#Why does this not have thousands of notes your art is AMAZING

[plottwiststudios]

Women of Xal II Kickstarter: Delayed?

Hey, have you heard of the overly ambitious visual novel titled "Women of Xal" for Steam and Itch.io? (PC/Mac/Linux) Because that plays into why we might need to shelf the series for a few years. Full breakdown under the cut. (No spoilers)

For those who have gotten the True Ending, you should be fully aware that the story is about to vastly expand outside of Xuna's castle. It's a narrative must where everything that happens, happens well outside the scope of the original game in so many ways. And let's talk about scope! Especially if you have no idea what's so staggering about the original Women of Xal visual novel:

600+ optional choices we painstakingly programmed

Branching paths that people are still asking for guides on

A dozen romance options

Poly and gay options that interact with one another

Voice acting from now VERY popular voice actors

A 15 hour story full of mystery, lore, and tense politics

110 track soundtrack

4 Endings

Animations

Thousands of art assets (Bless Cat)

Years of hard work and long nights

No AI Art

100% positive reviews as of this post

Recouped $6000+, or roughly a fraction of the cost of development. After 2+ years of being released

Note that very last bullet point. Doing things for the art and passion is amazing and all, but I can't be investing literal thousands of hours into creating a game for a subset of a subset of a subset of people. I have bigger projects I want to finally get to work on. Ones I really hoped Women of Xal I would help a bit with funding. But it's not. And because of certain facts about the game, it may never be able to do so. To no fault of any of the players.

When I made Women of Xal I, my time was more readily available and I was quite a bit younger. The cost of running a company and creating a game like WoX as the first product hadn't quite hit me. I was also silly enough to believe "if you make it, they will come" to a degree. That part makes me grin in a not fun way.

But these days I have a job that takes me away from creating, but does pay the bills and debts. Debts I don't want to get into again in order to create the sequel that will undoubtedly come with far higher costs due to the game's scope. I have a better understanding of the costs of hiring returning and appropriate talent necessary to create a game better than the last. (I don't personally believe in being satisfied with an intentional steep downgrade.)

Yes there is the Kickstarter option for Women of Xal II, but there are plenty of costs and time investment that makes it an unviable avenue to explore during this point in time. After all, who but the people who sat down and explored everything the first game had to offer would understand how we came up with a $50,000 Kickstarter price tag for a visual novel's sequel? Especially since too many will look at the first Kickstarter and believe we made the first game with only $14,000.

I have thought about giving Women of Xal I a modernized facelift with a smaller Kickstarter, complete with a ton of new features and fun ways to streamline and highlight the narration's strong points, but there's a LOT of baggage that comes with that, including not wanting to go backwards when I still want to create my "pipe dream" projects.

So I'm thinking we'll give it a bit more thought these next few days, and if we can't think of a solution that we haven't already tried, we'll officially announce the delay (and before you suggest your own ideas, know that there's a 99% chance we've already tried it).

A long, long post just to say I do sincerely apologize for having people wait longer, but I am literally still a few thousand dollars away from paying off all my debt that came from funding the first game. It's a micro-trauma I do not feel inclined to repeating again. When the franchise is in a better place, or I am emotionally/physically, I will return back to Women of Xal to finish the story. If I cannot, I will release a summary of events that transpire after the first game's true ending.

But for now, I'm going to focus on financial and emotional healing, and creating projects that I feel will be more appreciated by both myself and people who are turned off by what "Women of Xal" offers.

Thank you all for supporting our small company these past several years. <3

-John

[rainbowgod666]

Dr. Stone headcanons cause that is what ive been watching these days

Tsukasa has been having a perfectly hidden breakdown and only told senku when the fighting stopped, unfortunately they had to freeze his ass like, 3 months later??? Idk i didnt get to that part of the anime

Senku has so much shit wrong with him its amazing. I get too close to him he starts talking like CJ Duchamp. He sleeptalks about things and chrome started recording those... uuuuuntil our fennel haired boi started saying something about gen's butt. Using science-themed dirty talk.

Also every time he met tsukasa was some death note shit. He with the red being like "yessssssss... come to my kingdommmmm >:3 >:3 >:3" and tsukasa was like "this dude is fucked up, fr"

Suika is a cryptid and has scared thousands. Little gourd-headed girl why are you making the mushroom meme from here on tumblr sound mid. Why do you know every secret of all kingdoms. Why did you dream the fucking end of the world to nuclear hellfire-

Chrome is the only normal one except that he likes rocks a lot

Going back to our boy senku, he got drunk once and the shit he said would make a 4channer go pale. And thats coming from someone who searched THIS

-and instead got Real Raunchy "art" of what i assume was a REAL GUY saying insults that were privably meant to be in russian and not in english (look i have issues of my own ok)

Also one more thing. By The Autism what the actual fuck is kinro on. One time senku made (incredibly light and basically placebo) combat drugs, and... he did all of them. Result? Mf jumped at tsukasa like an animal and scared our boy Kars From Wish.com for a moment. Defeated him. And was like "guys seriously i know my ideal does sound kinda fucky wucky but uh. Are you guys ok? Is senku treating you well? Im willing to stop all fighting before-" but alas it was the time i was visiting so senku started talking like a boondocks charachter. Idc what did he mean by "whats really good", that is a fade that cannot be ran, cause tsukasa never breaks a statue without actually thinking about it, but uuuuuuh with senku the issue is that hes kinda always ready to scrap amd by that i mean reduce YOU to scrap

Also seriously suika you are a child what the fuck are you talking about "the birth of a new god" and "green-blue flames cleansing this earth of ignorant savages" and "your name will be naught but a footnote tsukasa-kun =)" GET THIS MANDELA CATALOGUE ASS CHILD OFF ME DAMN MULTIVERSE I ALREADY HAVE ENOUGH IRL MOOTS LIKE THAT AAAAAA-

[rememberdamage]

Isn't it just amazing that ideas can burn up inside of you until you can't sleep? Whether it be words pouring out of your brain and onto a page, or fragments of an image your hands fumble to recreate. From the silent, dark abyss of a bedroom into Notes Apps, Post-Its, journals and notebooks and scraps of paper on the floor. I think that's the most magical time, the middle of the night when your brain is too fuzzed and shaky to think about anything else other than the thing standing in between you and some Goddamn Shut-Eye. It doesn't even have to be an original idea. You can hear a song and stare at your bedroom ceiling wondering why the fuck your brain won't stop playing it. You can repeat a saying over and over to yourself because your eyes won't close and your fingers are tapping. That's inspiration. That's when art slaps you in the face and reminds you what has controlled humanity for thousands of years. Do you think Midjourney ponders the image it gave you after you typed in the prompt? Does ChatGPT look at its writing, pondering, letting the words coil like a spring in its stomach until it can't help but write and re-write and re-write? Do either of them rub at their dry, tired eyes, swinging their feet off the edge of the bed and turning on the lamp? No. Next time you can't sleep, sit up, stretch your neck and shoulders, and make the thing your brain is screaming at you to make. Please.

[shingekinomyfeelings]

hmm, okay, I know I'm not saying it especially eloquently because my mood is in rapid decline (due to unrelated family bs), and I know a lot of folks are just sick of the 'creators wish they got more response on tumblr' discussion -- but there's something that has been bugging me for a very long time about what inevitably comes up in every one of these discussions.

I see so, so many people use the argument 'notes shouldn't matter because you should be writing for yourself and no one else' and it always irks me, and I'm gonna try to explain why, bear with me

I think it really misses the point at best, and that at worst there's often an implication that 'if you're a ~real~ writer who ~really~ loves writing then you don't need notes or approval.'

I do agree that you should write what you like, and loving what you have written should be the end goal, and the best writing is done by people who are loving doing the writing.

BUT

The idea that if the writing really mattered, you wouldn't care if it got notes is just so damn silly.

Storytelling is art that wants an audience.

Humans make stories to share them, and we have since language began. It's in our nature. We choose our words to evoke emotion at every turn so that an audience feels what we have felt; we love writing by others that makes us feel. Storytelling is, at its heart, feeling and sharing.

You shouldn't love your own story any less just because it doesn't have a thousand notes, no, but anyone who has posted their work online and claims they don't feel a surge of something when people respond positively to it is lying. Any writer who's had someone tell them what their story made them feel knows the surge I'm talking about, right?

Have you ever written something you loved so much that you became physically excited to share it with someone? That's a wonderful feeling, isn't it? And aren't you the most excited to share your story when you do, in fact, love what you've made? 'I wrote this, and I loved how it made me feel, and I want you to feel it, too!'

An actor could amazing at what he does, and appreciate his own skill, but where's the fun in performing for yourself in a mirror? Even if you knew you were an incredible actor, would you enjoy performing for an audience that sat there silently? People who love cooking certainly enjoy what they cook, but there's something deeply wonderful about sharing your food with others and seeing them enjoy it.

Art and skills are not invalidated or diminished by the desire to share them. You are not being a bad writer, or writing the wrong way, by wanting it to be seen and enjoyed. Don't ever let anyone make you feel like you are.

[hanibalistic]

#348CF7 | HUANG RENJUN.

genre | fluff 

word count | 1170

warning | mention of suicidal ideation ​

note | i needed to get this out of my draft!

that surprised stroke would have caused his entire painting. 

the tip of his paint brush, doused with dry white paint, hovered shakily over the top of the canvas painted with blue. after much internal debate and calming, renjun continued with his art class assignment, but your question has climbed above his priorities and stood stabbed into his brain.

"what of my things would you take out of my room first after i die?"

