#can’t use my new drawing tablet until I’m at home unfortunately

[apricotbuncakes]

Baker Wally is made by @satanic-witchcraft

I know I haven’t released any like, official content for my At Dead of Night AU, but I just HAD to make this. James Playfellow would ABSOLUTELY get on Baker Wally’s last nerve, man has no respect for anyone.

Poor ADON Wally is over here just, amazed by the fact that someone is able to not only SEE but STAND UP TO his dad.

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Wolfman’s Dilemma

(Story Post)

Dax was still at work when Wano called him, so he called the doctor’s office to ask if someone could check on his partner before he could get home. Reid volunteered to make a house call as soon as he heard about Nathan's incident. Nathan was still shaken by his partial transformation. He had gone to lie down after a shower like Wano had suggested, but he couldn't rest well. When Reid did arrive, he sat with him in his bedroom and Nathan had a hard time explaining to the doctor exactly what happened because he didn't want to try to remember. “Well, this all sounds like it would be pretty upsetting, so I understand this isn't easy for you,” Reid comforted, after receiving all the details he could. “But if you think about it, this could be a sign of progress.” “No, I know…” Nathan mumbled, wrapped up in a blanket. “I just don’t like the connotations. If my anger is what made that happen, then that could mean I'm very dangerous. More so than ever.”

