdfjlskdjflskdfj (honestly one of my favorite musicals I am a sucker for theater and a epic soundtrack). Even got to hear Andrew Lloyd Weber go 'oh Gosh' in his very British accent at the end, and it was beautiful (he currently reminds me of one of my school profs and it's making me nostalgic kinda). Now catching up on all of the Tumblr things I have been so delightfully asked in tagged in that I had no brainpower on until... well plot things happen ig.

✏️highlighter: i have an imagination, a pretty good one. I am very funny sometimes. I strive to be kind and present and empathetic. I can bake pretty good. I am trustworthy and I am friendly.

🖊️felt tip (copy and pasted from @hiddenvioletsgrow ask):"In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill - The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it - and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining-rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage." (Tolkien took my aesthetic and gave it to biblo, minus the hole in the ground). Think like... soft and cozy and a bit academic and warm and inviting and there's always a pot brewing for you and we can sit and do nothing or go on an adventure together dearie. Think like fantasy adventure cozy core. Low fantasy if you will.

📃 sketchpad: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. i have two little feet with three pointed toes that I can use to perch on your shoulder. I have a pointed beak that I'm very proud of and can speak pretty fluent English. working on Spanish and pronunciation but it's a step up from birb song. I am very round and soft and good for cuddling. My plumage varies in colors from seasons but now I am decked out with raven-like plumage with a iridescent sheen to them

[mithclearwell]

Just out of curiouse, do you have any tips for beginner artists? I would really appreciate one

Of course! ^-^ I'm more than happy to help!

Let's see...without the ability to have a conversation, I'm not sure where exactly you are in skill level, so I guess I'll start with some basic quality-of-life tips.

General:

You don't have to go to college to get good at art. I didn't go to art school!

Watch youtube videos from good artists, or those you admire!

What kind of art do you ultimately want to produce? This isn't an instance of "I can only pick one thing", it's more like...each type of art requires different skills, and if you know ahead of time what you want to do FIRST, you can narrow down what you have to learn.

learn proper sketching and use of circles and other shapes to build the figure, don't just jump in making the final lines right away! It's not a "cheat", it's proper technique. It's "caring about your work".

Same for references. Google up some images of what you want to draw and look at them while you draw your own picture. It's not only okay, it's what professionals do. You need to train your EYE as well as your hand.

It's okay to mimic styles you like! But be aware that each artist may stretch or squish or exaggerate proportions to fit what they personally like to see. This is why it's IMPERATIVE that you learn realism alongside any manga style you want to try. Once you learn where the eyes sit on the face, the different facial planes and what bones they relate to, and different sizes and builds for the face, you can then manga them up to any style you want!

For real paper:

Use a protector sheet, or wear a glove on your drawing hand. You want to make sure you don't get graphite or colored pencil on the side of your hand, and then smear it on your drawing. Placing a piece of paper under your hand will protect your work!

Don't touch your art with your fingertips. Fingertips have oil and gunk on them, and will smudge your drawing. (If you're working with charcoal, this could work to your advantage! But you're probably not using charcoal. It's messy and usually limited to college art students.)

Get the right tools! You can buy a small eraser set in the art section of Wal-Mart for like $3 -- it has a polymer eraser, a smaller white eraser, and the all-important KNEADED ERASER. This thing can be squished and torn apart and it'll pick up graphite like a champ! Do not bother with hard pink erasers, they're trash.

You don't need special paper to learn. I used to draw on the backs of my dad's extra math photocopy papers. Copy paper is smooth and not too fussy and I like it. "Sketch pads" usually have a rougher grain, and I hate the way the paper feels. Also there's a lot of ugly white spots when you try to shade or use colored pencils. Only use that if you're keeping a cute little book or using pastel crayons or something (or it's all you have). Don't fuss over it too much while you're learning. It won't make much difference until you're ready to specialize!

Blending stumps are cool and even pros use them.

Get a small electric pencil sharpener. They're less than $10 at places like Dollar General, and those stores are literally everywhere.

If you get a manual sharpener in an "art set", that's fine, too, but it hurts my hand to do it manually. I like the ones that have little covers.

It DOES matter what kind of ink pen you use. Gel pens will smear. Most markers are washable, and you better believe they will run at the first hint of moisture. India Ink also smears and runs with water. I recommend Sakura Micron pens, Zig Mangaka pens, or my favorite --- the Kuretaki Bimoji felt tip brush pen. You can get all that on Amazon, and it's like $6. I got the superfine tip.

LET YOUR INK DRY BEFORE YOU PUT MARKERS OR WATERCOLOR OR ANYTHING AT ALL OVER IT. It takes maybe 20 minutes.

If you don't plan to color it, you CAN draw with a ball point pen and it'll look just fine.

Do a tiny little water streak test with any markers you plan to use with watercolor. Just brush a tiny bit of water over the mark after it's dry to see if it bleeds. I use that bleed to my advantage sometimes, but you just gotta be aware of what's what.

Digital:

You can buy a small, cheap tablet from HUION for less than $40. MAKE THE INVESTMENT. IT'S WORTH IT.

Clip Studio Paint is EXCELLENT. Well worth the $50-$60 price tag. I think you can try it before you buy it, too. It gives you access to the Asset Store -- which is the single greatest artistic sharing tool I have EVER seen, and I've used SAI for ...probably a decade... I've used dozens of custom brushes and even made my own, and I just can't even believe what is available with CSP. Do yourself a favor and get it.

"But I can't use a tablet! I can't look at a screen while I draw!" Yes you can. YES you can. Yes you can, if you'll just try it. "but I tried once and it didn't work" Well YEAH, if you only tried a handful of times, OF COURSE it didn't work. Do you know what practice is? HUION screen tablets are over $300!!!!! Do you have that kind of disposable income lyin around? (plz donate some to me if you do lololjk =u=; )

Start saving a folder full of refs.

Ask people to tell you what to draw. Let them request something for free. This makes you draw things you wouldn't normally draw, and there is INCREDIBLE value in stepping outside of your comfort zone. You will level up in no time.

