#and everything is glued to a page i took out of my sketchbook

[retrocesosdestacion]

SOCIALIZING PROBLEMS. | mapi león

mapi león x reader

genre: not fluff at all, accidental confession, teenager love.

warnings: a bit of headcanon, reader being a stupid curious, mapi confessing unintentionally, also mapi being an assertive/passive person.

notes: i had this prompt when i was cooking an egg. dios im really sorry for making u guys wait too long, also i feel like this is the worst writing I've ever done in my life.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You are secretly Mapi's love and you have negative impressions about her.

But that ended when Maria accidentally left her sketchbook on the bench at the locker room.

“ If I had a flower for every time I thought of you... I could walk through my garden forever. ”

Tennyson.

❝ Damn. Mapi, you should become an artist. ❞ From the other side of the locker room, you could hear Pina's lips praising the spanish's drawings once again.

It was already the fifth time that day that someone had praised the scribbles in that notebook. And you too, but only in your head. You didn't even have the courage to go there and see the drawings.

Two years ago you were transferred to Barcelona. Everything was normal, you made friends, adapted to the Spain style, adapted to new rules.

But you didn't adapt to Maria León. You didn't have the slightest ability to go up to her and have a chat lasting more than two minutes.

Normally you just greet her, that's when you don't even look at her face. Anyone who saw the two of you together would pinky swear that hated each other.

This was all because in your little mind, Mapi had the greatest disinterest in you. After all, you came to this conclusion when you noticed that the defender always ran away from the conversation when you arrives.

However, over time, you accepted this treatment from the spanish woman, even if you were curious to understand the player. You even told this whole situation to Ona, your best friend.

But it was always the same dilemma: “Relax, she’s shy. “ or “ Mapi has difficulty meeting new people. “

Yet that never made sense, after all, Mapi is anything but bashful.

It became a huge snowball since you never bothered to go talk to her. Therefore, currently your relationship with Mapi is completely lacking affection.

And it was just with you.

Claudia, for example, was one of the lucky ones. She was glued to the blonde's side, attentively observing each page of the spanish woman's small notebook with the greatest freedom and comfort.

At that moment, the defender had both feet on the bench, so she could rest the notebook on her knees. Mapi slowly leafed through the drawings for her friend once again.

❝ Yo ya te dije, who knows in a few years. ❞ (I already told you.) León reply to the other spanish woman's compliment with a very hopeful tone, as part of her dream was to be a tattoo artist.

As always, you just looked at the two girls talking, as you sat, untying your boots.

❝ If you look for longer, you will have bad luck. ❞ Ona mocked your indeterminate stare. ❝ If you’re so interested, go there. ❞ She states while taking off her training uniform.

❝ Madness. She doesn't like me and you want me to suddenly get there? ❞ You threw those words into the air so quickly that Ona took a while to formulate something.

❝ Why do you think she hates you? ❞ Your friend countered.

❝ I've told you thousands of times, Ona. She looks at me dirty, ignores me, she doesn't even want to talk to me even though I'm her training partner! ❞ You justify while gesturing nervously.

❝ Stop being fucking neurotic. ❞ The spanish woman rolled her eyes, finishing putting on her post-workout clothes. ❝ Ve allí, siéntate a su lado y descubrirás por qué te trata así. ❞ (Go there, sit next to her and you will find out why she treats you like that.) Ona stated.

You only knew the basics of spanish, deciphering what the defender had said would take a while. ❝ Huh, what? Find out what? ❞

Ona didn't respond, just giving you a stupid smile and a wink.

Slowly, the oldest left your side and walked towards Mapi and Claudia. The moment she got there, Batlle poked Pina's shoulder and approached, murmuring something in her ear.

❝ What the fuck are you doing?! ❞ You whispered to yourself, automatically standing up; scared and surprised.

Suddenly, you felt the greatest penetration of looking in your direction: Claudia Pina looked at you as if she knew all your secrets, giving you chills.

She smiled a huge and mischievous smile, raised her arm and waved it, calling you over.

Before you went, the only thing you observed was Mapi's embarrassed and awkward manner, grumbling at the two spanish women for calling you.

You thought for seconds before taking the step to go there. A whirlwind of thoughts ran through your mind, like a river heading straight for the waterfall.

What if you are a nuisance to her? What if she leaves the moment you get there?

You were very worried about the relationship with someone you don't even are intimate with.

You worry about the image you give to a person that don't even want to be your friend.

Thus, your heart began to run a marathon from the moment you started your very slow steps towards Mapi León.

Maybe you were afraid of hurting her, but at the same time yourself. As if your feelings were bubbling for the defender and you didn't want to ruin everything.

In your peripheral vision, the only notable details were María closing her notebook as quickly as a middle school student after the last bell, Claudia and Ona smiling goofily and pointing at the defender.

❝ What was it? ❞ Those were your first words when you reached the other side of the locker room, completely looking away from Mapi and just focusing on the other two.

❝ You're the only one on the team who hasn't seen Mapi's drawings, right? ❞ Claudia gave the first word, pushing León's shoulder with her elbow.

You didn't even bother to answer correctly, just opening a painful smile.

❝ Yes, I think so. ❞

After you responded, Mapi frowned, rolling her eyes. This only made you more certain that León actually hated you.

❝ But there's no need to show it. I mean, I'm not interested. ❞ They were the stupidest words that came out of your mouth.

The shine in Mapi's eyes slowly faded with each word that left your lips, the spanish woman's fingers ran to the back of her neck, uncomfortable. At this point, you should be sure that you almost hurt the girl.

❝ Don't be like that. Come on Mapi, show it. ❞ Ona finally said something in the midst of the discomfort of that conversation, lightly patting the other spanish woman on the head.

❝ I'll show you later, I need to pack my things. ❞ Maria came up with the most false excuse possible, since her things were almost one hundred percent ready. León's fingers rested on the slap, giving Ona a dirty look.

Your eyes fell on Claudia and Ona, indignant at all of this.

But you didn't know why. It wasn't as if the lack of communication between two companions would cause such great discomfort.

There was something more, you could feel it. Such something else that even Ona hides from you.

❝ Dios mío, esto es horrible. You two look like children who don't know how to talk to each other. ❞ (Oh my god, this is horrible.) Claudia gave her opinion amidst the silence.

❝ Son como dos chicas enojadas. ❞ (They're like two stupid girls. ) Batlle added.

Mapi stood up delicately, pulling the bag that was previously on the floor to the bench and opening it. ❝ Could you two shut up and get out of here, wouldn't you? ❞

The spontaneous rudeness really took you by surprise, mainly because the defender was staring at the other two, but not at you.

Pina raised her hands in defense, expressing a mere comical sadness on her face. ❝ Right. ❞

The same thing for Ona, who reached for the strap of her sports bag and put it on her left shoulder. ❝ Come on, Claudia. And don't be stupid with [reader]. ❞

❝ Que se jodan ustedes dos. ❞ (Fuck you two.) Mapi grumbled as she mock-rifled through her clothes.

Ona grabbed Claudia's arm and pulled her tightly to her feet, slowly dispersing herself from you and Mapi over time, killing the last few minutes. ❝ See you later, [reader]. ❞

Your eyes screamed for help to leave together, following the two girls until they left the main door.

Okay, now you were alone with the girl you were most afraid of.

Gradually, some people and groups would leave within minutes. Silence now, which had previously been scattered conversations, was prevailing, and that was delicious on the one hand.

After all, you loved being alone at times like this. But not with Maria.

You continued standing until Mapi offered you the bench next to her, and you did so. When you laid eyes on the spanish woman, you noticed her fingers pressing against her own temples, circling fingerprints there.

❝ I'm sorry about them. They are two idiots. ❞ León murmured as she took her fingers back to the bag, closing the zipper.

❝ Alright, no problem. I'm used to it. ❞ You responded with a typical defensive tone, unaccustomed to this type of conversation with her.

Your fingers tapped upper thigh, nervous and anxious, waiting for some miracle.

Momentarily, the spanish woman's brown globes rested on you, followed by a big sigh.

❝ I'm sorry if I'm stupid with you. And it's also bad if I didn't show you the drawings, it's just that— ❞ The defender was interrupted when Patri shouted her name.

❝ Hey, Mapi! ❞ The spanish woman appeared through the door of the main hallway. ❝ Can you check for me if my boots are dropped on the field? ❞

Maria looked at you with a roll of her optics, also accompanied by a tiny and shy smile. ❝ I'll be right back. ❞

The spanish woman slowly went to the gate that connected the changing room and the field, leaving you there freely in the area.

A dead silence remained there, there was no one else but the two of you inside that locker room, and now, only you.

Your body was still warm from training, but it could be for countless reasons, maybe because of your sudden meeting with Mapi, because of the fear of everything that happens in other conversations, happening now.

Eyes slowly took in every detail of the locker room: the ceiling, the floor, all the other stalls and even your bag on the other side.

But your orbs left for your side, where Mapi's unopened bag accidentally was. And of course, the damn sketchbook.

No, no. This is terrible, a lack of privacy. Your desire to leaf through that notebook was greater, but you should be aware.

It was only a matter of time before Mapi came back and finally opened that notebook, there was no point in leafing through it before then.

But despite everything, you were a very, very curious person.

❝ Damn. ❞ You muttered to yourself, intertwining your fingers so that you unconsciously wouldn't reach for the notebook.

But, well... Your eyes darted from side to side, making sure Maria wasn't there.

Your hand rested on the notebook, at the same time your heart accelerated so quickly as a result of your comportment. You should go back.

Slowly, you opened it enough so you could peek at the drawings. Incredibly, they were drawings of outlooks and Mapi's cats.

Despite everything, it wasn't that bad. ❝ Damn. ❞ You mumbled.

Suddenly, a folded sheet of paper fell from the middle of the pages of the notebook, falling to the floor. Your face produced a confused expression until the moment you reached the sheet.

At the same time that you were almost putting the sheet back from where it had fallen, you unfolded it.

Your heartbeat increased from the moment you caught sight of your name written there, along with a drawing of yourself and several doodles in the surrounding area.

Initials together, stick drawings of the two of you together that you were sure Claudia and Ona had scribbled, your name was written in every color there was.

There, maybe you realized why Mapi never showed you the notebook. Why Mapi hated being by your side when she was with the girls.

You could feel your face burn, turning red little by little, until it was like a pepper.

Immediately, you threw your hands up to your face, along with the sheet. You breathed once, twice and three times until you understood the situation.

❝ Shit. ❞ You mumbled to yourself with a muffled tone, still with your face hidden in your hands.

Your body slowly slid down the cabin wall, rethinking all the impressions you always had of Mapi.

You folded the sheet back and hid it in the notebook again.

Suddenly, Maria's figure slowly appeared in the locker room, mainly due to the sound of her footsteps.

Your torso rose, you became so desperate that you completely forgot to let go of the notebook in your hand.

Mapi slowly stopped walking and stopped in the middle of the locker room the moment her eyes fell on your hand with the notebook.

Slowly, her lips opened ready to say something. However, the spanish's internal desperation probably prevented this.

❝ I didn't see anything, I swear. ❞ Was the only thing you could say before throwing the notebook back onto the bench and waving your hands in defense.

Maria completely changed her route, walking quickly towards you. The moment she reached you, the player grabbed your hands and squeezed.

❝ Puedo explicarlo, en serio. ❞ (I can explain it, seriously.) Mapi stuttered between words and even forgot to say them in english.

The spanish woman's face didn't even bother to hide her embarrassment. You could feel the player's fingers trembling and of course, the strong desire to cry.

❝ I thought it was cute. ❞ In the midst of all the tension, these were your stupid words. Giving a short smile, which perhaps calmed León.

❝ What? ❞ Mapi asked, raising one of her eyebrows.

❝ The drawing. ❞

❝ But you said you didn't see anything. ❞ Maybe you didn't expect her to be so naive.

❝ I'm not going to lie, I saw everything. ❞ You answer with a defensive intonation, after all, you had no idea what would happen from now on. ❝ Even those scribbles on the sid— ❞

❝ That was the girls idea. ❞ Mapi justified it so quickly, was probably true.

It was at that moment that you realized that María León was not angry or disgusted with you. Mapi was actually in love with you and was ashamed to admit it.

This all explained the insults and scandals she made whenever the girls played with her. You were the concern of all the jokes.

❝ Right. First breathe. ❞ You advised the spanish girl to calm down, after all, she was shaking more than anything.

❝ Let me explain, please. I don't want you to get it wrong. ❞ Mapi begged to hold an explaination.

❝ Go ahead. ❞

❝ I'm not some kind of stalker, okay? I only drew you because, well… Because I like you and I thought you were pretty. ❞ The defender gets confused in her own words.

You were sure that wasn't what she wanted, Mapi didn't want to confess like that stupid way.

❝ But I completely understand if you think I'm crazy like that... ❞ Mapi slowly closed her eyes, trying to throw all the despair inside. ❝ Dios mío, ¿qué carajo estoy diciendo? ❞ (Oh my god, what the fuck am I saying?)

❝ Hey, it's okay... I guess. ❞ You tried to calm down from the moment you felt León's fingers slowly slip from your hands.

Your mind enfolded the sight of Mapi in front of you, it was the only thing you could pay attention to.

Heart felling affliction, a feeling full of pity for the whole situation that Maria went through made you think a lot.

While you had the wrong impression of her, Mapi couldn't control own feelings.

❝ I don't know what to say about all this. ❞ You produced a sentence where you could try to be understandable with it. ❝ I thought you hated me. ❞

❝ What? Why?! ❞ León was really shocked.

❝ Huh… You always sounded or looked ignorant to me. But it wasn't bad, I had the wrong impression. ❞ Your lips moved automatically, everything you kept about her these two years finally escaped.

Mapi gave a short smile, perhaps your words sounded funny. ❝ Yo nunca debí contarles a Ona y Claudia sobre ti. ❞ (I should never have told Ona and Claudia about you.) The spanish woman muttered to herself, but you still understood.

❝ And now knowing that you like me was such a turning point. ❞ You explained yourself without letting go of Mapi's hands for a second. ❝ By the way, about that… ❞

❝ No need to explain yourself, I'll understand if you don't reply— ❞

❝ No. I want it. I mean, I think you won my heart after seeing your drawings. ❞ Your typical comedic tone caused few laughs between the two of you.

❝ And also, it really hurt me to get the impression that you hated me. I've been making you a fool all this time. ❞ You continued.

Mapi León paid attention to every word that left your lips. There, you noticed how the player stopped shaking and stuttering, finally taking comfort.

❝ No. I understand, I would have that impression too if I saw all of this. ❞

❝ But I hope we can go back and start over from scratch. ❞ You looked for the solution.

Despite everything, Mapi was very understandable with words, she just needed time to express herself.

Suddenly, León's brown orbs looked to the side, perhaps worried about something. ❝ I think we better go, I need to tell Patri about the boots. ❞

Mapi let go of your hands, and for a moment you didn't like that feeling. The spanish woman's fingerprints grabbed the famous intriguing notebook, putting it back in her bag.

Initially she carried the bag on her shoulder, waiting for you to do the same. Your feet lifted and strained toward your own bag, but immediately returned to Mapi's side.

❝ If you want to start from scratch, come with me. I'll stop at a coffee shop before heading home. ❞ León opened a genuine smile, extending her right hand towards you.

You got the signal, and you did it. Your long fingerprints met Mapi's, intertwining them.

❝ Yes, please. ❞

Maybe you should leave everything in the hands of time and, gingerly, the two of you would transform disagreements into affection.

Gradually, your relationship with Mapi stopped being lack of love and became the fruit of devotion. Walking alongside her was the best opportunity for that.

❝ ¡Quiero un frappuccino, por favor! ❞ (I'd like a frappuccino, please!) You used the spanish words that you knew, asking with a great enthusiasm. After all, from now you would use that dialect a lot more.

Really more.

[tainted-liquor]

⋆｡°✩For Sale?⋆˙

1610!Miles Morales x BlackFem! Reader Tws: n word usage, suggestiveness? not rlly but yk Ingredients: sugar, kisses, and smiles ! (May contain lemon zest) (Fluff/ v slightly suggestive??) W/C: 572

What's wrong nigga? I thought you was keeping it gangsta?