"i am not sure we will still be roommates when that time comes," he replied, making only gentle add-ons to the painting because he wasn't sure he equipped enough attention to add anything new.

you raised your brows momentarily, considering the connotation of his words.

college graduation would be when you two would no longer be roommates, and that would be only a few months from now. generously, and ideally for you, you two could figure out a plan to go down the same path in terms of housing and choose to share an apartment again after stepping into the workforce. marriage with another would probably be when you two would no longer be roommates, which would be years from now.

a humorous smile colored your face. it was a smile that meant nothing of hilarity despite it being shown due to the laughable element of renjun's believed situation—that you would live for years, with or without his presence. you sighed and sunk further into the couch, your heavy mind dragging the weight of your body with it.

"you have high hopes for me, renjun," you muttered, "for my life span."

"this is your depressions talking, is it?" he asked with furrowed brows. "if it is, i do not wish to indulge in it. respectfully, of course."

"no, it's not," you hummed nonchalantly. "just making some philosophical talk."

"which is a direct reflection of your thoughts, feelings, and opinion," he retorted with a scoff, reaching over to the dirty water cup and stirring his paintbrush in it. "philosophy is all about what people think and believe. by that logic, your philosophic talk is your depression speaking."

you scrunched your nose in disagreement, but nothing about these kinds of conversations surprises or bores you. in fact, the dynamic between you as a humanities major and him as an art major never ceased to amaze you.

the essence of both of your passion lies in creativity and human connection.

philosophical ideas force one to think about all that is no real answer and is intangible—what is love? what is life? does life matter without love? does love exist without life? art forces one to confront and see—this is what love is and life is. life needs love, and love needs life, and this is what it would look like.

in a sense, the variety of your study subjects sums down to how nothing is wrong at the same time as everything is wrong; everything matters because nothing matters. you two simply approach the ideologies in very different ways, and sometimes neither of you could understand each other, which to you was never an issue because it gave a reason for renjun to explain his paintings.

and you could listen to him explain thousands of things for hours on end. why the sky of his world is blue, why the bed of his room was small, why the heart of his body is beating.

"hey! philosophy is not just about your judgments and opinions, okay?" you retorted, waving an accusing finger at him. "you can be wrong in a philosophical discussion too, just not in the way you think you can be wrong."

renjun rolled his eyes with a soft sigh, but he indulged himself in the conversation regardless of how little time he had to spare his concentration elsewhere. "how so? sorry, but you're wrong when you said that it is immoral if you like torturing babies for fun!"

"that, actually, is a completely correct statement," you said. "morality and who has the power to implement the rules of morality aside."

"this is why you never talked me into taking a philosophy class," he mused sarcastically, the sudden cameo of optimism that happened just for the sake of completing his sarcasm an unusual taste in his mouth. "i have no idea what you are talking about."

renjun usually doesn't understand as well. he was never very literarily inclined. words freak him out without the coat of design, and too many words together always end up fogging his mind like an after-scorch. the radio rusts the gears in his brain, and world-dumping in books stresses him out.

yet, somehow, he loved listening to you speak, even though he could hardly understand you. disregarding the connotations of your words, he searched for a rhythm in your sentences, and in those melodies where your rage and love strung through, he could feel you.

it may not be the 'how and what,' but he certainly understood your 'why.'

and he knew it now from the way your voice scrambled in feign nonchalance that you were having thoughts about life and death that he could only assume and could never reach an understanding of.

"i don't think i will be the one putting away your things," he replied after a moment of thought. "your parents will probably deal with that."

you rolled your eyes in annoyance, obviously impatient with his refusal to answer a simple question, which was not at all simple to him.

"you're no fun," you muttered as you shifted on the couch.

renjun ignored you with his eyes focused on the canvas. his paintbrush remained hovering shakily in the air where he once was painting the sky, which was in the shade of blue and bright.

why the sky of his world is blue, why the bed of his room was small, why the heart of his body is beating.

it was all because of you, wasn't it? because you liked blue skies, and your bed was twin-sized, and you existed that he fell in love with you.

every detail behind his artistic decisions has been curated around you, to involve you.

what would he take out of your room if you die?

probably nothing. he would prefer if you didn't die at all. but if he has to choose something, he would take away his image of you in your room, sleeping or dancing, humming or crying. he would take away the image of your living in your room, your existence once a vessel of his affection that broke and left his love scattered dangerously on the ground.

renjun sucked in a deep breath and pressed his brush against the canvas. he didn't turn around to look at you, because if he did, he might be next. maybe the next one to go out would be him if you died. and he would never tell you that.

for now, his sky is blue because it is realistic. for now, his sky is blue because it just is.

[finelinevogue]

can you do one where the reader has a baby son and he is like a baby like 3 months old and he doesn’t want to leave his wife’s & sons side and he keeps checking over at them both, and his wife goes ‘look there’s daddy!’ And Harry waves 😭🥺

in celebration of 1000 notes on my masterlist and the fact dadrry on tour has me going feral, here we are;

Harry was definitely not going to be able to concentrate on stage.

Tonight he was performing in Dallas and was already suited up in his silky clothes, looking like a fluffy cloud that you could just dream away on. You really loved the whole suspenders thing he had going on, telling him he looked even more like a dad than he already does.

“Harry, will y’bloody calm down.” You sighed, rolling your eyes as he was pacing like a mad-man around backstage.

He was freaking out because tonight was the first show that his, your, son was also on tour with him. At only 2 months old, Dylan, was finally making his first appearance on ‘Love on Tour’ - not literally, but backstage. You and Dylan hadn’t been able to attend the first few shows because Dylan had had a checkup appointment for vaccinations. Now he was all okay, he was finally back in his favourite place on Earth - the presence of his dad. Although, currently, Harry was having a panic over everything that could go wrong with him being here.

You know how new parenting is.

“And what if I sing too loudly I burst his tiny eardrums—” Harry paced as he held his hands on his hips. You were currently holding Dylan against your chest, cocooned up in a soft-yellow baby wrap sling. He was sleeping peacefully against your chest because that’s all he did nowadays.

“Okay let me stop you right there, love.” You held out your hands for Harry to stop talking and he listened to you, looking at you with both dire stress and upmost love. “He’s got earphones first of all, okay? He’s going to be absolutely fine. All the other things you’re worried about, including alien abduction - which you seriously need to stop watching sci-fi movies by the way, are mindless things to worry about. He’s safe. Look.” You gestured to where he was laying peacefully upon your chest, all secure.

Harry walked over to you both and looked down at him in awe. He couldn’t believe he’d created something so perfect. Dylan was everything Harry had ever wanted and he woke up each day struggling to believe how lucky he was. He stroked his sons head lightly, leaning to give him a soft kiss on top of it. He was so in love with him. Harry’s head raised to meet you, smiling when he saw the love in your eyes you carried for him. He cupped your cheek and stroked an eyelash away from underneath your eye. He held it out on his finger for you.

“Let’s make a wish.” Harry whispered and you smiled at how corny he was being, especially when he had ten minutes until stage and was nowhere near pumped and ready. He didn’t care. His family was more important. These moments were more important.

“We can’t wish together.” You told him as if he was being silly.

“That’s a child’s rule. Let’s play by our own.”

“Okay. Together.” You nodded and closed your eyes, thinking up your wish. You heard Harry mutter the word ‘together’ under his breathe and then you opened your eyes and blew away the eyelash together. You looked at him as if something magical was just going to happen and then you both laughed at how silly you were both being.

“So you wished for endless ice-cream too right?” Harry joked, you knowing that’s definitely not was he wished for but played along with his joke anyway.

“No, mine was a little more PG rated.” You bit your lip and stifled a loud laugh.

“Do tell.” He whispered, getting closer to you but not too close so he’d squish his son. He’d gotten good at this whole dad thing, you thought.

“I wished that my husband got his tits out on stage more often.”

Harry gasped, quickly covering Dylan’s ears. “You can’t say things like that in front of our son, y’minx.”

“So that’s a no?” You laughed, tapping his hands off your son in case he woke him up and that’s the last thing you needed.

“Oh, it’s a yes. Just not when this lil’ fellas around.” He kissed Dylan’s head again, not understanding why he had an issue with his son seeing his chest but loved him all the same anyway. You guessed it had something to do with the lustful way he was looking in your eyes, and how he wouldn’t want anyone else in the room for what he’d do to you on a night when you’d gotten so aroused by his bare chest.

There was a knock at the door, stealing your lust-filled moment and bringing you both back to reality, calling Harry to be in position in 3 minutes.

“Work calls.” Harry said, taking your hand and walking you out of the room - once you’d grabbed the baby bag too - and down the hallways to the stage. Once he got there he still kept ahold of your hand as he spoke to you. “Remember, if you need anything, or he needs anything, come get me. Get my attention. Okay?” You nodded in response, even though you knew that wouldn’t be a good idea when he’s mid-performance.

“We love you. Go sing us proud.” You kissed him on the lips softly, still tasting the remanence of cherry bake-well tart on his lips. He tasted so sweet and sugary. It made you happy.

“I love you both, so much.” He kissed you after he’d told you, and then another kiss to Dylan’s head. “Have you got his earphones?” Harry asked, worried, untiled you pulled them out of your bag.

“Here.”

Harry took them from you and placed them over his sons ears. “There y’go lil’ man. Don’t have to listen to daddy sing and shout nonsense now.” He laughed, making you laugh and earning one final kiss on your lips before he was shouted at for not being where he was supposed to be. He kept blowing kisses as he ran away from you and the ones you blew he kept stored in his back pocket.

Harry was so amazing up on stage.

Harry worked his best art up there under the twinkling lights of thousands of fans. It was a pleasure to watch him be so artistic and creative. The note changes were to die for. The harmonies were second to none. The shimmies and dancing were so enjoyable to watch it made your heart swoon. He was simply incredible and you were so proud of him.

