#and if you want you can print it (is tabloid size)

[miss-scrawl]

🎉✨HAPPY (BELATED) NEW YEAR🐍 ✨🎉🎉

In Mexico it is costumary for business to give a small gift during December/January to commemorate loyal costumers from totebags to calendars as well as pens, it really is a staple in our culture...and as many of you know already I work at a printshop, and regardless of what ppl may think, this tradition is still going and give us a lot of work every year, that's why I saw fitting to keep the tradition and make this 🎊🎈🪅(and yes. It is late bc I was having a lot of work, bc of course.. I was making calendars)

[havendance]

I finished my second book! I tried a couple couple new things with this. For one, I used two colors to make it look nicer. I also used some heat n' bond iron-on adhesive to stick Robin and Huntress' symbols on the front cover (as well as the yellow block for the title) and it all came out looking really sharp.

The other thing I did differently was the way I joined the block to the cover. I wanted to use a larger sheet of paper to have that first page that professionally bound books do. I had trouble finding paper big enough, but fortunately I then discovered that my library offered prints on tabloid sized paper which meant that I was able to make this sharp front page and get it printed off there!

The printer paper is thinner than the construction paper I used last time which means that you can see where I did the joining much more clearly, but I like the overall effect it gives and the ability to get it printed out was also a huge plus. Ideally, I think I would like a sturdier paper, but I'm not sure where I'd be able to get my hands on it, or if I'd be able to print with it. Overall, I am very happy with how this turned out and it'll make an excellent edition to my collection :)

[howtobeaconartist]

Can someone pleeeeease let artists know that it's so incredibly frustrating when I buy prints and they're in weird sizes?

It hard to find frames for them.

I've got prints that are 15cm x 21cm (6"x8.2"). Juuuust oversized where I need to get a frame up with a matte.

But then I've got another poster that's 19.6cm x 28cm (7.8"x11"). Like, I can get a frame that fits, of course because it's undersized A4. But damnit it's got an ugly gap which doesn't feel right.

Please please please! I bought these things to be on display but my walls are bare because I need to spend several hours to find a solution and fit them right.

Please just stick to the international A4 A3 A2 format, or the photo size formats 6"x8", 8"x10" etc.

I want to support people, but I'm left with buyers regret when I need to problem solve purchases and don't want to "just tack it to the wall, it'll be fine".

Kiriska: This is an understandable frustration!

I've had plenty of customers ask me what sizes prints are prior to purchasing -- a totally fair thing to do if you know you want to frame it. Size has been a deal-breaker for some people.

That said, for perspective, it's often more affordable for artists to print at other sizes. For example, in the US, letter (8.5"x11") and tabloid (11"x17") are both extremely common print sizes in Artist Alley, but while frames of these sizes exist, they aren't common.

Artists still prefer these sizes though because these are sizes that are easy to print at at office supply stores or personal printers, which is what many have access to when starting out. If anything, the infuriating thing is that standard printer paper sizes are not the same as standard photo sizes.

8"x10" is close to 8.5"x11" but requires trimming, which is either extra work or extra cost.

Depending on the convention, the demographics may skew younger. If that's the case, a majority of attendees won't intend to frame their print purchases. They are being pinned or taped to dorm room walls, etc. The art is meant to be affordable -- for both the artist and the buyer. ($10 prints are pretty rare at most pop-up art fairs and farmer's market-type settings, because standard size giclee prints probably cost double that to print.)

Still, I agree -- artists should strive for more standard sizes when possible, especially if they're going to shows with an older demographic of people who are more likely to want to frame things.

That said, I've been wanting to transition my 8.5"x11" prints to 8"x10" for years and still haven't gotten around to it because all of my packaging supplies are for the former, and putting prints of the latter size in oversized packaging looks Bad, but stock levels of packaging and prints never line up that I'm not gonna be stuck with some mismatch... at some point I'm sure I'm just gonna have some prints in one size and some in the other, but that sounds like a nightmare...

[alecatmew]

Cricut "Print and Cut" Hack - print bigger

I’ve frequently felt constrained by the registration marks that the Cricut uses.

Understandably, they need to be bold and have a quiet region around them so that the cutter can determine where to line up its cuts.

Cricut also currently only provides 4 preset page sizes to print on, and again seems to assume rather generous print margins.

All these things added up mean that sometimes it’s not possible to place as many pieces on a page as you want. In the example above, I had to use a Tabloid paper size to convince Cricut to let me place the ten objects.

I reckon I should be able to fit even more of them in, and I should be able to do it on an A3 page. But Cricut says this layout is too large, despite the design itself being comfortably smaller than an A3 sheet.

(I’d actually love to fit even more than 11 onto an SRA3 page but making that layout work has so far eluded me, so let’s start with this hack first before trying anything more extreme.)

I discovered this hack by accident. I had taken my sheets to be printed at a print shop and they messed up the scaling. My pages came out about 3% smaller, but my Cricut didn’t complain. It happily executed the cutlines 3% smaller too. Evidently, there’s a generous margin of error for scaling.

So let’s use that to our advantage.

Step 1: Downsize the design in Cricut Design Space

Let’s humour Cricut by scaling the offending design to its recommended size.

(I suggest also keeping a copy of your original design to the side, in case you want to make changes at the original scale. To prevent the app from blocking you from proceeding to the “Make” step, hide the oversized objects.)

Step 2: Print to PDF

Click the “Make” button to proceed to the mat preview.

Do not move the designs on the mat – leaving things in their default position makes for the easiest alignment if you want to exit the Make step and return back to it again. Click “Continue”.

Open the “Print Setup” panel by using the “Send to Printer” button.

In this panel, select “Use System Dialog” to print your file to a PDF

On MacOS, the print dialog always appears behind the Design Space app, so drag the Design Space window out of the way when the “Preparing Print” spinner appears. Now save your file as a PDF instead of printing it.

Step 3: Scale up the PDF

It’s time to do some maths.

We originally had a design that was 39cm on its long edge, but we scaled that down to 37.04.

That means we now want to scale this file up again to be 39cm.

39 / 37.04 = 1.05291576674

This is a little more than 5% larger, which so far I have been able to make work. I don’t know what the upper limits of this technique are.

I’m editing the output file in Affinity Designer. The file that Cricut output has a long edge of 375.mm, so let’s type 375.7mm * 1.05291576674 into the H dimension field to get a new image of size 395.6 * 267.5mm.

While I’m here, I’m also going to set up my print graphics, allowing me to have better control of the bleed than using the normal Print & Cut workflow.

Step 4: Print

Print the file – I don’t have an A3 printer at home so I take my files to a print shop.

Step 5: Cut

Back in Cricut Design Space, choose your material. (You may need to select “I’ve already printed” so that the app lets you do so).

Affix your printed sheet to your cutting mat and load the mat. Press “Go” on your Cricut machine and let it do its cutting magic!

Another tip: If you’ve put graphics too close to the registration corners, you can temporarily place a sheet of white paper over them while the machine does its calibration. I usually just slide the white paper around by hand so I can remove it before the cutting begins. Coincidentally, the layout I’m demonstrating doesn’t use the edges so there’s plenty of “quiet” space to distinguish the registration marks from the artwork.

All done!

Here’s my cut pieces, at the scale that Cricut claimed I couldn’t have.

Actually, the vertical axis is a little bit off but this is good enough for my purposes and the bleed areas did their job. If I wanted to be a bit fussy about things, I would try moving around some of the cut lines, but do not move any cutlines that would change the outer bounds of the print, otherwise you’ll need to update your print file and recalculate its sizing too.

In summary:

Big Cricut wants to stop you from printing big. But follow these steps to break out from their boundaries!

Step 1: Downsize the design in Cricut Design Space

Step 2: Print to PDF

Step 3: Scale up the PDF (optionally, update any graphics)

Step 4: Print

Step 5: Cut

Please let me know if this guide was useful to you! Happy cutting!

"Cricut “Print and Cut” Hack – print bigger" was originally published on Proairesis

[lettermailapi]

Where Can I Print a Letter?

A letter is a great way to communicate a message that you don’t want to publish on your website, or that you don’t have the time to distribute via other means. The advantage of a letter is that it can be personalized for each recipient, which makes it more likely to engage your audience and stimulate response.

There are a number of places where you can go to print a letter, depending on your needs and location. If you need to print something quickly and on a regular basis, then you may find it easier to use an online print shop where you can purchase prints in bulk at lower prices per copy.

In addition to online printing shops, you can also get a quick document printed at a local copy shop or office supply store. If you need to have your document printed on a specific paper stock, then it’s best to check with the printer beforehand to see if they have the particular type of paper you want.

In the US, you can often find paper that is 8.5 x 11 inches, which is the standard size of a business letter. Other common sizes include 8.5 x 5.5 inches (half-letter size), 8.5 x 14 inches (legal), or even 11 x 17 inches for tabloid sized documents. You can also have your documents printed double sided if you prefer, which is called duplexing. If you don’t have a document that you need to print, then you can try asking someone else to do it for you. If you live in an apartment complex, for example, the staff at your leasing office may be willing to print off a document for you if you ask nicely.

SITES WE SUPPORT

Letter Mail Api – Blogger

[ecogami]

Bull head papercraft sculpture, printable 3D puzzle, papercraft Pdf template to make your bull wall art by EcogamiShop

8.00 EUR

Make your bull head papercraft sculpture with our printable 3D puzzle! This model is easy to assemble, perfect for a beginner! Just follow the instructions & you will be proud of your faux taxidermy bull statue. Isn’t it an original bull wall art to decore one of your walls? Don’t be afraid, I assembled the sculpture so everybody can do it! You will just need time & precision. Put your music on & enjoy the assemblage! (For me it is a perfect way to relax). «««««« HOW DOES IT WORK? »»»»»» ► Download the ZIP file with the PDF template & the instructions in English. ► Print the template. The paper must be thick (between 200 & 300 GSM). ► Check you have the following tools: scissors, a ruler, white paper glue & a tool to fold the paper. ► Follow the instructions: cut the parts, fold & glue them. It is easy, all the parts of the pattern are identified with edge numbers for easy assembly (just match the numbers). ► Once finished, you can customize the sculpture. The customization options are infinite! «««««« TECHNICALS DETAILS »»»»»» ► Difficulty Level: Easy ► 3D Papercraft sculpture: Bull papercraft ► Approximately size: 43 cm / 16.9 in (height), 54 cm / 21.2 in (wide), 36 cm / 14.2 in (deep) If you want a smaller bull, use the A3 pattern & print it on A4 / letter paper. ► Use thick paper: A4 or A3 (in the States, the equivalent A4 is Letter - & A3 is Tabloid) ► A3 template (PDF): 11 Sheets - 45 Parts ► A4 template (PDF): 20 Sheets - 62 Parts You are hesitant, not sure which one of our models you like the most; visit our website EcogamiShop.com to see them all.

from Etsy Shop for EcogamiShop https://ift.tt/J5nMHvi

[saekkas]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄… (𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬).

𝟎𝟎'𝟏: 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍 remembering the things they like, sharing a soft smile across the room, looking for them in a crowded room, and tucking in their hair behind their ear to see their eyes.

summary: a collection of ways on how the blue lock boys silently say "i love you."

note: first up is itoshi rin with a 1.6k word count!

itoshi is a household name in the soccer world, and so is the number 10. itoshi sae is known to be a genius midfielder with unbound talent set to rule to soccer world in the upcoming years. itoshi rin, however, is only a sprout barely blooming within winter soil.

even then, rin's name has been printed on every paper and tabloid, headlines of the budding striker written in big bold letters. blue lock has catapulted him into great heights, a nobody turned somebody whose time is worth a lot of money.

everyone's looking at him now and you've never been prouder. although, the flashing camera lights and crazy stalkers will never be your favorite things about the whole ordeal. another thing you will never get used to, is the amount of time your boyfriend is stolen from you. interviews, practice, media visits are now a part of rin's daily schedule and they're starting to become burdensome.

when he's not away on blue lock business, rin's preoccupied himself at home, which makes visits to the itoshi household a daily occurrence for you now. not that you can complain; rin's parents are very welcoming, always cooking you mind blowing food. you remember them showing photos from rin's childhood that had you squealing at his cute round cheeks.

"want more curry, dear?" rin's mother asks

the itoshi household is nothing if not breathtaking, a two-story modern house with traditional elements mixed in. the halls are fully furnished, little trinkets from tokyo and traditional koi paintings decorating the area. mixtures of marmer and wood are sprinkled throughout the rooms, adding to the homey ambience of the family's house.

your favorite feature has to be the garden though; a green field the size of two master bedrooms occupy the space connecting the living room and kitchen. filled with luscious green grass along with bonsai and hydrangeas, your eyes never stray far from the painting brought to life.