Miles had tried to avoid falling back in love after Gwen, pushing back and fighting even the slightest attraction to absolutely anyone. He refused to go through the pain of being betrayed all over again, deciding the thug it out and drown himself in his life as Spider-Man. But that all changed when he saw you, strolling through the mall with your beautiful melanated skin, perfectly harmonized face, and god your perfect laugh as you threw your head back and giggled alongside your girlfriends. Everything about you was on point, from your sleek and laid edges down to the very shoes you wore that complimented each and every aspect of your outfit. He watched in sheer awe as you rounded the corner, making your way closer toward him and Ganke with your four-person crew.

My baby when I get you get you get you get you I'ma go head to ride with you

When you and Miles began talking, he was an absolute sweetheart. A ride-or-die who wanted nothing more than to see that pretty lil' smile of yours. He spent what felt like euphoric years getting to know you, learning all of your interests and favorite things to do. He spent his time sketching your adorable face on a couple a lot of pages in his sketchbook, gazing at your face every now and again to capture the small details in your face, such as your smile lines and low-set dimples. He made it his goal to make you his right off the bat, thinking "Yeah, she'll bring peace" almost as soon as he saw you lmaooo.

Smoking lokin' poking the deja till I'm idle with you 'Cause I (want you)

When he finally came clean with his feelings toward you, the relationship was as sweet as cake, and twice as euphoric as any high. He made jokes about you being like some sort of doja, actively relapsing back to his sugar-fed addiction every time he caught a glimpse of those big, deep brown almond eyes. He became a quick victim to your captivating aura, praising you like some sort of earth-bound goddess whenever you were around.

"You're literally so gorgeous, mi alma. How did I get so lucky?"

You looked me in my eyes about 4 5 times Till I was hypnotized then you clarified

Miles loved absolutely everything about you, and felt himself grow shy and warm under your heated gaze. When you two were pressed up against each other, holding one another like a precious artifact as you placed gentle kisses on the others face. He swore up and down he was in some sort of spell, eyes glued tight to yours, watching your every move like his life depended on it. He internalized the way your smooth skin felt underneath the pads of his fingertips, how they fit like the missing piece of a puzzle when resting against your upper waist. He laid his head on top of yours as you smushed the side of your face into his chest, attempting to get impossibly closer to your boyfriend as you let out a content sigh.

"Miles?"

"Yes, love?"

"What do you love about me?"

He took in a deep breath as he sat up, pulling you with him as he prepared to do 4 hours worth of talking

"Mi Vida,

I want you more than you know."

i kinda hate this but its whatevs <<333

[felidthing]

scanned my collage

[shhhhyoursister]

More cuddly and clingy and sober David!! Pleaseee

am i about to try and write this in class cause this professor is boring as hell and hes teaching the same psych shit ive learned 10000 times???? you bet!!!!!!!

***

David woke up with something in his chest already aching a little. He rolled over, his arm automatically reaching out for the body that was usually in place right next to him, and the frown he had woken up with only grew when he felt cold sheets instead. He sighed, turning his head to to confirm what he already knew; Matteo wasn’t there.

It wasn’t either of their faults; it was a rare week where their schedules clashed almost every day, and the most time he had been able to spend with Matteo in days was when they met up for a quick lunch, four days earlier. It was nice to see him and wrap an arm around his waist as they quickly ate their food, but kissing him goodbye not knowing the next time he would see him was what started the ache in his chest that let him know something was wrong.

He slid himself out of bed, his footsteps heavy, and made himself something quick to eat. Once he was done he collapsed on the couch with another sigh, and took his phone out. It was desperate times, so he tried not to feel too embarrassed as he opened his photos, and swiped until he found a cluster of dumb selfies that Matteo had taken one night after stealing David’s phone.

David grinned as he scrolled through them, snorting at a particularly funny angle, and then stopped on the one where David had caught Matteo, where he’s looking off to the side, a mischievous grin on his face with his tongue poking between his teeth. He’s in the next one, after Matteo had pulled him in to kiss him on the cheek, and David could see how big his own smile was, even with barely a third of his face showing.

He flicked through a few more pictures before the sight of Matteo’s face on his screen stared making him pine more than laugh, and he locked his phone and dropped it on the table next to him. He tilted his head so he could look around the room, and spotted one of his sketchbooks on the counter. He got up and grabbed it, and the pencil that he must’ve left next to it, and settled back into his spot on the couch.

He managed to draw for a couple of hours before his pencil strokes started becoming soft lips and blond, floppy hair, and before he realized it he had filled an entire page with small sketches of Matteo smiling, pouting, smoking, laughing. He smiled down at them and checked his phone again, knowing that Matteo was busy with his mom so he probably wasn’t going to be texting too much. 

He spent the next couple of hours flipping between apps on his phone and getting up to pace around the flat, opening the fridge just to close it again, and just as he started reaching a hand out to grab the apple that he had been thinking about eating for the past hour, he heard his phone buzzing in the other room.

He had to stop himself from running and jumping over the back of the couch to answer it because the only person who ever really called David was Matteo. He walked as quickly and as calmly as he could, and he felt his heart beat a little harder when he grabbed his phone and saw Matteo’s name and picture.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, a smile already growing on his face when he heard Matteo snort quietly at the name.

“Hey, asshole,” Matteo responded, and David chuckled, and Matteo chuckled back before asking, “what’s up?”

“Absolutely nothing,” David groaned, “all I’ve done today is think about how much I miss you.”

“Sounds fun,” Matteo teased, and David rolled his eyes,

“Yeah, it’s been a blast. How’s your mom?” David asked, closing his eyes and flopping back onto the couch as some of the ache in his chest dissipated. 

“She’s good. She actually got called away to some kind of church emergency, so I’m going back to my place now.”

“Oh? You are?” David asked, trying not to let the bit of hope he was feeling into his voice. He didn’t want to force his presence onto Matteo and his flatmates but he couldn’t help the itch he already felt to get a bag ready and hightail it to Matteo’s.

“Yeah, and I told Hans that I’d cook tonight since I’m suddenly free.” 

“Sounds nice,” David says, his leg starting to bounce, “pasta?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Matteo said, and then David heard what had to be him unlocking his door and pushing it open, “so, do you want to come over?”

“Yeah, of course,” David said a little too enthusiastically (he could hear Matteo snort on the other end), and started walking to his room as he asked, “when do you want me there?”

“Uh…now?” Matteo answered like it was obvious, with another laugh, and David needed to pause from where he was pulling his shoes on so he could just stop and grin at the sound.

“Okay, can I stay over? You’re not doing anything tomorrow morning, right?” David asked, some of the desperation leaking into his voice, knowing that he had something to do in the morning, but he’d risk being late so he could wake up with Matteo in his arms again.

“Please do.” Matteo said, sounding just as desperate as David.

“Fucking finally,” David said, before throwing the last of the stuff he needed into his bag and slinging it on over his jacket, “I’ll be there soon.”

They hung up and David flew out the door and down the stairs of his building, and found himself dodging people on the street as he made his way as quickly as he could to Matteo’s. He was panting a little by the time he was buzzed in, but he still jogged up the stairs and was able to take a couple of breaths at Matteo’s door before it opened.

Matteo collided into him the second the door was open, his arms wrapping around David’s neck and shoulder and his face shoving into David’s neck. David laughed before sliding his arms around Matteo’s waist with a sigh,his forehead dropping to Matteo’s shoulder. He felt the ache that had been in his chest for days finally let up as they held each other in the doorway.

“Hi,” David said quietly after a minute, squeezing his arms around Matteo before loosening them so he could pull away. Matteo’s hands slid down to the collar of his jacket and tugged him into a kiss before he could say anything else, and he smiled against Matteo’s lips and bumped their foreheads together when they pulled away.

“Hi,” Matteo finally said, and grinned when David laughed before grabbing his hand and tugging him into the flat. 

“I still need to cook everything, do you want to help?” Matteo asked as they walked into the kitchen, and he started gathering the ingredients.

“Hm,” David hummed as Matteo started chopping up an onion, and he walked over and wrapped his arms around Matteo from behind and dropped his head onto his shoulder and said, “nah, I’d rather do this.”

“Cool, thanks,” Matteo said deadpan with an elbow jabbing back into David’s side, but he leaned his weight back into David’s chest and turned to kiss his temple when he was done chopping everything and he had to move to the stove.

David stayed glued to Matteo’s back the entire time he was cooking, even when it was inconvenient, even when Hans came in and watched the spectacle with a raised brow and a laugh before he left the room again. David didn’t care; he had missed Matteo in a way he didn’t know how to deal with, and finally being in his presence again, he felt like he needed to be a little clingy. And he deserved to be, because it had been four fucking days, and he missed his boyfriend.

Matteo stopped complaining when he realized that David wasn’t going to move, and instead started humming quietly to himself as he cooked the food. David smiled into his shoulder at the sound, and found himself frowning when Matteo finished piling all of the food into bowls, and he had to let go so they could eat.

When they were done eating the two went back to Matteo’s room, climbing into bed and curling around each other without saying anything as if they had planned to do so.

“Everything okay? You’ve been extra clingy today.” Matteo asked as he ran his fingers through David’s hair, his hand already stroking steadily over his back.

“Yeah, like I said,” David said into Matteo’s chest, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of his shirt, “I just missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Matteo said, and leaned down to kiss David on the forehead before asking, “you sure that’s it?”

“Yep,” David said, cuddling in closer and smiling when he felt Matteo’s arms tighten around him, “I’m good now.”

[ericsonclan]

The Comfort of a Blanket

Summary: The twins and Tenn watch a movie and have a pleasant evening together until something happens to Minnie's blanket.

Read on A03: 

Minnie sat on the couch enjoying the comfort of her blanket as she watched a movie with her siblings. They were watching Spiderman: Into the SpiderVerse for the millionth time. It was one of Tenn’s favorite movies so whenever he could convince them they would sit down and watch it. Tenn’s eyes were glued to the screen as he watched the different heroes face off against Kingpin. His body leaned forward and his arms wrapped tighter and tighter with each second of the film. Sophie wasn’t paying much attention to the TV; her focus was entirely on her sketchbook.

The sound of her pencil racing across paper could be heard faintly behind the loud action scene. When they had started this watchthrough of the movie, Sophie had been hit with a bolt of inspiration. Quickly mumbling that she was drawing different people from Ericson Diner with their own superspider designs, she’d gotten completely lost in her art, only occasionally glancing up before being hit with another wave of inspiration. They were getting towards the end of the movie when Minnie leaned forward to grab the popcorn only for a drink to be tipped over, the contents of which landed directly on her blanket.

“Shit!” Minnie jumped up to her feet, causing her siblings to also stir and look over with concern. Sophie haphazardly tried to grab the remote, pausing the movie after a minute.

“Are you okay, Minnie?” Tenn looked back at his older sister who looked devastated by the event that had played out.

“I’m fine,” She let out a sad sigh, lifting up her blanket “I can’t say the same for my blanket though,” She carefully examined the stain that was forming where the drink had spilled. Renata had given her this blanket and now she had ruined it.

“Don’t worry, Minnie. We can wash it. “ Sophie walked over to stand beside her.

“I don’t want it to get damaged or anything though,” Minnie had a worried expression on her face as she looked at her twin.

“That won’t be a problem,” Sophie gently took the blanket from her sister’s hands before motioning Minnie to follow her to the laundry room. “If we use this setting and grab-'' Sophie grunted as she stood on her tippy toes to reach the laundry detergent, letting out a happy noise when she had succeeded, “Grab the unscented tide pods,” Sophie glanced over at her twin who gave her approval before she tossed the blanket into the washer along with the detergent.

With a few button presses the washer began its progress, slowly spinning around the blanket.

“Is everything okay?” Tenn called from the back living room.

“Yeah, everything’s okay,” Minnie replied, walking back with Sophie so they could finish up the movie. They only had about fifteen minutes left which felt unusually long for Minnie as she waited impatiently for the washer to be done. When the credits had rolled the three siblings sat around for a moment, not sure what to do next.

“People are going to flip out when they see these,” Sophie carefully placed away her sketchpad with an excited smile.

“So, what do we do next?” Minnie asked, hoping her siblings would come up with some good ways to pass the time.

“We could do that art challenge that I’ve seen lately,” Tenn nervously fidgeted with his fingers as he spoke.

“Oh, which one?” Sophie immediately perked up whenever art was involved.

“It’s the one where one person draws someone in the room then they pass the paper to the next person who draws them and so on until everyone has been drawn,” Tenn explained the rules as carefully and clearly as he could, hoping his sisters would agree to the idea.

“Sounds fun to me! What about you, Minnie? You game?” Sophie looked over at Minnie who seemed less excited at the idea. Unlike her two other siblings she sucked at art, especially drawing.

“I don’t know,” She paused when she saw Tenn’s face fall. “Ok, I’ll give it a shot.”

Sophie and Tenn looked over at each other, overjoyed that Minnie had agreed. Sophie soon ran off to find some paper, returning swiftly with a handful of pencils and paper. Tenn was the first up.

After finding a good angle to draw from he started his sketch of Minnie. His eyes became laser focused on the paper as he drew. After ten minutes he turned around his paper, proudly displaying his art.

“That’s really good!” Sophie exclaimed, leaning forward to get a closer look.

“It really is,” Minnie agreed, impressed that he was able to get so many of her features right.

Tenn looked away, the smile on his face growing at his sisters' praise. Minnie was up next. Picking up the pencil she began her sketch what she was sure was going to turn out to be a disservice to Sophie’s face. Her tongue stuck out slightly as she concentrated on her sketch, erasing a section before trying again. After about fifteen minutes she had decided it was as good as it could be and reluctantly showed it to her siblings. Sophie grasped the paper, bringing it closer to her face.

“I love it,” She whispered, staring at her sister’s art.

“It’s hideous,” Minnie mumbled, falling back into the couch.

“I think it’s good,” Tenn offered his sister a gentle smile which she returned.

“I’ll be right back. I gotta add these to the collection,” Before Minnie could object Sophie was gone, her feet loudly banging on the steps as she ran upstairs. After a few minutes she returned, a huge grin on her face.

“Alright, I guess it’s my turn,” Sophie plopped herself back in her spot, snatching up the pencil as she stared at her brother. She studied his face for a few minutes before she started. Her pencil lightly brushed against the page as she worked, her eyes lighting up as she continued to draw. After around twenty minutes she dramatically turned around the paper, revealing a beautiful black and white sketch of Tenn. He looked so peaceful as a kind smile played on his lips.

“Holy shit, Soph, your art just keeps getting better and better!” Minnie exclaimed.

Sophie nervously played with her cap at Minnie’s compliment, a shy smile on her face. “Aw, thanks,”

Minnie paused when she heard the washer signalling that the cycle had been done. She got up from her spot and made her way over to the laundry room, switching the blanket over to the dryer.

“Make sure to put it on the gentlest cycle,” Sophie’s voice carried over from the back living room.

“Ok, got it,” Minnie double checked the setting. Starting up the cycle, she returned to her siblings.

“So what’s the next game?” Sophie kicked her legs lazily on the side of the couch.

“I could get my guitar and we could make up some songs,” Minnie offered to which her siblings immediately agreed. Getting up, she made her way to her room where her black acoustic guitar laid proudly on its stand. Securing the strap, she made her way back to where her siblings were already trying to come up with some fun lyrics.

“So how are we going to do this?” Minnie asked as she tuned her guitar.

“We should each come up with one line of lyrics and then the next person goes until we complete a song.” Sophie suggested, sitting up from her spot.

“Alright,” Minnie took a few more minutes tuning her guitar then began to strum some notes for her siblings to start out the song.

“There once was a dog that was a poodle,” Tenn began to sing softly.

“He looked like a day old noodle,” Sophie sang out, not caring that her voice wasn’t any good.

“And he had buggy pupils,” Minnie added.

The song continued on from there. Each sibling struggled to find a good sentence to add to the song when it was their turn. After it had finished they decided to play a few more rounds which went just as well as the first time.

“Oh, Minnie, can you play that song you wrote the other day?” Tenn asked, leaning back in his chair as he hugged a couch pillow.