Whew...that covers most of the basics, I think. If you have something specific you want me to go into more detail on, please let me know! I love helping ;w;

[dearayei]

Holiday Break Productivity

As a lady born in the year of the "Horse" 🐎, it is a natural characteristic of ours to always do something productive, even during breaks. This holiday break should have been a rest or game day for me, but instead I practiced my drawing skill and continued reading "Ikigai," which I hadn't opened in weeks.

I've been practicing different "emotions or feelings" in chibi, as I haven't drawn chibis in a while.

I used to sketch "anime" rather than chibis or illustration back in elementary because I was a big fan of ✨ 90s anime ✨ like Fushigi Yuugi, Ghost Fighter, Ranma 1/2, Flame of Recca, Hell Teacher Nūbē, Oh my Goddess!, Sakura CardCaptor, Boys Be, Gatekeepers, Slam Dunk, HunterxHunter, Sailor Moon, and many more.

Unfortunately, I don't have a copy of my sketches today because I used to draw on notebooks or pad papers - I remember back in primary school, my classmates would pay me PHP 5.00 - 20.00 💰💰💰 (yup! business-minded since I was a kid 🤣) to draw their favorite anime which technically honed my skill in creating anime art and marketing/sales, but as I grew older, I outgrown drawing animes and now I prefer to draw still life or illustrations/chibis since I love anything kawaii and sketching beautiful landscape or places.

Book Review: Ikigai (Chapter 1 to 3)

I promised myself to finish this book by May 🎯; please don't get me wrong, on why I'm still not done reading this book its because I didn't have a time for reading this past few weeks due to my workload (my job), but this holiday I made sure to allocate 3-4 hours just to read this book and discovered that...

Ikigai is one of my favorite book out of my 7 new self-development books and I am now currently on Chapter 4: How to turn work and free time into space of growth - very timely to what I need nowadays, isn't it? 😀

To give you an idea why I love this book so far, one of the reason is that it tackles on how we determine our life's purpose and reasons to live more, like the centenarians in Okinawa, Japan. It also emphasize the importance of maintaining physical health by staying active even after we reach the age of 60, since sedentary lifestyle can lead to hypertension, imbalanced diet, cardiovascular disease, osteoporosis, and even some cancers. Sleep plays an important role in how we can slow the aging process and build our immune system because "melatonin" is a powerful antioxidant in our bodies that contains an ingredient that protects us from cancer, Alzheimer's disease, aging, and other diseases.

This book also discussed "Logotherapy," a therapy developed by Victor Frankl that focuses on people's search for meaning in life. Unlike other therapies, logotherapy takes a spiritual approach. Frankl's logotherapy incorporates three philosophical and psychological concepts: freedom of will, will to meaning, and meaning in life.

Freedom of will asserts that we have the ability to chose and take action in response to both internal and external circumstances.

Will to meaning states that we have the freedom to follow our goal and purposes in life, which means this is our major motive for existing and doing, allowing us to bear pain and suffering.

Meaning in life is a subjective experience, but the meanings exist within us and waiting to be realized by us in any moment or in any situation.

One of the therapies that this book also tackles is the "Morita Therapy," a therapy based on the Buddhist perspective and developed by Dr. Shoma Morita, wherein the therapy focuses more on accepting the fluctuations of thoughts and feelings, embracing negative emotions, and learning how to blend with nature - if you ask me, it is quite similar to what we've learned from Grandmaster Lao Tzu (Taoism) which is

"Go with the flow, Be like water 🌊"

Sounds very profound, isn't it? 🤔 The first time I heard that, I was perplexed: how and why be like water? Then our Grandmaster taught us the value of being fluid, soft, and flexible in any situation, just like water, which takes shape wherever you put it and can adjust to any environmental changes.

Change is inevitable and if you resist it, problems will arise in your life and that's why our ancient philosophers taught us the importance of adaptability, because change is constant and not fixed; our lives are the result of constant change in our environment, feelings, emotions, interpersonal relationships, religion, and so on, and those who adapt easily win life, whereas others rot in the past, are unable to move on with their lives, and are depressed.

Like "Morita Therapy," embrace the imperfections in your life, welcome them with open arms, and acknowledge that the sentiments or emotions you're experiencing are valid. Simply accept how things are and then figure out how to mend them or overcome your own demons.

I'm about halfway through the book, but I'm looking forward to get more insights and teachings from Ikigai.

I definitely suggest this book to everyone who has ever felt empty on the inside, unable to discover their purpose in life, or simply lost.

Sincerely, Ayei 🌻

[kieraoonadiy]

Sorry I haven't posted any videos in a while. I'm still editing the corset video, which jumps around a bit but I hope it helps someone out there once it's posted. I've also been doing school things, being this semester I'm working on Apparel Construction 3, and Color and Design (sadly the pattern drafting 2 class was cancelled).

This was an in-class assignment for playing with color theory, that I took the basic outline design of from the hand out the teacher gave us, which I couldn't really trace well on my water color paper, so I used my sketch pad instead, and colored in, in watercolor.

This would have been my take on contrast and complimentary colors, but if you read closer into it with world events going on right now, the colors used also represent a country going through a pretty major war right now at the hands of the oppressor.

This would be my take if I was to design something for the MET Gala, as a protest against the war in Gaza.

With that, back to my editing.

[nomoreusername]

Silent Coffee Dates (Part 1)

Pairing:Sonya x female reader

Summary:When you go to return Sonya's book, you end up staying the night.

The routine hasn't changed for two years. Every Saturday morning at six I show up at Camila's Coffee, ordering every meal there as well, before coming back at seven in the evening. Approximately eight hours after me Sonya shows up. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I come here at four in the afternoon. She shows up around an hour later. After that I'm here any moment I can for the rest of the days knowing she won't be making an appearance.

That routine didn't stop today either. I was sitting at our booth in the very corner with my headphones in and sketch pad out. Beside me was a cup of hot chocolate. After all, I'm here for the peace. Not to taste a bitter drink.