“We don't know that,” Reid stated, rubbing Nathan's arm. “We don't truly know what caused any of this to happen and unfortunately, yourself and Wano were the only ones witness to it.” “So, then what? Am I supposed to try to make it happen again?” Nathan asked. “Well, not if you don't want to,” Reid explained. “But, it might be best to keep an eye on you for a week or two in case it does occur again involuntarily.” “So, you mean staying at APID,” Nathan sighed. “Even when I'm off wolf cycle…” “I consulted with Dr. Aias before coming here and that was their suggestion, yes,” Reid admitted. Nathan rubbed his forehead. “I guess it's not really a cycle if I start turning into a wolf thing in the middle of the day on off days…” “Again, it's your choice, Nathan,” Reid insisted. “Camilo's coming by as well to talk to you as this pertains to your case. He might make other suggestions for you.” Nathan nodded. His phone went off and he checked it. “Dax just got off work and he's coming straight home…” “That's great,” Reid commented. “And your language suggests the relationship is pretty serious. I'm glad it's working out.” “My language?” “Aye, you said he's coming home,” Reid said. “You have separate residences, don't you?” “Yeah, well… I can't handle the twins on my own, it's too much, and I don’t know what I was thinking when I offered for Wano to stay here,” Nathan said. “Dax has been…the glue keeping this hell house together and keeping me from going insane. I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't around.” Reid smiled and shook Nathan's shoulder enthusiastically. “See? I knew you two would be good for each other. Aren't you glad you went for it?” Nathan chuckled lightly. “I suppose I am… I guess I just didn't feel like I deserved someone new yet… And I feel bad dragging him into this whirlwind of a life I have right now.” “Nathan, you're a bit too selfless,” Reid commented. “Dax wouldn't be with you if he didn't want to be. The people around you are around you because they like and care about you.” “I know, I know… I just...” Nathan sighed. “No, you're right.” “Anyhow, I can stay until Dax or Camilo arrives, however long you'd like,” Reid said. “Wano seems to be doing well with the twins. Is he a good babysitter?” “Yeah, they love him,” Nathan said. “I think it might be maybe the depth of his voice? I don't know. He follows instruction well enough and he loves to play with them. Maybe he'll be a good dad… Did he explain why we got into an argument?” Reid nodded slowly. “Aye… Trying to make a wee one before he's gone. I can understand your frustration. Wouldn't want that happening under my roof, if I had one.” “Right? I get that he's an adult and he can do what he wants, but also I'm partially responsible for him because I'm letting him stay here,” Nathan said. “If Jeffrey gets pregnant, I have no idea how that'll complicate Wano's case to stay here.” “Well, at the end of the day, these really are things that should concern Wano himself more than you,” Reid reminded. “You’re doing a really nice thing, letting him stay here with you but you don't have to shoulder all his problems. They're not yours and you're not his father.” “I know, you're right,” Nathan sighed again. “I just want to see him get to stay here. He's worked hard to stay. He's improved a lot.” Reid smirked as he observed Nathan. “You know, the wolf might have something to do with this. Sometimes animals who've just given birth will adopt newborns of other species, even if they're an animal they'd usually pray on, like a lioness adopting an oryx, or vice versa, a chicken adopting a kitten. Only for you, your adopted newborn is a full-grown adult alien from another planet.” “I can't help it if he has the emotional intelligence of a twelve-year-old,” Nathan said. “But it's even more reason he shouldn't be having a kid!” “You can't make that decision for him, though,” Reid said. “And you can't make that decision for Jeffrey either. At the very least, one of them has experience as a parent…” “From what I've heard though, his cousin does most of the caregiving…” Nathan mumbled. “Och, you need to stop concerning yourself with them,” Reid said. “You can put your foot down about what goes on in your house, but outside of that, you can't be meddling in their business.” Nathan nodded. “…I bet Jeffrey’s pregnant already anyway…” Reid rubbed his back. “Come downstairs for when Camilo arrives. Eat something. I’d like to see the wee twins again. How're they holding up?” “They're alright…” Nathan said getting up. “I probably should feed them, but Grace refuses to nurse unless she's a pup, but she bites me…” Reid followed him. “Do you pump?” “I do, but they refuse to take bottles from me,” Nathan said. “Dax? Wano? No problem because they have no other choice. But me, all they want is tit. Am I going to have breasts my whole life now?” “We can worry about that later, and you can take my word from personal experience that breast tissue can be dealt with,” Reid assured, chuckling a bit. “Ah, right… Yeah, I guess,” Nathan considered. “Anyway, Wano should be playing with the twins right now… He lets them bite his arms and legs and stuff because he thinks it'll toughen them up but I'd rather he didn't normalise it… I'll show you.” “Aye. Please.” They got downstairs and Nathan broke up the playfighting so Reid could take a look at the twins. They both turned to human for him which he was a bit unhappy about because he really liked to study their animal sides, but he acknowledged that it was good training that they remain human in the presence of strangers. Camilo arrived a little later and they talked in the kitchen while Wano showed off the twins to Reid in the living room. Nathan explained everything he could to Camilo about what had happened. “That is a very new development indeed,” Camilo commented as he took notes into a tablet. “We haven't seen any kind of half transformation like this… Have you asked Nari yet if he knows of werewolves like that?” “He's away on a vacation right now,” Nathan said. “I don't want to bother him with this at all until he's back…” Camilo nodded. “I understand… Well, right now since this is a one-time incident, I don't know that there's much we can do. But, now that we know it's possible, I'd ask you and those around you to video document this type of transformation if it should happen again.” “So, you don't think I should be watched?” Nathan asked. “Well, I don’t know that it's absolutely necessary, but if that's what you want, you could stay a few nights at APID,” Camilo considered. “It's up to you.” Nathan shook his head. “I