“Sure,” Minnie replied with a gentle smile on her lips. The song started out slow and quiet as Minnie’s voice gently entered in. Soon the whole room was filled with her singing as her siblings sat back, completely taken in by the song. After a few minutes the song had finished. Sophie quickly requested one of her favorite songs of Minnie’s. The three of them sat around, the melody of the guitar and the soft cadence of Minnie’s voice the only things audible in the room. Tenn and Sophie kept making requests until Minnie stated that she needed a little break. Her fingers absentmindedly strummed the guitar as she chatted with her brother and sister.

Suddenly she paused, the faint tune of the dryer cycle being done could be heard from the laundry room. “I hear it calling to me,” She gently placed down her guitar, rising to her feet. “Blankie!”

She was off like a shot, sliding across the floor as she entered the laundry room. She quickly opened up the dryer door, sweeping up the warm mess that was her blanket. She gave it a fast examination and noticed that the stain was gone. Moving it towards her face, she inhaled the blanket’s scent. Her nose was overcome with the sweet and spicy smell that she had grown so fond of: cinnamon.

It still smells like Renata.

The smile on Minnie’s face grew as she strolled to the back living room, happy that her blanket was okay.

[onedayiwillflyfree]

When the Sun Begins to Fall Chapter 8: Royal Gardner

Chapter 8: Royal Gardner

(Chapter nine is the second half of this chapter!)

“I can’t believe you still have this!” Cole exclaimed as he held up a sketch that he had penned years ago. Gilbert smiled smally to himself, he had always loved the portrait of Anne. Her long fire braids gently over her shoulders and not a freckle was out of place. He had even managed to capture the sparkle in her eyes that always accompanied her smile. If he had that much talent as a teenager, it was no wonder his sculptures and paintings were taking the world by storm.

“Of course I kept it,” Anne smiled weakly. Despite Roys promise not to wake her, the moment she heard her friends step through the threshold of her room, her eyes shot open and her spirits lifted immediately. “You made me look beautiful when I was so homely.” Liar Gilbert thought. Anne had never looked homely a day in her life, not even now when she had been so terribly ill and hadn’t bathed in days. Diana held another forkful of eggs to Anne’s lips, who grimaced and pushed it away. She looked up pleadingly to Gilbert. “No more please.” 

Diana looked to Gilbert for approval. He gave a curt nod as he stepped forward to retrieve the plate when Roy stepped in front of him. 

“Allow me, Di,” he said as he grabbed the plate. Gilbert had known this man for all of five minutes but whenever he heard the sound of Roy’s accented voice, he instantly felt nauseous. And what was his problem with nicknames? 

“Thank you Roy, that’s very kind of you.” Diana’s voice was sweet, genuinely thankful. This too infuriated Gilbert, because ever since her arrival, Diana had spoken to him with such malice despite everything he had been doing for Anne. Roy walked over to Anne’s armoire and placed the plate upon it, shooting him a wink only he could see. Gilbert clenched his jaw, grinding the back of his teeth together to fight off a scowl.

Cole cocked his head to the side, still entranced with his old sketch, before he pushed it away from him as if the sight of it disgusted him. “Yeah...that’s not going to do.” He reached into his bag, producing a sketchbook covered with black dust. It wasn’t until he pulled out his drawing utensil that Gilbert realized it must be charcoal. “Anne, can you sit up a tad more for me?”

Her eyes rolled to the side, peering at him through half closed lids. “Really?” 

Cole nodded, flipping to a bare page. “Yes! The muses are speaking to me and they're telling me I need to update this sketch. Diana, help her please.”Anne groaned as Diana giggled and pulled her friend forward, arranging a bundle of pillows behind her so she could sit up without much effort. “Perfect! Royal, can you open the curtain just a smidge more? There is a shadow.”

As Roy slid the curtain open, Anne covered her face. “Honestly Cole, I look…” she coughed, causing hair to fly into her eyes. “I look positively frightful.”

Gilbert wanted to step forward, brush her hair from her eyes and tell her that it was impossible for her to look anything other than stunning. That she was sunshine personified. He almost took a step, not caring any longer who would hear. But Roy was quicker crossing the room, sitting down at the end of her bed and brushed a curl of fire behind her ear. Anne’s eyes rose to his, appearing shocked by his touch.

“My dearest, you and I both know you’re lovelier than autumn leaves, than the first blooms of spring, and the freshly fallen snow.” His hand gingerly lingered on his fiancée’s cheek, which were slowly shifting from a pale peonie to a deep scarlet. Anne’s eyes shot to Gilbert, who refused to meet her gaze for fear his heart would shatter. He still felt the burn from her gaze when he cleared his throat to remind the couple of the no touching rule.

Roy pulled his hand away slowly, eyes not leaving Anne. “Sorry, can’t help myself sometimes. My bride is just simply irresistible,” Roy glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “Wouldn’t you agree, Gil?” Diana’s mouth sat agape as she looked in between the two men as Anne bit her lip, gaze not leaving Gilbert. Cole, who had become completely focused on his sketch, seemed oblivious to the tensions that were slowly building.

Gilbert smiled tightly, a piece of his scabbed cheek resting between his molars. Roy licked his lips, holding Gilbert’s glare for a moment when he let out a soft chuckle as he rose from the bed. “With your own bride to be, of course.” He took confident strides towards the aspiring doctor in the corner. “From what I’ve been informed, she is rival to that love goddess... what was her name again, dear?”

Anne looked down at her hands, her embarrassment becoming more and more apparent. “Aphrodite.”

Roy snapped his fingers as he closed the space between them further. “That’s it. Aphrodite. Tell me Gil,” He stood mere inches from Gilbert and smirked once more. “Is she truly rival to Aphrodite?” 

Gilbert peered over Roy’s shoulder, eyes scanning for Anne. Her own eyes were still glued to her intertwined hands, out of embarrassment or exhaustion he didn’t know. He swallowed and spoke slowly. “Winnie is...”

Cole stopped scratching the charcoal against the page. “Anne, you can lay back now, but still try to keep your face towards me.” Anne looked relieved as she slid down deeper into her pillows, looking as if she could drift off at any moment.

Gilbert decided that she wasn’t paying the men any mind, he turned his attention back to Roy, who was grinning smugly.  “Winnie is rather lovely.”

As the words left his mouth, he turned his gaze to Anne, curious to see if she was going to react at all. To see she was feeling any of the same jealousy he felt when Roy had taken her face in his hands. Despite her eyes fluttering shut, she still found his eyes and he could see it. The storm that was so often paired with her anger was brewing within her.

Their stares were broken when Roy shifted just enough to block them from seeing one another, an aura of protectiveness radiating off of him as he balled his fists. Gilbert wanted to chuckle, was Roy actually jealous? Was he trying to start a fight with him? Roy had a good few inches on him, sure, but from what Gilbert could tell, that was about all he had going for him. His hands looked soft, like a man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was lanky, well kept, and in all honesty, appeared to be far too posh to have ever actually punched someone before. Gilbert’s anger was making its return, something that was becoming more and more frequent over the last few days.

“Roy!” Diana broke the silence. Roy glanced over his shoulder as Diana pressed her hand against Anne’s forehead. “Could you bring me that pitcher? I imagine Anne would like to wash her face, it has been a few days..”

Roy swiped a finger across his lip and clapped Gilbert’s shoulder with a smile. “Well, cannot wait to meet that girl of yours!” With that, he turned and reached for the water pitcher and basin resting on top of Anne’s armoire. He picked up the pitcher, looking into it sadly.  “Looks like we need some more. I’ll...”

“I’ll get it.” Gilbert stepped forward, ripping the jug from Roy before exiting from the room. He needed to get out of the room, he didn’t want to lose his temper. Not in front of Anne, especially with her feeling so sick. Once he crossed the threshold, he heard a loud smack followed by an annoyed grunt.

“What was that for Diana?” he heard Cole ask cluelessly. Gilbert rolled his eyes and took a deep breath before making his way down the hall. 

His mind wandered to what had just happened a few moments prior. Was Roy truly trying to pick a fight? What was that guy's problem with him?And why did he feel the need to protect Anne against Gilbert of all people? Gilbert hadn’t done anything to him, he had only just met him less than an hour ago. And as far as he knew, he had never done anything to hurt Anne, not intentionally anyway. If anything, Gilbert should hate him, for Roy held the one thing he had always desired. No, no, Gilbert, that is on you. You gave up that fight. He gave up the right to Anne’s affection the moment he slid a ring onto Winifred’s finger.

“Just be happy for them,” he whispered to himself as he descended down the stairs. 

In the kitchen, he spotted Mrs Lynde sitting by the fire, still continuing on the same lavender scarf she was working on yesterday morning. He was unsure why she was still working on it, the scarf was surely longer than his entire body at this point, but he had no intention of asking her why she wasn’t stopping. Especially not after he saw Marilla on her knees with a bucket of water and a scrub brush, cleaning every inch she could reach and grumbling with each stroke. 

“What’s happening? They aren’t bothering her too much are they? No, that’s silly, they’re her friends. Does she need more food? Drink? Tea. I should make tea.” She threw the brush into the bucket as she stood, droplets landing on Rachel and her masterpiece. 

“Heavens sake, Marilla!” Rachel scolded, wiping the moisture from her face. Marilla ignored her, grabbing the kettle to fill from the spout and let out a small sob. Rachel sighed, looking sadly at her friend as she threw her masterpiece into her yarn bag and swiftly made her way to her friend and rested a gentle hand upon Marilla’s shoulder. “Marilla, you need to rest. I’ll make the tea.” Marilla opened her mouth to argue but was waved off as Rachel filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. “She is with her friends, they will fetch you if need be. Besides, Gilbert is up there. And we all know how that boy is when Anne is involved.”

He shifted awkwardly on the final step, it was strange to hear someone talk about him as if he wasn’t present. It also caused him to realize his presence could raise tensions and cause unneeded worry. He eyed the back door. Perhaps I can sneak out without alerting either of them, get water from the outside spicket. Yeah, that could work...

“Hey Doc! What’s taking you so long?” Roy shouted from the top of the steps, compromising his location. Both women spun, Marilla’s face falling. 

“What’s wrong? Does she need me?” Marilla sputtered out, looking seconds away from bolting up the stairs. 

Gilbert shook his head frantically. “No, no she’s...”

“No need to worry Miss Cuthbert.” Roy bounced down the steps. Gilbert resisted the urge to scowl as Roy bumped his shoulder hard when he joined him on the platform.“Anne just wanted to wash up a bit is all, so Gil here was coming to fill up the pitcher for her. Weren’t you, Gil?”

Call me Gil one more time… Gilbert smiled tightly, fighting every urge within him to not push Roy off the steps.

Marilla locked eyes with Gilbert. “So, she is alright?” 

“Yes,” Roy and Gilbert responded in unison before they each shot a disgusted glare towards the other. 

Roy cleared his throat, snatching the pitcher from Gilbert’s grasp and drifted towards the older women. What is with this prick? “When I left them to come see what the hold up was on the water,” Another glare over his shoulder. “The three of them were laughing over something Diana had said. I assure you Miss Cuthbert, Anne is well.” Roy gave a reassuring smile. 

Marilla nodded, finding some comfort in the young man's words. Her eyes drifted to Roy’s hands. “Give that to me, I’ll fill it for you so you can be on your way.” 

“Thank you Miss Cuthbert, you’re too kind.” The pitcher exchanged hands, Marilla stepping to the sink to fill it. Gilbert was surprised at how genuine the man’s voice was and that he had managed to calm Marilla so quickly. Roy flashed another bright smile as the pitcher made his way back to him. “Thank you.” Marilla gave a curt nod before he continued. “Also, I would like to apologize for our intrusion, I know Anne needs her rest.”

She smiled softly. “Think nothing of it Roy. Anne needs her rest, yes, but knowing her, she also needs you all here. We all know if she were alone with only me for company, she would be incredibly bored.” Marilla chuckled before glancing over to Gilbert. “It is so wonderful to hear these halls filled with laughter once more.” Gilbert smiled, fond memories flashing through his mind.

Roy looked between the pair. “Well, when Anne is feeling better, I would love to hear some of those stories. And later on, it will be wonderful to be apart of new memories.” He said the words in response to Marilla but his focus had fallen on Gilbert, their eyes locking and anger brewing.

Marilla smiled nervously, as if she could sense the rising tensions. “Yes. Of course.” 

The kettle whistled from the stove and Rachel clapped her hands together. “Finally!” She went grabbed the kettle, oblivious to all the going ons in the room as she poured the water into a teapot. Roy and Gilbert continued their stares, tensions building higher and higher with each passing moment. “Boys, would you like some tea?”

“No thank you, Mrs Lynde,” Roy said smoothly, not breaking his gaze. “Gil and I should be getting back up to my girl anyway.” Marilla continued looking between the pair as Gilbert balled his hands.

“Come along, Marilla,” Mrs Lynde said, corralling her friend from the room. “We have many things to catch up on.” Marilla opened her mouth to speak but Rachel continued on, giddy to share the latest gossip. “You will not believe what I heard about the eldest Andrews girl! She’s trying to buy a farm up in Nova Scotia!” And with that, Roy and Gilbert were left alone, one smirking while the other was holding his fists so tightly that crescent cuts were beginning to form from his fingernails. 

Seconds had ticked by when Roy cracked a smirk. “You alright, Gil?” 

“I’m fine.” Gilbert mumbled. Roy’s lips dropped into a frown as he rested the pitcher on the table, stepping towards the platform. 

“It’s alright Gil, you can tell me. We’re friends aren’t we?” Roy clapped his hands against Gilbert’s shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Gilbert yanked his shoulders away, for fear if lingered a moment longer he would lose control. “Don’t touch me...” 

Roy held his hands up defensively, chuckling. “Woah Doc. What’s the problem?”

“What’s your problem, friend?” Gilbert spat back at him. Roy smirked and let out a dry chuckle as he cocked his head to the side. 

“My problem? Hmm, let me think.” He tapped his chin as if he was deep in thought and began pacing in front of the stairs. “Well I have problems with quite a few things actually. The color fuchsia, chalk dust, messy hair and clothes, someone hurting people I deeply care for,” he peered over as he ceased pacing. “Oh, and poor little farm boys who are trying to pretend to be something they are not.” Gilbert felt his face flush out of rage and embarrassment as Roy stepped forward again, their noses almost touching. “Which, I’m pretty sure you share at least three of those things, don’t you Gil?” Gilbert bit down on the scab in his cheek, causing his mouth to fill with metallic tasting liquid. Don’t stoop to his level. Focus on Anne. 

He swallowed, pushing past Roy to make his way to the pitcher. “We should get back upstairs.” Gilbert mumbled. 

“You’re right. We should.” Roy stepped up the platform, ready to ascend the stairs before he quickly turned back. “Oh, one more question, Gil. Do you know where Anne’s soap is? She so enjoys when I wash her.”

Gilbert stiffened. “What did you say?”

Roy shrugged. “I know it's taboo to see each other before the wedding but...we simply couldn’t resist.” Gilbert felt his stomach fall to the floor, he felt as if he could vomit. He must have paled because Roy smiled wickedly. “Man to man? She has the softest breasts...” 

Rage blinded Gilbert as he threw himself across the kitchen, taking Roys shirt within his hands and shoving him against the wall with such force he was sure he would push him through it. 

Roy cackled. “So you do have feelings!” 

Gilbert’s voice came out close to a growl. “Don’t talk about her like she is your goddamn play thing.” 

“Oh? And why not?” Roy grinned maliciously, it was almost as if he was having fun. “She’s my bride to be. That makes her my toy to play with.” 

The next moments passed in a blur. Roy being thrown from the steps and crashing into the kitchen table. Gilbert throwing a rage fueled punch into his opponent's cheek. Mrs Lyndes screams of horror as Marilla cried for Cole. Roy laughed as he caught Gilbert’s second punch and shoved him into the wall. Gilbert’s head bounced against the wall, dazing him for only a moment as he saw Roy beeline for the door.

He caught his footing, sprinting after the man who was trying to escape. Marilla screamed for him to stop but he couldn’t hear her. After days of feeling rage and keeping it contained, it had finally boiled out of the pot.