"ah no, it's alright," you smile and shake your head at her offer. "i think i've had enough curry to last until next week."

"oh, don't be silly!" she laughs, extending a hand to rest on yours as she sits across from your form. "there's no such thing as too much curry."

"you're right about that," you laugh with her, "but i think i've had my fill for now."

before another word leaves her lips, two pairs of feet pad into the room. you look up to see rin walking behind his father, a leather bound book in one hand. you watch as the two make light conversation, smiling when he plops onto the seat next to you.

"good game?" you ask to the black-haired boy beside you, a smile on your face.

"no," he scoffs, "awful."

"really, rin?" his father grins from the spot across from you, a hand coming down to clap against his own thigh. "you were practically screaming for sae to score that last goal. and i think i saw you cry when he did."

"shut up," rin grumbles.

you watch as red threatens to spread over his face, grinning at the way he tries to avoid your eyes.

"your dad's right, rin." you lean in closer to his right, nudging his side with a playful wink. "i heard you sniffle all the way from here."

you laugh along with his parents when he flushes red all over, especially evident on the tip of his nose. you bury the need to press a kiss onto it.

"rin's always been such a soccer fanatic," his dad says with a slice of grilled chicken edging closer to his mouth, "especially when sae's involved."

"mhmm," his mom mumbles as she picks the familiar leather bound book from its place next to rin. "they were so close with one another."

you try your best to keep a neutral face, eyeing rin's expression. you lift a hand to press onto his, fingers intertwining under the table. you feel a small smile slip onto your face when he squeezes the joint limbs.

"want to see?"

squinting at the writing smudges on the book, a gasp makes its way through your lips as you recognize the words.

"photobook," is written in capital letters across the brown leather and you practically melt on your seat when his mom flips it open to reveal a starry-eyed chubby cheek rin staring at his older brother. the photo is labeled as 'sae nii-chan' in awful writing that could only be younger rin's.

"i would love to!"

sneaking a glance at rin, you're met with a scowl directed at his mother. giggling, you press a brief peck on his cheek before teasing, "who knew you were such a cute kid? i always thought you were the ugly, snotty kind."

now that you think about it, that was probably the moment rin decided to never bring you into his house ever again.

rolling your eyes at the memory, you look around for said boy. doing a turn, your eyes sweep across the room before sighing at the growing crowd at the entrance. from the amount of screams, a crowd of photographers, soccer fans, and interviewers no doubt.

so much for spending quality time on a date outside.

you turn your back to the crowd, feet pattering against the marble ceramics of the museum's floor. it wasn't often that rin would suggest a date in a public setting (for obvious reasons) but you remember him surprising you with two tickets on the eve of your birthday.

"didn't expect to see you at midnight, rinnie."

said boy is standing outside your apartment door, a lavender box in hand with a hand knitted scarf covering half his face, "what's the occasion?"

you watch as he leans against the door frame, a small smile on his face. you squeak when he wraps an arm around your middle to gently pull you into his form.

"happy birthday," he mumbles into the crown of your head, "i got you a present."

"your presence here is a present enough."

you watch as he rolls his eyes, laughing at the deadpan expression he wears. you allow him to drag you into the living room, plopping down on the sofa as settles the box between you.

"open it."

"okay, okay, so bossy."

there's only the sound of your muffled playlist in the background, lights not as brightly lit as they should be. your hands are deft, opening the ribbon wrapped around the box while carefully tearing through the wrapping.

"what's- oh."

your eyes catch onto the sight of two finely printed paper, your and rin's name written in cursive bellow a museum's name. the museum you've wanted to go to for over a year.

"i remember you looking up the museum on your website and how you said the tickets were always sold out, so i thought-"

rin doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence before you're jumping into his arms. he's quick to steady both of you, pressing an arm on your lower back and another on the sofa below. he peaks down to see a blinding smile on your face, eyes covered by the tresses of your hair.

"thank you so much," you whisper into the night, trying to contain your excitement. "you're the best person ever!"

rin chuckles as you situate yourself on his lap. he leans in to place a palm on your cheek, and your freeze as he sweeps away the hair covering your eyes.

"anything for you."

teal eyes bore into yours as he leans in to press a peck on your forehead. your breath catches in your throat when he slides a ring on your finger, "say the word and it's yours."

pressing a finger to your phone, you watch the screen light up to show a picture of you and rin. you swipe through your contacts until you find rin's and quickly type in a message for him to see.

you: rinrinnn

you: i'll be looking around the art section!

you: text me when you're done <333

walking through the infinite halls, you stumble through the one filled with sculptures. your eyes rake through each and every one, fingers itching to touch the material it's made of. you don't notice the people in the room, multiple teenagers on a school trip filling up the cramped space, too preoccupied at marveling the art before you.

your phone pings and you're quick to open it, seeing rin's brief message of where are you? before turning to go back the way you came. your feet stop three steps in, a soft smile spreading on your face as teal eyes catches yours.

you notice the small smile he sends back, before he nods at you to stay in place. he's maneuvering himself through the sea of people and it's only when rin takes the spot beside you that you look up.

he's panting, a gray baseball hat covering most of his face. you watch as he looks around, trying to see whether the interviewers caught onto him.

he stops when you take his hand in yours.

"hi, handsome stranger." looking up, you see him arch an eyebrow at you, smiling as he leans down to hear you over the sound of chatter in the room.

he freezes when you adjust the hat on his head, sweeping the bangs so that his eyes aren't covered by the garment, "there, that's better."

rin shakes his head, a quiet chuckle sounding in the space between you. he squeezes your intertwined fingers before whispering in your ear, "i've been looking everywhere for you."

"well here i am," you smile, fiddling with the ring that rests on your finger. "c'mon, let's go through the rest before eating, i'm starved."

rin watches the glinting stone and nods, lips fluttering across the gem as he places a kiss on your ring finger.

"anything for you," he mumbles.

i will be releasing more fics containing the other boys so feel free to drop suggestions on who you think i should write next and how you think they silently express ily!

[thiswasinevitableid]

71. you’re famous and you want to hide out in my bookstore which is fine except the stupid paparazzi won’t leave and now there’s a photo of us in the tabloids and they’re printing misinformation and why the fuck won’t you clear this up on your twitter account

Sternclay, NSFW, please!

Here you go! Let's end this round of meet uglies with a bang

The post-holiday slump is always the worst; everyone maxed out their credit cards last month and doesn’t want to buy anything, and the tourists won’t be back until the spring. It’s not that he’s concerned about keeping the lights on; Bookworms is popular and has a prime spot downton. It’s that he’s bored out of his mind.

All his orders for the day are in, everything’s been received and shelved, and he’s running out of things to tidy. If he’s lucky, the clouds that have been threatening a snowstorm since this morning will burst and drive some people to shelter among the stacks.

Dingdong

Thank the lord.

“Welcome to Bookworms, can I help you?”

The man stays by the door, peering through the glass onto the street while pulling off his beanie, “Huh? Oh, uh, nope, just coming in to, uh, get out of the cold.” He turns, and two realizations slap Joseph in the face.

One: this is the hottest man he has ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Two: He’s seen this man dozens of times, just never in person.

Barclay Cobb is a Food Network darling who got his start on Youtube, sharing recipes from vintage cookbooks he found at garage sales. That’s not why he’s starstruck, but it is probably why the taller man is hiding in the craft books alcove and keeps nervously looking his way.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re here, Mr. Cobb.”

“Phew” the man sighs, unzips his jacket, “thanks man. Thought I’d be bundled up enough that no one would spot me while I was out, but I didn’t get my hat on in time coming out of the Chinese place down the block.”

“I love that spot, they have the best beer-braised duck.”

“Yeah, I always stop by when I’m in town, they’re food is worth getting photographed for.”

It’s odd, everything he’s read suggests chef Cobb is friendly and warm when approached by fans in public.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate that people like my shows but, I, uh, sometimes I just want to eat or walk down the street without someone taking pictures of me.”

“Do you want to head into the back sections? There’s no windows in that half of the store.”

“Sweet, thanks. Uh, would it be cool if I autographed any books of mine you have? I like doing that, means I can send a little business towards smaller stores.”

“Of course. Here, the cookbooks are on this wall.” He slips into his office to grab a sharpie while Barclay pulls a stack of books and sits down on the floor. As the scratching of the pen fills the air, Joseph takes a trip to the paranormal and occult section, coming back with three copies of The Case for Bigfoot.”

“Y’know, not everyone stocks these.” Barclay smiles as he adds the paperbacks to the pile.

“Which is terrible business; you’re just as famous in the cryptozoology community as you are in the foodie one. This is the best book on bigfoot ever written, and I should know; I run a, um, a blog where I review books on paranormal topics.”

“You a true believer?” The cook blows on his signature in the copy of Desserts for All Seasons

“More an optimistic skeptic; your book is perfect because you make your case using actual evidence instead of reporting the same ten, poorly verified stories that everyone includes in their books. And I appreciated that you included recipes from the places you visited; that was a very nice touch.”

“Funny story about that” Barclay freezes as the front door opens. There’s definitely more than one person coming in, and when Joseph pokes his head around the corner he sees fifteen people, all with cameras or phones.

“Shit. You might want to hide in my office for a few minutes.”

By the time the crowd reaches him, Joseph is almost done re-shelving the signed books.

“Good afternoon, let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Uh, yeah, we do, someone saw Barclay Cobb in your store-”

“Strange, we’ve only had one customer” he winces as someone’s shoulder knocks a hardcover off its display, “I didn’t get a good look at them before they went downstairs.” He tips his head at the staircase to the YA and Graphic Novel sections and is promptly knocked into the shelf as the throng hurries away.

“Come on, I can get you out through the back door” Joseph whispers to the Red Dust on his Soul poster on his office door. Barclay is remarkably quiet for a man his size as they sneak across the floor and let frigid, January air rush into the store.

“Thanks man” Barclay whispers, “I owe you one.” He sets a big hand on Joseph’s shoulder, squeezes it with a wink, then pulls on his hat and disappears into a crowd coming off at the bus stop.

---------------------------------------------------

Joseph always comes in through the back, flipping on lights as he goes, so the sea of bodies pressed to the front windows like a zombie horde surprises him. He knows Barclay tweeted about the signed copies, but this seems like excessive excitement even for a celebrity chef.

“Morning, Joseph--whoa, what the heck?” Aubrey clocks in without taking her eyes off the crowd, “why is everyone here this early.”

“Fan culture. I think.” The registers finish waking up, “I’ll pay holiday rates if you open that door for me.”

Aubrey gives a thumbs up, unlocks the double doors, and is swallowed up so quickly he worries she might have been trampled until she emerges near the greeting cards. Some people swarm the cookbooks, but an alarming number cluster around the counter, all shouting for his attention.

“How long have you been seeing Chef Cobb?”

“What?, I, I’m not-”

“Does he often visit your store?”

“No! He just came by yesterday!” There’s a horrible clatter of all the books on display near the door taking each other out like dominoes.

“Do you fuck in the backroom all the time?”

“Oh come on” He pushes past the man who asked that, deals with shouting all the way to his office and slams the door. A quick Google search for “Barclay Cobb” brings up a blurry photo of them in the alley, Barclays hand on his shoulder, and multiple headlines speculating on why the reclusive chef and author has chosen a nobody bookstore employee (he’s the owner, damn it) as his lover.

Okay, there’s a logical, easy fix to this.

He opens the door enough to speak, whistles so everyone will be quiet and listen to him, “I’m sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. Mr. Cobb isn’t in any kind of relationship with me; he just came into the store yesterday for some peace and quiet. So, if you’re looking for information about him, this is not the place for it. If you’re looking for the signed books, the cookbooks are there, and the paranormal section is just around that corner.” He gives his best customer service smile as the paparazzi exchange perplexed glances.

“...Is it true he bought you this store?”

“Wh--no! We rent this space.”

“From him?”

“Arggh!” He closes the door, slumps against it and cards his fingers through his hair. As he contemplates closing for the day, he spots a little, copper card on his desk. It’s Barclay’s, which is what he expected, but when he flips it over there’s a message scribbled in pen.

Main St Hotel, room 503, here until Monday.

He pulls out his phone, tells Aubrey she’s allowed to get the crowd out by any means necessary except for fire, and elbows his way out into the winter air.

------------------------------------------

Barclay almost purrs when he peers through the peephole in the hotel door; Joseph, as his nametag read, is standing on the carpet, looking twice as handsome as he did yesterday. His cheeks are even a little pink, and Barclay has some thoughts on how to make that blush deepen.

“Hey, glad you found-”

Joseph holds up his phone, screen in Barclays face, “please fix this.”