Eventually, I only started showing up because she did. She sat across from me with either her book or her homework out and whatever drink she had decided to pick for the day. While she focused on that I lightly sketched her features. Occasionally, I would turn to other drawings and ideas that I had abandoned. Most of the time though it was her face I had on my paper since we were only together for a few hours. That isn't a lot of time for realism, but by now I'm sure I could draw her with my eyes closed.

As the sun started setting in the horizon she sighed before packing up her things. I just remained seated as I fixed the way I had drawn her hair just a little too dark. Without so much as a goodbye or see you later she was out the door. That was what was expected though. Despite being in our own little bubble at this place it was always popped when she left.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As the already almost vacant shop completely filed out I packed my things. Once I slid out of the booth I saw a red book with no cover on the front. Giving into my curiosity I picked it up. The spine was cracked as if someone constantly folds it while reading. It also has that old book smell. The one that seems to be a mix of dust and ink.

Deciding that maybe I could discover the owner of I took a look I opened it and peaked inside. Written on the front was the name Sonya.

Now even though we've never exchanged any words I knew her name. I've seen her write it on paper, and now that I think about it I do recall her bending the spines when she reads. At least, she doesn't dog ear the pages. That would be a true tragedy.

One other thing I knew about her was where she lived. Before you assume anything I'm not a stalker. While we live in opposite sides of town I used to ride her bus when I would babysit this little kid. He's in middle school now, but I suppose that's unrelated to the story.

Thinking it through for a moment I slipped it in my bag and headed out the door. Seeing as it's growing dark and I'm a teenage girl I should really hurry up. If I'm going to give it to her I'd prefer not getting kidnapped along the way.

Getting on my old bike with its creaky wheels and rusted bell I slung my bag over my back. Putting up the kickstand I pushed off.

As the evening, autumn air brushed past my face I resisted the urge to burry myself in my old sweater. For one, I like being able to see. Second, I'm still in a hurry. Besides, if I hesitate to do this I may not do it at all.

While normally I would give it to her the next time I see her she brings this one with her every time. Clearly, it must have some meaning to her. Even if it doesn't she has to carry it with her for a reason. After all, my sketchbook goes everywhere with me. If I lost it I would tear my entire apartment apart until it was safe in my hands. If it wasn't there I'd go through every inch of my school, neighborhood, and everywhere else you can think. To sum it up I won't let her be worried that something happened to the item she's so attached to. Our silent coffee meetups indirectly meant we were friends. It just so happens we don't actually communicate.

It's better than nothing though. I'm much too used to having nobody. It doesn't seem like Sonya's leaving though, and that means a lot to me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As I was in her neighborhood I really took in the difference between ours. Before you make any assumptions I don't live in the ghetto. Not that I judge people who do. Some people are just in unfortunate situations.

To put it lightly my family's pretty broke so being back in this area that was hardly one step below a gated community is sort of like a culture shock.

As I carefully started walking my bike alongside me in fear of accidentally running into someone I heard quick shuffling and an irritated hmph. I turned around to see an older woman glaring at me. With a sigh and an eye roll I kept walking. How dare I walk in her big, fancy neighborhood when my clothes aren't all nice and ironed. My black hoodie obviously means I'm a criminal mastermind.

People like her really need to get a life. It doesn't seem healthy to be so worried about strangers. As I stated earlier I'm a teenage girl. What could she possibly be thinking that I'm capable of?

As I rounded a corner I spotted someone I hadn't seen in a while. While his hair was still in unruly curls, and he was as happy as I remembered, he had grown a significant amount.

"Hey Chuck,"I called. He snapped his head towards me before his eyes lit up.

"Hi Y/N,"He excitedly waved. Deciding it couldn't hurt I headed over and put my kickstand down.

"What have you been up to? How's middle school treating you?"I asked.

"It's alright,"He shrugged. "I kind of miss you getting to babysit me though,"He admitted, putting babysit in air quotes. He was a good kid so I basically just made dinner, made sure he was got to bed on time (which was negotiable on weekends) and made sure he didn't do anything dangerous. Sometimes, it felt more like hanging out with a friend.

"You're twelve now. You don't need me to look after you,"I reminded him, ruffling his hair. He swatted at my hand while still wearing his bright grin.

"I'm not twelve. I'm twelve and a half,"He defended.

"Of course Chuck. I'm sorry for forgetting,"I chuckled.

"What are you doing here anyway?"He asked, cocking his head to the side.

"I'm returning something to my friend,"I explained.

"Can I come?"He quickly asked, almost bouncing on his heels.

"It's getting late, Chuck."

"Please. It's a Friday."

"I just don't want you to be out after dark,"I explained.

"But I'm chivalrous, and I'll listen to you,"He promised.

"If your mom says so then I guess I'll let you come,"I gave in. He sprinted to his house before yelling though the door.

"Can I go walk around the neighborhood with Y/N?! Please!"He begged. After a moment she came outside and looked for where I was. When she spotted me she walked over and hugged me.

"You've grown so much. Look at you. You're almost taller than me,"She exclaimed, pulling away. If I'm being honest she's sort of like a second mom to me. They're pretty much my other family. This place was my home away from home. Even though I don't work for them anymore I know they wouldn't mind having me over. Not that I would ask though. Requesting things from someone isn't something I do.

"Where are you going? Especially, when it's getting late. You don't exactly live a short walk away,"She pointed out.

"I'm just returning something to a friend,"I explained. "And Chuck was asking if he could go with."

She looked at me before looking back at her son who was still practically begging. With a nervous sigh she shook her head.

"Not tonight, but if you'd like we'd love it if you stopped by after. Even better, I could drive you?"She offered.

"Thank you, but I'm alright. I'll come over another time though,"I promised.

"Are you sure? It's not a problem,"She reassured me. Knowing that she meant her words I still had to decline.

"Okay dear. Be safe, and if something happens you know where we are."

"I know. Goodnight Chuck. Be good."

"I will,"He responded, a hint of disappointment in his tone. After repeating that I would stay for dinner another day, I got back to my original goal.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I approached her house the streetlights were already on. Despite this place being safe I was quick to get to her door. Ignoring the chills running down my spine I rang the bell. I just enjoy being able to do that since we don't have one.