Roy was waiting just outside the door by the wall, holding a foot out  as he ran through the door. Gilbert tripped, flying across the porch before crashing into Anne’s dormant daylilies. He rolled onto his back, gasping for the wind that was just knocked out of him. Roy jumped off the porch, smirking down at his fallen foe. “Well, that was easier than I thought.” He cocked an eyebrow, as if he was genuinely confused. “Still have no idea what she sees in you.”

“You don’t... deserve...her.” Gilbert panted out between each laboured breath. 

Roy let out a hearty chuckle. “That’s real rich coming from you.” Gilbert ignored him and tried to reach for the standing man ankle. Roy pressed down hard with the heel of his shoe, applying just enough pressure to pin his hand to the ground. “Do you realize how many times you have broken her heart? How many times I heard her cry over you?” He pressed down harder with each question as he bared his teeth. Gilbert groaned, he felt like his hand was going to be crushed at any moment. “And now I come here and find out you’re nothing special. Nothing more than a…” He felt his knuckle shift, if Roy stepped down much harder, his hand would break. “Pathetic...little...”

“Royal!” Cole shouted as he threw open the screened door. Roy’s attention shot to Cole, lifting his foot just enough that Gilbert could pull his hand free. Gilbert rolled over, grabbing his opponents ankle and yanking him to the ground. 

“Gilbert, stop!” Diana screamed, but he couldn’t bear her. All he could hear was ringing in his ears, hatred consuming his soul. Cole lunged forward just as Gilbert was about climb on top of the downed man and wrapped  his arms around him. Roy scrambled to his feet and sprinted away. 

Gilbert struggled in Cole’s grasp before he reared his head back, making contact with some part of Cole’s face. “Shit!” Cole yelled, releasing Gilbert. He didn’t hesitate for a moment before he dug his feet into the dirt and took off after the man he had quickly come to hate.

They were halfway across the yard when he finally began to close the distance between them. Gilbert’s lungs stung and is head throbbing but the pain was good, it made him push himself. It added to the rage. 

Gilbert was a few paces away when Roy made the mistake of looking back, causing him to stumble. Got you. He smiled devilishly as his fingers curled around his opponents collar and pulled him back sharply. Roy crashed to the ground, winded just as Gilbert had been a few moments prior. 

Diana and Cole screamed for him to stop. He wanted to listen, he knew he should listen. But every ounce of anger that he had suppressed, not only from this weekend, but the last two years since he proposed to the wrong woman, was finally out. Gilbert threw himself on top of the man who earned the affection of the woman he truly loved, the man who he thought he should be. Roy struggled beneath him but it was no use, Gilbert’s full weight rested on top of him and his arms were pinned. He raised his fist when Cole grabbed his arm. “Stop! This isn’t you!” he cried. Gilbert threw his elbow back, making contact with his friend's stomach. Cole stumbles back and Gilbert brought his fist down, making contact with Roy’s cheek. 

“Jerry! Jerry!” Diana screamed towards the barn as a second punch came down, this one grazing connecting with his opponents lip. Where’s that smug grin now? He thought. His knuckles stung, he was sure that skin had broken on them but that didn’t stop him from pulling his fists back for another punch. 

He aimed for Roy's nose, hoping to shift it just enough that he would have to breathe through his mouth for the rest of his life but was stopped when strong arms wrapped around him. Suddenly he was being pulled up and dragged away from his opponent. 

“Get off of me!” he growled, thrashing wildly, hoping to break free. He wasn’t done yet. He wanted to hit him harder, he wanted him to ensure he would never disrespect Anne again. 

“Calm down!” Jerry shouted. Gilbert thrashed, doing everything in his power to break free but it was no use. Jerry had become the caretaker of the farm since Matthew’s passing, which meant not only did he have almost a foot on Gilbert, but he had the muscles to match. If Gilbert had continued working at the farm, perhaps he could stand a chance but his months in Paris had made him weaker. He stopped thrashing, his fury simmering down. Jerry still held onto him in fear he would soon lash out again.

Cole dropped down next to Roy, who had somehow moved himself into a sitting position. He lifted a tender hand to Roy’s cheek, almost appearing like he was going to stroke it, when he quickly shifted it down to his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Peachy.” He mumbled, spitting out a glob of blood. Gilbert smirked in satisfaction.

Diana breathed a sigh of relief before she shot daggers to Gilbert, stomping furiously towards him. It was only then  Jerry let go of him. He knew all too well of the wrath of the young Barry woman. She lifted a sharp hand and smacked him. “What the hell is wrong with you Gilbert?!”

Gilbert’s blood boiled again as his hand went to nurse his cheek. “What’s wrong with me?” He laughed dryly and pointed to Roy. “You should be asking what is wrong with him! He has been an absolute prick for no goddamn reason!”

“Oh, I have my reasons.” Roy said dryly as Cole helped him to his feet. “And all of them involve you being a selfish bastard.” Gilbert’s fists formed once again, begging to meet his face once again when Diana forced herself in between the two men.

“That is enough!” She boomed, looking between the two sides. “Both of you are being selfish bastards! Have you both forgotten why we are here? Anne!” They looked away from each other and to the ground, both feeling very ashamed. Diana’s voice shook as she spoke. “She is sick, so very sick. And she needs us.” Her eyes began welling tears and her knees were wobbling so intensely Gilbert thought she might fall over. “All of us are important to her…”

“Some more than others.” Roy said smugly and Gilbert couldn’t stop himself. He marched forward, ready to tackle Roy back to the ground when Diana screamed.

“They aren’t in love!”

Gilbert stumbled as he skidded to a stop, his heart racing. Did she just say what he think she said? He turned slowly towards her.“What did you just say?” 

Roy raised a hand to his chest dramatically. “Diana, how dare you insinuate…”

“Enough Roy,” Cole placed a tentative hand back on his friend’s shoulder. “You just picked a fight with him and lost, don’t you think this charade has gone too far?”

Roy gritted his teeth, looking ready to argue with everyone. Cole shook his head gently and Roy scowled. “Dammit…”

The group stood silently, all exchanging glances that ranged from anger, sadness, and utter confusion. No one spoke. No one moved. It was as if time had stopped. A hawk screech overhead, indicating that time was still moving forward, that what Gilbert heard was in fact reality and not a strange dream. 

“Well...this is awkward.” Jerry laughed dryly, hoping to ease some of the tension but it only earned him a glare from everyone. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry.”

Gilbert finally began to process the words Diana had said fully. They weren’t… in love? He looked to Diana, hoping she would clarify on what was said but her eyes looked remorsefully at her two friends. Cole looked nervous as he held tightly to Roy’s shoulder, as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. 

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have... it wasn’t my place...” Diana whispered.

“It’s alright Diana.” Roy’s demeanor had changed completely. Instead the air of arrogance in his voice, it was soft, kind almost as he spoke. He looked up at Cole. “As usual, Cole is right. I went too far.” Roy brought a tender hand up to meet Coles, both smiling gently at one another. 

Gilbert rubbed his temples, his head was really starting to hurt now. “Will someone please explain to me what is going on?” Three pairs of eyes found there way to his, a mix of embarrassment, anxiety, and what he could only guess was fear, filled each one. He turned to Diana, hoping that she would explain her words to him. “Diana, what do you mean Roy and Anne aren’t in love?”

She hesitated, ashamedly looking down at the ground. “It isn’t my place…” 

“Gilbert, allow me to explain.” Cole stepped forward, positioning his body defensively in front of Roy. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “What Diana said, it’s true. Roy isn’t in love with Anne.” 

“Ah merde!” Jerry mumbled. 

Gilbert shook his head and pressed his fingernails into his palm. His anger was trying to make a reappearance. “If he isn’t in love with her...why would he propose?” He wanted to get his hands around the smug bastards neck but one glance at Roy, all forms of confidence had been erased. Instead his gaze was to the floor, almost cowering behind the blonde man. The mere sight of it almost made Gilbert laugh. “What? No fancy words now? No explanation on why you would want to marry someone you don’t love?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Roy mumbled. Gilbert pulled his fist back, ready to throw himself over Cole when Diana pushed him back. 

“It was Anne’s idea!” She screamed. 

Gilbert’s stomach dropped with his fist. Anne knew? “Wh-what? Why... would she do that?”

“She was doing it for us.” Cole’s voice cracked as he spoke, tears filling his eyes as he reached back and grabbed Roy’s hand within his own. Both of them were shaking. “To help protect us.” Gilbert was completely lost now. Why would two men over six foot need Anne to protect them?

”Mon dieu,” Jerry whispered from directly behind Gilbert. “You… two are...”

Cole and Roy both held their breath, waiting for Gilbert to finally place the final piece of the puzzle together. His eyes trailed down to their enlaced hands, realization dawned on him. His jaw dropped as he tried to form words. “Wait, you two are...?”

Diana quickly stepped forward to place herself in between the men. “Gilbert, you may not like Roy, but Cole is your friend. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Anne… you two...” Gilbert worked the words the best he could. His head was spinning, he wasn’t sure if he could walk straight let alone do anything stupid. “In love... but Roy is engaged to Anne... Anne knew…” Suddenly, a happier thought formed and he looked up. “Roy doesn’t love Anne?”

Diana opened her mouth but Roy stepped forward. He looked confident now, almost returning to the cockiness that Gilbert had come to know him for. “I think it would be best if I explained. But we should start making our way back.” He cast a glance towards the house, where Marilla could be seen standing on the porch. “I’m sure Miss Cuthbert will want an explanation of our… activities.”

[minyoongleschimjoongles]

Preordained: Introductions VI

When Zara Met Hoseok

Pairing(s):Poly!BTSxOC, Sub!BTSxOC,

Warnings: Implied sexual situations, Mentions of sexual situations, implications of Dom/sub relationships

Intro: Taehyung, Jungkook, Yoongi, Namjoon, Jin

“Noona!” Jungkook burst into Zara’s dorm room with a wide smile on his face. In his hands he clutched a flyer, and when he reached Zara, he shoved it under her nose and bounced excitedly on his heels as she read it.

Seoul National University’s Fifth Annual Dancing Showcase.

Written in bold letters close to the bottom of the page, was Park Jimin.

Park Jimin, who was Taehyung’s best friend and roommate, as well as a fantastic contemporary dancer.

Zara’s eyes lit up, and she looked at Jungkook with a growing smile on her face. Jungkook was still bouncing.

“Can we go?”

“Of course we can go.”

So she shut her laptop, threw on one of Yoongi’s hoodies that he’d left in Zara’s dorm, and they were out the door within 10 minutes. A quick text was sent out to the rest of the Soulmates, and they met at the quad where the Showcase was being held.

Tae, like Jungkook, was bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet, eyes scanning the crowds for Jimin.

“Noona, I’m gonna go look for Jiminie, okay?” Tae pressed a kiss against Zara’s cheek before going off into the masses.

“Wait, Tae, I’ll come with you!” Jungkook called, wrapping Zara into a hug and running off after his elder.

“Well,” Zara looked at Namjoon, Yoongi and Jin, “looks like it’s the oppas and me. Does anyone see Jimin? I can’t see.”

Yoongi cracked a grin, reaching down and grabbing Zara’s hand, swinging it slightly.

“You need a boost, Little Girl? These crowds are huge.”

Zara scoffed at Yoongi, pinching his cheek in retaliation. “I’m not that short, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Short enough, Zara-ssi.”

“Brat.”

Yoongi’s eyes crinkled with his grin upon recognizing the English word, and he brought Zara’s hand up to his lips to kiss it.

“Yours.”

Namjoon pointed over people’s heads, grinning.

“I see people dancing now!”

Zara jumped up and down a few times, but she couldn’t see above the crowd. Namjoon crouched and hoisted her up onto his back so she could see the dancers.

Jimin wasn’t one of them, Zara could tell from the way they moved, but they were phenomenal dancers in their own rights. She found her eyes glued to the dancer in the middle of the group, who seemed to be dancing not only to the music, but to some other beat that only he could hear.

His movements were fluid, almost like his body was made of water, and the big grin on his face as he lost himself to the music told Zara that he was doing his absolute favorite thing.

She was mesmerized.

Jin followed Zara’s gaze, a smirk growing on his face.

“You like him, huh?”

“Wh-“ Zara squeaked as Namjoon bounced her up higher, moving closer to the stage where the man was dancing. “No!”

“Why? You should go talk to him.”

“Namjoon, why would I do that?”

“Well, there’s still two of the Seven missing...” 

Zara couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling. The boys were all still under the impression that every person they came across was a member of the Seven, and it was starting to drive Zara insane.

Although, she did have a feeling about one such possible Soulmate...

“Zara-ssi, you can't always wait for your Soulmate to find you. You do that, we’ll be waiting forever and you’ll never find us all.” Yoongi put in. “Namjoon is right, you should go talk to him.” Zara opened her mouth to protest, but Yoongi shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be today, but someday.”

And then he gave her the Look. Not his mockery of Jungkook’s pout or Taehyung’s puppy eyes (which almost always got them what they asked for), but the pure, honest to God, Yoongi Look. His lips didn’t pout, and his eyes didn’t water, but when he looked up at Zara, she felt her heart stutter and knew she’d inevitably go find that dancer today.

“Fine.”

And there was the Smile. Zara cursed herself for her weaknesses.

xXx

Eventually, they managed to hunt Jimin down, and they cheered loudly for him when he won the award for the contemporary part of the showcase. Jungkook and Tae had each pulled the shorter boy into hugs, practically lifting him off his feet. Zara felt his pain.

They chose to spend the night at Jin’s dorm, the walk there filled with chatter between the group of Soulmates and their friend.

“So, Jimin, do you know the guy that won the hip hop dancing segment?” Namjoon asked, dodging Zara’s hand when she swiped at his stomach. She ended up going to talk to the dancer, but she’d been utterly distracted by the sweat on his body, and all she’d been able to say to him was, “You, uh, you dance good.”

He’d laughed at her, said she sounded like the Prince at the end of Mulan, but then sincerely thanked her. He’d been swept away by people congratulating him before Zara could say anything else.

Apparently Namjoon wasn’t prepared to let it end there.

“Huh? Oh! Uhhh.....Jung Hoseok, I think? He’s in one of my dance classes but we don’t talk that much. Or at all, really.”

“Zara-ssi wants to come to dance class with you tomorrow.” Jin said, smirking. Zara gave him the evil eye, mentally tallying the amount of punishments she’d be giving out.

“Really?” Jimin blinked, his eyes going wide. He looked to Zara, cheeks flushing slightly. “But don’t you have class yourself?”

“Not until late,” Zara tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, realizing she was now stuck going to class with Jimin. At least it would be a good excuse to watch Taehyung’s sexy roommate dance. “Monday’s all I have is a drawing class 7-9pm.”

The group shared a disgruntled groan at the thought.

“Okay, then I’m okay with you coming to class if it’s what you want, Zara.”

“It’s a deal,” Zara held her hand out to Jimin for a shake. Jimin’s eyes cut to Taehyung, who wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation, talking instead to Jungkook about some video game Ji-yoo had gotten them into. Still, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and shook his head.

Zara gave him a small smile and took her hand away, replacing it in her own pocket.

Ah, sweet Jimin.

xXx

The 9 A.M. dance class that Jimin shared with Jung Hoseok was, of course, Intro to Hip Hop. Zara wasn’t at all surprised. She also wasn’t surprised that Jimin stood in the very front row or that Hoseok was standing next to the teacher, explaining how to do the day’s choreography to the class.

It wasn’t until after the students began dancing that Hoseok noticed her sitting up against the wall with her giant drawing pad next to her, scrolling through her phone.

He recognized her, of course he did. It wasn’t every day a beautiful girl got flustered over him. So he plopped down in front of her and set his chin in his hand, grinning at her.

Zara’s eyes flashed up to meet his, and he quirked his eyebrows at her.

“Hey, Li Shang, what brings you to these parts?”

Zara dropped her phone and smirked at Hoseok. “If I’m Shang, does that make you Ping?”

He moved to lounge on his side, somehow managing to maintain that same fluidity he danced with. He grabbed her phone, and she let the device leave her fingers without complaint. “Does that mean I get to save you from certain doom?”

“In your dreams.”