You made eye contact with him at one point in the show and he was just checking you two were alright. Dylan was awake now but peaceful, still with his large earphones on. He looked adorable. You kept his face away from the public eye though, as you and Harry tried to protect his identity as much as possible until he was older and could decide for himself how public he wanted to be.

“You okay?” Harry mouthed to you, in which you nodded your head to him knowing he wouldn’t understand you when you’re wearing a mask. You blew him kisses and he caught them all, placing them against his heart and keeping them there forever. Harry sent you some back and the fans screamed, thinking he was sending them to them instead. You pretended to catch them and keep a few for you and gift a few for Harry. He went back to performing shortly after that.

“Here you go,” you pretend to give Harry’s virtual kisses to Dylan, “a gift from my greatest inspiration to my greatest achievement.” You watched as Dylan looked up at you with his big, beady, green eyes and he smiled at you. That single smile alone reminded you of how perfect your life was and would continue to be.

[ikroah]

I stood there shivering in my pajamas and watched the whole world go up in flames and when it was all over I said to myself, “is that all there is to a fire?” —“Is That All There Is?,” Leslie Uggams (1968)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #17 - Freeside I

Collaborative Issue! Guest Artist: @yesjejunus​​

Companion Piece: ABV (Alcohol By Volume) (Explicit 18+ | 7k words)

Rose of Sharon Cassidy had gotten her revenge. With the help of the courier, Agnes Sands, McLafferty was dead and the Silver Rush was a blazing wreck. So why can't she fucking relax? Why can't her pulse stop pounding? Why can't her hands stop shaking? How many drinks does it take to feel okay again? After absconding to the Atomic Wrangler, she'll drink her companion under the table to know for sure. Read on Archive of Our Own.

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

Finally! IKROAH returns! And man does it return with a bang, right.

This has been a very busy summer for both me and @yesjejunus​​ which is why the comic sort of fell into hiatus for a little bit, but now I think everything’s back in order. You can expect new issues of IKROAH every two or four weeks on a regular basis like usual again, because believe me, nobody hates it more when this thing falls behind schedule than me. I have exactly one hundred issues of story to tell here, and I’d really like to get it done in my lifetime!

But anyway, YJJ fucking blew this issue out of the water. You may remember him from his grayscale art on IKROAH #11 (the Searchlight issue, one that remains very personal to me) but the sheer volume of talent in the colors of these pages is astonishing. He’s one of my favorite artists to collaborate with because of how much we get each other, and it’s with immense pleasure I finally get to show you all these pages we’ve been putting together for so long.

Also don’t miss ABV! I worked hard on those seven thousand words and I hope that you enjoy it (if you’re over the age of eighteen). The bittersweet thing about the vignette structure and visual medium of IKROAH issues is I don’t get so much room to really get into characters’ heads, so expanding upon certain moments in the comic with companion pieces is a really great exercise. ABV also contains a lot that, like the Searchlight issue, is really meaningful to me, and I think you’ll find ABV to be a story that really carves deep into the nature of how Agnes and Cass relate to each other.

Original Pencils (click for full size):

I love it when artists volunteer to do full art for me because it means I get to go wild on little pencils like these without any of the pressure to polish them. Check YJJ’s blog sometime soon after this and I think he’ll be posting side-by-sides...it’s really amazing what that man can do to my layouts.

May the unnamed guard of the Silver Rush, affectionately dubbed Door Guard-kun by YJJ and I, rest in peace. We felt so bad about it because YJJ drew him so goddamn attractive. YJJ wound up basing his depiction of him on a specific model at my suggestion, a no-prize to whoever can guess who that model was. Your hint is that it’s a very embarrassing internet microcelebrity crush of mine.

The absolute hardest part of drawing this issue, the part that we came back to dozens of times, was the panel where Agnes plants the bomb on the Silver Rush Guard. We went through so many different takes of Agnes’ pose because it was very hard to make it look like she was planting a bomb on the guy while feigning a flinch, and not just stiff-arming Door Guard-kun for no reason. I’m pleased with the final result.

Anyway, we’ll have another amazing guest artist doing full guest art for me next issue, so you’ll get to see more pencils like these when that comes out. See you then!

Transcript

EXT. FREESIDE, the run-down outskirts of NEW VEGAS. This is where the refugees from the NCR and Mojave meet the people too poor to get into the shining city itself.

A scruffy-looking DOOR GUARD stands vigilantly outside of the SILVER RUSH, formerly a pre-war gambling hall but now the largest commercial supplier of energy weapons in the region, thanks to its proprietors the VAN GRAFF siblings.

From around the corner, AGNES SANDS approaches the GUARD.

AGNES: Excuse me, do you know how to get to the Mormon Fort from here?

GUARD: What? Yeah, a few blocks north.

Suddenly, with a shattering CRASH, a glass bottle breaks against the street, having been tossed from somewhere in the shadows. AGNES and the GUARD both recoil in surprise; AGNES leans her arm against the GUARD to catch herself from falling, but seems to slip something into one of his bandolier pouches as she does.

GUARD: Hey!

The GUARD flips his laser rifle up to a ready position and scans the dark street around him.

GUARD: Damn punks, always throwing shit.

The GUARD turns his attention back to AGNES.

GUARD: Are you new here, man? Watch your back.

AGNES gives a light wave to the GUARD as she departs back down the street from whence she came.

AGNES: Thanks. You too.

MEANWHILE on the top floor of the building across the street, ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY has been observing the entire interaction. AGNES appears behind her from the stairs leading up to her perch, and sits down against the crumbled wall overlooking the street. She starts to light a cigarette.

CASS: Alright, so now what?

AGNES: Wait for the change in guard.

CASS: Looks like it's changing now. He's going inside.

AGNES: Oh!? Shit, good timing then.

CASS pulls a small black device out from her back pocket.

CASS: And you're sure the thing is—

AGNES: Yeah, when you threw the bottle.

CASS: Shit, you are good. Think Crimson Caravan knows we stole it?

AGNES: I'd hope they have bigger things to worry about right now. Now hurry, we don't have much time to—

CASS presses the button on the device.

SFX: CLIK!

THE SILVER RUSH EXPLODES. An enormous fireball erupts from within the building, blowing out the windows and sending shards of glass and steel in every direction down the street. The sheer force of the blast throws whole firearms into the street and rends all the SILVER RUSH PERSONNEL inside, the VAN GRAFFS included. CASS holds onto her hat to keep it from flying off her head, while AGNES’ cigarette flies out of her hands.

AGNES carefully stands up. The SILVER RUSH is a hollow smoldering box of brick and mortar.

AGNES: Fuck, Cass, you could have warned me first.

CASS stares into the flames across the street. They reflect in her eyes like something haunted.

AGNES: Cass?

CASS glances sidelong at AGNES. She doesn’t turn away from the fire.

CASS: You know, I wanted to make her know it was me. To make her die scared. Like McLafferty. But now that it's done...Fuck it, there's almost something poetic about it, right? Gloria Van Graff burned my caravan to ash. Now her and all her fucking laser guns and hired thugs are nothing but ashes in that...inferno.

The SILVER RUSH continues to burn. There are no survivors of which to speak of that could run out from the flames.

CASS: Dust to fucking dust, you bitch.

AGNES looks across the street and watches the armory burn beside CASS. She looks over to her companion softly.

AGNES: Are you alright?

CASS glances over at AGNES and they hold each other’s gaze for a moment. She turns back to the fire before replying.

CASS: Yeah. I’m alright.

CASS turns away from the window and walks towards the stairs that descend out of the building.

CASS: Let’s get out of here.

AGNES remains by the window a moment, watching CASS leave. Then she turns back towards the SILVER RUSH again as the flames and smoke continue to pour out of the building.

Finally, she turns around herself, and follows CASS down the stairs.

The SILVER RUSH still burns.

[olivinesgayshit]

Queer Art Showcase!

This is run by the amazing, immaculate @queercutlureis !

I'm pleased to meet y'all! My name is Olivine, and I am but your average Texan queer trans woman! I have so many interests, but today, I will be putting forth some of my poetry. Some of my other hobbies include gardening, baking, and playing the cello, although none will be included. Some of my favorite and prominent themes and motifs are birds (due to a personal and familial connection), forests and plants, and the deep impact of my community on me, from the queer support I've had to the folklore I was raised with. Each poem will have a short explanation of the background and meaning of the poem.

One More Lifetime

I have been born into this world Imprisoned in a gilded cage Privilege and strength come to me But they bury deep below the earth

I play the role, a hired actor I hide myself from the other Keeping myself closed away There is always a role

I cannot be the same as the other birds Paint my colorful plumage dull I hide the truth beneath a shell of gold In an untrustworthy world

So I live my life as if a sculpture A handsome carving, marble and granite When shall I be freed from stone? One more lifetime, born anew One more lifetime One More Lifetime was inspired by the Angel Island poetry. For non-Americans, Angel Island is the location where (primarily Asian, especially Chinese) immigrants where held and quarantined before being allowed to go to mainland California and start a new life. In the 30 years it was open (from 1910 to 1940), it processed an estimated five hundred thousand souls from over 80 countries. It is a locale that is drenched in the blood and tears of hundreds of thousands. But through the darkest nights, hope still burned. Carved into the walls of many of the living quarters lie innumerable poems in innumerable tongues. Over 200 poems have been documented, but thousands were buried beneath paint and renovation, believed to be graffiti by the government overseers. This poem specifically speaks about my experiences as the queer, trans child of Baptist missionaries, the feeling of being trapped by the pressure and walking through life as another person.