The sound of a dog barking and muffled talking sounded through the thick wood before someone finally opened it. Instead of it being Sonya or even her parents it was her brother. He eyed me up and down before looking at me in a curious way. I suppose that's valid since I generally don't interact with many people.

"Sonya left her book,"I explained, pulling it out of my bag. Just as I handed it to him she appeared from behind him with a big, white dog trailing behind her.

"Y/N?"She asked.

"Yeah. I gave Newt your stuff. You left it at the shop,"I repeated.

"It's pretty late. Did someone drive you?"She asked, seeming more concerned about me than relieved about her returned item.

"I biked. Anyways, I'll get out of here now."

"It's dark out. Why don't you stay?"She offered, holding her dog back from bolting out the door. Why is everyone trying to do things for me today?

"No. It's honestly fine."

"So you're going to go all the way to your home but yourself? It takes me twenty minutes just to get out of my neighborhood. Being all alone at night is not a good idea,"She pointed out. I just shrugged as I kept my hands in my pockets.

"At least, call your parents and wait for them."

"I don't have a phone,"I admitted.

"Then, use ours,"She suggested. Tired of the way she was so persistent on helping me out I finally accepted as Newt awkwardly gestured for me to come in.

"Do you know the number?"She asked.

"Yeah. Where's your landline?"

"Our what?"Newt asked, speaking his very first words to me.

"Your landline. You know? The home phone connected to the wall?"

"We don't have one, but you can use my cellphone,"She said, unlocking it and handing it to me. After mumbling a thanks I typed in our number.

It rang once then twice before a beep was heard. Despite that usually mean somebody answered I still waited to see if it really was that.

When not even the hint of breathing was in the other end I knew it was just malfunctioning. I hung up before handing it to her.

"No luck so I guess I'll just bike home,"I shrugged.

"Just stay the night. We have the room,"She assured me. That wasn't the problem though. Accepting help isn't something I know how to do.

"I don't have any extra clothes,"I explained. While that didn't really matter I was looking for an excuse.

"You can burrow mine."

"I don't have a toothbrush."

"We have an extra."

"I don't have-"

"Anything you're worried about we have. Just stay until morning,"She repeated.

"But your parents-"

"Aren't home and wouldn't mind. Besides, you really want to go out there alone on a Friday night?"She pointed out.

"I guess not,"I mumbled.

"So?"She asked.

"So I'm staying the night,"I gave in.

All I wanted to do was return a book. Now I think I really should have waited until Monday.

Sonya's P.O.V

I showed Y/N to the bathroom so she could shower before going to find some clean night clothes for her. While digging through my drawers Newt quietly entered my room and expectantly looked at me.

"Why do you know Y/N?"He asked.

"We hang out at the same spot,"I vaguely explained, pulling out a pair of black sweatpants and a plain top.

"Is that why you're gone all those days?"

"Maybe. Does it matter?"

"If it's her then yeah,"He whispered.

"There's nothing wrong with her,"I defended.

"Really? Come on Sonya. We've all heard the stories. Everyone knows her name. She skips school to do who knows what-"

"Which isn't anyone's business. They're just rumors, and even if they're true we don't know the full story,"I pointed out.

"What good reason is there for that?"

"I don't know, and I'm not going to ask. Whatever she does she has her reasons, but she's not a bad person Newt. Don't judge her when you've barely heard her voice,"I sighed.

Just as he was about to reply the water turned off. Quickly shooing him out of my room I knocked on my bathroom door. She held her hand out through a small crack, and I handed her the clothes.

Taking a seat on my bed I pulled out the book she had returned while I waited for her. Coming all this way to return it was an odd decision to say the least. Especially, if she had to get here in foot. Still, it's a sweet gesture.

"I'm dressed,"She said, walking out of the bathroom and twisting her damp hair into a loose ponytail. She shivered in the tank top subtly rubbing her hands together.

"Hold on one second,"I instructed, going to my closet. Glancing around, I looked for something warm but not too tight or completely unfit for bed. After a moment I found a plain, purple sweater. Running my hands over the fabric, I was relieved when it was a soft texture.

I headed back out of my room and handed it to her. Without a word she slipped it over her head. Thankfully, it fit like a charm.

"Thank you,"She mumbled, her voice seeming naturally soft. Hearing her speak was different but in a good way. It is a bit unusual that she seems less shy when she's not speaking, but it doesn't matter. Honestly, I'm just glad that she's staying the night.

"We should still have leftovers. Are you hungry?"I asked.

"No,"She answered quickly. Before I could respond her stomach growled, showing the exact opposite.

"Okay. A little bit,"She admitted.

"You should have told me. Come on Y/N. Let's get you something to eat."

"Yeah. Okay,"She agreed, following me down the stairs.

This is seriously the girl people say is trouble? Yeah right, and even if she is there's always a reason people are the way they are. All I care about is that she has a kind soul, and she definitely does.

All Parts

[carrickbender]

Friday fi...ve(or whatever)

- had a job interview yesterday with a company that had the nicest warehouse I've ever seen. Not that I don't think we aren't going back, but I needed an interview to remind me how to do it. Plus, it wouldn't be a bad job...

- school is kicking my ass. Another trip to Cle Elum next week, and this time it will be full of tape measures, sketch pads, and stop watches. FIN 370's first exam wasn't easy, but I passed, and sometimes that's all you can say.

- today's chores include folding and finishing a load of laundry, going to the store, picking up the heads of a set of golf clubs that i dropped off right around fathers day(!!!!) To be reshafted(and nothing!!!!), and researching a therapist.

Speaking of which, here's the thing: I'm sure I overthink stuff, I get that. But like I've said before(sorry to be a repeater): I don't do self-talk well... like at all. So, for example, telling me to say the words I'm saying in my head to myself in a funny voice is ridiculous and not a helpful method of dealing with 'intrusive thoughts'. And suggesting, "well, would you say those things to your best friend" is just as ridiculous: my best friend is a conventionally attractive, intelligent guy who can pretty much do whatever he seems to want to do and effortlessly. I feel like I'm just being realistic, and I think I'm just trying to find the tools with which to deal with being who I am. The idea of mantras, rituals, and taking time for me is beyond unrealistic (I'm seriously glad for all yall who make it work, and you deserve all of the things and happiness it brings you- i judge not!). It's just not for me because theres no point in seeking some serenity for something thats not me, especially when all i want is a toolbox to deal with being a 'less than'- if that makes sense. So yeah... enough of my BS.