His grin slipped into a teasing smile as he tapped on her phone, “Oh, I hope so.”

“Jung Hoseok!” The teacher called, making Hoseok look over his shoulder at her. “Get back to work!”

“Yes, ma’am!” He hopped up onto his feet, offering Zara a final grin as he tossed her back her phone. “See you soon, Li Shang.”

Zara glanced down at her screen to see he’d typed his number into her phone, sending himself a text that read, “Pretty Stalker Girl.”

She noticed he’d also added a Nickname field in his contact that read J-Hope.

Quietly, Zara murmured, “Oh, you’ll see me around, alright.”

She spent the rest of the class period letting her eyes drift back and forth between Jimin and Hoseok. Jimin, as always, had excellent muscle control when he was dancing, and everything about the way he moved screamed elegance. J-Hope on the other hand, had almost insane control over his muscles and his movements. She found it increasingly difficult to pull her eyes away from the two of them, especially when Jimin finally got the choreography down well enough to match J-Hope.

After an hour, the teacher called an end to class, congratulating the students with a smile.

“I’ll see you all on Wednesday. And Jimin, no more guests, okay?”

“Ah,” Jimin ran his hand through his hair as he looked over at Zara sheepishly. “Yes ma’am. Sorry.”

After they had left, Jimin walked with Zara back to her dorm, his hands tucked deep in his pockets and his head dropped low.

“You only wanted to come to class because you wanted to meet Hoseok, huh?”

“Oh, Jiminie, no.” Zara stopped, having to cut in front of Jimin to make him stop with her. “I’ll admit the boys wanted me to see Hoseok, yes. They think he’s one of the Seven because I liked the way he danced, but-” He rolled his eyes and started walking again, taking care not to brush against her. “Oh, Jimin!”

“It’s okay, Zara-ssi,” Jimin said over his shoulder, picking up the pace to a light jog. “I’ll see you later.  You’re Taehyung’s Soulmate after all.”

Zara closed her eyes so she didn’t have to watch him walk away from her.

Poor, sweet Jimin.

xXx

“Hey, Li Shang,” A body slid into the chair across from her as she sketched yet another picture of Jimin. Zara’s eyes darted up to see Hoseok sitting across from her, his chin resting on top of his water bottle. His eyes were scanning the image in her sketchbook.

He’d texted her earlier asking if he could meet her out. Though she was reluctant- any sight of Hoseok reminding her of Jimin- she’d eventually agreed to meet him in the coffee shop under Yoongi’s ever watchful eye. 

“Hey,” she greeted back, allowing him to slide the sketchbook toward himself.

“This is Park?” He asked, drawing his fingers along the penciled lines of Jimin’s nose. “This is good.” He turned the page to see yet another sketch of Jimin. And another. And another. Hoseok sucked at his teeth. “You’ve got it bad, Babe. Didn’t think I was stealing another man’s girl.”

“Stealing another man’s what?” Zara repeated, arching an eyebrow. She watched Hoseok trace her signature at the bottom of the page.

“Well, I can’t do anything about it, can I?”

Zara stayed quiet, realizing Hoseok was mostly just speaking to himself now. Her eyes trailed to Yoongi, who had his arms crossed on the counter, watching her. His expression was mildly concerned, but Zara gave him a small smile that made him ease off.

“Okay, look, Li Shang,” Hoseok flipped her sketchbook back around to face her, tapping the image. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Park, but you gotta sort it out. He’s been moping through Intro and it’s seriously throwing off our groove. He really likes you, and it’s obvious from all of this that you like him too, so we’re going to go over to his dorm, right now, and solve this thing. I just...I have one request first.”

“And what’s that?”

Hoseok launched across the table, cupping her jaw and pressing their lips together, swallowing Zara’s surprised yelp. When the String pulled taut, his brain was immediately foggy.

He didn’t feel Zara stand to tower over him as he remained mostly seated in his chair, but he did feel her fingers cup his jaw and neck.

She pulled away, sighing in contentment, and watching Hoseok’s face shift with various emotions, though confusion was most prevalent.

“Wait...” he had yet to open his eyes. “Wait, wait. Does this mean Park’s stealing my girl?”

Zara snorted and shook her head. “Not quite. I have Seven Soulmates.”

Hoseok’s eyes opened wide.

“Seven? Which am I?”

“Six.”

“And you think Park’s number Seven?”

Zara shrugged, rubbing her thumb over Hoseok’s jaw.

“Well, I’m hoping.”

Hoseok’s lips parted in a wide grin, and he finally stood from his seat, grabbing Zara’s hand in his.

“They don’t call me J-Hope for nothing, Babe! Let’s go see Park!”

“What?!”

Zara had enough time to shoot Yoongi a surprised look over her shoulder before Hoseok dragged her out the door and down the street. Yoongi, grinning, sat up and began wiping down the counter.

“We’ll have our hands full with that one.”

@babyboytae1 @snowythellama @bewitch3dforivar

[bootyassnodt]

3 am: Drunk, in love, or both?

So yesterday yours truly managed to stay up until the sun was out, doing nothing productive, just drawing and gaming, instead of, for example writing? So I mused over the thought, what would it be like, if I did that at the La Squadra’s headquarters? Preferably as a member of the team. So, here you go, my little fluffy and sfw ficlet of the situation, starring my No.2 husbando, the dearest Prosciutto himself.

You completely lost count over the time. You had no idea how long you have been hunching over your sketchbook, but considering the faint burning behind your eyes and the growing heaviness in your limbs, it was way past your usual bedtime. Hell, it was past bedtime already when you arrived back to the HQ from your mission, had dinner and started sketching for a while to unwind. 

Unlike the last time you were drawing, which was days ago, you didn’t have any specific idea on mind, just drew whatever you could see, the leftovers in your plate, the vase on the table that hadn’t seen a flower in the past year, the occasional clutter left here and there by your teammates. You just got really into it, and while you told yourself a couple of times that you would go to sleep as you finish just this one, you still were glued to the chair, burning through another and another page of your sketchbook.

Not long after the clock stroke 3, you heard footsteps coming from the sleeping quarters. It wasn’t unusual to sleep at the base when someone had a job early in the morning, or just finished one late into the night, and it was easier than going home. You didn’t even look up, thinking whoever is coming, they would just get a glass of water and leave, so you were quite surprised when the footsteps stopped at the door, behind your back, and you heard the click of a lighter.

- It’s 3 in the morning - started the low, raspy baritone voice, audibly groggy from some light sleep, after exhaling the smoke. - They say that those awake at this time are either drunk, or in love, or both. So, which one is it tonight?

You half-turned your head, and couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Prosciutto was leaning to the doorframe, hair down, wearing his striped nightgown (and judging by his visibly naked chest and legs, only a pair of briefs under it), smoking a cigarette. This was something that not many people who knew this always prim and proper gangster could have seen. Normally, you would scold him for smoking indoors, but it was the hottest night of this summer so far, and with all the windows open, you were sure the draft would clean the air soon.

- I didn’t expect you to say something like that - you turned back, the corners of your mouth still curling upwards. - More like, “Why the fuck do you think staying up at this hour is a good idea?” Or, “If you jeopardize the mission tomorrow because you are too tired to function, I am not going to save your ass again.”

At your accurate but mocking tone, he let out a laugh that filled your chest and stomach with warmth, and flushed your cheeks red. He stepped closer, grabbing the ashtray from the counter.

- Impressive - he said, - But I liked my version better. So, answering my question…?

- It’s neither - you sighed. - I’m just drawing. Helps clearing my mind after work.

- Show me - he sat next to you, placing the ashtray in front of him and gently tapped some ash into it from the end of his cigarette. You watched his beautiful, veiny hands and his nimble fingers work for a split second, then reluctantly pushed the sketchbook over to him.

- It’s really nothing, you see. Just some sketches about this and that, I’m practicing shading at the moment and…. WAIT, NO!

You desperately tried to yank the sketchbook out of his hands in panic when he flipped back one too many pages, but it was too late. Cold, wrenching panic knotted in your stomach while he was just sitting there, cigarette in his mouth, looking at what was a drawing of him. Him, waist up, half naked, to be correct. His brows furrowed, eyes focused, you tried to read his expression while praying for whatever gods are up there to make you disappear. He exhaled the smoke sharply.

- So… Is this how you see me?

- Pro, I… Look, you shouldn’t have seen that, jesus, I know it’s not appropriate, and I’m really sorry, but can we just forget about it?

- Hey - he cut your embarrassed rambling, eyes still fixed on the picture. - It will sound weird, saying this about a portrait of me, but, I think this is beautiful.

- You what? Really?

- Yeah, really. I had no idea you are this talented, I’m in awe. Also…. - his voice softened even more - There is so much endearment, and love in the way you drew this.

- Well, it’s because there is so much endearment and love in everything I do, when it comes to you - you blurted out, regretting it immediately. Prosciutto shot up his glance, and met your deer-in-the-headlight look. - All right, now can you please just whip out your stand and murder me?

He chuckled and shook his head, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray, dabbing the butt a couple of times to make sure it was extinguished. You have never been more embarrassed in your life while he looked so calm, almost relieved, almost happy.

- If I don’t seem enthusiastic enough, it’s because a part of me is sure I am still sleeping and this is a dream, but we definitely need to talk about this tomorrow.

Seeing your expression getting more strained and painful, with a soft “Oh”, he suddenly understood how you felt in the past few minutes, and continued, with a straight face, but smiling eyes.

- If I’m right, and you are feeling what I think this implies, then I can say that it’s mutual - he reached for your hand on the table, and you tangled your fingers with his, studying his face in awe. - And while I don’t think that mixing work and personal life on this level could ever be a good idea, I have feelings for you for quite some time now, and I’d love to see how this would turn out. I mean, only if you’d like to as well.

You nodded, at complete loss of words, staring into his eyes. Prosciutto squeezed your hand a bit in reassurance, and his smile was so confident, so genuine, and so smug, that you couldn’t help, but returning it, though on the inside, you just wanted to scream into your pillow from this happiness. You stayed like this for about a minute, both of your minds racing over what just happened, then he stood up to empty the ashtray into the garbage can.

- I’m glad we got this one off the table, and I can’t wait to finish tomorrow’s mission. How about a dinner? I know some really good places, and I can get a table anywhere.

- That would be perfect - you said with a tired smile spreading further on your face. - I hope we can off the target real soon.

- Just like we always do, tesoro - the ways this nickname rolled off his tongue made you shiver and blush. Prosciutto noticed this, and stepped back by your side. - But now, please, go the fuck to sleep, because it’s past 3 in the morning, and if you jeopardize the mission tomorrow because you are too tired to function, I am not going to save your ass again.

You couldn’t help but laugh over how instantly he could switch back to his work tone and straight face. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, then took his leave towards his room.

- Good night, beautiful.

You waited until his door creaked and shut, before you let your face fall into your hands, and let out an utterly immature squeak and some giggles. You glanced over at the drawing again, beautiful as ever, and you finally admitted to yourself after all these months, that how deeply, and stupidly in love you were with this man.

[mysticsparklewings]

Big Plans Tiny Planner

Ta-da!! :D It took forever, but I think this is quite possibly my favorite book-making project I've done to date!   A while back while JoAnn's was having a sale on decorative paper (I think it was 10 sheet for $2 or something like that?) and I stocked up on a few combinations I thought would work well for future book projects, and among my choices, I had picked out a page that consisted of tiny calendar pages for a full year and a piece of heavy-duty paper that I thought worked well with the various colors on that page (not all the calendar pages were as drab as the January page here, I just didn't have the patience to try and photograph all twelve of them for this ). However, it wasn't until I saw this video by SeaLemon, my go-to person for DIY book things, that I knew how to get pages that work well for a tiny planner. I had originally gotten some small lined memo pads from the dollar store, hoping to use a couple of them for pages in this theoretical mini-planner...only to find out that nope! Those pages are just a little bit too big. Trying to get them and the calendar pages lined up to glue the spine would be infuriatingly difficult. Naturally, this left me semi-up-creek without a paddle. But then I saw the aforementioned video and learned something that had never occurred to me: You can make dot-grid paper...by printing a dot grid onto regular paper!!   It seems so obvious and so simple now, but it had honestly never even crossed my mind. I guess because I have actually tried using regular grid paper for a book before and it didn't go as smoothly as I had hoped, in addition to me knowing that making your own lined paper in a similar fashion would be much more tedious task. Lining up lines when you're not a machine capable of cutting pages with laser-precision is both time-consuming and next to impossible to get perfectly aligned pages from. The dot-grid, on the other hand, provides guidelines to use for writing and drawing (the biggest disadvantage to unlined paper), and a guide for cutting, but the dots are spaced in such a way that the cut has to be pretty egregiously bad for it to be immediately noticeable if they aren't quite lined up correctly. Additionally, in this case, specifically, the dots are so faint that 1. it makes any misalignment even harder to notice, and 2. they will not show up on camera for anything, and so I didn't bother trying to include a photo to show said dot-grid. That said, I just printed off the dot grid SeaLemon made and shared in the video description onto normal printer paper. Twelve pages; printed the grid onto the front side of each, then flipped them over and printed it onto the backsides. That way I had double-sided pages and I could cut multiple small pages--four 3" x 4" pages per piece of paper--without worrying about if anything was going in the wrong or right direction. Once the grid was printed, I then used a paper cutter to first slice all twelve pages to be the same size, cutting off the excess where the dot grid didn't print because of printer margins. Then I went back through and cut them down to be the size I needed. After which I counted out four pages for each calendar page, and having learned my lesson about end pages (the pages that connect the text block to the splash pages) from the SweetTarts book I made, I cut two more pages out of cardstock to put on the front/top and back/bottom of the stack. And then I carefully lined up one side of the page stack, clasped it in place with a binder clip, and got gluing. While I waited for the coats of glue on the spine to dry, I started on the covers and splash pages. The splash pages I cut and dealt with without much fuss. The covers, on the other hand... Originally, I meant to cut the covers large enough that I could have a little overhang on the edges to make the book a bit nicer. However, I mismeasured/calculated and didn't realize it until I'd already cut the covers in one direction.   It wasn't too late to adjust for the height, but it was too late to adjust for the width. However, that wasn't too terrible, as I figured I could just move the covers over slightly and covered the missing area with the tape over the spine. That did complicate things slightly in that, later on, I had to cut and add strips of paper to the spine area to cover the under of the tape to keep the adhesive from folding and/or sticking to everything. But before the anti-sticky-spine steps happened, I was playing with placement for the cover. Earlier in the process, I had recouped the frame sticker on the front cover from my sticker collection to use in conjunction with the "big plans" placard I wanted to make in a similar fashion to how the names of the months are printed on the calendar pages. While I was fiddling with how it was going to look with the covers, I also started thinking about my choices for the tape on the spine. I ended up thinking that I liked the color of the lines on one of the covers better than the other, based on the frame and the tape options I had, combined with the color of the splash pages that were already attached to the text block by that point. I tried not to. I really did. But I couldn't help myself; I cut out another cover identical to the one of the two that I liked better. To be fair, I'm glad I did because it makes my brain feel better knowing they match nicely, but part of me can't help but wonder if it really would've mattered, provided I had put the other cover on the back. So with that "problem" solved, I could then move on to attaching the covers and placing the tape. And I did. And I am still not very good at getting the spine tape straight on the first try. This was a problem this time, not because this tape was any less forgiving than the other options I've used in the past, but rather because of the thinner paper I'd put in place to cover the adhesive. It did not want to let go of the tape once they were stuck together. As a result, instead of repositioning or even removing the tape, I instead placed another piece on top to fix the unstraight edges. That piece I could reposition, and it's a good thing because it still took me a few tries to get it exactly where it needed to be. I almost thought I was done once that was taken care of and the frame and placard were attached to the front cover. Then I realized this is a tiny planner (of sorts) and a planner could really benefit from book pockets...Which I believe I had originally planned on adding to the book, but it had somehow slipped my mind among everything else. So after I spent way too long deciding on what paper to use for the pockets (and ultimately decided to use some that was leftover from when I made splash pages on the Duck Tape mini sketchbook) and to simply clip the corners instead of using my paper punch to round them because it's started not doing its job very well as of late, I applied the pockets by carefully prying the covers away from the splash pages on the appropriate corners, wedging the pockets in, and then squeezing in a bit of tape and glue to the best of my ability to reinforce them. (Normally reinforcement wouldn't've been an issue because I would've securely taped them to the back of the splash pages before trying to attach the covers.) This time I really did think I was done. And, technically, I was. I was quite proud of my little baby planner, too. The next day I videoed a little flip through of the book to show it to a couple of friends because I figured that would be faster than taking my staging photos like I normally do. In that process, I discovered that it was fairly tricky to flip through the pages and find each calendar page quickly, and also the September page decided to pop out. Apparently it wasn't quite far over enough or didn't get quite enough glue or something. Also, I was a little bothered that one edge of the sticker frame on the front didn't want to stay flat down but also didn't pop up far enough to be able to get more glue under it without making a mess. I've never attempted to reinstate a page that fell out of one of these books before, despite having at least two fall out of one of the first ones I ever made. Fortunately, it went more smoothly than I expected. A little very carefully placed tacky glue and few minutes' patience to hold it still, then some time to dry long-term with extra paper on both sides to absorb any extra glue, it appears fairly stable now. The page-turning took a little more thought, but I settled on using these teeny-tiny heart stickers (one on each side to, again, keep the adhesive from sticking to things it shouldn't) as tiny little page tabs. And when I say teeny-tiny, I'm not kidding. I have fairly small, nimble fingers, and I still found it easier to manipulate the stickers with the help of a pair of tweezers. But they are just big enough to work in this form. The only problem is that they don't stick out uniformly solely because the pages themselves don't, and they have to be stuck on about halfway down the sticker so that they stick to the page securely but still stick out enough to be useful at all once the pages start fanning open. While I had the sticker sheets out to get the hearts off, I peaked at the other options and settled on a few to stick to the frame on the front to fix that other problem about one side not sticking down to my liking. Then I added a couple more on the other side just to balance things out. It's a bit much, but it still feels better than leaving the frame to just stick up like it was. After all of that though, now it's finished. And I'm still very happy, if not even more so, with how it turned out.  It was a piece of work, but it looks so nice and it's functional, too! I'm not even sure I'll use it--I haven't decided yet since it is so nice, I'm thinking I might want to keep it as an unmarred example for future projects like it--but I just enjoy knowing it exists and how good the end product looks that it was worth it to me anyway. This was also a bit of an extra learning experience to 1. Plan these book projects out a little more thoroughly in advance, and 2. Pay closer attention before and during the process of cutting anything. Which, I mean, I already try to do those things, but evidently not quite enough, lest I wouldn't have some of the problems I do that often crop up in my making process.   I'm not quite sure what the next book project will be, but I do have a few more pieces of that paper that I picked out for some, so we'll see what happens next time I sit down and make some. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Hidden