The Old Man

I walk through the windy square And hear a note on the wind As an old man sings, Faint upon the morning. And I wonder what Could have led this man to here

Was he brought to this land Fleeing from a wartorn home? Maybe he followed his family Across impossibly vast distance? Or perhaps he came seeking Hoping for a better life abroad

Why does he sit, singing in the square? Does he sing to share with others? Is he performing for a loved one Or does he sing for remembrance? Maybe he sings simply for music, For no reason but the joy of art

The answers to these questions May never be known Because while he sings beautifully The only only thing I can hear Are chirps and tweets

The Old Man harkens back to two separate memories from my youth. The first comes from deep within the Black Forest, upon a cool autumnal evening. A lone bird lead a symphony of nature, harmonizing with the creaks of the oak and the howl of the wind. In the second, I was sat still upon a cold bench in the freezing morning of Freiburg, when a strange noise alighted upon me. Somewhere, deep within the crushing mass, a man had begun to play a beautiful song. I did not know the instrument he played, nor his words that flowed like honey, but deep in my heart, I understood. This poem speaks to that deeper knowledge. We may not know the notes on the breeze, nor the words of their tongue, but we know the song of their heart

Echo

I hear the echo through years unknown As lament and sorrow bind my soul For the loss of Enkidu I weep

Within my heart her notes resound The final hope of fallen queen May Death rock us both to sleep

The loss of his lover is loud in my ears As he sings the funeral dirge of rage All shall remember Patroclus 

My feet ache as his always have The ancient traveler from an antique land He looked upon the mighty, and rejoiced

Inside my chest, my love despairs Like Lévon and kin They have taken the one I love

My body I still at her cries As she mourns the loss of child She calls out to me, La Llorona 

My hands once again harvest The parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme To bring to the Scarborough Fair

With his lyre, he sings to me For his lover to return again How the song of Orpheus resounds

With all my might and strength I toss Excalibur, his brand To the lake of Arthur’s death

On my soul, their words are written Within my hands, their song remembered Within my mind their essence lies

How does one become remembered Revered for artistry and beauty I may only hope for their guidance

Echo came about from the many, many legends, poems, and songs that have shaped me. These tales have outlived man and beast alike. I as an author can only hope to taste a fraction of their might, a taste of their memory. This is the song of my love returned. They refer to, in order: The Epic of Gilgamesh, Death of Enkidu O Death Rock Me To Sleep, said to be the final composition of Anne Boleyn The Illiad, death of Patroclus and Achilles' rage Ozyimandius (Percy Shelley) They Have Stolen the One I Love, Lévon Minassian La Llorona Scarborough Fair Orpheus's journey to the Underworld The Death of King Arthur

Song

I sit down in an empty room And my heart beats echo in the stillness While my joints crack, and the chair creaks My heart lies still in wait of her arrival

The pale dust rests upon her Like dew on morning grass Her pages unearth an ancient truth Her dagger pieces the ground

Cutting through the silence I tighten ghostly ribbon And prepare for new birth My tendon stretch, my muscles strain

As equine meets feline A delicate dance begins A maelstrom erupts Born of our harmony 

A massive storm An unstoppable might Her song rings deep within my bones A low hum echoes within my chest

My lifeblood is moved by her breath But all things must end And this magic is no different The bombastic finale approaches

A final shout echoes through the land I lift my bow from her silver string Our old friend silence falls once more And I return to my mundane life

Song started as a slight sliver of an idea during Vivaldi's Sonata in E minor. I have been playing cello for just over 5 years, and its been a struggle. It's had both ups and downs. But I have fallen in love with its deep voice, with its honeyed song. I am proud to say that I have improved, although I am but a journey-woman of the art. This poem is about the deep personal power of music, and the sway it holds over us even when we are all alone

TW for the final poem. It includes themes of self harm and suicide

Frames

What is a life within the frames And what is hidden in our names For I was once was a boy named man Now from my past I have ran And I’m lying here in bed Shortened hair atop my head Hiding from dysphoria  Searching for euphoria Which I know I will not find But still i search throughout my mind In the hopes that I can stop Before I walk up to the drop While looking down with running thought Thinking of my life that is so fraught Pushing myself to stop the jump  . . . Thump

Oh well that didn’t work I guess nature had a minor quirk For now I’ll go on with my life Ignoring that small little knife Stop thinking of a slice Even though it would be nice  To end the pain and cut it off I must swear upon my trough  That I will not attempt to cut . . . But

No! My future shines so bright And I must make it through this night If I hope to make them proud Live the life they weren’t allowed I must survive for those who don’t I can’t give in, no I won’t! The sickly sweet temptation smell It gives me pain, it gives me hell But I’ll go on! My fate is not of yet forgone For Marsha P and Howard A For those who burned and lit the way For all those after and before Firmly I’ll stand, evermore And I will survive to the future yet unseen . . . I, Olivine

Frames was not written in my healthiest state of mind. To be honest, I don't fully remember writing it, as it is from a dissociative state. But nevertheless, it is a narration of my inner thoughts as I first attempted, and the subsequent recovery. Its been a battle ever since, but I am proud to say I am over 18 months clean of suicidal ideation!

[wolfstar-in-color]

August colorful column: AUgust special - The World Needs Your Highly Niche AU

During August, here in Wolfstar in Color we decided to celebrate AUgust - or, the existence of Alternative Universes in fandom. Because of this, we invited @fforsythiaaa​ to talk a bit about AUs from a literary point of view - and let me tell you, folks, we are beyond amazed and inspired by her words.

So we invite you to read the column that follows. If you want to know who @fforsythiaaa��� is, here’s a primer from herself: “I post about wolfstar, fanfiction as an art and experience, and whatever words, fanart, thoughts, tips, or anecdotes that I can't let go unshared.”

Read under the cut for the full column!

The World Needs Your Highly Niche AU

@fforsythiaaa​

I don’t remember when I found out that fanfiction came in AU flavor, but looking back, that was definitely the moment I fell head over heels for the fandom. Reading wolfstar come together, fall apart, orbit around each other, or weather the storm in a thousand different settings is amazing. It’s romantic to think that they would find each other no matter which plane of reality they’re on, and it’s satisfying to see their core traits manifested in so many different contexts. And considering JKR’s harmful views and actions, as well as how her views make it into the text, I’m finding myself much less inclined to interact with fics that are even canon-divergent. 

That said, there’s one thing that gets me so, so excited, and that’s when I see someone refer to a fic as a “highly niche” or “weirdly specific” AU. Stories that are specific to time, place, culture or identity are my favorite kind. It’s Remus and Sirius as scientists doing fieldwork together in a fellowship program in the mountains! It’s Remus and Sirius as communist organizers in 1920s Chile! It’s Remus and Sirius in a rural town impacted by the opioid epidemic! It’s Remus and Sirius as an architect and a contractor at odds on a very important and difficult project! (I made that one up, but if you write it, please, please tag me.) You’re telling me I get to read about these two starcrossed idiots and learn stuff at the same time? Count me in.

“But no one will want to read this,” the author will post. “It’s too specific, no one will be able to relate, and people won’t be interested in this kind of premise.” 

To which I say, unequivocally, I WANT TO READ YOUR HIGHLY NICHE AU. And what’s more, I think your highly niche AU is going to make the fandom a better place.

Let me start by saying that I completely understand why you think no one would be interested. People like stories that they can relate to; fewer people can relate to a very specific setting; therefore, fewer people would like a very specific story. Right?

The main problem with this logic is the assumption that people can only relate to stories that they have some prior experience with. With every story, the reader is learning about the time period, the place, the norms and rules and societies, and the characters. As readers, this learning is what makes reading fun, and as wolfstar fans, learning about these characters is the reason we read fic in the first place. So my logical conclusion is that the more we get to learn about Remus and Sirius and the world they inhabit, the more we enjoy reading. And in a highly niche au, there’s a lot of learning to do.

Full disclosure, I did not make this idea up. There was one post that made me think of Viktor Shklovsky, a literary critic who coined the term “defamiliarization.” They wrote something like: “I’m worried that all the details would be distracting for the reader and interrupt the story.” Shklovsky basically says that that’s the whole point. 

For extra credit, you can certainly read “Art as Technique” in its entirety, but I’ll dig up my literature degree and give you the gist. When you think you know something, you don’t really see it or perceive it. Think about a stretch of sidewalk you walk on every day. How much time do you spend noticing weeds growing up through the pavement, or where the concrete was repaired with a different material, and how much time do you spend just walking to work? Your brain skips right over the details to be more efficient. Art is meant to make us perceive the world instead of skip right to knowing it; it’s meant to make us notice those weeds and that concrete. Shklovsky says that the technique of art is to make objects unfamiliar so it takes us longer to perceive, to understand. In poetry, each unfamiliar word or detail is a rock in the path that makes us walk more slowly and look more carefully at a road we thought we knew. 

In your super specific AU, that niche setting that your readers aren’t familiar with is part of what makes reading enjoyable. You’re making us walk more slowly through Remus and Sirius’s story so we can perceive their character and conflict differently; that gives us more time to enjoy the story. You’re making us think differently about what the human experience can look like. 

That’s where I start making my argument that branching out from coffee shop and college AUs (which I also love dearly) is a positive step for the whole fandom. We know that representation of people outside the dominant culture is really, really beneficial (that’s another post, and also the whole point of Wolfstar In Color; if you want some Cliff notes to share with the class, check the classic Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie TED talk). When we’re in the habit of hearing lots of different stories instead of only one, we’re in the habit of being curious about each other; it’s much easier to build compassion, understanding, and solidarity when we genuinely want to know more about other people. 

But my push for highly niche AUs is not about filling AO3 with a thousand million stories that perfectly represent the lived experience of every individual reader (unless…?). It’s more about filling the fandom with enough different types of stories that people start thinking, “you know what? If their story belongs here, so does mine.” 

That’s how we make this space feel safe enough for people to participate, whether as writers, readers, or tumblr posters. It’s a much more effective way of demonstrating that the fandom values diverse voices than just saying platitudes about how everyone’s voices matter. Sometimes your existence is radical enough. We need it, and we want to hear about it.