“Oh fuck.” He ushers him in, “I’m so sorry, I thought they’d stopped doing this shit.”

“No, and they’re fucking up my inventory as a result.”

“On it, lemme text my assistant, she’s good at drafting these kind of messages.”

“Thank the lord. Right, thank you for that, I’ll go now.”

“Wait” Barclay reminds his instincts that blocking the door is rude, “do you wanna stay a few minutes? You look kinda stressed.”

“Because my store is being overrun!” Joseph snaps, then takes a deep breath and straightens his sleeves, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t called for, this morning has just been a mess. And it, um, it’s a little bittersweet to have people thinking I could land a hot chef when I can’t get past a first date with most people. Um, sorry. Too much information. That’s a bad habit of mine.”

Barclay tucks his hands into his pants pockets, “About that. Y’know how I left my card?”

Blue eyes blink, then brighten, “I thought that might be the reason but I dismissed it as wishful thinking.”

“Nope. A guy who's hot, nerdy, and competent enough to sneak me away from the paparazzi? Sign me the fuck up.”

“I’m not opposed to a, um, tryst, but I really, really need to get back to the store, I can’t abandon Aubrey to deal with this mess on her own, that’s not fair, and now we’ll have to reorder things too....” He laughs, a tense sound, “good lord, I get a chance to fuck a celebrity crush and I’m turning it down for work.”

“Hey” Barclay sets his hands on Joseph’s shoulders, “it’s okay. You’re not the first guy to be married to his job. But, uh, out of curiosity, you got any vacation days to spare?”

----------------------------------------------

“This is all yours?” Joseph takes in the sprawling farm as Barclay unlocks the front door of a charmingly rustic house.

“Yep, all the way to the creek and all the way to the road. Might surprise you, but I like my privacy.”

“I’d never have guessed.” He replies with faux shock.

“Smartass.” Barclay kisses his cheek, holds the door open with his shoulder so Joseph can pull his bags inside. He packed as light and efficiently as he could for two weeks away (he’d initially planned on one until Aubrey and Moira ganged up on him and told him he hadn’t taken a real vacation in years so he was taking one now, damn it) but his suitcase is still heavy as he rolls it to the stairs.

“I got that.” Barclay shoulders his own travel bag and hoists Joseph’s in the other hand, carrying them to the second floor like they’re nothing more than pillows.

The week the chef was in Madison, Joseph went to his hotel almost every night. Fell asleep in his bed more than once, when discussions of fusion cuisine or the Fresno Nightcrawler turned into frantic, heated kisses under the covers. It’s only when the cook drops all luggage into the master bedroom that the truth of why he’s on this trip sets in.

“You really invited me all the way here because you think I’m hot.”

“Yeah but no.” Barclay drapes his arms over his shoulders, lips still a little chilly as he kisses them, “brought you here because you’re smart” another kiss, this one on his jaw, “and funny” another, on his nose, “and you’re the biggest bigfoot fan I know.”

“You wrote a book on it!”

“Point stands. And yeah” he pushes Joseph back so he lands on the bed, crawling atop him as he growls, “I invited you here because you’re so hot I wanna pour sugar on you and see if it melts. Now get your pants off; I’ve been thinking about sucking your dick since we left the city.”

------------------------------------------

“How did the whole bigfoot thing start?” Joseph sips his Irish Coffee as Barclay puts his feet into his lap.

“Guess the same way any famous person ends up with two gigs; I was doing the thing I love, then was dicking around on cryptid hunter forums and found out I was also hella good at researching bigfoot. By the time I got really into it, I had enough cash that I could write my book without worrying about going broke. Helps that I’d handed off The Arch and The Lodge and was just the exec chef on them, since then I could travel if I needed to.”

Joseph nods, moves one hand down to rub Barclays foot; in spite of no longer working the kitchens of his five restaurants or having to test recipes for the books right now, he spent most of today on his feet making elaborate meals for two. Joseph teases him that he’s trying to stuff him to the point he can’t leave. Barclay always chuckles and says he doesn’t know how right he is. The last two days, Joseph then wraps his arms around his boyfriend and tells him he’d stay forever if he could.

He’s never thought of himself as romantic; he’s pragmatic, knows that relationships are things built out of time, trial, and error. But god help him, he’s fallen for Barclay like they’re rom-com leads with only ninety minutes to reach their happy ending.

They’re out near the creek--really more of a small river--the next morning, talking about books and speculating on the existence of life on other planets, when a storm sweeps through the trees. As trunks groan and roots pull loose from the snow, Barclay calls, “we better head back.”

He gives a thumbs up. Then the ice under him cracks.

He doesn’t correct course quickly enough, the rest dropping from under him and dunking him in freezing water. It’s deep, too deep to stand, but he’s a decent swimmer and kicks towards the surface. When the shadow covers the opening with a boom, panic threatens to push the rest of his precious breath away.

The tree that fell across the ice is heavy, and no matter how he pushes it won’t give. He bangs on the ice on either side, trying to get it to crack, but his lungs scream and his limbs alert him that the cold will soon shut them down.

He closes his eyes, trying to think, not ready to give up, not with Barclay so close. There’s a groan of wood and frozen water. His mouth opens without permission, desperate for air, and chokes him on frost instead.

-----------------------------------

“...be dead, please don’t be dead, please please please don’t be fucking dead.”

“Nnff.” That’s not what he meant to say, but it seems to calm the voice above him.

“Thank fuck. I’m so sorry, I got to you as fast as I could, do, do you need anything?” Barclay sounds exhausted.

“Cold.” He mutters.

“I’m trying to warm you up gradually, that’s what the first aid book said but, uh, here.” Warm, fuzzy arms draw him into a hug.

Wait.

The first thing he sees when his eyes flutter open are arms covered in reddish-brown fur. When Barclay rubs their cheeks together, it tickles more than his beard usually does.

“Barclay? What the hell is going on?”

“Uh. So.” He’s rolled with ease to face a creature he’s never seen and eyes that he’d know anywhere, “I’m bigfoot. Or, uh, a bigfoot. Maybe that’s kinda obvious now.”

His brain crackles to life, “What better way to stay undiscovered than get famous by giving people the wrong information about you.”

“Some of it’s true. Just not anything people could use to actually find me.”

“Smart, big guy” Joseph pets his face.

“You’re taking this pretty well.”

“I think my system is too shocked to experience more shock.” He shudders, “relatedly, how’d I get out of the river?”

“I lifted the tree off and pulled you free. Took my disguise off to do that and, uh, the fucking thing fell into the water when I got you. So I’m gonna be stuck like this until a friend of mine can get me a new one.”

“No complaints here. You look incredible.” He runs his hands up and down Barclay’s side and chest, warmth seeping into his fingers as he does, “But I’m a little surprised you were willing to risk someone seeing you or me blabbing to someone and trashing your whole life in the process.”

A low rumble as Barclay kisses his forehead, “It’s worth it. I, this is gonna sound so fucking cheesy, but I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time, and there was no way I was gonna lose you.”

“Oh.” Affection and surprise well up in his throat, pressing down his words so all he can do is nestle closer to the cryptid and let himself be loved.

His mind rebounds quickly from his misadventure. His body would like him to remember it for a while so he doesn’t put it in such jeopardy again any time soon. Instead of helping Barclay with cooking and chores, he lays under the covers while the storm rattles the roof and the cook clangs pots on the lower floor.

Barclay, attentive to a fault, is downright doting now that he’s stuck in bed. He’s never without a hot drink or something to read, and the cryptid is happy to answer the majority of his questions about the finer points of being bigfoot. When it’s bedtime, his boyfriend pulls him atop his massive frame and cuddles him, whispering over and over that he’s glad he’s okay, until they fall asleep.

Today followed much the same pattern, though when dinner time rolls around he gets a fantastic surprise.

“Chocolate fondue?” He peers hopefully at the bed tray in Barclays hands.

“Only the best for you, babe.” The cook sets the burnished wood down on the bedside table, “we lucked out, the berries I bought last week are ripe.”

Joseph reaches for the fork, but Barclay beats him to it.

“You should save your energy. Since you’re, uh, still recovering.”

He shrugs, sets his hands in his lap and opens his mouth for a chocolate dipped raspberry. It doesn’t take long to spy Barclay’s ulterior motive. The cook has a whole wardrobe designed to fit his cryptid form, but it’s having trouble concealing certain things.

“You’re getting off on this.”

“I, uh, I, maybe a little” Barclay blushes under his fur.

Joseph raises an eyebrow, tilts his head at the bulge in Barclay’s pants, “You call that ‘little’?”

A rumbly whine, the fork paused halfway to Joseph’s mouth, “I can’t help it. I’ve got a thing for taking care of partners, especially ones who are all competent and put-together the rest of the time, and you look so good when you eat and, ohfuck.”

Joseph inhales sharply as chocolate hits his exposed upper chest. It’s not hot enough to burn, and he moans as the sensation seeps across his skin. Barclays eyes, wide and ravenous, keep flicking between the splatter and his face.

“Looks like you made a mess, big guy.” Joseph begins undoing the remaining buttons on his pajamas, “you should clean it up.”

“Fuck yeah.” Barclay lunges, mouth first, lapping and sucking at the marked skin as Joseph laughs. Their shirts hit the floor together as he digs his nails into auburn fur. Barclay grunts at the pressure, sits up with a grin, and drips a line of chocolate down the right side of Joseph’s ribs.

“Oops. Better fix that too.”

“Cleanliness is importantAH, ahhnn.” He squirms a bit as Barclay nuzzles his stomach before dragging his tongue up his skin. There’ve been times he mourned the fact T didn’t make him as hairy as some other guys, but right now he’s grateful for the clear canvas Barclay can mark however he pleases.

“A mess can be more fun.” The cook licks his lips, sucks a hickey above his belly button, “and by the time I’m done with you, babe, won’t be a single part of you that isn’t one.”

“Then get to it.” He shoves his pants down, lets Barclay pull them the rest of the way off and fold them. He lays back, resting his arms behind his head, and moans as the cook drizzles chocolate on each hip. Joseph feels like a gourmet dessert and, from the growls between his thighs, Barclay intends to treat him like one.

His boyfriend is always enthusiastic when sucking him off, but tonight he throws finesse out the window in favor of burying his face at the crease of each thigh in turn, licking his hips clean while clawing at his calves and sides. He lifts his head, wipes his mouth with a satisfied grin that shows the points of his teeth, and dives down again.

Joseph yelps with pleasure, the hint of fangs hitting all his buttons, lighting him up like downtown on a dark night. It’s intense, the scratch of fur on skin just different enough from the usual beard to remind him of who’s down there, and his legs try to kick closed. Barclay growls again, holding them open with ease.

“Not until I’m done with you, babe.”

He surrenders to flood of feelings from both outside and within him, Barclay’s sheer delight at his body rendering all his doubts and worries toothless and small, quieting them until all he can think about is incredible creature holding and all he can say is some variation on-

“Barclay, please, right there, lordalmighty that’s good, that’s so good big guy, please.” He squeezes his eyes shut, craving the impending orgasm more than he has words for. Barclay sucks determinedly and huffs, pleased, as Joseph's thighs tense in his hold and his climax chases away the remnants of yesterday's aches.

As his brain insists that really, body, opening our eyes isn’t that hard, there’s a metallic zip and strong legs bracketing his thighs.

“Here I thought you couldn’t look any better.” He murmurs as Barclay gleefully strokes his cock, “as soon as my brain works again, I’m coming up with so many ways to use that gorgeous thing.”

“Can’t, fuck, can't wait to hear ‘em, but I only got one for tonight; I’m gonna use it to cum alllll over that fucking perfect body, fuck, Joseph, you look so good when you’re ruined, fuck.” An impressive amount of cum spatters up his stomach, chest, and neck as Barclay howlgrowlpurrs and then sets his hands carefully on the bed.

Joseph’s whole body is sticky with chocolate, sweat, and cum, and Barclay definitely has at least two of those things mussed into his fur.

“You’re right, big guy, a mess can be fucking amazing.”

That being said, being sticky gets old quick, and soon they’re in the tub, Joseph whistling as he shampoos Barclay’s chest. The cryptid hasn’t stopped purring, and every time he looks Joseph’s way the sound deepens.

“When are you next in the city?”

The cook yawns, “Was gonna check on how the new chef de cuisine is getting on at Kepler in about two week.”

“Would you like to stay with me? It’s not fancy, but it’s close to the Ismuth, so you can get to Kepler on foot without trouble, and there are fewer crowds there this time of year. I suspect paparazzi are also less likely to track you down at some random house than at a hotel. That might make up for my lack of, um, high class amenities.”

“Good point. But I gotta be honest babe; as long as you’re there, that’s all I need to be happy.”