- So my mom and I had a great conversation on the way home from the airport a bit ago, and she made the offer that if we have to move due to me finding a job out of the area she would like to move into our house and pay the mortgage. To say that makes me happy is an understatement... Then yesterday, my dad and I were talking while Henry & I were headed to Oly, and he want to pay for our airfare and hotel to go to my brother Rick's wedding. To say it was unexpected was putting it mildly, but apparently my grandmother didn't give everything away to charity(a fact which made me proud that she would have, to be honest), and my dad and stepmom wanted to do 'stuff' for all of us boys... not to mention the fact that my stepmom is buying a headstone for her grandfather, something her dad never had the extra money to do. Honestly makes me tear up thinking about it...

- Anyhow, if you've made it this far, I applaud you. I just want to reiterate something I say often- I follow some pretty awesome and dynamic people, and watching y'all change the world is pretty awesome. Much love, and as a bonus: I got to speak cat today to this magnificent creature. I told him he was great, and un chat marveleuse et magnificent aussi! To which he seemed to reply, "B'eh oui, absolutament!!!"

Much love yall!!!

[sunflowerandstrawberryspice]

More early 2000's ninjago

So I see y'all liked my 2000's Ninjago head cannons, well well well I may or may not have plenty more to share.

Now to preface this is the HC that before season 3 Ninjago had the technology of the early 2000's before shifting to a much more modern even a bit futuristic setting. Now that that's out of the way I present HC's!

-Cole had (probably still has) a bright purple boom box decked out in stickers and pretty much a whole shelf of CD's to go with it

-Jay had Heelys and probably cried when he out grew them

-Nya didn't really have Barbie but lord have mercy did she have Polly Pockets and My Little Pony!

-Zane had and actually knows how to use and Etch-A-Sketch

-Jay had a couple of friends back home that he liked to call and Zane and Cole liked dropping in on his calls just to listen and tease him later

-They had two land lines at the monastery technically one was for the boys and one was supposed to "just be master Wu's" But he quickly learned that wasn't going to happen

-Kai liked boy bands (idk why he just did)

-They had Lincoln logs for literally an hour, they were taken away very quickly and never EVER seen again, some say that they saw Master Wu burning something that night

-Cole Zane and Jay loved getting to go into Ninjago city (cause I'm pretty sure it separate from the town bellow the monastery) and where ever they went they had to share a flip phone so they could call master Wu if they needed

-Cole had an emo phase, he is now in his punk phase (aka going from I hate myself everything sucks to everything sucks but I wanna do something about it + I've got fashion sense now)

-Jay tried to have an emo phase but poked himself in the eye with eye liner once and decided it wasn't for him

-Kai didn't have time for an emo phase but boy did he want one

-All of them have watched at least one Barbie movie. Jay is basic so he probably likes Princess and the Pauper (Nothing wrong with that it's iconic) Nya and Cole are Swan Lake lovers, Zane is a Farytopia fan and Kai probably didn't have time to watch the movies raising Nya and all but I think he'd probably like Magic of the Rainbow because Sunset is low key a fire elemental. Lloyd was introduced to them when he's older and probably like the Three Musketeers.

-Jay, Nya and Kai actually went to middle school unlike Cole and Zane who were homeschooled so they don't really get the whole 'cringe middle school' thing cause they just kinda floated through their cringe phases in peace(This is me assuming cause I'd hope Cole's education didn't end at 9!)

-I feel like someone collected beanie boo's but I'm not sure who, probably Jay since he has the home life to support that

-Last but not least: Leap Pads, Cole had one when he was really young (like 4-5 so before his mom died) and when he found it they spent a good couple hours playing Mr. Pencil and the stupid dog game

In conclusion Master Wu probably needs a nap but so do the rest of them. They were all awkward dorks at one point and all they can do is stop those pictures or video's from entering the public eye. (Aside from Pixal who didn't have a cringe phase and is very proud of it)

[bobbiworks]

Beyond the Bell's Chimes | Part 32

The day everyone had eagerly awaited had finally arrived. Segye High School's annual educational trip to Gyeongju was a chance for students to immerse themselves in culture and tradition. The cold, gloomy weather did little to dampen the excitement, as the surroundings transformed into a magical landscape adorned with strings of lightbulbs and colorful ornaments.

Jiwoo's heart raced as she made her way to the parking lot, where buses awaited to transport the students. Spotting Suyoung and Sohee together, her excitement reached new heights.

"Suyoungieee!" Jiwoo squealed, running towards her friend. The two embraced as if they hadn't seen each other in ages. "You look so cute in that jacket!" Suyoung complimented, referring to the matching outfits they had recently bought.

"Hello, Sohee!" Jiwoo greeted the third member of their trio. Addressing Suyoung with a meaningful look, she inquired, "Aren't you going to tell the others?"

Suyoung hesitated, glancing at the shy Sohee. "I think it's not yet time. I want to disclose it in the most dramatic way," she chuckled.

"Dramatic way?" Jiwoo questioned, intrigued. The boys arrived, backpacks in tow.

"Nice!" Seunghan fist-bumped with the girls. "Glad we're all here," he warmly stated. Wonbin, however, surprised everyone by walking straight to Jiwoo, embracing her.

"Wow, that's surprising," Suyoung gasped. Wonbin held Jiwoo tightly, his focus solely on her. After pulling away, he pinched her cheek with a smile. "Hi," he greeted, leaving Jiwoo blushing.

"Are you alright?" Jiwoo stammered.

"Yes, I'm alright," Wonbin replied with a small smile.

Mr. Park arrived with the list of students assigned to each bus. As names were called, students lined up and boarded the buses. Suyoung and Sohee were among the first to board, followed by Seunghan. When Jiwoo's turn came, she placed her bag in the storage before entering the bus. Inside, Seunghan awaited with a smile.