So the next time you think about writing “literally no one asked for this highly niche au,” come back to this post and think again. I’m asking for you to give me an opportunity to learn new things. I’m asking for you to add one more reason for a budding author to think that maybe their fic belongs here, too, and maybe their experiences are more valuable than they thought. I’m asking for you to give me an opportunity to discover new facets of human experience with this painfully tragic and romantic pair as my companions. Here it is: I’m asking.

[st4rch1ld404]

i don't use tumblr anymore, but i have always had your notifications on and get so excited when i see you've posted. your art is absolutely beautiful and i just wanna. Chomp. it looks tasty

but fr i'm sorry social media hates you :( i had actually thought multiple times before that it was absolutely bewildering to me that you don't get more interactions than you do. i remember specific pieces you did that didn't even break 100 notes here and just feeling my jaw drop because the piece was incredible and even more detailed than the exact same kind of art that gets thousands and thousands of interactions on the regular elsewhere. it's just baffling to me that you don't have the audience you deserve

well, i hope you're doing well. i've been following you for quite a long time (a few years now) and it's been a pleasure seeing your progress in your art and creativity as you go. i know this situations sucks, but just remember there's at least one person out there on your side and who can sympathize with you! your feelings are valid.

wow! this is honestly really amazing to read. i know ive had this account for like a loooong time but ! reading this honestly brightened my whole day. ive been so off and on with this site- im just.. gosh thank you so much for saying something. i appreciate this message so much- i didnt expect to get any responses from the posts i was making. i am so grateful for this. i started this tumblr with the concept of having somewhere to post my art and to share it with communities of fandoms i was in. i loved seeing others' art online and wanted to join in. thank you for sticking around... i often feel like im not doing enough and thats why my art hasnt even "blown up" but i have to recognize there is no prominently good or bad art- all of our social medias rely on manipulating their algorithms. instagram requires you to practically post everyday- so does twitter. insta also relies on reels now too. i have always been just a hobby artist! so these algorithms are killing me haha! but gosh to read that someone has stuck with my blog for that long- truly... thank you. i appreciate it, dearly, <3 most times the internet really does just feel like a hole. thank you for reminding me its not lol

[wearethekat]

Tumblr Reblog Chains: Locked Tomb Edition 2.0

after the mild popularity of my last post tracking reblogs of the Sex Pal quote I posted, the lure of Big Data called again. So here’s the tumblr reblogs chain post once more, now looking at the reblogs of Locked Tomb art by major fan artists in the community. I’m afraid you’ll have to click on the diagrams for a readable resolution. as before, the color code is as follows:

red: user deleted post

dark green: no pictures of Gideon Nav on the last ten-ish posts at the time I went through their blog. tsk tsk. probably normal.

medium green: The brainrot is starting to take over. one to several of this user’s last ten posts are Gideon Nav themed.  

light green: The Locked Tomb has eaten this user’s brain. nearly all posts Gideon Nav-themed. a lost cause.

original post by artist @naomistares​

original post by @toughtinkart​ 

and here’s the original diagram I posted, for reference.

and hey, if you liked this analysis, go check out the art pieces that these are diagramming! reblog it and give its artist a follow! there are some truly amazing, talented artists in the Locked Tomb fandom, and they deserve attention and love. ALL the love. also, shoutout to @ianthelioma​, for having the best Locked Tomb themed url I saw during this exhaustive research. YOU. you get it. honorable mention to @commander-wake-is-a-milf​, who is also awesome.

disclaimers and analysis under the cut.

whew, I’m revising my estimated size of this fandom sharply upwards, to maybe several thousand people who are actively reblogging Locked Tomb posts. There’s a lot more of you gremlins than I thought.  Looking at this, it’s easy to see that (at least in this case) that most people reblogging the post got it directly from the artist. which suggests something about how having a big follower count affects the number of notes and attention an artist gets. this is why it’s always great to FOLLOW artists and REBLOG all of their awesome art! And these posts don’t seem to spread much at all via long reblog chains, with most threads lasting only three or so reblogs. The spread of any given post on here really does seem to be driven by a couple of big, popular users. 

disclaimers: yes yes I know, my color coding is a little wonky in the first one. don’t @ me. if I copied your url down and couldn’t read my handwriting in order search it properly later, you got automatically assigned to dark green. Sorry. Also, keep in mind color-coding is based on the last ten-ish posts by that user when I happened to look it up and might not be representative of the rest of the blog. 

[theshelbyclan]

2k celebration fic rec!!

So I’ve reached 2k and I’m beyond grateful, it actually made me cry. But it also made me realise that none of this is about me really. It sometimes feels like the fandom is slowly dying, like creators are being forgotten about and we have less and less to go feral about (as a wise person once said ;) ). So I wanted to give all of you who might not get the recognition they would like the platform for the day. These fics I love and I would love for everyone to read them, but they usually have less than 100 notes. And now more than ever we need to lift each other up! So without further ado: masterpieces that deserve all the love. Me and my blog wouldn’t be where we’re at without all of you ❤️🖤❤️

(gif by @mistress-gif) Imagine 2 by @sophieshelby​: I think this was the first Tommy imagine I ever read of hers and it’s very much like all her other ones: very sweet, easy to read and as soon as you’ve finished one of them, you’ll want to read through her entire masterlist. The best thing about this was how romantic it is, but not sweetly, so the characters remain very much in character for me, which is a great skill for any fanfic writer! Check out her work, you will not be disappointed!! A Bloody Good Excuse To Touch by @comebackjessica​: This one is probably my new favourite Tommy x Alfie fic, and it made me laugh out loud through the entire thing. Tommy was shot by a canon, Alfie finds out he’s ticklish, John won’t stop calling Alfie Tommy’s boyfriend, and everything is just brilliant. And to top it all off, Alfie then says when threatened by Tommy: “Oh, I don’t doubt it, mate. Scary little gangster you are, hm.” I was dead 😂 Alfie x Ada (Peaky blinders imagine) by @vintunnavaa​: WHY did no one ever write about these two together before because it is perfection. At first it’s hilarious, then it’s suddenly serious and sweet and emotional and as a sweet cherry on top: the family reacts. Absolute stroke of genius this imagine was en everyone should read it.

The Chronicles of Polly Gray by @raccoon-is-my-spirit-animal​: picking just one of Anna’s fics is a crying shame, because all of them are comedic gold and deserve so much more attention. I may be biased as this major fan of her work, but you do not want to miss out on any of them. But this series on the goddess we know as Polly Gray is so original as it’s set before the series and done beautifully. She does this queen every justice and even though Anna happily rips my heart out, I can’t imagine life without this fic anymore 👏 Coming out 1 – Peaky Preference by @murswrites​: Can’t remember the first time I read this one, but I do remember it set me on a bender when it came to her work. It gave me so much comfort reading this and it made me feel accepted, even if it was just by a bunch of fictional characters, because the rest of the world often doesn’t. I needed this one, badly. Polly reaction especially had me in tears. Please, read this, whether you’re scared of coming out or not, because this is the writing everyone truly needs 😘❤️ Don’t You Get Any Ideas by @amysteryspot​: As you all probably know, Ari has my whole heart. And like it often is in this fandom, her Tommy fics are getting a lot of recognition (as they bloody should), but her other ones not as much as they deserve. This one is about John, the reader is gender neutral and this protective John is literally everything. Basically, this is the kind of fic I want to live in and I might just do that from now on… Mother of Mine by @shelbywhiterose​: Apparently I really like these background type of fics, and this one especially, about the Shelby’s mother. For the life of me I do not understand why this fic isn’t getting more notes and love, because it’s so poetically beautiful. Like the idea is very original, an entire background world has been thought out because of it, and even though it’s quite a long fic, I could not stop reading. This writer is unbelievably talented, creativity through the roof, and you do not want to miss out on any of it 💕

Immoral by @bonniesgoldengirl​: There are times when I just feel my happy bi self and there are times when I feel simply gay and there are times where my entire sexuality is just Ada Shelby. This fic did that 😂. I think it’s been mentioned before, but a lot in this fic centres on Linda being bigoted and awful, but I didn’t even notice really because kisses ME (the reader) and it’s all I know now. Honestly, favourite Ada fic right here and I need all of it in my life, because it left me too horny to function. Thanks for that 😐😘 Keep On Haunting Me by @caelys​: It’s no secret I go full fangirl when it comes to her work, but this particular fic is one of those I keep coming back to. Lizzie, my baby, is written wonderfully in it with some background even and I swear some of the lines in this one are pure poetry: “God quickly reminded her that she was there to fuck, not to feel; even is she despised that fact. Or maybe God just liked to fuck with her. Because as quickly the Shelby’s became her curse, they became her blessing.” But most of all, this story really is haunting, it’s painful and it’s like a ghost itself. The talent in this one short fic will never cease to blow me away, no matter how many times I’ve read it already. 🖤🖤

Burnt Toast by @irishwhiskeys​: Another reader as Shelby sister one, but I love it. Kinda broke my heart, made me cry, but strangely enough we like doing stuff like that to ourselves. 🙈 But honeslty, this author has so many gems in the masterlist and it would be your loss to miss any of them. Please send them all the love! In the Bleak Midwinter by @peakyswritings​: Well this broke my heart into a thousand pieces. The war has impacted John as well, even if SK decides not to show it, but this fic does. Weaved in with the song, it’s a poetical masterpiece, honestly. All the emotions are captured brilliantly and even though it left me actually sobbing, it’s one of my favourites on here. An Ode To Arthur Shelby by @the-makingsofgreatness​: I have no idea why there are so few Arthur Shelby fics out there and I have even less of an idea as to why this one isn’t getting all the attention. One word for this fic is just BEAUTIFUL. It’s sad and heartbreaking, but everything just fits Arthur. The way you describe him, his life, his skin even, it’s just mesmerizing to read. I wish to God you would write more like this one, or continue this one, because it’s pure art. Mr. Rattlebone by @murderousginger​: Tommy and Lizzie, the original dream team that I can’t get enough of. Lizzie deserves everything in the world and more, as does this fic. This story is funny at times, very angsty and there’s some nice little smut in there. I loved every second of it 👏👏 Green is Your Colour by @babylooneytoonz​: Another one that gets all the points for originality, because the reader is Isaiah Jesus’ older sister! FINALLY we get another POC reader and the story itself does not disappoint for a second. Tommy is adorable in this one and I just need fluff like that in my life. But everything this author brings out if just amazing. But this one, in particular, made me feel beautiful and that’s such a great gift to give to any reader. Thank you, love ❤️

There are so many more and feel free to add to this one! Please remember that I also love and appreciated the bigger blogs on here or the fics with more notes, I just wanted to show that there’s so much talent out there, even if it won’t show up in Tumblr’s annoying algorithm thing that I don’t understand. Make sure to send each other some love: we all need each other! 😘😘

[maiikawriter]

You’re an amazing writer, and it’s frustrating that you don’t get the recognition that you deserve. 💔 Also, would you ever do writing commissions?