(A/N) This was also requested by a lovely anon! Thanks for the request and i hope you like it!

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Warnings: just cuteness, I think

Masterlist

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I was already awake when my phone signalled that it was time to wake up. I rolled over and looked at my boyfriend’s face. He always looked so peaceful when he was asleep, making me smile. Carefully, I stroked his cheek and watched as a small smile formed on his lips. At that moment, I knew what I had to do. Carefully, I reached over to my nightstand and withdrew my sketchbook with a pencil. I sat up and pulled my knees closer to my chest. I used them to draw on.

Quickly, I started with his lips, scared that the smile would fade soon and worked up from there. His nose and the eyebrows. The closed eyes and small wrinkles under them. Then I started to work out his head with the curls that surrounded his face and the pillow that it laid upon. I played with shadows, giving his face a dramatic effect and worked out his facial features. The sharp cheekbones and the small scar on his forehead.

When I was finished with the sketch, I flipped through the pages off my sketchbook. All of them were filled with drawings off Tom. While he slept, cooked or during an Interview. There were even some of him in Loki costume on the set of Thor or The Avengers. I smiled as I remembered where and when I drew the different ones. “What are you doing?” Sleep was still evident in his voice. “Uhm-!” I quickly close the sketchbook and his it under my blanket. “Nothing! Why are you awake?” I laid back down and faced Tom. His arm wrapped around my waist and he pulled me into him. “I missed you.” “That’s what woke you up?” I chuckled, but he just responded with a quiet hum. Within seconds he had fallen asleep again. Chuckling, I cuddled against him again, and gave myself a few more minutes of rest, until I told myself that I needed to get up. Slowly, this time really trying not to wake him up, I shifted around, until I was out of Tom’s arms. On tiptoes, I left the bedroom and my sleeping boyfriend to himself.

Once in the attic, which also functioned as my studio, I took a deep breath. The smell of paint brought a smile upon my face. With enthusiasm, I walked to one of my canvases and took the thin cloth that covered it, off. A half finished painting stared at me, judging my decision to leave it alone for a couple of days. Quickly as if to not anger it any further, I grabbed a brush and started to mix colours. When I was satisfied with them, I continued the painting, glancing at the sketch I made from time to time. It was a woman with her new-born child in her arms. I smiled at the thought of me with my own children.

I continued to paint and quickly got lost in the colours and brushes. Only when he cleared his throat and the smell of fresh coffee flared my nostrils, did I notice that Tom had woken up and was standing in the doorway behind me. I turned around and thankfully accepted the mug he offered me. While I started to nip on the warm liquid, he walked over to the painting and looked at it. “It’s beautiful.” He turned to me and smiled. I shrugged before I walked closer and inspected it. “I don’t like that part. And this looks sloppy. And the colour over there isn’t right.” I was pointing at different parts of the painting, until Tom wrapped his hand around my index finger. “It’s great. It really is.” He took the mug from my other hand and set it down, before he pulled me into a hug. “She’ll love it.” I nodded and buried my face in his chest. We stayed like that for a few minutes, until I pulled away. “I need to finish this.” He nodded and quickly pecked my lips, before he left. At the door he stopped. “Lunch?” “Chinese?” He nodded and laughed and went back downstairs.

As soon as I was sure he was out of earshot, I turned back to the painting. It was finished and I would deliver it in the evening. That’s why I walked into the back of the attic and picked up a hidden canvas. I quickly put it in the same spot as the other canvas and took the cloth of, smiling at the almost finished piece. I locked the door before I started to work on the painting.

I was almost finished by the time, Tom called me downstairs. I hid the canvas, careful not to ruin the still wet paint and went downstairs. Tom sat at the dining table and had already prepared everything. Plates, chopsticks, glasses and the food. I sat down beside him and loaded some of the food onto my plate. He did the same and both of us quickly began eating. We didn’t talk while we ate.

When we were finished, I took the plates and brought them into the kitchen. “I’ll wash them. You go finish the painting.” I nodded and hugged him. “Thank you.” His lips pressed against my hair and I smiled. Then, I ran upstairs and locked the door behind me again. The paint had dried and I finished it quickly. I took a step back, grinning from ear to ear, when I was finally done. I left it to dry and ran downstairs, into our bedroom and took a quick shower, before I put a jeans and shirt on. Then, I grabbed the painting and put it next to our front door. “Tom!” He came to me and grinned when he saw the painting. “Well done! It looks really great!” He hugged me. “Wait a second. I’ll just put some shoes on and grab the keys.” I nodded and waited for him at the door. When he was ready, he unlocked the car and grabbed the painting. Carefully, he put it in the back, before he walked back to the house and locked the door. Meanwhile, I’d jumped into the car and put on my seatbelt.

It took us half an hour to get to the house of the pair that requested the painting. We knocked on the front door and brought it inside. They loved it, and after some tea and coffee, they gave me the money and we left. “They were lovely.” Tom grabbed my hand squeezed it. “Yeah...” He smiled at me, before his eyes went back to the road. “What do you think about our own kid? A small you and me running around the house.” I smiled and leaned against his shoulder. “I’d love that.” He squeezed my hand again.

Back home, I told him that I’d quickly go change and then meet him back in the living room. I ran upstairs, changed into some comfy clothes and ran into the attic. I was relieved when I saw that the paint was dry. I grabbed the canvas and slowly walked downstairs.

When I reached the living room, I saw that Tom was pacing up and down, completely lost in his thoughts. I gently called his name and he turned to me, smiling. “Do you have another painting we have to deliver?” I shook my hand and walked to him. “No, it’s a present.” He looked at me confused. “For who?” I pulled the painting from behind my back and showed it to him. “You.” Still confused, he took it from my hand and looked at it. A smile quickly took over the frown on his face. His eyes were glued to the painting of the two of us. We were hugging, with the side of my face pressed against his chest and his lips pressed against my hair. Only when his eyes moved down, did he look shocked again. “No.” I smiled and nodded. “No!” He put the painting to the side and pulled me into a hug. “No...” I grinned up at him. “Yes.” He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against mine. “I love you.” I grinned and leaned against his chest. “I love you too.”

A few months later, I stood in front of a canvas, almost finished with the painting of me, Tom and our baby in our arms.

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You can still request for the Christmas Drabbles!  Keep requesting!  

[everythingcollided]

I Know [Carl Grimes]

Summary: She’s aware of who she is, all of the things she’s done, how screwed up she is. But, it’s Carl’s job to show her that it doesn’t always matter and that even through that, your heart is still beating; loving.

Words: 2,850

Warnings: Swearing(maybe like one), slight angst, fluff

I know I’m broken.

I watch the cracks in my eyes shine in the light reflecting off the mirror. I feel the fractures under my skin spread and shift as I move, as I live. I see it in the way they stare at me, at us, like we’re some kind of monsters that need to be locked behind a cage. I don’t tell them that I’m already behind one. It’s not the walls that close me in, though. It’s me.

I know I’m a monster.

I live through what I’ve done in my nightmares. All the walker bodies stacked up, one against the other. Blood, everywhere. Human bodies, one against the other. Gunshots, bullets ripping through skin. Eyes; blue, brown, green, hazel, losing their light, turning milky or not shifting at all. Somehow that’s worse. Clothes being ripped off of screaming bodies, people almost being broken by something other than death, other than the walkers. By other people.

I know I can still be happy.

Sometimes I wake up in the mornings, in my own bed, shrouded in covers that smell like lavender and everything I’ve wanted the world to be since my dad died, since everyone else died. I can hear laughter coming from somewhere downstairs, the kitchen, bacon sizzling, some song by Journey completing its scratchy spin on the record player Rick picked up a while back. Sometimes I think that things will be alright when I join their smiles that have been as dormant as mine at certain points, join Carl as he reads one of his comic books and we both sip coffee out of matching bright colored mugs in our pajamas because we have nowhere to go. Just for that day.

I know my world can crumble.

Bite marks fill pages among pages in my mind. The one my brother had revealed on his shoulder, the one Sophia had in the exact same spot when she stumbled out of that barn. Bodies torn to shreds. My mother’s ripped in half and strewn across the lawns of five separate houses, T-Dog’s rib cage visible to the naked eye and glistening with blood, the fallout of the Anderson’s and so many others in Alexandria, Noah devoured alive in that rotating door. Bullet holes in skulls, tanks shooting explosives, bodies flying, my best friend getting his eye shot out and becoming heartbroken at what he’d become.

I know I can still trust.

Glenn passes around a picture of a growing baby and it feels like a puzzle piece has just squeezed into place. He’s smiling and Maggie’s smiling and everyone is smiling and it’s okay. Michonne and I practice in the backyard, swinging and slashing our swords at each other with no want of destruction. Rick glares at me and it’s because I took the last pop tart, Daryl hides his snicker at a joke I make, Carol and I make cookies and pass them out to fellow Alexandrians even if they believe they might be poisoned, Abraham calls me nicknames that annoy me to no end but give me a warmth of having people who care, Carl and I make a pinky promise over something stupid and my heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

I know we’re best friends.

He found me on the farm and we promised each other we wouldn’t die. I stood by his side when he killed a soldier in the Governor’s army even though I was scared of him, he stood by mine when I got sick and was coughing up blood even if it had to be through a sheet of glass. We hugged the life out of each other when we reunited after the prison was destroyed and I’d never felt more relieved. We read comics and argue about what superhero would win a fight against the other, we talk and talk and talk after we’ve had a nightmare and neither of us can get back to sleep. I helped him get in contact with the real world again after he’d lost his eye and his smile was the best thing I’ve ever seen. He held me when Beth had been carried out of that hospital with a bullet through her head and I held him when he came out numb with his baby sister in his arms.

I know I’m in love with him.

We share a joke and a laugh in an abandoned roller rink on the road and suddenly I’m blushing and hiding behind my hair. My sketchbook is crammed full of blue eyes and freckles and I have to get another one because I’ve run out of pages, half of the pictures that come out of my camera are of a boy I call my best friend, songs that get stuck in my head are all so gooey I want to scratch them out of my brain. My heart jumps at cerulean and my skin heats at contact, my lips want something they’ve never had before and curve when they see that dumb hat peek around a corner, my fingers like the feel of soft brown hair in a moment of weak hugs.

Tears form in my eyes when I see a frown and hear that break in his voice, when we start talking about how much it hurts knowing that everything is gone. We speak about graduation and marriage and prom and thirst for it and I know I want to do it all with him. I agree with everything and pretend that most of my demons don’t taunt me with his death, pretend I don’t feel like a coward for calling him a friend and not something more. He laughs and smiles and plays with my curls and he’s happy around me and that’s enough.

Even as we sit here in the dark of the room we’ve decided to share, sweaty and shaking from twin tortures of sleep, it’s enough that he’s here, in front of me. I tell myself that over again in a mantra but there’s always that part of me that disagrees. The teenager, the believer, the one full of hope. The reason I can still smile and love and accept these people as my family.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His short breaths bring a skip in mine and I turn away from him. I shake my head every time. No. Then quiet. Silence until one of us falls asleep and the other goes back to their bed across the room. Across is too far, always.

I deny because it’s constantly him. Bleeding, dying, eating me, helpless against forces out of my control. Those alone are enough to break me but then there’s that stone that drops in my stomach when I shoot up, ripping through my heart and lungs and settling right at the bottom. It’s too much to bare, too much to relive through.

But tonight I nod. I look at the collage of pictures we’d pinned together on the light blue wall that’d never failed to remind me of his eyes. Everyone we’ve lost plus those we’re still holding onto. The both of us are there too, all over. Joyful, blushing, sparkling, naive idiots and suddenly I can’t lie to him anymore because I do want to talk about it and I do want to tell him what he makes me go through by simply sitting there in a crumpled shirt and grey sweats.

“You were in it, you’re always in it. We were on a run in some dumb shopping mall and you’d disappeared somewhere. I was having a heart attack thinking you’d gotten swallowed when I found you looking at clothes of all things.” I angle my head upwards to meet his one blue eye to keep myself composed because he’s here and he’s okay. The exposed wound of his eye is on full view and the moonlight peeking through the blinds and against the walls make him look tragically beautiful. He’s smiling, a little lift of the left side of the lips.

“You think we could get matching shirts? That’s what you said, and then you suddenly disappeared. I could hear your screaming all around me, closing in, but I couldn’t see you anywhere and, and...I couldn’t do anything. All I could do was curl up on the floor and cry and it hurt more than anything I’ve ever felt before. I-I-“

Carl’s hands grip at my shoulders. “Shut up. Don’t say anything else.” Thumbs leave trails of fire against my cheeks as he wipes away the tears that have fallen from my eyes without consent. “I don’t like it when you cry.” he mumbles.

“Sorry,” I sniff pathetically. I’m always somehow showing weakness around him. I hate it. “I’ve just seen you die so many times, so many, and I’m tired of going to sleep only to see it over and over again.”

He’s quiet for a while after his hands drop from my cheeks and I wonder if he’s even going to say anything, if he’s going to back down. “We were still in the prison,” he says. It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about his dream. “And you were sick. We were laughing over some stupid joke you made through the glass when you started choking. You were choking on your own blood and I couldn’t get to you. The door wouldn’t open and I kept on banging on the glass but it wouldn’t do anything and...you were gone. I don’t know how much worse it would have gotten if I didn’t wake up.”

I sigh at the fissure in my heart when tears fall out of his eye and wipe at it, murmuring, “I don’t like it when you cry either.” We share a pathetic chuckle and I drop my hand from his face.