want to stay home... But only if you really think it's safe.” Camilo patted Nathan's arm. “You didn't hurt anyone, you just transformed. Since having your wolf cycle nights at APID, we haven't observed any violent behaviour at all, only a bit of protective behaviour towards your kids.” “Dax said the wolf bit Dr. Aias once,” Nathan said. “Ah, well yes, but that was just because they needed to draw blood,” Camilo acknowledged. “Wasn’t that the night of Wano’s incident?” “Yes, it was…” Nathan sighed, not enjoying the thought. “Right, it’s possible you could tell your friend was in trouble that night and you were restless. Wolves have exceptional sense of smell. You might’ve smelled blood,” Camilo hypothesised. “You're really okay. Seems as long as the wolf is well fed, they don't hunt.” Nathan exhaled. “Okay… Yeah… Thanks.” “Don't worry,” Camilo assured him. “Your support system is great, and we aren't afraid of you. Everyone is here to help you.” “I get it, I just wish I knew someone else who was going through all this like me,” Nathan said. “I at least had Kent for a hot second, but now I have no one… My kids aren't even the same as me They just transform whenever they please.” Camilo pursed his lips. “Well, maybe you're not alone…” Nathan perked up. “Is there someone else? With APID? Another werewolf? Or were-anything?” “Well, no… I just meant, um…” Camilo waved a hand. “Well, you know, there's the wolf we caught on your bodycam that night.” “Oh." Nathan frowned. “But they attacked me. I still have the scars.” “Yes, but if we tracked them down, we might have answers for you,” Camilo suggested. “Well, maybe… I don't, know. I feel like we tried that lead and it got me nowhere. And pregnant.” “Yeah…” Camilo folded his hands. “But if we could find someone with a similar affliction as you willing to talk with you, you would want that, right?” “Yes, if it's possible, yes,” Nathan said. “The only person I know that's as close to my condition as me is Dax but his thunderbird situation is still very different.” Camilo nodded. “Okay. Can you come in for a meeting tomorrow? I want us to talk more about your options, but I also want to consult with Korsgaard about some stuff beforehand.” “Yeah, for sure,” Nathan said nodding. “Honestly, I talk to you so much, I forget Korsgaard’s my actual case worker…” “Yeah, he does do a lot of work behind the scenes, but he's looking into potentially retiring soon,” Camilo admitted. “I think he's holding out until Maya's grown.” “I get it,” Nathan said. “Do you think you'll take his place?” “Honestly, I don't really know,” Camilo said. “I mean, I like it, and it's been great work while I've been in school, but once I finish my PhD, I might look around… I want to stay at APID though.” Nathan smirked. “PhD classes, a job like this, and a baby at home? Are you sure you're only human?” Camilo smiled sheepishly and rubbed his neck. “I'm just trying my best…” “I could never…” He motioned to the living room where Wano was flexing with the animal twins gnawing on his arms. Reid was just sitting by, taking notes of his observations. “I can't imagine trying to get through my masters when I was your age if I had these two on my hip…” “Should we do something?” Camilo asked worriedly. “No, Wano likes it,” Nathan said. “He calls it ‘warrior play’. It's been really difficult trying to train bite inhibition and I’m so tired all the time, it's easier to just let them do whatever exhausts them…” “I see. It'll take time,” Camilo said. “Have you talked to Yori about it? They might not be exactly the same, but there's likely some issues he's had with the triplets.” “Yes, trust me, Dax has learned a lot from having the triplets in his class,” Nathan recounted. “The very first day of school, Skylar bit a kid that touched her granola bar and later Marco ate his own homework. We've been in contact with Yori's partners, because the kids just seem to fall in line for Yori without much trouble.” “Oh, I see…” At that time, the front door opened, and Dax came inside looking worried. “Nathan, I’m sorry I couldn't leave sooner!” Nathan got up from his seat and went over to hug Dax around the waist. “It's okay. Reid and Camilo have been here to talk to me.” “Ah, good! Are you alright?” Dax looked over his partner for traces of the transformation described to him over the phone. “You look okay, but are you?” “Yeah, I'm fine now,” Nathan said. “Talking to these guys has calmed my nerves a lot and the transformation didn't last more than a minute.” Dax nodded. “Good.” He kissed his forehead. “I’m glad you're okay. And the twins are alright?” “Yep, they're still their usual selves,” Nathan said, motioning to the pair now climbing onto Wano's back and jumping off like goat kids. “I think if anything, my transformation made them excitable.” “That probably makes sense, I think,” Dax said. “Reacting to your transformation I mean.” Reid got up and came over. “Nathan, if you don't need me any longer, I should probably head out.” Nathan nodded and shook Reid’s hand. “Yes, thank you for coming over on such short notice.” “Don't mention it,” Reid insisted. He patted Dax's arm. “Good to see you too, Dax.” “Likewise,” Dax said politely. “Drive safe.” “Aye.” Reid headed out the door. “I should probably get going too,” Camilo said. “Nathan, can we get you in for a meeting first thing at ten?” “Yeah, sounds good,” Nathan confirmed. “I'll see you there.” “Alright, see you,” Camilo said going to the door. “You take care of him, Dax. We're trusting you.” “Don't you worry, I'll be here,” Dax assured. Camilo smiled and waved. “Bye!” “See you tomorrow,” Nathan said as the assistant left. Dax went to see them off and then made sure the door was locked properly before going back to his partner. “Tomorrow, would you like me to join you?” Nathan looked at Dax and contemplated it. “Usually I'd say no, but if you can spare the time, I would appreciate it…” Dax smiled and kissed Nathan's forehead again. “I'll be there, don't worry.” “Thank you,” Nathan said. He took Dax's hand and squeezed it gently. “I appreciate you so much.” “Also on the phone,” Dax recalled. “Wano said you got upset because he’s trying to make a ‘legacy’ with Jeffrey.” He motioned the air quotes. “Do you want me to talk to him about that?” Nathan sighed, glancing over to Wano, now rubbing both twins’ bellies. “No… At least not tonight… Just let him be. It’s not our business at the end of the day. I made it clear though that he can’t have guests here without permission.” Dax nodded and gave Nathan a proper kiss this time. “You’re going to be alright.” “Thanks. I hope so…”