"I figured you'd be next," Seunghan remarked. Jiwoo took the window seat, and Seunghan joined her. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm pretty excited. You?" Jiwoo responded. Seunghan nodded, expressing his own excitement. "It's my first time in Gyeongju, so I'm quite nervous too."

"Did you bring enough warm clothes?" Seunghan inquired.

Jiwoo nodded. "My mom packed me tons of hotpacks and jackets. I get easily cold," she chuckled, but a cough interrupted her.

"Are you okay?" Seunghan asked, concern evident in his voice.

Jiwoo waved her hand dismissively, clearing her throat. "Yes! I am okay. Something just got stuck in my throat," she assured Seunghan, but he wouldn't let it slide. Without hesitation, he pulled his scarf off and wrapped it around Jiwoo's neck.

"You don't have to—"

"I am okay. My body can be pretty warm in the cold," Seunghan reassured her. "Just wear this for now until we get to the center." He fixed the scarf around her neck, and their attention shifted to Wonbin, who was seated just across the aisle.

Wonbin approached and asked if they were both okay. While aware that Seunghan was expressing his interest in Jiwoo, Wonbin didn't interfere, knowing his friend would do the same for him. Ultimately, the decision rested with Jiwoo.

"I'm okay. Really," Jiwoo assured Wonbin, who returned to his seat next to Ji Minseul, a fellow classmate Jiwoo had noticed.

As the buses embarked on their journey, the students initially reveled in singing and chanting, infusing the trip with energy. However, as the excitement waned, one by one, they succumbed to sleep. Seunghan observed his friends, some engaged in quiet conversations, others dozing off. Jiwoo, however, remained awake, sketching on her pad.

"Didn't you use to draw Eunseok?" Seunghan asked.

"Yes, I did. I finished it and gave it to him," Jiwoo replied, her attention now on Seunghan. Unaware of their proximity, he leaned towards her sketchpad, causing a brief moment of closeness. Jiwoo innocently stared at him, and Seunghan, struggling to control his heartbeat, quickly pulled away, attempting to appear unfazed.

"You're not usually shy, Seunghan," Jiwoo chuckled. "But why are you being like that all of a sudden?"

"Jeez, I don't know either," Seunghan denied, secretly thrilled to be seated next to Jiwoo. He couldn't hide his eagerness to see her smile.

"You know I can draw a caricature of you," Jiwoo offered, still energized to create one for him. Seunghan seized the opportunity and struck a pose in his seat.

"How about I do this?" he suggested, cupping his face with both hands. "I'm not really sure what a caricature is."

"Hmm, it's a little different from doing a portrait," Jiwoo explained, sketching his head. Seunghan marveled at her talent, realizing it was the first time he'd seen Jiwoo draw so well. Her small, delicate fingers moved gracefully.

"You have really pretty hands," Seunghan blurted out, unaware until Jiwoo raised her hand, marked by blisters from sketching and smudged with charcoal.

"This? Pretty?" Jiwoo asked, pulling her hand away before Seunghan could touch it. "I always have weird hands. I can't grow my nails long because I'm scared to scratch myself." She pouted.

Seunghan chuckled, producing a pack of tissue paper from his bag. He took Jiwoo's hand, wiped it clean, and couldn't help but feel a desire to hold it longer. "I can clean my hand—" Jiwoo began, attempting to pull away, but Seunghan held it, insisting he was already doing it. She sighed and let him, eventually smiling and patting his head.

"Thanks," Jiwoo said.

"You're welcome," Seunghan smiled. Jiwoo returned to her sketch, and it took her half an hour to finish the caricature. When she attempted to show it, Seunghan had fallen asleep, his lips protruding as his head rested on his chest. Chuckling, Jiwoo decided to keep the sketch for now, planning to give it to him later.

Jiwoo glanced around and met eyes with Wonbin, who was watching her from his seat. She smiled, and he waved back. However, she couldn't help but notice him engaged in conversation with one of her female classmates, diverting his attention away from her. Suppressing a pang of discomfort, Jiwoo turned her gaze to the window, hugging herself as the snowy scenery flashed by like a fast-forwarded slideshow. She barely absorbed the fleeting landscapes before drifting into sleep, finding comfort in Seunghan's scarf wrapped around her.

Seunghan woke up later, realizing Jiwoo had unconsciously leaned her head on his shoulder. Wanting to provide comfort, he adjusted himself and pulled out a blanket, wrapping it around them.

Meanwhile, Wonbin found himself unexpectedly engaged in conversation with Ji Minseul, a classmate usually occupied with idol training. She was pretty but not particularly academically inclined.

"Why did you become a trainee anyway?" Wonbin asked.

"I don't like to study," Minseul chuckled. "Besides, it's easier to sing, dance, and all that." She playfully nudged him. "So, why are you here instead of with your girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" Wonbin was taken aback, his mind immediately conjuring thoughts of Jiwoo. His face turned pink as he stuttered, "She's not my girlfriend…"

"You mean…yet?" Minseul nodded, as if understanding the situation instantly. "Why not yet?"

"I don't know. She has never thought of it yet," Wonbin shrugged. Minseul laughed, placing a hand on his shoulder. Wonbin quickly moved away, giving her a judging look.

"Sorry, my bad," Minseul grinned. "So, I assume she's asking you to wait for her."

Wonbin nodded. "See…have you ever dated someone?" she asked.

"Never," Wonbin replied shortly.

"Has she?" Minseul asked, referring to Jiwoo. Wonbin shook his head sideways.

"Ohhh, no wonder you guys are frustrating," Minseul mumbled.

"H-How are we frustrating?" Wonbin stammered, flustered by her comment.

"People are betting on who will win Jiwoo's heart. If I were a dude, I'd like her too," Minseul smiled. "So stop looking at me as if I'm trying to flirt with you. You aren't my type."

"What is your type?" Wonbin asked, to which Minseul smiled mischievously.

"I like someone like Jung Sungchan," she said, frowning as she admitted he liked someone else. "But I still haven't given up…not until he graduates."