Carl catches it a moment after it’s slapped against the mound of bedsheet between us, interlocking our pinkies in that familiar way. I watch him, bright eye directed downward. His nose twitches, an action that warns of incoming tears. “Don’t die, okay?” The sleep heavy husk of his voice cracks under all the pressure.

I’ve seen him vulnerable a handful of times, after his mom, the eye, the church, after Atlanta, after the farm. Each broken stare weakens me a little bit more. I find myself nodding to him, squeezing the finger in contact with his. “Okay.”

And then he’s smiling and I’m smiling and were staring at each other and the moment’s been glued back together. I want to kiss him, so bad, but my stomach coils and tightens at the glance I steal and I’m suddenly retreating from the thought. I meet blue that’s shifting all around my face; back and forth between my eyes, my nose, my lips. His Adam’s Apple bobs with the force of a gulp.

His mouth opens and I know he wants to say something, but it slams shut before his voice escapes. I raise my eyebrows at him in question and he looks at the wall of photos like I did minutes ago to avoid my gaze, a sigh floating through the air and lips pursing.

“Carl,” I call and it’s when he turns for an answer that I realize I have no idea what I was going to say. I just wanted him to look at me. I dig for a question. “What is it?”

Those lips open slightly again, managing, “I-“ before they hang there. I glance up at him and begin to tell him to go on, to distract me from leaning forward.

But my mouth is stopped from emitting sound by his own.

Something whooshes through my body, something that makes me feel numb and exhilarated at the same time. It causes my heart to speed up until it’s pounding in my ears, my hands have suddenly become completely developed in his and they’re warm and comforting, a fire has been lit underneath my skin and I have no hope of catching my breath, but my eyes manage to slide shut.

The contact disappears too fast.

Just as quick as he came, Carl leans back, thankfully continuing to clutch at my hands and unfortunately leaving me with only the remnants of the mint chapstick he puts on before bed every night on my lips. It’s the only thing that informs me I didn’t just imagine that.

I can’t form a coherent thought in my brain. It’s been blown to bits and I’m trying to clutch up the fragments as Carl avidly avoids my eyes that have opened to protest his absence. He gives a second long chew to his bottom lip before whispering out with a breath so low I wouldn’t have been able to hear if it weren’t the middle of the night, “I love you.”

I blink in response, my organs dropping out of my body and through the floor. I fumble for responses and nothing can make it out of my mouth because my heart is crawling up my throat and choking me. Carl’s expression darkens the longer I take to recompose myself and it rips through me like a bullet.

Come on, voice, you can do it.

“S-seriously?”

His head whips up, long hair slapping against his forehead. It’s brown against honest, honest blue and tears spring into my eyes without warning because in this world, in all of this destructive, heartbreaking, terrible shit Carl Grimes found it in himself - his terribly tortured self - to let me through the chinks in his armor and the breaches in the walls he puts up for everyone to see. He loves me. It’s still weaving itself through my mind.

Carl nods with that rare shyness he has and I can feel the smile spreading across my face. I’m going to be exhausted when I come off of this emotional high.

“I love you too.”

The grin that emerges from my words punches me with the reminder of how utterly attractive my best friend is. All sprinkled freckles standing out in the pink hiding under his skin, chocolate hair messed up and undeniably soft, one blue eye shining brightly in the dark and the other a constant reminder of how brave he is, the forest smell that constantly surrounds him shrouding me in a safety I’ve always had when he’s around.

Carl lets out a breath, “God, that would have been embarrassing if you didn’t.” Our laugh is one of happiness this time, full to the brim on relief. It fades out quickly when we find ourselves in each other’s eyes again, Carl clearing his throat after a minute with a question of my name.

I’m pretty sure I give a hummed response.

“Can…” he blinks, takes a few deep and angry breaths. “Can I kiss you again?”

My whole body feels like jello and through that I have to force myself from screaming out in agreeance, muttering out a, “Yes.” that’s bursting with light.

And so we both lean forward this time. My senses indulge in mint and wilderness and body wash and shampoo, his hair tickles my forehead and I know it’s something I’d love getting used to, his hands so used to gripping guns and knives are now holding my cheeks in place and I don’t want that to change anytime soon.

I know we’ll be alright. Somehow, someway.

As long as we’re there to guide each other through the nightmares.

[ethereal-galaxies]

@magical-lollipops

Ramuda inputted the numbers into the remote and was surprised when a baseball game came up. Oh. So he liked baseball? Well, now he knew a little more about his double! He smiled as he went back to stitching his pincushion together, and after that was done, he got his sketchbook and started mapping out a base model for Jakurai to draw the outfit on top of since he'd calmed down a bit.

Once he had his model, he began with a rather simple yet elegant idea in mind. Wait a second. He stood and went over to Jakurai, looking him up and down for a moment before hugging him. Oh! His measurements were still relatively the same! He could work with this! "Thanks, Jakurai!" he said as he went back over and noted the measurements on the right hand side of the page. With that, he took a bit longer, gathering everything together. Okay. He had it now.

Next, he began sketching out the hair and how he felt it should be styled with the outfit. A tuck here, a pin there... He hummed as he worked, occasionally stealing glances at Kuro. Once he had the design finalized, he decided he'd show Jakurai after he checked his phone again. Still nothing from Gen...

[You okay, Gen? ♡♡♡♡] he texted, a bit of a worried look on his face.

Jakurai was a bit confused but once he saw what Ramuda was doing from the kitchen, he remembered Ramuda’s methods for his craft. The lot of them perhaps were a bit uneasy being around each other because of Kuro, but the clone kept quiet and watched the game. 

Though he possibly enjoyed it, he didn’t respond to it with a smile, cheer, none of that. He just had eyes glued on the screen as he lifted his head back and let noodles fall into his mouth. 

Jakurai was already busy fixing a late lunch for the rest of them.

----

Otome currently had Gentaro’s phone in her possession. After their call with Kuro, and hearing about Nemu spending time with him the had been confronting him about it, asking him questions as he stood in the center of the room. 

Why she had the phone, was because she also had reason to believe he was not upholding what was expected of him... and his ability to have easy contact with Ramuda and Dice was becoming too risky. 

“We’ve been good to you, Yumeno. Offering you freedoms we don’t give even Amemura,” of course, she meant the number of clones, yet she bundled the name as one. “So tell me, why do you find yourself not following a few simple rules? And what’s more, I don’t know what you are trying to pull being friendly with Nemu.”

Gentaro remained, watching Otome and the other women in the room watching him carefully. He had been messy, in part to helping Lamda and standing up to the clones. 

“You trying to give Amemura a name is respectable, but this isn’t your place nor is it okay. Because of you, we’ve had to make new policies and he too, is on close watch. If you claim to care, why don’t you bite your tongue, hm? Because if you cared, you won’t be pushing everything around so recklessly, trying to bend things here when I am personally ensuring they remain as they are.” She looked at his phone as he got a message. “Oh? Looks like Amemura has sent you a message or two after all.” 

She input a plug into the phone’s port and bypassed his set passcode. She read his texts out loud. “It seems even he is thrilled about who you call ‘Lamda’ and his change. And why wouldn’t he be? You think we don’t notice all things that happen within these walls but we do.”

She took the phone with both hands now, responding in text to Ramuda. “What should we write to him?” 

Gentaro narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t necessary.”

“Is it not? If you’ve proven untrustworthy, I’m taking this matter into my hands. Honestly, we could’ve shut down your deal already as it is.”

She stood up and handed the phone to Ichijiku. “Why don’t you decide?”

[panda-noosh]

How about a scenario where Keith's not yet lover has been drawing art of Keith in secret. They made the art cuz they adore him. Keith finds it.

I loved writingthis, but I kind of hate the ending to it :( But either way, I hopeyou enjoy!

   Keithalways admired the art you drew. The strokes you placed on the pagesof your sketchbook whenever you thought nobody was watching, nobodywas paying attention. The way you pressed the precious book to yourchest whenever the room was crowded, the only sign of your skillsbeing the loose doodles which scattered the front and back pages,ripped to shreds by years of use, years of being refilled with morepages than the binding could hold.

    Keithwasn’t sure if anybody else paid attention to them – he was surethey did. It wasn’t like you would notice. You often got so lost inwhatever it was you were drawing that you didn’t bother to look up tosee just who was looking at them, and yet you kept them so secretivewhenever the pencil wasn’t in your hand.

    Henever bothered to look at the drawings closely. You clearly didn’twant anybody seeing what you were drawing – Keith just enjoyedwatching you draw, specifically. Your face. Your hands. The way youconcentrated so firmly on the piece you were working on, only lookingup whenever Lance or Hunk were making too much noise and curiosityate away at you. Keith wasn’t interested in the contents of the book– not until he got the chance to be.

    Hefirst saw the book left unattended whenever you had gotten up to goand see to something Allura needed done. Surprisingly carelessly, youhad left the sketchbook deserted behind you, dropping your pencil onthe cover as you got up to chase Allura out of the room. Temptationclawed at him, his fingertips itching to open up the pages to seewhat was so secretive about them, yet he couldn’t bring himself doso. The thought of you walking in and seeing him looking through yourdoodles was enough to keep him glued onto the counter he was sittingon, the book left unopened on the table until you came back toretrieve it.

   Thatwas the start of it all, though.

   Thatwas when his curiosity began and where his simple admiration ended.He no longer got enough off of just looking at you drawing – he hadquestions. He wanted to see what you drew, wanted to see themasterpieces you were creating in your spare time and hiding from theworld. It was a needy type of curiosity. It clawed at his throat,questions left unanswered as they lingered on the tip of his tongueany time he spoke to you.

   Thesecond time he saw the sketchbook on its own was purely an accident –a lucky one, at that. He had heard you hop into the shower onlymoments before and had rushed up to your room to inform you of thelack of towels the ship currently possessed. He had told you throughthe bathroom door, only for you to reply with a, “It’s fine! I canair dry!”

   Hehad turned to leave. That was his full intention, anyway. To just go.Leave you to it. Let you get comfortable for the night after a longday of hard work. But the sight of the infamous sketchbook, layingstationary on the end of your double bed had him rooted to his spot.

   Youwould take at least ten minutes to shower. That was plenty of time tolook through it, get a glimpse of what you were doing. You wouldnever have to know.

   Andeven though the guilt was gnawing at his insides with every step hetook towards the book, he continued on with it any way. His handtouched the leather cover, inspected the doodles on the cover just topass time, before he was opening it up and flicking through the pageslike it was a novel he had fallen in love with.

   Whathe saw wasn’t what he expected – it made an empty feeling erupt inhis chest, but not the bad kind. It was an empty feeling, but it wasthe kind that was initiated by butterflies in his stomach – thegood kind of butterflies.

   Picturesof him. Pictures of him sat up on the counter that he always sat onin the kitchen. Pictures of him daydreaming through the window in thekitchen. Pictures of him clambering into Red so casually on the dayof a mission.

   Allof them were captures so well.Eachpencil stroke was perfect, the shading capturing his looks to a T. Itwas like you had taken a photograph and drawn it, though Keith canvaguely remember all those times he was sat upon the kitchen counterin front of you, subtly watching you drawing – that whole time, youhad been drawing him.

   Someof the drawings are coloured – paints, coloured pencils, felt tip.Anything you could get your hands on, really. There was a page madeup entirely of coloured paper, and yet it still looked smooth andneat and well done.

   Hefelt honoured. After so long of being so curious as to what wasinside this very book, he never expected to open it and find-

   “Ohmy god, no. You weren’t meant to-” You cut your own sentence off asyou scramble across the bedroom, snatching the sketchbook out of hishands and hugging it close to your pyjama covered chest.

   He’sshocked. He hadn’t realised how much time had actually passed as hewas looking through the drawings, but judging by your wet hair andyour air-dried body, he had taken a while.

    Heturns to look at you, face beet root red as he tries to come up withan excuse, though the blush creeping on your cheeks makes him thinkhe doesn’t need one.

    “They’rereally good,” Keith comments before the air can get any more tense,thick and heavy on his shoulders. “I – I like the one you drew ofme-”

   Youwince, bunching your shoulders up as if to cover your ears. “Please.Please don’t. You don’t have to comfort me - I know it’s creepy.”

   Keith’seyes widen. “What?”

   “These!”you exclaim, waving the sketchbook in front of you. “Christ, Keith!I just - I have an artists brain. Everything that I find fascinating,I draw. I can’t help it. You just – you looked so draw-able. You’repersonality was so - I dunno. I just wanted to capture it in mydrawings and I got a little carried away.”

   Keithcan hardly talk for a moment. His eyes never leave your beaming face,the way your hands mess with the frayed ends of the leather boundbook, the way you look down at the ground with your wet hair fanningout around you as you search for any other excuse you can use in thismoment.

   Hedoesn’t want excuses, though.

   “AsI was saying,” he says, slowly. “I like the one you drew of mewhenever I was getting into Red. The background was good, and thedetailing on Red’s armour was incredible. You need to show me how youdo it sometime.”

   Youlook up, eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  Keithchuckles, before he reaches forward and takes the book from yourhands. You usually snatch it back into your chest whenever somebodytries to grab it, but slowly your fingers uncoil from the cover ofthe book, allowing Keith to touch it, to hold it, to openit.

   Andhe does just that. His nimble fingers flick through the pages untilhe’s reached the page in question – the drawing of him getting intoRed that he was once so fascinated by. You look down at it, a freshblush brooding on your cheeks as you remember the day you had drawnit – curled up in the corner of the Lions Bay, watching thePaladins leave for the mission of the day.

    “Thisone,” Keith says, pointing at it. “I think you should colour it.Or maybe do it on a separate page, paint it, frame it and give it tome as a birthday gift. My birthday iscomingup soon.”

   Heraises a brow at you, throwing subtle birthday present hints but youcan’t seem to wrap your head around the fact that he actually likesyou’re drawings.

   Youreyes flick back up to look at him, one eyebrow raised with a smallsmile forming on your blushed-up cheeks. “You mean it?”

   “Ican pose for you next time,” he jokes, nudging you gently. “Justtell me when you’re drawing me and I’ll get into position. I can do amean bluesteel.”

   “Ohgod, please no.”

  Keithchuckles, looking back down at the page in his hand, crumpled fromthe paint that had been set underneath it in the past. “I’mserious, though. These are very good, and I’m honoured you tookinspiration from me.”

   Yousmile lightly, nodding gently. “Thank you, Keith.”

[h-sunnywet-d]

Fancy Dress

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Summary:  There is always a reason for celebrations, especially among the créme and elite of Paris. Ladybug and Chat Noir, being the most famous of them all are invited to the yearly Spring Ball, the fanciest event of them all. But one cannot attend an event so formal without proper clothing, now can they?

Read it on Ao3

The Sun shone warmer and warmer each day as the pages of the calendar slowly left behind March, however some day were still chilly, like that Sunday afternoon. The coolness was not recognizable within the Dupain-Cheng household, the warmth of the ovens in the bakery kept the upper levels in cosiness even in the coldest days of winter.

Since the very first months of their relationship, Tom and Sabine always made sure that Sunday lunch was spent in each other’s company. Only were rare occasions when they had to be apart and since the born of their daughter there was no a single Sunday what they spent without the other. Marinette always cherished this tradition of her parents; it filled their home with love and warmth of the family.

The television made only a background noise in the living room, mother and daughter idly chatting around the university options while the father took his nap on the couch beside them.

“... held by Mayor Bourgeois at the Hotel Le Grand Paris. This years’ Spring Ball will be dedicated to Paris’ famous superheroes as well.” came out the reporter’s voice from the device.

“We would like to kindly invite Ladybug and Chat Noir as the special guest to the yearly Spring Ball. I would gladly hand them personally the official invitations the very next time they could come by the City Hall.”

“The yearly Spring Ball is one of the most anticipated formal events in Paris, where most of the celebrities will be present and we can also take a closer look on the wonderfully designed creations of the latest fashion...”

The news went on as the two women’s eye was glued to the television.

“How did they expect me to appear there?” muttered Marinette under her nose.

“What is it, Darling?” asked her mother.

The girl shook her head for a moment and looked at her mother in slight panic.