[writing-gifts]

Hi, I’m new here, so sorry if I’m like doing something wrong- so uh I’ve really liked your content for a while now and I just wanted to maybe ask if that’s okay, maybe a scenario or headcannons(if you do those idk) of Bruno x Reader but like the reader stays up every night animating or drawing and he’s kinda worried about their well being and sleep and stuff? Sorry I’ve never done any kinda request before, and of course you don’t have to do it but if you did end up doing I’d be really happy-

Sorry for the long wait but here you go ^^

-----

Your eyes water when you yawn for the umpteenth time.

It was almost midnight, but you didn't expect to get ready for bed for at least a couple more hours. You loved your job but they were a bit understaffed so you'd spend extra hours at home, on top of the work you did in the office, animating away. 

This wasn't anything new but the lack of sleep was starting to take a toll on you unfortunately. It could be seen not only under your eyes, but in your actions. The way you would easily lose focus doing simple activities was becoming more apparent.

A knock sounds on your bedroom door, taking you out of your thoughts.

“It’s open.”

You hear the door open before a familiar voice speaks. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s cool. I can multitask.” You barely look away from your computer screen.

“I brought you something to drink.” Bruno places a cup on your desk.

You didn't even realise how thirsty you were until you see the glass out of the corner of your eye. 

You finally stop drawing to take a drink. "Thanks!"

“You've been working hard. Maybe you should head to bed earlier tonight.” 

You pout. "I can't. We got kind of behind schedule with storyboarding so now we gotta make up time for it..." You stop yourself from rambling on.

You don't see but Bruno frowns a bit. "Did you eat already?"

You tilt your head while grimacing. "I ate a snack?"

You peak over at Bruno and see a not so pleased expression.

"I'm sorry. I'll eat a proper meal before I sleep." You pick up your tablet pen.

“I don't want to drag you to the dining table ___.”

You sigh, “Okay okay I'll go eat right now!”

You save your work and stand up from your desk chair, stretching your arms over your head. You suddenly shake your leg out. “Oh my god, pricklies.”

“Pricklies?”

“You know when your leg falls asleep and feels all prickly?--Pricklies.”

Bruno just looks slightly amused.

When you both make it to the kitchen Bruno shoos you away from the fridge. “Go sit down. I already made food earlier. I’ll heat it up for you.”

“Oh thank god, I was ready to heat up something frozen again. Couldn’t be bothered to actually make something.”

“Let’s switch it up, hmm?”

In a couple minutes Bruno puts a plate of warm chicken piccata in front of you. Your stomach immediately grumbles--that was honestly putting it lightly--and you quickly start eating.

Bruno sits in front of you and watches, but you’re used to it and eat as if you’re by yourself. He eventually speaks up though. "Taste good?"

You nod, giving a positive hum.

"Is work treating you well? We really haven’t been able to talk much in awhile." Bruno asks but you can see the slight crease in his brow.

"Yep! I know it looks like it's a lot and it is tiring, but I really do enjoy it!" you smile slightly. "Hey maybe i'll even be able to support myself on my own in a couple months."

Bruno nods. "I’m happy for you but--” You were afraid of that. “--I'm worried you're not getting enough sleep. Or taking care of yourself as much as you should be."

“I don’t think I can really do anything about that right now but I’ll try to eat better…?”

“___...”

You squirm a bit in your seat and put your fork down. “I don't want to let anyone down or have to let any of my coworkers pick up my slack--I feel like I can’t take less time working and I don’t know what you want me to do...”

There’s a moment of silence.

“It probably looks like I’m just trying to stress you out more, but I don’t want you to burn yourself out tesoro. I’m just worried about your health.”

“I know, I know. You have a point though--” a yawn interrupts you.

You wipe away the tear forming at the corner at your eye. You honestly just wanted to go to sleep now that you were full.

“Okay I’m sending you to bed, but we need to talk about this later.” Bruno gets up to grab your empty plate for you.