"Okay," Wonbin replied dryly, earning a flick on the forehead. "Ouch. What was that for?"

"Don't you hate the idea that Jiwoo is giving a chance to other guys? Are you sure she likes you the way you like her?" Minseul bombarded him with questions.

"If you want me to make her jealous, I don't want that. I can't stand seeing her cry because of me," Wonbin sighed. "Besides, Seunghan asked me to give them time together for at least a day."

"So you gave in? You're okay with that?" Minseul asked, and Wonbin dismissively shook his head.

"I'm not. I'm really jealous, to be honest, but Seunghan's my best friend. He'd do the same if he were in my shoes," Wonbin said, looking at Jiwoo and Seunghan, who were peacefully sleeping.

"Why don't you hang out with me then? Just until something snaps?" Minseul suggested. Wonbin was unsure what she meant and immediately rejected her invitation.

"Promise, she won't be hurt unless she cares a lot," Minseul smiled mischievously. "Besides, Seunghan's going to be with her." She added, trying to convince him.

The buses made a stopover for half an hour to ensure the engines were in good condition before continuing the remaining route. The students were given time to use the restroom or stretch. It was 3 in the afternoon, and the unanimous decision seemed to be to grab some snacks.

Jiwoo headed towards Suyoung and Sohee, thinking they should go together to explore the food stalls. However, her attention shifted to Wonbin, who was adjusting his jacket. "Wonbin…" She smiled as she approached him. "Wanna go buy snacks with us?" she asked.

"With whom?" Wonbin inquired. "Suyoung?" he added, and Jiwoo nodded.

"Come on, we can find something you'd like," she said, casually reaching for his hand. However, Wonbin pulled away.

"I made plans with Minseul," Wonbin said quietly, avoiding her gaze. He felt bad, but he believed Minseul's suggestion might work. "Sorry."

"Oh, well… I'll just get Suyoung and Sohee then," Jiwoo smiled, though a hint of hurt lingered in her expression. She had thought she and Wonbin had plans to try some food during the stopover. Turning her back on him, she sighed before making her way to Suyoung.

"Where's Wonbin?" Suyoung asked, standing with the group in the parking lot alongside Sohee, Seunghan, and even Eunseok, who had joined despite being in a different bus. Jiwoo shrugged, attempting to force a smile. "Really? He's having mood swings now?"

"It's fine. Maybe he just wanted to enjoy the trip on his own," Jiwoo explained, not wanting Suyoung to develop a negative opinion of Wonbin over something minor.

"It's Wonbin," Sohee remarked, pointing to Wonbin with Minseul's group. "Since when did he become close to that group?" she pondered aloud.

Seunghan observed his best friend from a distance and noticed Jiwoo's silence beside him. "Just let him be," he said, reaching for Jiwoo's shoulder. "We can go inside. We'll run out of time if we stand here too long," he suggested, and his friends nodded in agreement.

[cottoncandy-cult]

Spotless

Fan! Levi Ackerman X Celeb! Reader

So this will take place in the modern world, no titans. Reader is a celebrity. (C/L) = Clothing Line

Levi pulled up to a 3 bedroom home, the young man having put his OCD to good use as he had opened up his own cleaning service. He was specifically requested by a client this time, though he wasn't sure who it was. All he knew was that his client was more often then not busy, unable to take the time to clean properly. He had never done a live in a job but he didn't mind, it was only for about 6 months and the pay would be rather nice. He stepped out of his truck, grabbing his big bucket of cleaning supplies. Of course Levi was informed his client already had plenty, he had very specific brands he preferred to use.

Upon knocking on the door, a familiar face had opened it, the face belonging to an old school mate by the name of Erin. The boy giving him a friendly smile and stepping aside to let him in, he thought the voice over the phone was familiar, but he hadn't been able to place it. "Long time no see, thanks for taking the job. My cousin could use some help." Levi had quirked an eyebrow, he had never really heard Erin talk about his family.

Though before he could question the male further a young woman came rushing down the stairs, her (H/l) (H/c) flowing about as she seemed to search about the house. Only then did he realize how despite how clean it was, the house didn't seem to be organized. Obviously, the work of quick cleaning, though soon something registered in his mind. Right before his eyes was THE (F/n) (L/N), a famous fashion designer. Levi had been a fan of the young woman as she was one of the few who could make beautiful clothing that was still decent in nature, he himself wasn't a fan of showy clothing.

Though part of him was rather surprised, the woman was popular and made plenty of money to have a much larger house yet here she was in such a quaint area in such a normal house. Then again, another part of him wasn't, this woman was generous and donated to many foundations. He heard she was working on a new line and had disappeared from public view, something that all who knew of her had seen before. She'd disappear often to work in peace, looking at her now though she looked so normal.

"Erin, have you seen my old sketch pad from (C/L)**?" She was searching a large bookshelf for the sketchpad, the young woman usually so dressed up was in just a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. She looked tired and stressed beyond belief, but she was the role model of the clothing world. All of her clothing lines were a mix of comfortable, modest and beautiful, where many lines had sacrifice modesty to try and make the clothing items attractive despite their price and how uncomfortable they can be.

"(Y/n) you're supposed to be relaxing, just sit down on the couch. Levi and I will look for it." At the mention of the name the girl spun around, wide eyed as she blushed deeply. "Why didn't you tell me he was here! I would have come to introduce myself!” She rushed over, bowing slightly before looking up at him. "I'm so sorry about that, my name is (Y/n). Thank you for agreeing to clean up this place." Inside he was fan-boying, but on the outside he managed to stay calm and return the bow. Thankful that she couldn't see his face, as he could feel the heat of his cheeks.

"It's no problem ma'am, I'll make sure that you'll be able to focus on your work." With that he and Erin went off to search for her missing item, he was already arranging everything in his head. He wanted to make sure he did well on this, should these next few months go right not only would the greatest woman he had ever seen be a repeat customer but she may even recommend his bussiness to some of the other high profiles she associated with.