“Uh, I said, ehm, how did they expect SHE, I mean, Ladybug, to appear there? This party is the fanciest of them all, with dress creations and ball gowns, and she only have her super suit? In her place I would feel underdressed between the suits and dresses, I think.”

Sabine frowned for a moment.

“You are probably right. She can still wear a dress though.”

“She has a secret identity, Maman.” Marinette shook her head slightly. “She can’t just put on a fake mask and hope it will not fall down and ruin everything.”

“I’m sure she will figure out something Marinette. She is very clever, just like you ma petite. You are so talented, you’d probably come out with a design and create a dress that blends perfectly with the super suit so it can be wearable in a formal event like the Mayor’s ball; she will manage to figure out something similar too.”

Sabine turned her attention back to the TV while her daughter stared at her without seeing. The mother’s words get stucked in her head and in front of her mind’s eyes she already appeared various fabrics and stitching solutions she could use to solve her very problem.

Why should not design herself a dress that would not look forced but in the meantime would made her presentable on the fancy event?

Marinette silently got up from the couch and made her way up to her room before the kiss of the Muse on forehead fades away. Her mother did not stop her; she knows very well when the only daughter of hers gets lost in the world of designing.

Silently closing the trapdoor behind, Marinette made her way to her working desk. She pulled closer her sketchbook and opened at a fresh page and started to draw furiously, not even looking up when her kwami landed beside her hands. While hiding on the top of the shelves behind their back in the living room Tikki overheard every word, and now she’s very curious about how will her choosen solve this problem. Having faith in her talent she watched silently the way the dress comes alive in the paper, expect...

“Why are you adding a mask too, Marinette? You will attend while you are transformed!”

“Yes Tikki, I will.” Marinette smiled but did not looked away from the page in front of her. “I just thought I’ll wear the mask before transforming too. In this way, anything happens and the transformation fades away, I still will have some chance to protect my identity.”

“That’s clever from you.”

“Thanks Tikki. When Maman gave me the idea I got thinking; if Ladybug shows up in the event in a fancy dress, that would be suspicious: where did she get it? If I admit I made it myself, that would be problematic. People will guess that I’m interested in fashion, my identity could get jeopardize. So I have to tell something, who made the dress, right?

“You will tell the people that Marinette made your dress.”

“Exactly! Ladybug will have a nice dress to wear and Marinette will get some marketing.”

“Oh, I know!” squealed Tikki. “Before the event, you should tell it to Chat Noir too!”

Marinette turned her gaze for a short second to the kwami, but did not say anything.

“If you appear in a dress in Le Grand Paris, he would feel bad. If he knows that you will dress up, he will have time to try something for himself too. And also your story will be believable if both of you confidently answers the possible questions.”

Marinette smiled smugly as she reached for her colour pencils.

“You made a really good point here. I don’t want to Chat Noir get upset because he’s the only one who does not play dress up. Not like I can imagine he actually doing it. He seems like the type who enjoys being different and outstanding.”

“Maybe he is, maybe not.” said Tikki in a wise-like voice. “We will not know until it do actually happens.”

Kwami and Choosen smiled at each other before the latter lean back in her seat and held up her sketchbook to admire her work. Tikki flew up beside her face to have a better look for herself too and snuggled to Marinette’s cheek in approval.

Now she only needed a plan to figure out, how will Ladybug approach her to ask the favour?

[jarrettfuller]

Everything Connects: The story of a plywood chair, a design life, and the Eames

Last summer, my fiancee and I moved in together. Right away, we began that sometimes-arduous task of reconciling our decorating sensibilities, turning a small second-level apartment on a quiet street in Brooklyn's Sunset Park into our home. (It's coming together!) A few months ago, we finally purchased a piece of furniture I've lusted over for half my life: an Eames molded plywood chair. It's not just my favorite piece of furniture we own, it's also my favorite piece of furniture ever. It's simultaneously the pinnacle of the work of the two designers who have shaped my work more than anyone else and an object that reminds me of my own journey in design.

Officially named the LCW, for "Lounge Chair Wood" or "Low Chair Wood", Charles and Ray Eames released this chair in 1946 after a half decade of research in bending and molding plywood. Along with its siblings, the DCW ("Dining Chair Wood"), DCM ("Dining Chair Metal"), and LCM ("Lounge Chair Metal") — the latter two retaining the molded seat but with metal legs — the collection was the culmination of years of research in material, manufacturing, and 'honesty in design'. It was the distillation of everything the couple had worked on up to that point and in many ways, launched their careers. When Charles was asked if he thought of the Eames chair in flash, he responded, "Sort of a thirty-year flash."

The experiments began when a 32-year-old Charles was the Head of the Design Department at the Cranbrook Academy outside Detroit. He had recently befriended Eero Saarinen, who was then an architect at his father, Eliel Saarinen's, architecture firm. The studio was working on a design for the Klienan's Music Hall in Buffalo New York and in 1939 and Eero and Charles were tasked with designing the seating. The duo developed an armchair made of a single curved seat and back that were well received when installed in the finished building.

A year later, Elliot Noyes, then the director of design at MoMA, was organizing the museum's "Organic Design in Human Furnishings" competition. The contest, which drew 585 entries, was built around Noyes belief that design should evolve organically from the changes taking place in society. "In a field of home furnishings, there has been no outstanding developments in recent years," Noyes wrote in the brief, "a new way of living is developing, however, and this requires a fresh approach to the design problems and a new expression." Charles and Eero, lovers of competitions, saw this as a way to continue thinking about what they started in their work for the Kleinan's chair. They wanted to create a system for mass-producing high-quality, low-cost furniture. Instead of the single curve balanced on a structure, they started working on a new design with multiple curves. Ray had recently arrived at Cranbrook where she was auditing classes in weaving and was quickly brought into the process to help with final presentation drawings. Other Cranbrook students joined in as the deadline approached. They submitting renderings of five chairs, two sofas and two tables, and a series of case goods to the competition. In January 1941, it was announced that Charles and Eero won two categories: chairs and case goods.

In eight months, MoMA would be holding an exhibition with the award winners' pieces in production. The duo's drawings were so refined the jury assumed the pieces had already been produced. They were not. But by this time, both Charles and Eero had turned their attention elsewhere — Charles and Ray had gotten married and moved to California and Eero had begun work on his Defense Housing project. There were multiple manufacturing issues: molding wood proved more complicated than expected and when they finally succeeded, manufacturing costs were too high to offer the chairs at the desired cost.

The exhibition opened in September to mixed response. Only a handful of chairs had been successfully produced. But Charles and Ray would continue thinking about these experiments and it would turn out to be another five years before their potential would be realized.

Before graphic design, I was interested in architecture and interior design. I'd always had a fondness for design (though I wouldn't have used that word) but it didn't crystalize until seventh grade when I saw an episode of the then-new TLC home improvement show, Trading Spaces. I was completely enraptured. I started redesigning my own bedroom. I spent time at Home Depot, looking at paint swatches and floor samples. I installed a design-your-own-home program that came on a CD-ROM and started designing homes. My friend Andy, who grew up down the street, also wanted to be an architect and together we started redesigning our friends' bedrooms for money. We'd present mood boards with furniture options, paint swatches and new ways to rearrange the furniture and then we'd go buy everything, painting their walls and assembling new IKEA furniture. It was my first business. These were my first design projects. We called it J.A. Architecture.

Our family moved into a new home between my seventh and eighth grade years and I relished the opportunity to design my new bedroom from scratch. I drew to-scale floor plans and elevations outlining the specifics about everything from where my new furniture would go to what would be hung on the walls, where lighting would be positioned to what would be placed on each shelf. It was a converted attic and I painted the two end walls a deep red, highlighting the angles of the ceiling. This bedroom became was my ultimate design project; the one I returned to again and again until I left home for college. I spent my free-time rearranging furniture, replacing the artwork on the walls or the pillows on the bed. It looked nothing like a typical fourteen-year-old bedroom.

The author's childhood bedroom, designed at 14

Somewhere in this process, I saw a photo of a red Eames molded plywood chair and I immediately wanted one for my bedroom. The color matched my palette, the design matched my imagined-aesthetic. It became an aspirational object; an obsession even. I just started high school and had no income — the Eames chairs were more expensive than the IKEA furniture I was used to. (I'm not sure I had ever seen a chair that expensive before.) I made drawings of it. I hung a photograph of it on my bulletin board and glued the page from the Design Within Reach catalog — of which I had recently subscribed — into my sketchbook.

A few years later when visiting colleges, I walked into the Kanbar Center — the student union at Philadelphia University — and knew immediately that's where I wanted to go to college. The building was a large modernist structure in the middle of a wooded plot of land, walled in glass. Along the large windows sat two-dozen black Eames molded plywood chairs. It was the first time I had seen one in real life. My mom took of photo of me sitting in one. After I got accepted and moved in a few months later, I spent my first day on campus sitting in one. I tweeted about it.

I ended up leaving Philadelphia University after the first semester — it turns out that basing your college decision on the furniture in the student union isn't always a good idea. The school I transferred to was immediately better fit, even with the absence of Eames furniture.

The Eames continued thinking about molding plywood after moving to Los Angeles in 1942, and began experimenting in their apartment. Their earliest experiments involved a laborious method of gluing and bonding thin plies of wood using a machine the couple created called the "Kazam! machine", the name coming from the sound it made. The device was built with hinged two-by-four-inch pieces of lumber that were bolted together so it could withstand the high pressure necessary for shaping the wood. This was in the middle of World War II, and Charles and Ray used used this technology to begin manufacturing leg and arm splints and even a plywood airplane fuselage and pilot's seat.

In 1945, Noyes gave Charles his own exhibition — Furniture by Charles Eames Despite the title, the Eames had developed an equal partnership, with both Charles and Ray working across all parts of the process. In this show, they introduced the 'Eames Plywood Chair'. In a short film the couple produced in 1954 about the manufacturing, Charles narrates:

In a more or less standard situation like sitting for eating or writing, we found that certain relationship of support gives optimum comfort to a surprisingly large number of people. We found that comfort depended more on the perfect molding to the body shape than it did on the way the bone structure was supported. And if the structure was supported properly, the hard and rigid material like molded plywood can provide a remarkably high degree of comfort. We limited the solution to a hard surface and concentrated on plywood. . . . We tried movement and found that if the back was allowed to move in relation to the seat, the latitude of comfort was greatly increased.

The product was an immediate hit. Time called the LCW the 'chair of the century' They continued working with these ideas into the seventies (hence the '30 year flash') as they developed the Piece Secretarial Chair. "This evolution is a perfect example of the design design process as it worked at the Eames Office," writes Dmtrious Eames, their grandson, in his biography of the couple, An Eames Primer, "the feeling that, rather than a single moment of inspiration, there was a constant working out of each issue one by one, a kind of learning by doing until a solution was revealed."

In December, I finally visited Case Study #8, the couple's home and studio — the base of their operations until they died. Walking along the grounds and looking at the desks where they worked, I was struck by how long I've turned to the Eames for inspiration. I've been designing — from my childhood bedroom to college projects to professionally — for fifteen years. My career goals have changed, inspirations have come and gone, the type of work I do and the type of work I want to do has evolved. Designers who influenced me in my early career no longer fit the kind of work I'm interested in and I look back on much of my old work with a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

The Eames, however, have been the one consistent. Regardless of where I am in my career, regardless of my own aspirations as a designer or creative person, Charles and Ray Eames serve as a model. When I was interested in architecture and interior design, I looked to their furniture and architecture work. When I was interested in illustration, towards the end of my undergraduate education, I looked to Ray's textile designs. As my interest in writing and theory grew, I read the couple's writings and read over their lectures. When I made my first video essay and started thinking about film, their own film output once again became the touchstone for my work. The themes they turned to again and again — media, storytelling, honesty, what design could be — mirror the themes that run through my own work.

In an interview in an interview on NBC's Home show, Charles said the believe everything they do falls under the category of 'architecture', whether its a building or a chair or a dress. They couple, in so many ways, is the epitome of the polymathic designer — building a practice that spans disciplines and included research, writing, building, and teaching. They worked across scales, from home goods to massive exhibitions, within corporations like IBM and independently on their own projects. For Charles and Ray, theory and practice were on in the same; they saw no difference between thinking and making. Everything a response to what came before it.

The Eames chair that sits in the corner of my living room serves as reminder to how they worked — a career built upon ideas and aesthetics, of working in public and a continual restlessness to figure out the next thing. But it's also a talisman of sorts, an object that connects the threads of my own life, the piece that bridges the gap between a childhood bedroom and future ambitions. "We work because it's a chain reaction," Charles said, "every subject leads to the next."

[jess-mok]

Project Evaluation

1. During my research process I looked at different magazine layouts and information on Identity & Culture in general. By checking out different ways people designed and layout their work I was able to understand why it was done that way. I wanted the reader of my book to be able to focus on the story so visually this needed to be easy to read and understand. I also really liked how minimalistic magazines & books looked, for this topic specifically I think by stripping it down is similar to seeing someone for who they are.

2. My project underwent through a lot of changes during the first initial weeks, the reason being I knew what the content of the book was going to be, but I didn’t know what it would look like visually. To experiment, I created one spread to use in my book and changed that one spread a few times to get an idea of what I liked and didn’t like. For example; just by changing the colour and font made a huge difference. Same for the paragraph and line lengths of text in my book, originally, I didn’t think about how the line length can affect the reader’s ability to concentrate and read the text easily. By breaking down the text and shortening the paragraph’s it gives the reader time to process and break from the text itself. So, from my first few layouts the text I was using was quite long and not enough breaks, after changing this I realised it looked a lot better. Another change I went through was breaking away from my original research of using mixed media with the portrait images. I experimented a little with the images of people and some of the outcomes I did really enjoy, but visualising putting it into a book it didn’t quite fit with the theme I was going with. So, in the end I went with simply putting the portrait photographs into the book as it is, and I felt that worked best. The photographs on their own are enough to draw the reader in and get a backstory of what this person is like.

3. Throughout this project I believe I did manage my time very well, it helped having tutorials every week to set a checklist of what needed to be done first. In this case I was able to set myself little deadlines every week of what needed to be done first, for example, having all the text I needed early on in the project. By having this done and ready to use I was able to start producing spreads and using my actual text to see how it would look. Although in general my time management was okay my advice for next time is to also keep on top of the things being taught in lectures and recording as much as possible to put on my blog. Things I did fall behind was posting on my blog regularly and doing things as I go along like sketchbook work. By recording what I’m doing along the way it makes it much easier in the long run and I can avoid doing things last minute.

4. Feedback during the tutorials and from other people were really helpful. They were able to spot things I did not see, when you’re working on something for a long amount of time you start to get tunnel vision or just miss obvious things. I followed most of the feedback I gathered, especially from the tutorials. For example, when designing my book, I was really glued onto using margins and columns to make sure everything was aligned perfectly, but what I didn’t realise was that I was using different number of columns on many spreads. One of the things I was told during feedback was stick to one number, by doing this all my pages will automatically follow a consistent layout and that helped a lot.

5. This unit was the first time I’ve used Illustrator and InDesign before, although daunting and scary I felt a lot more confident as the weeks went on. Understanding to use the program really helped when it came to designing my book, I’d say it made the design process a lot smoother. In terms of more practice I think as it is my first unit everything could always use with more practice. Especially the beginning of the project, if I took more time to research and experiment more instead of wanting to jump into the main part quickly.

6. I have learned a lot from this unit, not only how to understand using new programs (technical skills) but also the reasoning behind doing something. For example, before this unit I didn’t take much notice to how line lengths and text size can change how we read and take in text. Now by designing my own book I understand why this is important. The tech sessions were the most important because it taught us how to create the book itself, Indesign was a really handy software to use and made the process a lot less difficult than say designing by hand. I have also learnt different methods alongside creating a book, such as binding one neatly and letterpress.

7. If I were to design the same book again with the same words, I would take a different approach to it, like my original idea I would have made it mixed media based and more of an abstract book with lots going on. (basically, the complete opposite of what I did!) I would have really liked to try illustration too, in this unit I stuck to what I know and inside my comfort zone. Whereas next time I’d really like to become more confident and try other techniques and materials.