You’d disagree if you weren’t so tempted. “Fine…”

Retiring early for one night wouldn’t kill you.

[missmalice202]

Designing Your Melody: Chapter 04 - Chocolate

Chapter 01 - Chapter 03

“All right, mate?” Luka looks up from his guitar and sees Jagged Stone, rock star extraordinaire, poking his head into the recording studio. “Something’s got your sound all mixed up. So tell me,” he cajoles as he strides into the room, brimming with confidence and larger than life, “what’s got your knickers in a twist, eh?”

Luka stills his fingers and gives his attention the other man now sitting on a stool in front of him. He could literally feel Jagged staring at him, a look of unabashed anticipation on his face. Running his fingers through his teal tipped black hair, he closed his eyes and sighed.

He’d tried not dwell on how utterly frustrated he was. It’s been almost a week since his fateful encounter with his new inspiration, but he’s no closer to finding her. All he has is the mysterious melody playing on an infinite loop in his head and the scrap of paper that he now carries with him everywhere he goes, tucked securely in his jacket pocket. He isn’t sure where to even begin to start looking for the girl. After some serious thought, he contemplated asking Juleka if she would know how to track down a certain fashion designer because if the drawing he had in his possession was any indication, she was obviously very skilled and therefore had to be well known in the fashion industry.

But unfortunately for the guitarist, by the time he had worked up the courage to ask his sister to do some investigating on his behalf, she had been booked for a photoshoot overseas and had left the country. Sometimes he just had the worst luck. Plus, between doing deliveries in the morning and getting some studio time with Jagged to prepare for his next album, he honestly really didn’t have the time to be hunting down a single girl out of the two million residents of Paris. The odds were not in his favor.

In the end, he had resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to wait until Juleka came back and then ask her for help. Until then, the only thing he could do was tweak her melody and keep her design safe. He’s sure their paths will cross again. They had to.

“Nothing has my ‘knickers in a twist’ as you so delicately put it. I’ve just got some stuff on my mind, is all.” His fingers pluck at the strings of his guitar restlessly, the notes contradicting him wordlessly.

“Sorry to tell ya this, bloke, but that guitar of yours is callin’ you a liar. Level with me, man, anything I can do to help a rockin’ musician like yourself out, just let me know. We’ve gotta get that sound of yours back in harmony.”

“Yeah,” Luka responded listlessly, “I know, Jagged. Thanks.”

Luckily, they were interrupted by a knock on the window separating the recording studio from the control booth, signaling that the producer was ready for them to begin their session. The last think Luka wanted was to be interrogated by the flamboyant rocker, regardless of how well meaning he was.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

After their recording session was over, Luka decided to grab something to eat before heading back home to log in and get some grinding done in-game. However, he seemed to have acquired an extremely obnoxious and over-eager shadow.

“I’m telling ya, mate, that’s some of the best playing I’ve heard since I worked with your mum. You could become a superstar if you set your mind to it.” Being ambitious and hungry for attention, someone like Jagged Stone just couldn’t understand that there were some people who preferred to linger in the shadows.

“I’m happy just playing my music, to be honest. I don’t have any grand ambitions of stardom.” A small smile graced Luka’s lips. “I don’t want a record label to try to dictate what I play or how I sound. I don’t mind playing your music because it speaks to my soul, but I want my freedom when it comes to my own music”

Jagged threw his head back and laughed, holding his stomach in mirth. “I feel ya, mate. There’s times I wanna kick some of these record labels prats out on their arses. They have no respect for the artistic process. I can’t just snap my fingers and deliver a chart- topping song. It takes talent and dedication and, most importantly, they gotta feel it in their soul!

“Oh! That reminds me! Penny!” he called over his shoulder at his ever present and long suffering personal assistant, “I want you to send some chocolates or flowers or whatever it is that girls these days like to Marinette. That girl is fabulous and dedicated to her craft and I want her to know how much I appreciate her help.” She nodded, tucking a stray piece of her sleek burgundy hair behind her ear and took out her tablet, tapping a reminder in her notes.

That caught Luka’s undivided attention. The Jagged Stone he knew wasn’t the kind of guy who just gave other people presents. If anything, he expected other people to do things for him, without a seconds hesitation or complaint. For him to go out of his – or rather, his assistant’s – way to offer a gesture of appreciation was, quite frankly, unheard of!