       -Time Skip: 4 Months-

4 months had passed and he had grown to greatly enjoy his time in the home with her, she was kind and helpful. Always trying to return his hard work with gifts, or even home made meals on occasion, even though she was already paying him handsomely. After the second month he had informed her he was actually a fan of hers, after hearing that she began running her ideas passed him as he'd never leak her hard work.

As it turned out the reason for her stress was, she was starting a men's line, some outfits were almost like gender bent versions of some of her older female outfits. Of course, this also meant he had to be her model when he wasn't cleaning, trying on the clothes so she can modify and fit them to fit him, so she'd have physical examples to show her manager. He had never enjoyed a job this much, then again, he never thought he'd be friends with someone like her.

Though by the third month he had found he felt more than just admiration and respect for her, he had begun to catch himself smiling when he'd watch her work. He loved her hard work and how dedicated she was, he was always amazed by her kind heart. She just made him melt, her laughter and how goofy she was never failed to lighten his mood. Of course, he'd never admit to any of this, sure he was much kinder to her than others but that couldn't be helped. Something about her brought out a side of him no one else knew he had, including himself.

But today was a special day, he had come to terms with his feelings and needed to confront her with them. Sure, it may make things awkward, he could even lose his job. But it wasn't like he needed this job, or he'd go under, so if it happens it happens. He was making his way to the garden out back, knowing she'd be there taking a break. Sure enough (Y/n) was sat on a new looking bench on her patio, admiring the flowers in the garden directly in front of them. "Hey Levi, you finally taking a break?" She gave him a warm smile when she noticed him, one so contagious the corners of his lips perked up slightly into a small calm smile. "Yes, I finished doing the dishes." He approached and sat beside her, going over his words in his head.

Though any anxiety he had must have been on his face, as (Y/n)'s smile had become a look of concern. "Is everything ok Levi?..." She carefully took his hand, to say he struggled to fight the heat that formed in his cheeks was an understatement. "Yes but... I do have something I need to speak to you about, I'm merely trying to form the proper way to approach it." His gaze stayed locked on her hands as they carefully held his, though after a moment his eyes refocused on her as she nodded. "I see, whatever it is I'm all ears. So, no need to worry."

Her words brought him some comfort, so he decided to come right out and be direct. The sooner it's out, the sooner he'll know how she feels. "(Y/n) over the past few months we've grown close, but the feelings I have for you are not those of what you'd have for a friend... I like you (Y/n) maybe even love, I hope you'll give me the chance to truely understand these feelings." A wide smile decorated the young woman's face, leaning forward she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and he caught the faint fragrance of her perfume. "I like you to Levi... A lot." A deep blush coated her cheeks, realizing just how much more elegant in his admittance he was than she had been.

Though she almost fainted when he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, this gentle and rather tame form of basic affection melted her. He was more of a gentleman then any man who had tried to approach her, he took a small and slow first step. And something about it just seemed to reassure her he was telling the truth about his feelings; she wasn't a celebrity he just wanted to bang and brag about. She was the woman he wanted to love.

[sepdet]

I had to get another 12 vials of blood siphoned off, so it's time for another exciting installment in The Vampire Diaries, brought to you by the Anerican healthcare system.

Let's call this The Stigmata Phlebotomy Lab Strikes Back, shall we?

Content warning: blood, needles, medical incompetence

Recap: For those of you just joining us, in 2022 I became a statistic for the COVID + mild autoimmune diseases like arthritis can trigger "autoimmune dysregulation" studies. That means the immune system starts running around screaming THE SKY IS FALLING and attacking one's own organs in an attempt to flush out intruders. (Ew, I just realized, it turned my T-cells into MAGATs/Tories.)

Good news, the target was not my lungs.

Bad news, two words you never want to hear together from an ophthalmologist: "eye melt".

After many creative ($$$$) measures, what saved my eyes were eyedrops made from my own blood plasma, because we're resorting to medical witchcraft now. (Platelets, apparently.)

So. Vital Tears? Saved my vision. Trouble is, their phlebotomists are auditioning for Monty Python.

The Hostile Housecall Sketch. When I couldn't see to drive, I had to invite a vampire into my home, which was a little awkward for an introvert who's had to self-isolate since 2019. I'm sure my manners were rusty, but still, she was the most uncommunicative medical professional i have ever met, sort of an anti-dentist. I fumblingly suggested the dining room after she didn't reply to my "Welcome, I'm [name], this is my first time so I'm kind of nervous!" I realized afterwards that she never told me her name. I know she must have spoken at some point, but all I remember is stony silence.

Sterile Procedures? In This Pandemic? Next time I drove to the lab hoping to find a more friendly med tech. And I found one! He was very friendly while dropping all twelve vials of my blood on the floor again and again because he kept setting them on a rounded stool instead of a table. Quoth he: "Don't worry, it happens all the time. The last patient was nervous about it, too, but I told him not to worry about it!" I was not altogether reassured. Maybe I shouldn't have looked at those Health Advisory flyers on the way in warning about a drug-resistant candida aureus outbreak in county healthcare facilities.

Operation Stigmata. Today'a score: 5 phlebotomists, 9 rubber gloves, 3 glasses of water and 2 low sodium V8s before the appointment and 2 liters of water during, 7 cotton pads. 8 bandaids, ~15 disinfecting sterile swabs, 3 rubber tourniquets (sometimes 2 at once), EIGHT different needles and EIGHT different punctures, and 2 hours to fill 12 vials with blood.

I almost made it through without losing my temper — the last thing you wanna do is antagonize someone putting a needle in you— but after one particularly painful bit of windshield wiper subdermal probing, I finally burst out, "You're 90 degrees to the vein...I've never seen anyone do that before!"

Still, apart from that, I kept up my Model Patient persona pretty well. At the end, when one of the women said, "Thanks for being so patient," I replied with a firm, "Thanks for sticking with me... pun intentional."

I'm honestly impressed. Both elbows feel like I've been assaulted by Woody Woodpecker, but it took a dedicated team effort to outdo the phlebotomist who left me with major bruises and visible needle marks at my high school graduation 35 years ago.

Now, how to bribe the vet who draws blood from my cat into practicing human medicine without a license.