[pynkhues]

.... any succession fic recs? 👀

Yes!! I haven't read a lot for it yet, but some of the stuff I've read has been staggeringly good. I'm generally more into gen fic in this particular fandom, but have enjoyed some Stewy x Kendall, Gerri x Roman and Naomi x Tabitha too.

A few recs under the cut!

“I wanted to get out. From under all this. Take the money and run.”

Kendall tells Stewy even though he knows he’ll never get it, not like Naomi does. He’ll never understand the crush of it, the heart-stopping head-fucking fear of failing a tyrant. Kendall’s been ignoring the shape of it for a long time, putting pieces of it together in the back of his mind in total darkness like a blindfolded man. It doesn’t matter that one day his dad will die. It doesn’t matter about the money or the hostile takeover or the stolen files or any of it. There’s no running. Kendall’s Logan Roy lives inside his head.

Stewy laughs. Stewy laughs for a long time.

“There is no out, Ken, what the fuck are you talking about? You were born this and you’ll die this. You are what you are, and what you are is a fucking Roy.”

Kendall hates him, for a moment. Lightning-strike furious. What the fuck does he know about any of it, about his dad’s swinging dinner plate-sized hands, about getting 24% name recognition in reliable international polling, about puking every time you think about a car swerving off the road in the rain. About finding out that you can do something unthinkably, unimaginably terrible, and it doesn’t matter to anyone you know but you. There’s a scar on his arm that no one else who hasn’t already been told how it got there can ever know about, and he’s sick of it, and it’s not fair. He hates Stewy for a moment because Stewy’s right.

“I wanted to do the right thing, Stewy, for once in my fucking life.”

Stewy laughs again, more briefly, and the predator flash of his eyes in the neon of the motel sign is a torture all its own.

‘There is no right and wrong, Ken. How the fuck do you not know that yet? Not for people like you. Like us. There’s shit you get caught doing and there’s shit you don’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You really, really fucking don’t,” says Ken, and fuck, there it is. The road less travelled, that only he has ever driven on. The path he’s down where Stewy can’t follow. That place beyond Stewy Hosseini where he never thought he could go.

“You’re not telling me something, and when I find out what that is, and I will find out what it is, Kendall, don’t you think I won’t, so I am warning you that when I do find out I am going to be righteously fucking pissed,” says Stewy, and if Kendall thought those were a predator’s eyes before—

“Yeah, you will,” says Kendall, because he knows exactly how perceptive Stewy is. Exactly how weak he is. Exactly, precisely what both of them are.

And treat this night like it’ll happen again by postcardmystery. 8k words. Kendall x Stewy. Post s2. (CW: internalised homophobia, some homophobic language)

I tried to pick a shorter excerpt, but I literally couldn’t, this fic is so. good. The voices are pitch perfect, and it’s got this incredible build to it overall that goes back and forth between time and point of views and just rips your heart out. The premise itself is pretty simple – after the press conference at the end of 2.10, Kendall calls Stewy, and they drive through rural America while Kendall has a breakdown, and it’s just - - unspeakably good. I love it so so so much, I have no words.

r/roysucks Connor’s gf just posted on Instagram (instagram.com) submitted two months ago by webbedscrum_2279 23 comments share save hide report

[–] DM_ME_SAMESMAIL 40 points two months ago I too like to escape to my yacht in the Mediterranean when my family and I are on trial for covering up rape and murder. permalink embed save report reply

AITA for accusing my father of multiple crimes on his own news station? By amleth 3k words. Gen fic. Post s2.

And now for something completely different – epistolary fic which is just reddit news threads of the Roy family drama. I love an epistolary fic and this is just totally charming, and made me laugh a lot out loud.

“You’re quiet,” she observes. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, well, the Turks beat it out of me. Gave you a run for their money.” He waggles his eyebrows. “So what is this? Whips and chains? Are we doing the whole boat-sex thing? I heard Shiv and Tom are looking for a third —“

Gerri finds what she’s looking for: a black leather binder. She drops it on the bed and begins paging through it, and Roman cranes his neck enough to recognize that it’s just full of documents, not like, dick pics. “I’ve given some thought to what you proposed a few weeks ago, and I agree that we should make things official in some way,” she says, and he blinks.

“Uh,” he says. “Which — what part of it?”

“Take a look.”

Gerri closes the folio and hands it over. It’s deceptively heavy, and the print on these pages is way too fucking fine, he thinks, paging through it. “Is this some kind of, like, Fifty Shades of Roy sex contract? Because it’s not that I’m not into it, but I think there’s a strong argument for going paperless —”

“Strictly speaking, this isn’t legally binding,” Gerri says. “Just something I threw together with regard to our business arrangement going forward. But with no respect to the family — the past few weeks have really illustrated that no one should take anyone at their word right now. Give me a little more than your word.”

Evacuation strategies for a yacht on fire by devourthemoon. 11k words. Gerri x Roman. Post s2. Explicit.

After the events of s2, Roman and Gerri fake being married as a professional alliance, only, y’know, maybe it’s not so fake. This fic is just so, so much fun, and messy in the best possible way. The author nails all the character voices, and the sex scenes are just the right amount of hot and ridiculous, and I just love it all a lot too.

Kendall estimates it will take an hour for the first articles to go up. Some rapid-fire blog without oversight—the New York Post, maybe, or wherever those Vaulter hippies have skulked off to—will slap a catchy headline on it and report his words verbatim. Give or take a gif of his face when he switches to script number two. New York Times, Washington Post, AP, those fuckers take longer. They like to bleed the story like Middle Ages plague doctors for its marrow, fact-check and add context and analysis and as many backlinks as their servers can handle. Still, a couple of hours, and his face will be plastered on every major news outlet. His voice will play over the nightly talk shows. He’ll trend on Twitter. A few more days, and he’ll be the star of analysis segments, podcasts, weekly briefings. Maybe, fuck it, maybe he’ll trend on Twitter again.

It’s been years since Kendall read Shakespeare. But that shit sticks with you, gets under your skin and emerges when you least expect it, like eczema or Keynesian economics. He knows how the media will spin this. Kendall Roy Attacks CEO Logan for Years of Corruption. Prodigal Son Disrupts Family Legacy to Restore Credibility. That’s how Hamlet ends, right? And Macbeth, Lear, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, even Titus fucking Andronicus. The spilled blood sinks into the ground, the seedlings sprout forth from the soil, and a new castle is built on the bones. Order out of chaos, or at least close enough an approximation that the tabloids will buy it.

Legacy for profit by owlinaminor Post-2.10. Kendall Roy. Kendall through Shakespeare analogies – just - - ooooof. It's a beautiful, lyrical character study that weaves through Roy family history and teases at a future none of them are even sure they want. It's gorgeous writing.

For the next few days Shiv would have to keep the pressure on Kira like an open wound because there were other women, victims that Nate’s people were going to find one by one as soon as that phone call disconnected. Mo was her father’s friend, good friend, for a long, long time. Nate and Gil, Sandy and Stewy, too many sharks in the water and the share price probably dipped to a new low but she would never check a stock ticker. Her husband’s nerves fraying at the edges on national television. She had promised a woman she’d never met before that she would kill roughly one third of the top male executives of her family’s company. Her company.

The last look Rhea gave her before she shut the car door was concern close to fear—no longer the same woman who heard their pitch in the safe room, who laughed with her at Argestes. Rhea had only looked into the abyss; she got cold feet and she didn’t even know what it’s like to grow up in it.

Her family’s company is hers, will be hers. Even from a whale fall, new life would spring.

Feed his flesh to wayward daughters by reogulus. 2k words. Shiv Roy. Set during 2.09.

This entire fic is set around Shiv bribing Kira not to testify, and god, it is so good. It’s bleak and rough, and really hones in on the complex ground Shiv walks as a character. It's another brilliant study of what it takes to be a Roy, and the way they make the awful choices in order to fulfill this legacy that they don't even know they want.

Kendall sets down his fork. “So. Tell me. Is it everything you wanted? Is it what you thought it would be?”

Roman stills. He never does that. He’s constantly a menace in motion, slouching and fidgeting, worse even than Kendall at his amphetamine peak. “What? The view from the tippy-tippy-top?”

“His regard.” Kendall wipes his mouth with the edge of the white cloth napkin. It comes away pink from the steak. “Dad. He’s all yours now.”

Roman still hasn’t moved. Finally, he lurches, like corroded machinery come uncertainly to life. “Yeah, man. It’s fucking tight as hell. I love every beautiful daddy and me moment I was a good enough little boy to earn.” He snorts. “Fuck you.” His face goes curiously slack then, like something Kendall’s own face would do. An intermission in the performance, an energy cut. Something genuine finding its way to the surface. “Why don’t you tell me. When you got everything you wanted, how the fuck did that make you feel?”

Nauseous, is the first word that springs to mind. Sick. Scared. I’ve never had everything I wanted, there’s that. I’ve never once had a single fucking thing I wanted. There’s that, too.

Interim leadership by arbitrarily 2k words. Roman + Kendall. Post s2.

I love Roman and Kendall scenes generally, but this one which features Kendall and Roman meeting for the first time a few months after the press conference in 2.10 is just a bit magic. The push pull dynamic that's just inherent to them mixed with the genuine affection and brotherly love is really special, and arbitrarily embraces both in equal measure. It's a great little fic.

There are lots more of course, and I'd also recommend checking out other works by these authors, but I hope this is a good place to start! :-)

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Normal Love and Superheroes: Two - my city

Summary: Leena gets a meeting with the Bruce Wayne himself and a call from John Blake. 

Pairing: John Blake x OFC (Leena Duckett) 

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: none I think...characters discuss Sexy Times and getting drunk but like that’s it I suppose

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

“Why the heck would he want a private tour with me? He asked for me specifically?”

“Look that’s what he said over the phone, Leena.”

“But did he say why?”

“I’m so terribly sorry I didn’t take the time to ask Bruce frickin’ Wayne, one of the biggest patrons of the gallery, why he asked for a tour from you specifically.”

Leena blushed. “Sorry, Adeline. I just…”

“Don’t worry about it.” The blonde sitting behind the welcome desk smiled with a closed mouth. “I’d react the same way if I were in your shoes. A whole hour or more with Bruce Wayne….”

Another tour guide jogged up to the front desk from the bowels of the gallery. Leena turned and watched her approach. Phoebe had a look of conspiracy and impression on her long face. She came to a halt beside Leena and elbowed her in the side.

“So are you gonna take Mr. Wayne into one of the more….Private rooms of the gallery?” Phoebe asked with a wicked smile.

Leena rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the hot feeling that was spreading from her neck into her face. It was no secret about Gotham that Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, was extremely attractive and constantly single. She saw the tabloid covers as she stood in line at the grocery store. She even ran into him outside of a restaurant one time. But his sexual promiscuity was not what bothered her about giving him a private tour. It was more the fact that he was Bruce Wayne, billionaire enigma businessman that seemed to have intimidation come out of his very pores. Who was she to be giving him a tour of the galleries that he often bought from? A no-name artist who worked two jobs, one of which she hated, to make ends meet? That didn’t sound like the kind of girl that should be giving a Wayne tours of anything.

“No I will not, Phoebe, Jesus!” Leena laughed.

“Oh, come on, have you seen him? Plus, you know he’d be open to it. He’s slept with every hot girl in Gotham and beyond.”

“Just cause he’s slept around doesn’t mean he’d be open to swapping spit in a broom closet with a random gallery tour guide.” Leena rolled her eyes. “Maybe he wants just a normal day out. Like anyone else.”

“God, you’re no fun,” Phoebe groaned.

“I think we know from after hours drinks just how fun Leena can be,” Adeline, the front desk girl, pitched in.

Leena rolled her eyes again and smirked. She always told herself, after those nights out, that she would never fall into the temptation of going again. She always got way too drunk, being a lightweight that fell very easily under peer pressure. And because she always got way too drunk, she always ended up doing something she regretted. Like dancing on top of a table, kissing some random person in the dark corner of the bar they frequented, or possibly recreating dance scenes from Chicago with very little success.

“Please stop,” Leena begged with a red face.

“Excuse me ladies.” An older gentleman with an English accent approached the front desk. He looked very nice in a dark suit with white thinning hair. “I’m here for my tour of the gallery.”

“Of course, what’s the name attached to the tour?” Adeline asked.

Phoebe squeezed Leena’s arm and wiggled her eyebrows before she trotted off, back into the gallery. And Leena was about to do the same, but —

“Bruce Wayne. I run his house and am looking for some new work to be put up. I believe I set aside a tour guide already?” the old man said.

“Oh, yes, you did.” Adeline typed on the computer for a moment, giving Leena a bit of side-eye as she did so. “You’ll be touring with Ms. Duckett.”