“Who’s this Marinette girl?” he asks. “What did she do for you that was so important that you’d want to send her a gift?”

Jagged reeled back in shock. “Oh, what hasn’t she done for me? Whenever everything goes pear shaped and I’m in a pinch, I know I can count on her to help me out. I mean, one time she made the wicked rock n roll shades for me. Another time, she basically saved my career when she redid my album cover after the bloke who did the first design wouldn’t accept any of my input and came up with this absolutely bonkers cover art. And now this time, she’s really saving my skin. I had to ask a massive favor of her and in such a short amount of time too.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I just want her to know that I appreciate her style and all that fabulous girl does to help me when I’m in a bind.”

Honestly, Luka was a bit surprised. Jagged usually wasn’t one to sing another’s praises, so this “Marinette” girl must really be something special.

Luka looked at his phone to check the time. “Well, Jagged, I’ve got to run. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

“Cheers, mate. I’ll catch you next time.” Jagged saluted the younger guitarist. “Do what you need to in order to fix your sound. It’s doesn’t sound right when it’s all jumbled up like that.”

Luka waved goodbye and left the record label, heading home to his boat.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

When got back to home, the quiet slapping of waves against the hull of the boat was the only sound he heard as he strode across the deck, taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful sunset reflecting over the Seine. It was kind of lonely being the only one on board. He couldn’t wait until his sister got back in a few days. Until then, he’d just have to fill the silence in other ways. Shaking his head at his own melancholy, he ducked into the cabin and made his way to his bunk.

Deciding that he needed to find his center again after such a chaotic week, he toed off his sneakers, settled onto his bunk, crossed his legs and gently rested his wrists on his knees to meditate. Maybe that was why he had been so off lately; he just needed to clear his mind and get rid of the negative energies swirling inside his mind. Taking a deep breath in, he closed his eyes and relaxed into his meditation.

Thirty minutes later, he opened his eyes feeling refreshed and less off balance.

Glancing at his phone again, he figured he had time to get some gaming in before heading to bed. With any luck, Ladybug would be online too. He liked playing with the rest of his clanmates, don’t get him wrong, but Ladybug was just such a badass. Her skill was unparalleled and when they were in the midst of an intense battle, she took command of the situation and always led their team to victory. She fought with grace and made everything she did look effortless. If he were honest with himself, he just enjoyed being in her company. She had such a sweet voice that even when she was barking out orders on the battlefield, she still sounded as clear as a bell.

After logging on, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that luck, for once, was on his side: she was online. That was a relief, especially considering she’d been MIA all week due to being busing working on whatever project she had going. Deep down, he was a little jealous that “real life” was dragging her away from the UMS4, and therefore away from him. But he did have to admit that it was a bit hypocritical of him to be jealous of her being busy when he was bordering on obsession with finding someone who, if he didn’t currently have her design tucked into the pocket of his jacket, he would have thought that the whole encounter had been an extremely vivid figment of his overactive imagination.

Walking up to her avatar, his own waved in greeting. “Hey, Ladybug. Just you and I tonight, huh?”

Her avatar waved in response. “Hi, Viperion. Looks like it. Want to do some grinding and work on equipment upgrades since we don’t have enough people on our team right now to do any major missions?”

He smiled and his avatar gave a thumbs up gesture. “Sounds good. Let’s go”

As they traversed through their online world, she struck up conversation to fill the silence. “So what have you been up to this week? Anything fun and exciting?”

He chuckled softly. “Not exactly. Just working and practicing. How about you? How’s your project coming along?”

Her groan echoed in his ears, making him laugh under his breath. “Oh god, I’ve been working non stop since I last played with you. Five days, working ‘round the clock without even leaving my house. I’m pretty sure my parents were about to send a search party up to my room to check and see if I was still breathing,” she laughed.

“Oh? You still live with your parents?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “We have a very good relationship, so it works out well for us. I help them out with their shop from time to time when I have time and they give me food.”

Luka laughed, shaking his head. Sometimes she really was too cute. “That’s nice. I live with my mom and sister, but they’re out of the country right now, so it’s just me. I never thought I’d think this, but with them gone, it’s too quiet here and the music in my head is a bit overwhelming in the silence.”

There was a brief pause before she responded, “the music in your head?” He could hear the confusion in her voice.