Thank you for the compliment about my writing but your misplaced frustration has compelled me to use this ask to go off on a little rant here.

I have had that recognition.

I have been writing in fandom for a long time now. I’ve put out stories that have gone barely-noticed, both when starting out when my quality was frankly bad and even now when my writing quality is exactly where I want it to be ☺️. I have put out fics that turned into the big thing everyone was talking about in a ship fandom at the time they were ongoing. I have put out stories that had a small, but still very engaged following. The thing I’ve realized from these experiences is fulfillment from posting does not come from numbers. Yes, it increases the chances of people engaging when there are more people to notice the work, but I have had some recent fics with thousands of readers and only a handful leaving any commentary. Those experiences of posting had nothing on my less popular fics with a handful of followers who were there every chapter, telling me why they were engaged and excited for the next part of the story.

This blog is only a couple followers shy of 1800. 1800!🥳 But back when it was around maybe 400, 500? My followers interacted so much more! They reblogged my posts. They sent asks without being prompted to do so. They gushed about their headcanons to me in my inbox. (And yes, a lot of anons even sent hate to my inbox but I didn’t even mind that bc when I answered, my followers and mutuals would come out in full force to support me!) I knew you guys were alive and saw me. My posts weren’t just getting swept under the social media rug whenever I posted things. Maybe everyone’s not online as much to interact recently and maybe I’ve scared the active followers away by expanding this blog’s interests into…pffff six fandoms now? But it’s that interaction that I’m missing and it’s the interaction that drives me to post and share new works online.

I’d much rather see a reblog of my art with interesting tags or a comment in my Ao3 inbox than an ask that says, ‘I’m sorry you’re not getting the recognition you deserve’ (and Anon, for all I know, you’re one of the few people reblogging and commenting these days and to you and those few others, thank you for that).

When you create a lot of works, there will always be those works that fall under the radar, no matter how wonderful and loyal your supporters are. I don’t expect anyone to keep up with my production speed. I put things out fast. But when they do read or enjoy seeing my art, I appreciate knowing how it made them feel. I like to know I brought a little joy or excitement to someone’s life by sharing it rather than being left to wonder. And likewise, I love leaving commentary when I read fics that made me feel things and when I see art that just makes me want to keep coming back to it.

On another note, I write what I want to read, but the longer I’ve been in fandom, the more I’ve learned how different what I want now is from what the majority wants. I write the things I love and will re-read my stories because they really are what I’m looking for from fanfiction, but they’re not what everyone is looking for and I’m not going to start writing or drawing differently to pander to popular tropes or characters. I’d be bored to tears quite honestly.

As far as commissions go, I have taken them in the past and I’m always open to the possibility. I have a ko-fi here. If you want to send a ko-fi with a request, that’s the way I’ve done it in the past, but those would only be used for oneshots. If it’s along the lines of what you’ve seen me write, I’ll take it. I don’t do x readers, ocs, or incest/underage, for basic guidelines. I’m flattered that you even asked, so thank you and don’t feel obligated to follow through unless it’s an idea you really want, bc like creating, commissioning is so much more rewarding when there’s real desire/inspiration behind it.

[shotorozu]

fluffvember day 1 — doodling/sketching

todoroki shouto

“stay still. oh, and don’t forget to breathe.”

legend : [Y/N = your name] reader uses they/them pronouns, gender neutral. reader has a water quirk for convenience

word count :

notes : okay, so here’s my logic— i plan on doing three days, and back in november 5, i planned on doing 15 days— but then i said nvm because i got too stressed out so,, yeah. three days, so sorry :((

YOU’RE PRACTICALLY multitalented at this point, at least to todoroki shouto. you’re humble, and he finds it amazing due to the fact that you remain humble— you don’t shove it in people’s faces, and sometimes he wonders if you even know how talented you are.

besides being in the hero course in UA, and being his classmate— he knows how much you like art. if you’re waiting for aizawa-sensei, he finds his mismatched eyes watching you scribble doodles onto your sketchbook.

on saturday afternoons in your room, he watches you fill your cup with water— water droplets dispersing from the tips of your hands, as you prepare your watercolor.

watching the pigment disperse onto the sheet of paper, your brush gliding gently against the thick sheet of paper— the sounds of the brush were almost therapeutic. he almost understood why you spent most of your free time watching bob ross (if you weren’t training, spending time with him, or eating)

he’s on the opposite side of your bed, and you look ethereal— basking into the sunlight of the fine weekend, he watches in silence as you erase any stray pencil strokes, and draw on more precise lines onto the lineart.

“what’s on your mind?” you ask, but you don’t look up— you’re too focused onto your art piece, and he couldn’t blame you. he wonders how someone’s mind could create such a piece of work.

but then again, it’s you. you’re unpredictable, in the best way possible.

he knows that artists don’t really like being asked to draw people, even someone as dense as todoroki shouto would get that. but he wants to take that shot in the dark, he’s been thinking about this for a long time— so why not get it out?

“do you think.. you can draw me?”

a smile erupts onto your face, and you flip a page— practically abandoning your piece as soon as he asked. “i never thought you’d ask, shouto.”

he smiles. well— that worked for sure, but now what? what does someone do when they’re being drawn? “just sit comfortably, shou.” you say, as you draw a circle

shouto sits stiffly against your bed, his hands are on his lap— and he’s holding his breath, trying hard not to move as you sketch out his features.

“stay still. oh, and you can breathe,” you chuckle, and he exhales. frankly enough— you’ve wanted to draw shouto for the longest time. his face was just an entire pinterest moodboard, and it felt like you’ve drawn him a thousand times already.

yet— you don’t actually have a real artwork of him. not a completed one anyway.

“shouto, try to relax yourself.” you put down your sketchpad for a moment, and your hand dances along his shoulders. it feels like you have a rock for a boyfriend, truth to be told.

he sighs, and he melts into your touch— it never failed to calm his tense muscles down. you move back to your sketchbook, and his position is much more relaxed, toned down to your liking.

a cerulean and steel colored eye stares at you, observing how focused you look right now. he wouldn’t mind seeing this for the remainder of his life, that is— if you allowed him.

you’re adding extra shadings, and his heart is skipping beats. he doesn’t know why he’s so excited to view your art, not like he hasn’t flipped through your art portfolio before (with and without your knowledge, but shh). but it always amazed him.

“you can look now,” you say, while you’re signing the corner of your page with your signature. it’s a simple sketch of him— just a pencil drawing so far. yet, he can actually see the texture you’ve placed in everything.

down to the pencil strokes that you’ve created for hair, clothes— even his scar. it’s perfect, and even if you claim that it’s not exactly what you call ‘best’

he loves it, so much.

you’re talking about how you want to ink it as soon as possible, but he’s already pulling you onto his lap— burying his face into your chest.

“i like it a lot.” he says, but it’s slightly muffled. he’s tracing patterns onto your back, and you chuckle

“i didn’t know you liked art that much.” he hums, while you’re putting away your sketchbook so any result of cuddling wouldn’t crease the pages.

“maybe i could join your art sessions next time.” he connects a warm kiss onto your lips, and your place your hands onto his shoulders

“sure thing, shouto. though— be prepared for potential mess.”

“i wouldn’t mind getting messy, especially if it’s with you.”

you choke slightly, “do you know the weight of your words, shouto?” you’re unsure if he meant it in a innocent way, or he had suggestive intent in his words.

he looks up— chin pressing against your chest, while he shines a knowing smile to you. “absolutely, love.”

—

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you so much for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha. boku no hero academia/my hero academia and it’s characters belong to horikoshi kohei. i only own the writing

do not steal my work

[organic-guacamole]

showtime

episode 211 let's go

ok first of all, this is the second to last episode guys... I don't even wanna think about how much pain I'll be in after next week's episode

mr mazzara doing the recap-

this is so weird to me and I don't know why

WHY DIDN'T YALL JUST ASK BENJAMIN FOR HELP, THATS LITERALLY HIS THING

is Nini giving out the cards a callback to season 1 when Natalie Bagley said that Nini gave her a card or something on opening night of another musical?

STEPHY AS THE ENCHANTRESS OMG YES

Ricky in the crown gives me Harry styles in that photoshoot vibes

he's so pretty.

ok but why did we never see Ricky and Ashlyn interact before? it's been like 5 seconds and I already love how they bounce off each other and it's just so natural

OH THEY REALLY DON'T HAVE ANY UNDERSTUDIES-

well that explains a lot...

so Ricky fell on top of Ashlyn and all that broke for both of them was their wrist-

insert Jake Peralta *coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool no doubt no doubt no doubt*

of course howie was amazing as the beast, were we expecting anything less??