Leena let out a breath. A sudden wash of relief and disappointment running through her. She knew that the gallery was the place for many of Gotham’s most elite families to buy art for their various homes throughout the world. Rich folk wanting to support local artists. But she had never given a tour to any actual members of those families. It was always the butlers, the house runners, the managers, the publicists even. But they always state that it is the butler or the house runner coming to assess new pieces that have been put up. So when Bruce Wayne’s actual name was logged into the system, Leena really thought it was going to be him walking through the halls of their gallery. Really laying his eyes on the art and choosing it for himself rather than someone else choosing it for him and barely even noticing that it was hung in his manor. The disappointment didn’t last long, however.

Leena stepped towards the old man with a smile. “And I am Ms. Duckett. A pleasure to meet you…”

“Alfred, miss.” He held out his hand and she shook it.

“Well, right this way, Alfred.” She gestured for them to enter the gallery and she began to lead. “We’ll start with our glassworks suite — “

They entered the first room of the gallery. The Shefield Gallery was extensive, housing several different mediums of art from a variety of artists. Pure white walls to off balance the bright pops of color that the artwork created, heightening the customer intrigue. In this first room there were at least fourteen pedestals strewn about the room, each one holding a different piece of glass artwork. Leena liked to look at glasswork, but would probably never attempt creating any herself. Molten glass just seemed a little too dangerous for her taste.

“Actually, sorry to be a bother, but I was hoping to look at something specific on this trip.” Alfred pulled a piece of paper from his suit jacket pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Leena. “A piece specifically requested by Master Wayne.”

Leena stopped them and took the piece of paper with raised brows. It was a print out from the gallery’s website. Her eyes widened.

That was her painting. Put up in the employee suite of the gallery after much begging and finally the curator taking pity on her for being a slightly hungry artist.

She looked back up at Alfred to see him smiling at her. She quickly regained herself and asked, “Um — are you sure it’s this one that Mr. Wayne wants?”

“Yes. That’s the one.”

With a resigned nod and a thick swallow, Leena led Alfred to the employee suite. She could feel her fingers going numb. Bruce Wayne wanted her painting? Really? He asked for it specifically? She was sure that the old man had to be lying to her for her benefit. Playing some sort of weird joke that ended with her humiliated and a playboy billionaire laughing at the footage of her misfortune. Or maybe there was no farce and the man really did like her painting so much he wanted to buy it and hang it in his home. Leena rubbed at her neck. He would be the first person to ever like her work enough to do so.

They came to the employee suite and Leena stopped them in front of the painting in question. She put her head down as Alfred looked at it. His thin lips were quirked up in a small smile but she couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

“Pick your head up, miss,” he said, “I know you painted this.”

“Is that why you asked for me for your tour?” Leena asked.

“It is indeed.” His smile widened. “Master Wayne wanted me to see what kind of person could paint something like that.”

He pointed to the canvas and Leena furrowed her brows. She turned to the painting herself. Was there some vulgar message she, the artist, had missed? No. She couldn’t see it. All she saw was a portrait of Gotham at night. Done in oil paints on a medium sized canvas, Leena had always been told she leaned too far into her impressionist influences. But she couldn’t help it. Ordinary subject matter with a heightened sense of romanticism and color was something that Leena was just drawn too. The painting was Gotham at night, looking out over the skyline with the lights from the offices and apartments shining brightly, as if the viewer were looking down from the highest story of some building or other. In the glowing rooms in the foreground, people could be seen. Families, tired office workers, friends getting together.

She had titled the painting My City.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said, turning back to Alfred.

“Master Wayne sees Gotham as a dark place — a place full of hate, injustice, and cruelty,” Alfred said.

Leena pulled a face. “While I will not disagree with Mr. Wayne — Gotham is full of the worst kinds of things — but it is also still worth saving. And loving. And living in if only to save it and love it more.”

Alfred smiled, a soft and knowing thing that made Leena’s eyes narrow.

“And Master Wayne would agree with that sentiment as well.” He turned to the painting again, hands clasped behind his back. “Which is why he was drawn to your work so much. You share similar views on a city that many have lost faith in — a rare find, especially in art form.”

Leena was puzzled. Bruce Wayne grew up in Gotham, just like she did. But they saw completely different sides of Gotham. Wayne saw only the elite, the rich, the famous side. The side that lived in penthouse suites, owned entire blocks of buildings, and could afford to eat at those fancy restaurants downtown. The faces of Gotham City. While Leena saw the hands and feet, the workers and the heart and soul of Gotham. The side that worked fifty hour weeks, lived in the slums, and had to cut up and burn their own furniture to keep warm. Gotham wasn’t worth saving because of the side that Bruce Wayne saw, that made it worth damnation. Gotham was worth saving because of what Leena saw.

“Um — well — uh — I…I don’t really know what to say. I wish I could tell Mr. Wayne thank you in person.”

Alfred seemed to get an idea. “How about you deliver the painting in person to Wayne Manor? Tomorrow perhaps? You could thank him in person and he would get to meet the artist behind the painting that has captivated him for so long. That is, if you are free, of course.”

“Well, if he wanted to do that he could have come himself today.” Leena couldn’t stop the words before they came out of her mouth.

Her eyes widened as she stared at Alfred. God, she really needed to learn how to control her mouth. She could feel her neck heating up and her face paling all at the same time. Her face scrunched up as she closed her eyes. Maybe if she didn’t look at him he would just go away or she would just sink into the floor. Either option would spare her from the agonizing embarrassment ripping through her right now.

“I’m so — “

Alfred chuckled. He actually started laughing. A polite and somehow very British thing that had Leena’s eyes flying open.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Ms. Duckett,” he chuckled out, “But Master Wayne has turned into a bit of a recluse as of late. And I really do think he would appreciate meeting you.”

Leena bit down hard on her lip. If it meant making the $500 the painting was priced at, she was willing to do anything honestly. Even it meant borrowing Jamie’s car and meeting the actual Bruce fricking Wayne himself. That was enough money to pay her half of the rent for the month and she only had to do one thing. Not work her ass off at two different jobs. Her need for the money more than outweighed her apprehensions about meeting a billionaire and talking to him about her art and her thoughts on Gotham.

“Alright. Tomorrow at three o’clock. Is that an okay time?”

“Oh, yes. Just in time for tea.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“Please could you stop the noise? I’m trying to get some rest,” Leena sang as she cleaned her paint brushes, “From all the unborn chicken voices in my head!”

She moved back to the canvas she had set up by the windows overlooking the city. Who knew getting a meeting with one of Gotham’s most influential men would give her inspiration for a new painting? The reference photo of Bruce Wayne was tacked into the corner of the canvas. She had gotten the idea on the train ride and subsequent bus ride back to her apartment when her shift at the gallery was over. Something about Bruce Wayne being a recluse and seeing the good in Gotham just gave her a spark of inspiration. A spark of inspiration to lesson her fears about meeting the man by painting him as a vigilante sasquatch.

It was at least making her feel better about the whole thing. Jamie had walked in from her own work shift with many questions about it. But Leena had only held up a finger for patience and put her headphones back in. Jamie knew what that meant. Her roommate had had a weird day and needed to vent through her art.

Leena continued to paint for some time. Lost in the music and the colors and shapes that flowed from her paintbrush. Leena’s mother had given her paints and paper when she was very little as a distracting craft while she tried to clean around the house. But her mother could not have known that that would have sparked a lifelong love for art and painting. A dedication to get better and better and find her own style. Winning contests, medals, and even studying art in college. Leena felt the most at home when she was painting. Felt the most herself when she had a brush in her hand and a vision in her head that just needed to be let out.

This was one of those ideas she just knew would consume her every waking, and possibly sleeping, thought until she got it out and onto the canvas. Vigilante sasquatch Bruce Wayne was going to camp out in her cerebral cortex until she had brought him to life. Trekking through the woods, covered in body hair, wearing a stupid bright red face mask. If he thought the city was so worth saving, then why didn’t he give money to the police department so they had the tools to catch the criminals loose on Gotham’s streets? Why didn’t he donate money to improve Gotham’s infrastructure, education, hospitals, mental health services, or literally anything else besides funneling money into his own company?

If she were to see him right now, she would have a piece of her mind to give him that was —

Her phone started vibrating in the pocket of her apron. Leena groaned. She had gotten into such a good groove, too. She pulled out her iPod first and paused her music. Then she flipped open her phone and held it up to her ear. She didn’t even bother to see who was calling. Her mother usually called around that time of day anyway.

“Hey, Mom, what’s up?” she asked as she pinched the phone between her cheek and shoulder.

“Uh — “ A distinctly male voice came through. “Sorry, this is John Blake. Were you expecting your mom to call you? Cause I can call back later.”

Oh, God. After realizing that, in her euphoria, she had forgotten to get his number, she had been waiting to hear from him for nearly two days.  

“Oh, shit,” she said, quickly wiping her paint stained hands off on her apron, “Um, no — sorry. Sorry. I wasn’t — with my mom. I can talk now. Officer Blake — John. Officer Blake?”

At the mention of that name, Jamie peeked her head out from the gap in the curtains surrounding her bed with a look of pure interest on her face. Mouth open and her eyebrows raised as she looked across the room. Leena shooed her away with a wave of her hand and an uncontrollable smile.

“You can just call me John,” he laughed, “You getting around okay without the bike?”

“Uh, yeah. Taking the train and the bus — definitely throwing my budget out of whack but — that doesn’t matter…At all.” Leena glanced over at Jamie, still listening in, only to see her roommate roll her eyes.

When did she get so terrible at talking to men?

“Well, I have some good news for you.” Leena could feel her heart jump into her mouth, making her physically stand on tip toe and stare out the window as he continued to speak. “I found it. So — uh, where do you wanna go for our date?”

Leena squeezed her eyes shut, the smile on her face nearly hurting her cheeks as she tilted her head towards the ceiling. Was this really happening? After Jacob, she didn’t know if she would ever find anyone else. If she would be willing to put herself out there like that again. But with John, something felt different. He was safe, kind, and somehow she just knew that he would never hurt her like Jacob did. She twirled around once and she could hear Jamie whispering, asking what was going on. Leena ignored her roommate.

“How about Superdawg?”

Superdawg? Jamie mouthed with an unbelieving face.

“That hotdog place over by Robinson Park?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She heard him chuckle. “Sorry. I just suppose I expected you to pick something a bit more…I don’t know…”

“I’m not a fancy kind of girl, trust me.” Leena laughed. “We could eat and then maybe take a walk around the park or something? If that sounds good to you — I don’t — “

“No, that — that sounds great, actually.  Honestly, kinda glad you didn’t pick something fancy.”

“Okay, cool.” Leena looked over at Jamie with raised brows and a wide smile. “Uh, what time?”

“Saturday — tomorrow at six? I can pick you up?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then, Leena.” She loved the sound of him saying her name. “Bye.”

“Bye.” She flipped her phone closed and turned to face Jamie with fists triumphant in the air. “I have a date! And I’m getting my bike back!”

[freewithyourtempo]

Could you write a cherik fic where Erik is this really famous/hot actor who keeps his personal life very private and all of his fans speculate who his wife his and want to date him until he shows up to a red carpet with Charles (in a wheelchair) and shocks everyone and reveals they’ve been together since like childhood

I’m really sorry it took me so long to write this.I hope you’ll like it!

 "Are you ever going to tell us who you’re dating?“ 

The room holds his breath.Erik Lehnsherr smiles, slow and dangerous. Not in a pleasant way. 

Well, Emma rectifies, it is still a boiling hot smile - how could it not be, with those cheekbones and that jawline -; but it isn’t meant to be reassuring. She feels her face warming. 

Lehnsherr takes his time answering. 

He fetches the bottle of water hiding the plaque with his name - as if anyone could not know who Erik Lehnsherr is at a press conference for his latest blockbuster-, long fingers leaving prints on the cloudy glass, and refills his cup. 

He tilts the bottle, tendons bulge on his arm. Dozens of eyes follow the spilling water on its way down. 

Emma could bet the journalist is already regretting her question, and hides her smirk behind a clever swipe of her lipstick. 

Someone coughs in the heavily silent room. 

Everyone is staring at Lehnsherr’s working throat, up and down with his Adam’s apple, and Lehnsherr is grinning down at the poor journalist, who, at this point, can only squirm in her pastel tailleur.

Eventually, Lehnsherr puts his glass down and pops his lips. “You’re not my type,” he says.

The journalist looks flabbergasted. “I- What?” 

Emma shifts on her chair and uncrosses her legs. 

Lehnsherr blinks. “The only reasonable excuse for you to ask me anything about the identity of my partner is that you’re interested in what I like. Because, otherwise, your question would be highly inappropriate. So… I’m saving you time. You’re not my type. Next question?”  

The journalist sits back down with no further comment. 

Emma raises her hand to ask a question. 

***

According to the Internet, Erik Lehnsherr is so hot that staring at him without your sunglasses could send you directly to the Emergency Room with burnt corneas.

But boy, wouldn’t it be worth it.

Your internal eyelids would forever preserve the image of those sharp cheekbones, those sin-inducing lips, those bulb-exploding grey eyes.

But it isn’t just his face, it is his whole attitude.

Brooding, mysterious and confident, with a smile that could slice open paparazzi’s cameras and a taste for dark characters with disputable morals and indisputable appeal.   

Every woman wants to do him, and every man wants to–

No, scratch that.

Everyone with a sexual drive has dreamt at least once of his long fingers and rough jaw in the last year, no exception.

Hell, Erik Lehnsherr is so convolutedly sexy that Byron would have had wet dreams about him.

Once Emma saw a video of him smoking and that night she woke up, skin burning hot, with the sheets wrapped around her calves and a tuft of blonde hair stuck to her damp forehead.     

And as any self-respecting tormented artist, he is a recluse.

He doesn’t attend galas or parties if he can help it (he can help it pretty often), he has never been photographed with his hands up someone’s skirt in an alley behind a dark disco or been arrested for skinny-dipping in the Trevi Fountain. The last one is a pity.

He doesn’t even have one chatty, bribable relative in all of New York.

Emma would know, she has gone looking.

It is frustrating.

Fundamental questions about his person are still unanswered, and one of them above all torments Erik Lehnsherr’s fans like a rock in their shoes.

A rock the size of Mount Rushmore.  

Who is the lucky bastard who has chained him with a wedding band?

Emma is torn between her desire to bloodily maul them and to gift them a star on the walk of fame. 

The inscription would be something on the line of: “The unknown sucker that wakes up every morning with Erik Lehnsherr’s ass at arm’s length. Hope you plump him up like a pillow, sugar.” 

But the identity of the unknown spouse will in all likelihood stay a secret a little longer.

It is probably the blonde top model who has co-starred his last movie, anyway. Hollywood’s couples are never a big surprise. 

***

Logan has a work ethic, even if he is a paparazzo. 

Just because he makes money on people’s missteps, heartbreaks and scandals - the snottiest, the better-, it doesn’t mean he can’t be compassionate about it.

That’s why he has come to the conclusion, while squatted behind a smelly trash can in front of Lehnsherr’s trailer, that he will give the actor a heads up. 

He will still sell the photos of his imminent cheating to the highest bidder, obviously.

That kind of stuff is worth thousands of bucks, and he is not Gandhi. 

But he will magnanimously offer Lehnsherr time to have a heart to heart with his significant other, whoever she may be. Cry a bit, beg for forgiveness, buy diamonds. The usual stuff one does when they are very sorry and not doing that again. 

He could put an anonymous letter in the mailbox, maybe. 

Yes, Logan thinks, chewing on his battered cigar, that will do it. 

He is such a good guy. 

He lifts his camera and zooms on the very pretty girl waiting outside of Lehnsherr’s trailer. 

Logan sees her knocking twice, then tossing her dark hair on one shoulder and putting a hand on her cocked hip. Her tiny, tiny dress rides up her thigh some more and she doesn’t fix it.

It takes a few moments, then Lehnsherr opens the door in his sweatpants, hair ruffled already. 

The girl takes a step forward on her staggering heels, and Logan starts snapping photos of the two like his life depends on it.

He’s grinning like a maniac, the trashcan he’s leaning against squits periodically and his index finger hurts, but there’s no way on Earth he will let this opportunity get away. 

Now Lehnsherr will look around furtively, making sure there’s no one in the vicinity, will grab the girl by the arm and close the door behind their entwined figures.  

Except that he doesn’t. 

Logan can literally feel the bills being taken out of his pockets and he almost wails. 

His camera records the evolution of Lehnsherr’s surprised, frowning, distrusting and openly hostile face.    

He’s not aroused, he’s not intrigued, he’s not even remotely interested in freeing the entrance of his trailer.

He looks almost offended. 

Lehnsherr lifts one eyebrow, syllables something that can’t be anything but a piercing “no” and snaps the door closed. The girl jumps. 

Logan captures the moment with a sigh and looks critically at the result. 

The next morning the most-clicked tabloids display a full-page picture of Lehnsherr’s unforgiving rejection with a dozen variation of the same question. 

“Does he prefer blondes?”

***

Emma wishes fans were fashionable, because Erik Lehnsherr has just stepped onto the red carpet, showered by the frantic flashes of the cameras, and she suddenly feels weak in the knees.  

Somebody next to her whistles under their breath, and she totally shares the sentiment.

He doesn’t look ethereal, he looks very, very solid. Tall and self-possessed, straight shoulders and slim waist in a gorgeous oxford-blue suit that makes his legs go on forever. 

There’s something less than stoic in the line of his mouth, though, Emma notices. 

A nervous flicker of the eye, and then something happens. 

He turns around and smiles.

Emma stares.

It’s not his usual smile, sardonic and knowing, charming but in a honed way.It is a flustered smile, face flushed, bright eyes and everything. And it is directed to one man and one man only, who is approaching him with strong pushes of his wheelchair. 

Cameras go crazy around them, other actors forgotten.

Lensherr waits for his companion to join him, face so open it looks like it has lost its bark.

Emma can’t see the face of the stranger, only the straight lines of an expensive suit and a mop of rich, brown hair, and almost gets on her tiptoes to have a better view. 

The men share a few words under the hungry stares of the journalists, then Lehnsherr rolls his eyes and indulgently bends over to have his bow-tie straightened.

Emma can’t hear anything from where she’s standing, but she is quite sure Lehnsherr has just warringly asked: “Are you happy now?” 

The other man answers, Lehnsherr snorts and kisses him on the forehead. 

Then he freezes, and turns towards the people gathered as if spotting them only then. 

He glares at the journalists, steely eyes back in their place in a clear warning, and straightens back to move forward on the carpet. 

Emma walks as fast as she can without breaking into a run, heels sinking into the moquette and jewels tingling.“Mr. Lehnsherr!”She knows he has heard her, because his back stiffens, but he doesn’t turn. She frowns. He’s not getting away from this. “Mr. Lehnsherr!”The man in the wheelchair stops, turns his head and smiles so charmingly at her she feels instantly flattered. “Erik, dear, that lovely woman is trying to get your attention.”

He has a silver-polishing British accent, voice calm and collected.

“She won’t have it.”

“Dear.”

It is an obvious reprimand, one that sounds smoothed by use, and Emma sees Lehnsherr’s shoulders sag in defeat. She smiles smugly at his disgruntled frown when he turns.

His British companion swiftly approaches her, and Lehnsherr follows him a few steps behind like a recalcitrant body-guard. 

“What do you want, Frost?”

“Erik!” the man exclaims, scandalized, and glares at him. “Don’t be such a yahoo.”

He delicately lifts Emma’s hand and draws it close to his lips. 

He blinks on his blue, blue eyes and looks at her from below, and Emma feels her face redden. “Miss, I apologize for his behavior. He’s usually well-mannered.”

“Charles, you are making me sound like your corgi.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Charles answers, and winks at Emma. “You would at least be a Doberman.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Emma feels scrambled.

Lehnsherr doesn’t smile dreamily, doesn’t get teased and laughs it off. He glares and scoffs and frowns and scares people away. Who is this Charles, and what power does he have? 

“You’re gaping, Frost,” Lehnsherr says icily. “Is something the matter?”   

He moves closer to Charles and puts his left hand on his shoulder to squeeze it lightly, in an obviously protective stance. His wedding ring shines proudly against the dark fabric.

Charles tilts his head and briefly strokes his cheeks against Lehnsherr’s fingers, equally obviously calming. 

“You can’t blame me for being surprised,” Emma shoots back. “He’s too nice for you.” 

Lehnsherr sharpens his eyes and assays her, then nods once, imperceptibly.

“Now, now,” Charles intervenes, tone pacifying. “Erik is the best man I’ve ever met, and the best boyfriend I have ever had!”

Lehnsherr looks down at him. “I’m the only boyfriend you’ve ever had, Charles.”

“Well, I’m sure you would have been the best, anyway.”

Something inside of Emma is melting, but she finally remembers that she has a job to do. “High-school sweethearts?”

“No,” Lehnsherr answers, and tightens his lips to show how unwilling he’s to share more on the subject. 

“More like childhood sweethearts,” Charles adds. Then smirks. “Erik proposed when he was ten. We had met the previous week.”

Lehnsherr blushes, actually blushes. “You accepted,” he grumbles. 

“How could I not? The first time we met, you saved Cerebro. You were my knight in shining armor.”

“Cerebro?” Emma asks.

“His cat. That dunce was stuck in a tree.”

“How can you call him that, you were inseparable!”

 “He was silly!”

“He was curious!”

Lehnsherr huffs “A ridiculous cat for a ridiculous man, Xavier.”

Emma chokes on her breath. “Xavier? Xavier of the Xavier Corporations?”Charles Xavier smiles bashfully, and Emma considers it a confirmation. “I’m just a professor, really…”“A university professor,” Lehnsherr corrects. “Yes, but…”“You have been called ‘a prodigy’, If I recall correctly.”“Erik,” Charles mutters, reprimanding. He straightens his tie and clears his throat.  Emma looks from one man to the other, blinking. “You’ve just become the hottest couple in the whole city, I hope you know that.” She considers for a moment, then adds. “In every sense.” 

[funeralprogramblog]

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[brieannakeogh]

Dog Days of Summer- Ch 15

Dog Days of Summer- Chris Evans X plus sized reader. Dog days of summer are usually defined as the hottest of the year, some define it as lazy days. This year ‘hottest’ has nothing to do with the outside temp. You meet Chris and Dodger Evans while taking your own dog to the park.

Previous Chapter / Master List

Chapter 15

Getting to the dog park after just a few minutes, you set Popcorn down and look through the section. You can see the man you love sitting at the same bench you two had been on many times. Again he was dressed in the most handsome shirt and some dark sunglasses. The hat had changed over to something from the new set location, you assumed, not that you were into as much sports as he was. 

Popcorn tried to sit down when you let him walk on the grass, so you tugged a bit on his leash to get him to understand it wasn’t time while you both walked to the bench. 

“You look very familiar to me.” You said as Chris stood up and caught eye on you, smiling until he heard what you said. 

“Well I am a little on the famous side. Should I call you a fan?” His smile stopping and him giving you a more crossed arm look.

“Hmmm I’m not sure...is your name Chris? Chris...uhhh hold on...I think I know.” You started doing hand gestures and snapping fingers to give yourself an edge. “Oh! Chris Hemsworth right!? I love him, the Australian accent is wonderful!” 

“Jackass.” He laughed as he pulled you to him into a hug before he starts with a deep kiss. It reminded you more of presex time then what you normally did in public. Your arms around his neck, making sure you give just as much back, even with a moan you can’t help but sound out. 

The moan makes him pull just a bit away from you, into more public kisses. “You know there are people here that can hear you right?” He whispers in your ear. 

“I’m sorry I can’t help the noise that you make from me. It’s your fault really.” Pulling back so you’re only holding both his hands. 

“Whatever you believe, my crazy lady.” He laughs and pulls you down to the bench. “So...hi.” 

“Hi back. Did you have a good trip? No air problems or issues with your trailer at work?” You ask while unleashing your dog, which doesn’t affect him laying on the grass. 

“I’ve told you before, on the phone, that everything was fine.” 

“I know, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t stressed about all of those things before we get to something else.” 

“Ah…” He nodded, knowing what you were talking about. “Is that something you want to go over today? We should get to the house first if we are.” 

“No, I’d really rather not do it today. Let's just spend this night together like we were before. Talk about it tomorrow?” 

“I agree 100%.” He pulled you closer on the seating and let out a breath, relaxing against you. 

Both of you spent a little time quiet, just watching some of the others play with their dog. Eventually the noise from your stomach made him pull you up so you could get something to eat. Originally, before he tried to find you, he had thought about the cafe near here, but found out when he walked past, that Ron wasn’t working today so decided against it. The second thought was the bar he had taken you to before, but he didn’t know if that would be the best thing. What he had decided on, ended up being a fancy place. One that had taken him often and had less obvious spots, so neither of you would be seen frequently. He figured you would be more improved with the idea and the food was amazing. 

“Why don’t we drop the dogs off at my place, then go have a nice dinner? Something fancy this time.” He closes the gate behind for you, since you’ve already had to pick up your dog. 

“I’m not in anything too fancy as far as clothes. Just what I normally wear to work.” 