Ricky is so beautiful and I will not shut up about it....

let me enjoy this before the makeup crew slaps mud on his face.

Nini and Ricky talking to eachother? in a civil manner? wasn't she avoiding him just in the last episode? hm ok

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH THEY CANT EXPRESS THEIR FEELINGS JUST LIKE ME HAHAHAHAHA THIS IS HILARIOUS, WHATS NEXT? THEY CUT EVERYONE OFF CUZ THEY CANT HANDLE EMOTIONS? ...ha

yes Kaden and Rico, my favourite east high boys 🥰

I mean....where's EJ?

THERE HE IS

EJ AND GINA IN THE BACKGROUND... doing something idek

KOURTNEY'S MOM IS BACK YAY

Howie is a shining star, ofc ofc

the smallest fOrk

can't wait to see the fork burst into song about how she deserves more than to be used to eat salad😌

the duster and the bluster.... ok😃

hi Gina!

hi- oh wow I didn't know Robbie Rotten was in this show!!!!!

the portwell look.

that my friends, is a married couple's look✋

GOSH EJ WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU

aww Gina's so excited for this

D word?

Die?

Delicious?

Dom Toretto?

"good, clean fun all alone with someone I dig...a lot"

sir that does not sound very clean to me

SEBLOS

Seb looks so cute standing there next to pope Carlos

DID THEYEY REALLY LIGHT ANTOINE ON FIRE-

I NEED TO SEE THAT

Seb's reading Carlos better than big red read the script in episode 102, this is great development after the "fight"

Kourtney really just made the best outfit for herself and let the rest of them suffer

the way Gina immediately goes to hold on to EJ after the announcement

"tonight we're going to put the U in UTAH"

...

"hey where are you from?"

"TAH"

SEB'S SINGULAR CLAP KILLED ME-

he's officially salt lake city's resident thanos

just wity clapping because for some reason I have a feeling he doesn't know how to snap his fingers...don't ask why

Ms Jenn do you mind encouraging your leads before the show? idk just an idea

pepto bismol product placement smhsmh

those flowers are bigger that big red himself-

*bops along to the opening theme*

that whistle at the end slaps everytime

WHY IS THE AUDIENCE SO MASSIVE

I guess they're all here to see Ms Jenn go on as a fork after Nini decides to *go her own way*

wow i am so funny

so they couldn't do many group scenes cuz of covid, but this 300 person crowd is cool? nice

OO THE VIOLIN GIRL FROM EPISODE 6 IS IN THE ORCHESTRA

HOWIEEEEEE

"Mr Caswell", he said, in the loudest voice possible while backstage at a show that's about to start.

Mazzara what are you trying to pull-

I usually like Benjamin but I don't like his tone

"iS yOuR wHoLe FaMiLy HeRe?" LIKE YOU DON'T ALREADY KNOW THATS A SOFT SPOT FOR EJ

"we've had some good conversations these past few weeks"

right so what's going to happen after you graduate?

what does he think of you not going to Duke?

what did he say about you giving the sweatshirt that's been in the family for 3 generations to a girl you're not even dating?

good old Mr. M

therapist Mr. Mazzara, they all need it.

start with Ricky though.

"Michael Bowen"

dude why did you shave, now you look less like "hot lumberjack" and more "creep at the gas station"

OH-

does she not like Mike anymore?

why does it sound like jennzzara started dating and now they just sit back and talk smack about everyone in their freetime

break the fourth wall-

uhhhh im scared

why am I scared

he's scary

hehe flowers for Ricky, obviously for Ricky, ObViOuSLY

oh boy poor Michael

this man is in love, rip

why does Ms Jenn always look at people with her eyes open so wide

LILYYYY

I'm only excited because I really like the idea of lily and Ricky being friends, nothing more.

ha this guy's got jokes

a MOAT AROUND THE SCHOOL

wheeze

also he's very pretty.

"the wolves and very talented humans"

how dare he forget to mention the very talented wolves and normal humans, smh erasure

"being nice, what a concept" ted talk by Lily who still doesn't have a last name

did she just say lol out loud

same with the hug emoji last episode-

go touch some grass babes

the way he didn't say no, but said he didn't know how the east high kids would react-

not saying he does want to date her but that's an interesting thing to think about, also another thing to write an essay analysis on just to leave it in my drafts for a few months

awww lily genuinely trying to help him

sorry guys, I've been taken by the Lily charm (didn't know it existed until now but oh well)

REMEMBER WHEN I SAID I'LL NEVER SHIP PORTWELL?

just look at me now

the Lily wink I can't she's so cute-

HELP ME I'M BEING HELD HOSTAGE BY LIL-

David Attenborough?

oh nvm it's Benjamin narrating the show in a really weird British accent for some reason.

STEPHY GOT MORE LINES YAY GOOD FOR HER

also is this to show that Nini doesn't care about being the star of the show anymore? the way she's supporting everyone else even though she's a fork?

I would pay for a special of the full musical ngl

OOO THE TRANSFORMATION WAS SMOOTH

shockingly

yo where did the makeup come from

man I wish I was a theatre kid

THIS IS STEPHY'S EPISODE NOW IDC✋

my girl is starring

"needs an X-factor"

Simon Cowbell creeps in

"it's a yes from me"

and them boom, he takes Nini and mistreats her horribly and then she comes back to theatre after deciding music isn't for her👍

"I thought she just hog-tied him?"

don't ask sebby, it's better if you don't know.

imagine they spotlight the wrong person and this dude is just some random person that likes writing down stuff during shows.

Ms Jenn just let them do what they rehearsed (at some point we never saw) or else this is gonna end horribly wrong

"help"

same Carlos, same

I love how seb is just his translator rn

I thought he said "great displeasure" instead of "greatest pleasure"....help?

big red coming out from throwing up to see his girlfriend star is the cutest thing in this show.

Ash and Gina dancing is so fun

I'm imagining them practicing at night at their home, watching the movie for the 100th time and making sure their one dance together is perfect

KOURTNEY YES

HOWIE IS IN LOVE AHHHH

I LOVE HOWIE SO MUCH

SEBBY

THIS SCENE HAS SO MUCH GOING ON I CAN'T KEEP UP

THIS IS SO GOOD

HOW???

no because I'm actually crying

I'm dead serious.

we need this musical released as a special

big red is so proud and I love to see it

Natalie: "if you do not by at least 20 dollars in concessions, you do not support art"

rando in the audience: "but I pay for ad free Spotify"

Mr Mazzara clapping in the distance

Gigi, the guy you like is talking to you, complimenting you and hyping you up

YOU LUCKY LITTLE FEATHER DUSTER

aw EJ teasing her about the chocolates in a way that doesn't make her feel bad? take notes Richard

JORDAN FISHER

there is no rest of the show idc Jordan is it for me

THE WIG CAP ON RICKY OMG

they look like they're high and having "deep" conversations on the floor

THE MEAN GIRL WITH THE EYES-

@sunshine-julie-molina YOU HEAR THAT

Natalie really just be coming for them all

Howie what is happening rn

I'm scared

"did you enjoy it"

"very much"

dude wants a kiss so bad

ASHLYN OMG

NO DON'T DO IT BECAUSE OF LILY, PUT YOUR OWN TWIST ON IT

I want a Jordan autograph please

just keep swim- oh pushing...

Gina is literally a giant next to him and I live for it

am I about to cry for the 3rd time in this episode?

yes.

Ricky's leg kicks under the table makes me so happy aw

the portwell glances will kill me.

ah yes, mashed potato snow

Mr. M.... I'm not a theatre kid but even I know you can't have your phone on backstage.

Howie please just do it

CHIP'S BIG LINE I CANT

I LITERALLY HAD TO PAUSE IT AMD SCREAM INTO MY MASK FOR A SOLID 2 MINUTES (I'm not at home rn) HES SO CUTE

oh ok bye Jordan

oo tea

NOT HIM BEING STARSTRUCK BECAUSE HE'S MEETING HIS FUTURE BROTHER IN LAW-

"we're all just glad Gigi has a big brother figure in her life"

excuse me for a few thousand hours while I laugh hysterically

THE CAMERA ZOOM ON EJS FACE AND EVERYTHING-

STOP EJ LOOKS LIKE HE'S GONNA CRY BUT I CAN'T TAKE HIM SERIOUSLY WITH THE STAGE MAKE-UP

someone else said this already but I think it's hilarious that they had to bring in 2 guest characters to create some portwell angst

omg this really is Cici's episode, found family is their thing

elevator music lol

I'm gonna bet that big red took the harness for his surprise for Ashlyn without realising what it was

did Ms. Jenn just....tell her most mentally unstable student....to commit suicide....on a disney show...was that....I'm very....well....what the actual-

oh and there she goes running off instead of trying to make it right

oh wow Nini's the hero, she's gonna save the show 🤩

😐

the judge is doing a sudoku

honestly if I went to the hsm show as well, I'd come prepared for this one too

Lily why are you looking like that-

I WAS JUST STARTING TO LIKE YOU DON'T MESS THIS UP

wow ok, there goes that.

omg

what if Howie was acting weird because he knew what Lily did and wanted to tell Kourtbut Lily threatened him so he was scared to-

anyways see y'all clowns next week when we all simultaneously lose all motivation for the week without Fridays to look forward to.

[e-milieeee]

the stars know (you and i are meant to be)—ladynoir

Summary: Between akumas and school, Ladybug and Chat Noir find some time in between to sit back, have a picnic, and stargaze. And perhaps learn a little more about each other. 