“You look fine, and it’s not like I’m changing out of a tee and jeans.” 

“Alright, whatever you want to do Mr. Fancy.” 

The walk back to his apartment is relaxing and even the elevator ride up is nice. There hasn’t been a time since you were together again that one of you wasn’t touching the other. Either hand in hand, his hand on your shoulder or around your waist while you were walking, since your arms were being taken by the dog. When you could put the dog down while he was getting the elevator or unlocking the door, you acted the same way. Holding him around his waist while the elevator came down, or sticking your hand in his back pocket while he unlocked his apartment door. The fact you pinched his ass wasn’t negatively affected either, regardless of the slur he called you that you laughed at. 

After you got the leashes off the dogs, you went back to hug him from behind and stick your face into his back. You would prefer the front but he was already on the phone. 

“Yes, I need a back table please...It’s for two...You’ve put me in before, Chris Evans...Yes that is correct...Does that even matter? Is the manager there.” By the end he was getting angry at the restaurant's response and you had moved around to his front to see his expression. When he didn’t look down on you, you had an idea of what was going on. They didn’t want him this time because he admitted to going with you, and the person he was speaking with didn’t find it appropriate. “Hi, yes, my name is Chris Evans and normally you don’t have problems with me doing a quick reservation. The person that answered the phone was more concerned about me taking my girlfriend to your restaurant. I wanted to know the reason behind that.” At this point he had tried walking away from you slowly as he spoke to the manager, but you simply followed him, not needing to be out of the loop. “Media pictures are the concern you have? That’s why I wanted a back table, which is what I’m use to. It’s not like you let the paparazzi in, correct?”

“Chris we will eat something else, just give me the phone.” You were hoping he could avoid being as angry as he was showing about this whole thing. Your solution was ending the call for him. His eyes quickly focused in on the hand you held out for the phone and his lips went into a hard line before he dropped it into your hand. “Hi, I’m the girlfriend.” The manager started making stutters, being surprised you had even gotten on the line. “Chris was obviously getting angry when you couldn’t do a normal reservation for him. You may want to get into a more reasonable explanation for when he comes back.” 

“Fuck that! I’m not ever going back there and I’ll give that opinion to everyone I know!” He said loudly at your hand so the manager could hear it. 

“As I said, you didn’t gave him an understandable reason to deny his reservation, which I’m sure has something to do with me. I’m sure if you change your opinion, you'll be able to keep a high clientele. Thank you.” Hitting the hang up button, you handed the phone back. “How about delivering some more sushi?”

“I don’t understand why this is a problem. Why do they even care who I date or bring into the place?” 

“It’s just simple. They don’t want to be in any of the negative tabloids at all. None of the printing companies really thought I was a good idea, and they didn’t want to be associated and given the same thought.” You hugged him to your chest as you spoke. It was funny that before it was in public, you were so worried about this actual event, but seeing him get the same worry about you getting a whole list of crap opinions, made you want to comfort him. For some reason it didn’t bother you at all. It was completely expected, so it didn’t matter. “Should we start this topic now, instead of tomorrow? I know it’s upsetting to you, but it’s not really affecting me anymore.” 

“Really? You always acted like this was going to happen and seemed worried.” 

You backed up a little from him and grabbed his hand. “Here, come sit with me.” Leading him to the couch, you made sure you were facing each other. “I’ve decided something. Well more like learned something I wasn’t sure about. It’s definitely cleared my head and made me less concerned about what the public thinks at least.” Rubbing your thumbs on his hands you were holding, trying to figure out the best way to say it. “I’ll tell you the reason, but I also want you to know that I don’t expect anything back. You don’t even have to reply to me. Once I tell you, we can go and get that sushi and bring it back here. Maybe watch a little of that tv show you like?” Smirking at him, even with his face growing a bit more worried. “I know we haven’t been together for a super long time, and before you were right, I was worried about how we would go if the public found out. The funny thing is, now I’m not. It’s got some things as bad as I thought they would be but I don’t think it matters, because I love you.” 

Chris’ face goes from somewhat worried to a small smile, to more neutral when he heard you tell him your feelings. He also seemed to want to speak, but you weren’t done. “I know it’s a lot, and I don’t require you and I to be in the same league. This isn’t me asking you what you feel or what I need from you. Basically, I just want you to know that I support you. Whatever you want. If you want to go public, fine. If you want to wait a bit, fine. If you aren’t as happy as before, that’s fine too.” His neutral expression was still going on and it did worry you a little, so you decided to push him into a happy zone. “Also if you want me to go with you to the movie set I’ll quit my job.” You laugh a bit. “I’ll have to give my apartment up and sell my main things, since I’ll be broke as fuck, but I’ll still do it.” 

Trying to get him to laugh didn’t even change his expression, so your smile dropped and you swallowed down your emotions. “It’s ok Chris, you can talk with me about what you’re thinking, but only if you wish to.” 

“What I was thinking was that I might love you too.” He smiled slightly and squeezed you closer on the couch. “And ya know what happened?” You shake your head no. “I think I’ve been feeling that way for awhile now, including when that guy took our picture and blasted it in an article.” 

His hand ran over his face as he looked at the ceiling, trying to decide if he should tell you what actually happened. “That was why I let the photo go through. I didn’t call my lawyer to pull it and keep it from going too far. I just let it be.” The frown on your face made him talk faster. “It wasn’t my idea to have him come out and see us. I just didn’t comment about it or try to prevent it, which I know will make you upset, but I would probably do it again, in a heartbeat. I’m not ashamed of us. I was worried and upset on the phone with you because I thought you would be unhappy and want to break things off. I knew I loved you then, and it went even deeper when you tried to talk my anxiety down. It was the last thing I expected and even now you’re continuing to keep me level. I do love you, and I would love to continue us.” 

“Well first off, I sort of understand the things you do, but you really need to get me involved if it’s something with us. I mean the phone thing you did to my ex and also discovering the public picture. It feels like a test to me, which I don’t like without studying.” 

He nods a bit agreeing with you. “I’m not used to doing that. I’ve always made my own decisions, but I understand what you’re saying and will try to at least do our decisions together.”

“Thank you. Second thing, I’m freaking starving and even though I’m very happy with how we ended up, I need food before we talk about the future.” He laughed loudly and squeezed your shoulder while he kissed your temple. 

“I think that’s fair. The future will hold until tomorrow. Tonight is sushi!” 

“Sushi!” You shout in a happy voice while jumping up from the couch, hands in the air. Excited about how happy each of you were. 

Next Chapter

So posted this last minute lol. I hope everyone in the USA has a great Thanksgiving and happy family time! Hopefully this isn’t too terrible ^_^

@spidey-babe-parker,  @stevieang, @albinotigerpython, @paintballkid711, @katykyll, @avengersrulez1536, @ultrafreespirit, @wantingtobekorra,   @i-had-a-life-once,  @ghostssss, @babybeluuga, @bodhi-black,  @kanupps06, @hatterripper31, @grandloser, @reniescarlett, @kjidhzyx, @normanreedus5150, @ilovethings-somuch, @spiderman-2013, @bloodyvalentine93, @xx-raven, @passionghost, @prettybubblesintheair, @averyrogers83,  @ria132love, @patzammit, @whom-the-fack, @pooslie, @3dsaunt, @kristiedwyer, @janeyboo, @theonelittleone, @aslandia726, @itsmysticalmystery, @stanclub, @geminimoonbeamx, @lookwhatyoumademequeue, @eyesfixedonthesun22, @mrsalh32611, @whatmakesmebeme-tblr, @isaxhorror, @kateelyse96, @hidden-treasures21​, @aubreystilinski, @tnupsweetpie​, @mikaelasingswritesloves​, @webcraft4eveh​, @fanfictionandjunk, @elizabeth-marie-moon​, @linesal​, @cjmyerhaan​, @cevansgirl​, @collinsstanharbour​, @i-was-petmanger, @bononoh, @justlistenlovelife​

[ecogami]

Giraffe papercraft sculpture, printable 3D puzzle, papercraft Pdf template to make your giraffe home decor by EcogamiShop

8.00 EUR

Make your giraffe papercraft sculpture with our printable 3D puzzle! Follow the instructions & you will be proud of your giraffe art. Isn’t it a funny & unique decoration object for the shelves of your living room or even a gift for a giraffe lover? Don’t be afraid, I assembled the sculpture so everybody can do it! You will just need time & precision. Put your music on & enjoy the assemblage! (For me it is a perfect way to relax). «««««« HOW DOES IT WORK? »»»»»» ► Once purchased, download the ZIP file with the patterns (PDF files to be printed with A4 or A3 sheets – Letter or Tabloid in the States) & the complete instructions in English to make the sculpture. ► Print the template (choose the sheet format which is more convenient for you). The size of the sculpture will be the same with A3 or A4 paper. The paper must be thick (200 / 300 GSM / grams per square meters). The one I use is 270 GSM & it is perfect for that kind of sculpture. You can print at home if you have a printer or, easier, go to the nearest Print shop, you could buy the paper & print there. ► You have the printed pattern! Now just check you have the following tools: a pair of scissors, a ruler, white paper glue and a tool to fold the paper (could be a scoring tool / cutter pencil or even a small knife). You are ready to begin! ► Now just follow the instructions: cut the parts, fold & glue them. It is easy, all the parts of the pattern are identified with edge number guide for easy assembly (to assemble the papercraft model just match the numbers on the edges with the corresponding number & glue the edges together). ► Once the sculpture finished, if you have not used colored paper, you can either paint it or color it by following the color codes of the pattern or customize it as you want with other colors! «««««« TECHNICALS DETAILS »»»»»» ► Difficulty Level: Medium – The nose, the eyes, the tail, the horns and the ears have several small folds and need more precision and patience. ► 3D Papercraft sculpture: Giraffe sculpture ► Approximately size (A3 & A4 patterns): 65 cm / 25.6 In (height), 18 cm / 7 In (wide), 37 cm / 14.5 In (deep) ► Use thick paper: A4 or A3 (in the States, the equivalent A4 is Letter - & A3 is Tabloid) ► A3 template (PDF): 9 Sheets - 77 Parts ► A4 template (PDF): 18 Sheets - 77 Parts You are hesitant, not sure which one of our models you like the most; visit our website EcogamiShop.com to see them all.

from Etsy Shop for EcogamiShop https://ift.tt/63b4pCE

[squidpro-quo]

“Have you seen this?” Deku asked, throwing a handful of sports fan magazines onto Todoroki’s lap as he bent over to tie his skates. The covers were full of gossip headlines, printed in vivid, flashy colors and varying sizes according to the amount of scandal each exposé

contained. It was the standard issue for the week, with Aoyama’s typical flashy pose on the front despite his article being a fairly tame side story about his latest win. 

“I just read the jokes out of the middle, why?” Todoroki picked up the one on top, flipping through it without much concern for what he happened to skip. 

“Wait, wait, it’s that one!” Crumpling the paper with his eagerness, Deku directed him to the right page, stabbing at the pictures and conjectures with one scarred finger. “It’s about your charity event this weekend, at the podium awards.” 

“Bakugo just said the usual,” murmured Todoroki, “Why is this unusual enough to warrant an entire page? The one about Ochako breaking the record got the same.” 

“It’s in all of them. Don’t know why but…” His explanation was interrupted by the sound of Todoroki’s phone, an angry Enji’s voice yelling ‘ SHOUTO!’ echoing around the empty rink. “Why did you make that his ringtone?”

“It’s a preview to the main act,” was Todoroki’s only comment before he picked up the phone with a hard press to his lips. Deku sank onto the bench across from him, reading the article again in the meantime. 

“Shouto!” Enji’s normal volume could thankfully be lowered to a manageable level over the phone, but that didn’t mean Todoroki was glad to hear from him. “I’ve got news about the sponsors for this year, you’ve got a shot with a big backing. As soon as the gossip dies down, they’ll sign the deal and we’ll have the Endeavor brand as our own.”

The reminder of the impending headache that had been in the making for months now, Enji’s new bid for fame and fortune in the shape of a merchandising line of sportswear, had finally come roaring in. Todoroki frowned as his father continued, pricing discussions and production numbers flying by his ear as he contemplated his future as a prop, a walking advertisement for his father with every jump he landed and every medal he earned. It was enough to make him want to quit skating despite the joy he had managed to scrape together from it. 

The only recourse he could possibly have now would to take a fall so drastic as to remove him from competition despite all the medical hurdles Enji would destroy to have him back on the ice again. Looking across at Deku, perusing the tabloid pages and trying intensely not to listen in despite Enji’s booming voice, to the rink’s perfect sheen spreading out behind him, he knew he would miss it. 

Not to mention the competitions. He’d been pushed into skating by Enji from the time he could walk, but he’d found a refuge away from his father on the ice during the events. Enji could yell from the sidelines all he wanted but the music would always drown him out, offering an island where Todoroki could carve out his own path. 

And cross blades with Bakugo on his own terms. The spitfire who had taken the skating world by storm over the past year, known for his explosive jumps and even more explosive temper. The tabloids called him the Jumping Shrimp a few daring times, but no one could deny the air he achieved and the frankly astounding number of rotations on his jumps no less. 

Despite his bafflement at what the tabloids had divined from the podium awards, Todoroki was at least aware of what conversation they were raving about. He’d taken second, by a few fractions of a point margin, and Bakugo had pushed up close to him as they were waiting for the ceremony to start. Nose to nose, he’d hissed the usual threats for taking silver, keeping a smile on his face otherwise for the cameras watching, and the end result had been a much different result from the reality of their interaction. 

And in that moment, sitting on a cold bench listening to his father’s victorious imaginings in his ear, Todoroki’s brain drew a line between the contents of Deku’s hands and the solution to his problems. Now if only he could convince Bakugo to behave. 

—————-

It had to be convincing, at least to the fanatics and daydreamers that wrote the tabloids, and it had be fast. With the deal hanging over his head, Todoroki put his plan into action the very next week. Getting into Bakugo’s usual practice rink wouldn’t have been easy normally, considering the ring of paparazzi vying to get a good shot of the inside, but Deku could work wonders when it came to getting information, and far more handy in this case, loaning him the pass into the place. 

“You here to go a few rounds?” Bakugo snarled, coming to stop at the edge of the rink in a shower of ice and a heated glare. 

“You said you could skate circles around me. But we’ve not been on the same ice at once alone yet,” Todoroki said, shrugging. He’d gotten what he came for already, annoying Bakugo was a minor bonus. 

“Tch, I’m not going to bother with someone who holds back like that in a competition.” 

“It didn’t even count towards our point totals.”

“Is that your excuse for why you didn’t give your best?” Bakugo scoffed, one hand braced on either side of the opening onto the rink as if to guard it against Todoroki. 

“That’s why I came.” Todoroki looked him in the eyes, the step up onto the ice and the extra height from the skates bringing Bakugo level with him despite the few inches of difference. “Motivate me.” 

“What!? Why should that be my job? Motivate yourself, half n’ half!” 

“You said it was a problem, didn’t you? Your words to me at the Cup. So I have the answer.” Spreading his arms, Todoroki gestured to the ice, the smooth expanse of it already drawn on by the graceful arcs and spirals left in Bakugo’s wake. 

“And? What’s that?” Despite his apparent ire, Bakugo didn’t leave and instead leaned against the plastic window siding, still obstructing the entrance but allowing a sliver of ice open to slip past him. 

“Keep... doing what you do. I’ll just embellish a few things.” 

———————————--

“Where do you get off calling me a ‘friend’, huh!?” Bakugo snarled at the next event, in one of the prep rooms in the back. The tv was on in the corner, running commentary on the big event with Russian reporters updating viewers on the newest contenders for the world competition. Todoroki could see his father across the room, attempting to circumvent an official event manager with sheer force of will. With anyone else, it would have worked in a heartbeat but Todoroki could count his lucky stars that this particular woman had a backbone stronger than a steel girder. 

Even so, it would only be a matter of time. 

“You agreed to this. No ‘half-assing’ as you put it. Do you have a complaint against my performance?” 

“We’ll see on the ice, won’t we?” Bakugo glared at him, stretching onto the tips of his skate-guards as he leaned in close. “You give me something worth jumping for, maybe I’ll let you slide with that ‘friend’ comment. Giving those tabloids what they’re hungry for, that’s a cold move even for you, popsicle.” 

Todoroki shrugged, testing the set of his foot in his skate while he eyed his father’s approach. He’d managed to earn an angry phone-call a day for the past month and change, and the merchandising deal looked to be slipping out of Enji’s grasp. All it had taken were a few pointed slip-ups before some fans and cameras, not to mention letting Bakugo’s shoves get a little more personal, and he was set. The magazines that had started it all were eating it up, eagerly awaiting the next scoop in what had been so far described as the secret relationship “hot enough to melt the ice”. 

“What bothers you is not the speculation, but that I termed you a ‘friend’?” he finally asked, just as he saw the manager creek in what he knew would be eventual capitulation to his father. 

“Dirtbags that run those magazines can say whatever they like, I don’t give a shit what they think. They’re not the ones I’m pounding into the ice at every event.” Bakugo grinned, eyes blazing as he looked at Todoroki and the heat that grew inside him in response was something Todoroki hadn’t quite expected. Competition had lost its inherent appeal years ago, it was simply a refuge now, but that fire made the embers that had long since cooled inside him flare up just enough for him to ignore his father for the moment. 

“We’ll see.” 

In the end it was close. 

Todoroki watched Bakugo’s long program and knew it would be a close call for when his turn came around. The fast staccato beat of the music had been matched and sometimes even outdone by the speed of Bakugo’s spins and footwork, whirling across the ice in a trail of green and gold. He’d wondered how Bakugo could keep up that kind of rhythm, expend that much energy into a program when he could just as easily win it with less. But watching him as the final few notes died out, the heave of his chest and that infectiously cocky smirk as he bowed, Todoroki found he’d been exposed a little too long. Even before he’d started this ridiculous plan, he’d known Bakugo was formidable and ferocious, but hadn’t allowed himself to respond to it with the strict cage around him. But now was a perfect opportunity. 

He ignored Enji’s instructions as he entered the rink after Bakugo, passing him on the way and sparing a quick touch to the shoulder. The fact that Bakugo didn’t immediately shrug it off was something to think about as he got into position. And it gave him the drive to do what he’d wanted to do with his long program all along. 

Switching up the jumps, he stretched his limits as far as they would go, enjoying the hiss of his skates on the ice and the cold air rushing past as he spun along the edges. His arms felt lighter, legs less chained to the ground and though he was likely just imagining it, he felt like he soared higher too with each jump. He couldn’t match Bakugo’s speed but that had never been the purpose with his pieces, he was more interested in carrying himself along on the music with a slow build, the beat increasing as his seconds stretched past until he suddenly found himself reaching the end and a smile had almost stretched itself across his mouth. 

The arena might have been cold—especially in the center of the ice—but as soon as the first trill of pipes sounded, Todoroki only felt the heat flowing along his arms and down his legs. His costume might have been just another of Enji’s plows at marketing, with the fringe of sheer fabric that flowed from his wrists like a halo all the way down to his ankles in waves of orange and a pale red, but he felt the flames they were meant to be inside him too. 

The curious elation carried him through his bows, all the way until he’d stepped off the ice and a hand clapped him on the back. 

“That’s how it’s done, Shouto!” Enji’s praise landed around his neck like a bag of bricks. “This will sweep everything else away, the performance that will put the Endeavor line into the stores and off the shelves.” 

Todoroki felt the weight returning, as if his skates had turned to concrete blocks to make up for the ease with which he’d been able to complete his program. The kiss-and-cry awaited, the inevitable suffocation under his father’s self-serving pride and he found himself walking away with Enji’s words echoing in his ears. He’d undone all his plans in less than five minutes, without even seeing the score he knew what was going to happen, could tell from Enji’s barely contained excitement: his father had an obsession with calculating scores and Todoroki knew he wouldn’t be far off. 

“Took you long enough,” Bakugo’s growl was a welcome distraction, so close to his face that the puff of his breath clouded between them. 

“Not afraid for your gold?” Todoroki found himself leaning closer, ostensibly to not allow Bakugo to push him off-balance but he wanted the familiar threats now, the way Bakugo never spared a glance for his father but locked horns only with him. 

“Pretty confident for a slow-poke, you haven’t even gotten the score yet. But looks like you finally stood up on your own. Good enough to beat.” 

Todoroki stared into those burning eyes, at the challenge in them, and took a page out of Bakugo’s book. Curling a fist into the black collar of Bakugo’s costume, he fixed the problem he’d created. 

The kiss was quick, was meant to be quick, if Bakugo hadn’t surged forward too at the same time, clashing into him as if determined to not be outdone. The flash of cameras popped against his closed eyelids, thoughts narrowing down to the warmth returning to him, the same fire as on the ice fanned by Bakugo yet again. 

Sensing the brewing storm behind him, Todoroki let go of Bakugo and made to head for the kiss-and-cry again, but Bakugo held him fast for another second. 

“Those fuckers are calling it a ‘flash paper’ romance, half n’ half,” was all he said. And Todoroki wondered if they knew just how wrong, and maybe just how right, they really were.

AN: For the Todobaku Valentine’s exchange! Also on AO3

Prompts open

[kira-art-design]

magaZINE project

a quick brief

Design a ZINE book by appropriating a style of a company you are inspired by, or would love to work for. The content can be any topic of your choosing.

my process

idea process

When I first began this project I had different ideas for the style I wanted to appropriate, which was vintage Japanese poster design. They have a very unique, bold and colourful use of type, images and illustrations. The colours in these design already make sense with colour I usually use, so when I designed my brief to be a combination of my style and a nod to the poster design my instructor said it looked like Wes Anderson. This made something click in my head, because I love Wes Anderson’s overall aesthetic and beautiful scene composition. From there I decided to go ahead with Wes Anderson style. I wanted to do some more research, I rented out some films from the library, sat on my couch and did some research. I also went to the internet to find some more details on how to replicate his cinematic style, because I planned to take my own photos that looked like stills out of my own Wes Anderson movie. I wrote a list of elements I knew I had to include to make it Anderson, this included: symmetry, Futura, yellow type, outfits with quirky, colourful and specific choices, overhead table shots, handwritten type, etc. When it came to my content, I wanted to do something I’m interested in learning about anyway. I chose film photography because in the past year I’ve been slowly getting into it, and need to teach myself much more.It’s very important to make connections from your design to the content, style, etc. So before I even started I wrote out connections I can make to bring the project together. Some of these include:

Designing and photographs with symmetry to mimic Anderson

Large, centered titles mimic cinematic title sequences

Implied storyline in the photography to mimic stills out of a film

Type box shapes designed to mimic the mailboxes seen in a photograph

Models have film cameras (pentax and pentacon)

Binding with real film

Book dimensions mimic ratio of cinematic screens (16:9)

scene stills from Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom and The Royal Tenenbaums

first ideas

notes on random plans for my zine

plans for photoshoot with my 2 models

my research

I conducted my research through a variety of resources. I rented Anderson films from the library, and watched a couple more films to get a better understanding of his cinematic style. I used the internet to find more specific strategies to mimic his style, and to find out more about Anderson himself. I also did all my research for film photography from the internet and included some of my own personal thoughts.

My photographs needed to have a very specific look and opportunity for symmetrical composition so I scouted a list of spots around the city to take my models. This was very helpful to be prepared so the photo shoot didn’t take too long.

I made up some mockup pages in a variety of sizes to determine document size, to see how the size worked in my hands.

working process

Firstly I went to Michaels and took advantage of the deals they had on their scrapbooking paper sheets, I picked out a pile of colours that created a Wes Anderson palette.

I planned my zine to be collaged together post printing so I kept that in mind while designing the spreads in Indesign. I needed to plan the collaged elements to fit in the page, I did this by putting everything I didn’t want to print onto its own “DON'T PRINT” layer which I removed right before printing. Then I printed some tabloid size papers with the photos and text I planned on collaging on.

the plan to collage about half of the type/images on after printing the spreads became complicated, I needed to make note of what gets printed where for each page.

I left myself room for playing with shapes in the collaging process, so it wasn’t all pre-planned before I printed. I wanted to let myself play with the coloured papers and make it up as I went. I did this to get an experimental result and achieve the hand-crafted charm of a zine.

For binding I had the idea to use my resources from home because I have plenty of chopped up developed film that I have no use for anymore. I cut these in half, leaving the holes on one side and trimmed them to fit the short edge of my zine. Using the same impasto gel I’ve been using for collage I glued the film onto the edges of each page on both sides. I had to be very careful to line up the holes well enough for binding aligned later. To attach the pages I could either use thread similar to Japanese stitch bind, however I’ve done that method for a couple past assignments so I tried something new. I have some small metal jump rings I use for making jewelry that would work well through the film. However my pages all together stacked too thick for the rings, so I went with a different sort of stitch with thread.

glueing a half strip of used film on the short edge for binding

*TRAGIC* Over the weekend I accidentally ripped a page, I decided to go to the printing shop Monday morning to reprint and re-collage.

I tried a couple different ways of binding, I originally planned to use small metal jump rings to give a more loose bind but the rings were too small for the stack.

collaged text

Continued on next post - final reflection, timestamps and readings.