Notes: happy birthday @edendaphne! your art was some of the first i saw when i joined the fandom and i love it sm (this oneshot is based off of this). i hope you have a great day <3 

written for day 2: stargazing and day 17: future for @ladynoirjuly2020.

Her mother tells her that preparing a meal for someone is an intimate gesture.

Marinette begs to differ. It’s just a meal, after all. There are three meals a day, and she finds it pointless to assign some sort of underlying worth to all of them.

But now, painstakingly arranging the bento boxes she’d made for Chat Noir, she begrudgingly understands what her mother means. She wraps them in picnic cloth, shouldering her bag full of supplies, and then drops out from her balcony to meet Chat.

They find each other halfway; Ladybug spots a familiar streak of black darting between rooftops. She knows he sees her: he always does.

Sure enough, Chat Noir turns up behind her in the span of five seconds and shoots her his usual blinding grin. “Good evening, m’lady!”

His smile is contagious, and Ladybug doesn’t even try to contain her own. “Hungry?” she asks him as they start to move again, racing over buildings at a breakneck speed. “You better not have eaten dinner before this, because I cooked a lot.”

Chat feigns offence. “I can’t believe you would even suggest I’d do such a thing. I’d eat the food you cooked me even if it’s burnt and cold, you know that.” He pauses, a contemplative look crossing his face. “Though I am expecting some world class cooking.”

Ladybug thinks back to the five hours she spent cooking their dinner, and the careful arranging she’d done of the bento boxes and the wide array of food she’d made sure to cook. It’s a fusion of both Japanese and Chinese cuisine—Chat’s favourites. Preparing a meal for someone is an intimate gesture.

Perhaps her mother is right, but it’s still just an intimate gesture between friends. Yeah, that’s what it is.

“World class cooking pales in comparison to mine,” Ladybug jokes, although she also feels obligated to add on, “don’t raise your expectations too high.”

“With you, my expectations are always high.”

She shoves him just for that comment, inciting nothing but a slight falter in his movements and a large grin. With a shake of her head, Ladybug moves on, if only to hide her own smile. 

***

They set up their picnic on top of a hill.

It’s secluded, and that’s the best part of the location. Ladybug unpacks her bag to start tugging out the blankets she packed: some to sit on, others to huddle under when the night starts getting chilly. Then, even more carefully, she begins to lay their dinner bit by bit in front of them, until she finally spreads the feast out in front of Chat.

His mouth drops open, and he does not even attempt to close it. Saucer-plate eyes blink at her.

“For me?” Chat finally manages after at least thirty seconds of gaping. “I mean… you made all of this for me?”

Ladybug has to admit she’s pleased by his reaction, and even more so pleased by the fact that their slightly rough journey hadn’t ruined the aesthetic appeal of most of her dishes.

“Well, for me as well,” she teases, reaching over to tap on his bell.

He’s undeterred. “This is unbelievable,” he whispers, more to himself than her. “M’lady, I can’t believe you made this to eat with me.”

Something about his tone tugs at her heart. In an attempt to snap him out of it, Ladybug points out, “It’s kitty themed.”

“I know.” His voice wobbles slightly. “Are those cat cookies supposed to be me?”

“Yeah. They turned out kind of ugly, though.”

“No, they’re beautiful. I wish I could look like that.”

“Chat, you don’t have a nose in those cookies. You really don’t.”

He sniffles once more, and Ladybug realizes belated that he has teared up. “Chat,” she tries, this time in a gentler tone. “Are you… crying?”

He rubs his eyes rather violently. “No.”

“Kitty…”

“Fine, yes. I’m just very happy. These are happy tears. It’s okay.” With one last painful looking scrub over his face, Chat Noir lowers his hands. “You can introduce the dishes and we’ll eat.”

Knowing better to push, she obliges the request, even if Ladybug has her doubts on happy tears. There’s a certain melancholy in his words, the sort that carries an old sort of pain. So instead, sitting side by side, their knees touching and sitting just close enough that she feels the warmth radiating off him, Ladybug starts to name the dishes.

“These are the appetizers,” she tells Chat, who listens attentively. “Those are pork potstickers—they might not be as hot as they were before, though. That one’s called… um, lang… liang ni?” The words don’t sound like how her mother says them, but her Chinese is lacking in more ways than one and Ladybug can’t remember the name of the dish for the life of her. “Honestly, I have no clue what it’s called. I think it roughly translates into cold noodles.”

Chat leans over to scrutinize the dish. “It looks familiar.”

“The noodles are store-bought, but I made the sauce. There’s carrots, beansprouts, and cucumbers. And those tofu things. It’s also spicy, but I put the sauce in a container so if you can’t handle spice, you don’t need to add it.”

Never one to admit defeat, he folds his arms. “I can handle spicy food easily.”

“Okay, tough guy, I’ll take you up on that later. Anyway, I made us both bento boxes for the main meal, and…” She opens the box, and Chat’s eyes practically bulge out of his head.

“Cats?” he demands. “Rice cats? Oh my god, Ladybug, you’re unbelievable.”

Cats, indeed. She’d spent an hour shaping them: sticky rice balls shaped into little kitten heads, with ears sticking out at the side. There’s one made from white rice and another from purple rice, and the faces are styled from carefully cut pieces of dried seaweed, then sprinkled with sesame seeds. Ladybug’s certain that beneath the suit, her hands still smell like the seasoning she’d rolled the rice with because of the sheer amount of time she had spent on them.

“I made both Taiwanese fried chicken and teriyaki salmon for meat, then fried some vegetables. For health reasons. And kimchi, because we had some in our fridge and I thought, why not?” With that, she sets his bento box into his lap and gestures at the cookies. “Dessert. And something else afterwards, if you’re still hungry.”

“Something afterwards…?”

“You’ll see later,” she mumbles. “Anyway, dig in before it gets cold.”

Ladybug’s never been that great at accepting compliments, and Chat doesn’t lay off on them today either. He picks up the chopsticks with care and carefully picks up a piece of Taiwanese fried chicken. He pops it into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, then swallows.

Ladybug is never not in awe of how Chat’s eyes can literally light up.

“You weren’t lying,” he gushes. “This is world class cooking.”

“You’re laying it on a little too thick there,” she laughs.

“I speak only the truth, m’lady. This is amazing. Just like you.”

“Chat…”

“Okay, okay!” He’s still smiling as he moves to the rice ball. “I almost don’t want to eat them. They’re too perfect.”

Ladybug reaches over with her own chopsticks, stabbing one of his rice balls to split it in half, also tearing off one of the seaweed-eyes in the process. “There you go,” she declares sagely. “Ready to eat.”

Chat’s mouth drops open. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“I-I didn’t even get a picture!”

Ladybug pats his back. “Life is full of disappointments, isn’t it, chaton?”

He stabs her rice ball just for the hell of it before returning to his meal.

***

By the time she and Chat have practically cleaned out all the food (how he’d eaten nine cookies after the meal is beyond Ladybug), she’s so full that any slight movement hurts.

“Oh my god,” Chat is saying, tilting his head back. “I don’t think I’ve eaten so much for years.”

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Ladybug agrees. She’s lying back on the picnic blanket, staring at the sky. The sun had set twenty minutes ago, but traces of its light still peek out at the edge of the horizon, dyeing the sky a lovely indigo colour. Only the brightest stars are visible right now, but the others start to blink into existence one by one as day rests and night awakens.

“I feel like I’m going to die too.” He props his chin on his hand. “But it’s the good sort of dying. How privileged I am to be able to die next to you.”

Laughing hurts, but she can’t help but do so anyway. “Drama queen.”

He bats his eyelashes at her. “Only for you, Bugaboo.”

Ladybug wrinkles her nose at him in mock disgust, but a laugh is threatening to spill yet again and she’s not in the mood for another stomachache. Instead, she turns her attention back to the stars. The breeze that breathes over them is soothing.

They don’t do much for the next couple of minutes, simply gazing at the stars, wrapped up in a thick blanket of companionable silence. It’s easy like this, next to Chat Noir: Ladybug doesn’t have to read into these gaps of quiet, instead settling into them—because with him, they’re simply natural.

When the dark settles in completely and the sky alights into a patchwork of stars, Chat speaks up.

“Ladybug,” he says quietly.

She doesn’t turn away from the sky. “Mm.”

“Isn’t it funny that we’re here because of Hawkmoth?”

She pauses her stargazing to look at her partner instead. “What do you mean?”

Chat gives a little shrug, slightly sheepish. “If this… if none of this happened, or if Master Fu ended up choosing somebody else, or a million other possibilities, would we have met? Maybe we’ve passed each other on the street a thousand times and never knew who the other was. That thought has always bothered me, but I’m just… I’m just so thankful right now I can sit with you like this, even with the masks between us. I’m thankful that every time I transform, I know that I’ll see you again. I hate Hawkmoth as much as any other Parisian, but perhaps I have him to thank, for letting me meet you like this. And I hope that no matter what my future will bring, you’ll still be there in it.”

Ladybug can handle the flirtatious remarks, the casual confessions he peppers her with. But this—this is much more intimate, something she can’t help but cradle close to her heart. “Chat—”

“I know you don’t feel the same,” he replies. “And that’s okay. But for so long, no one’s really cared about me like you have, m’lady, and you mean everything to me and I hope you know that.”

Words evade her for a couple of moments. Then Ladybug extends her hand to him, and Chat’s fingers slip around hers, interlocking. It feels right—it always feels right with him.

“Me too, chaton,” she whispers into the sky. “I’m so glad I met you, and I hope that you’ll be there too, in my future.”

She can see his smile in her periphery.

***

Her mother tells her that preparing a meal for someone is an intimate gesture.

Ladybug is inclined to agree, but she thinks that sharing that meal together (and what happens afterwards) is what really makes it so.

Notes: Fics masterlist here!