“Yeah, I’ve had this song stuck in my head for almost a week now and I can’t get it out of my head until I find what I’m looking for.”

“Uhh- Okaay, I’m not sure what you mean, but I wish you the best of luck finding what you’re looking for.” He heard her yawn audibly through his headphones. “And on that note, I’ve got to go. I have to get up early to help my parents with their shop since I have some time before the next phase of my project.”

A little disappointed that he wouldn’t get to spend more time with Ladybug, but he understood that she had prior commitments. “All right. Will you be on tomorrow at all? I had fun just messing around with you tonight.”

“I should be able to get on for a few hours tomorrow night. I had fun too,” she admitted. “Well, goodnight, Viperion.”

Smiling softly, he replied, “Sweet dreams, Ladybug.” And logged off himself.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Turning her console off, Marinette plugged her controller into the charge cable and turned off her desk light. Stretching her arms over her head as she walked over to the ladder leading to the loft where her bed was located, she giggled as when she realized that she had learned more about Viperion in that one conversation than she had in the months she had been playing with him since he’d joined “Miraculous Kwami”. She enjoyed playing with him. He was just so calm and collected, completely relaxed even in the most stressful situations. There were many occasions where his level head had really helped keep her calm enough to figure out how to defeat an especially tricky boss. Plus, it didn’t hurt in the slightest that his voice was really hot. Idly, while she changed into her pajamas, she wondered if his face matched his voice.

Shaking her head, she thrust that thought right out of her mind. Online was online and reality was reality. It wouldn’t do to confuse the two. For all she knew, he was a 45 year old bald man with a pot belly and a handlebar moustache. Shuddering at the thought, she shook her head again and made the decision to just leave things as they were. There are just some things that are better of not knowing.

Chapter 05

*Not going to lie, I had a lot of fun writing Jagged Stone. I also tried to stuff in as much British slang as I possibly could while still having it sound relatively natural.

Oh, and if you want to understand a little bit what Luka’s music sounds like when he’s confused and stressed out, this is what I listened to when I wrote the first scene of this chapter.

Until next time Lovelies XOXO*

[skelffricat]

Good grief, Charlie Brown.

I’ve never owned an electric toothbrush. I’ve never had a dishwasher. I am the dishwasher. I like washing dishes. I never bought an iron. I don’t have a hairdryer. I find it strange that I get advertised these reusable alternatives for things that I never use anyway. Alternatives to cling film. I put another plate over the dish. Alternatives to cotton buds. I use my finger. (Ew, you may say, but surely a finger’s that size to fit in ears and nostrils? Or whatever orifice you please. Wash your hawnds.) Alternatives to cotton wool circles. What? I dont know why these thoughts have come into my head, when I want to write about my youngest child. Really, I’m meant to be working, but an annoying email from my dead daughter’s school sent me down a suicide rabbithole. Perhaps those other thoughts come about as my classic brain avoidance schemes. Like when you hoover instead of doing an essay. Positive procrastination, I used to call it. I wanted to visit some friends last night- a fun thing! but I was feeling all solitary and awkward. I cleaned the bathroom ceiling at first, instead! I had to really talk myself into going to see them. I was looking at my bed and it was saying, “Get into me! and read your book!”

Then I went, and I had a lovely time, of course. I still finished the book I was reading, when I got home at midnight, until three am, making myself ever so tired. I’ve stopped taking the tablets- beta blockers and mirtazapine (more by accident rather than design. They’re still up in the chemist waiting for me. I’m rather disorganised) and so sleep doesn’t come as readily. I have to take deep breaths for ages sometimes, to get over. And I awake in the night hearing things that aren’t there. I heard The Woodcarver calling me, one night, plain and loud as day. Another time, I heard my son knocking my door three times, sharply (or was it a burglar? I said that to someone and they laughed. Burglars don’t knock! Oh, hello there, wake up, I’m robbing you blind!) Bounced out of bed. Heart hammering. Called him. He was fast asleep. Was it her ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts, really. Kind of wish I did. She’d be a mischievous one, no doubt. Is it always 5:57am, when I awake? The same time. Time to find your dead child. 

I’m often in the house alone, now. They didn’t want to leave me alone, and there were so many people in the house, for ages. Then all of a sudden, it stopped. And I changed lovers... I changed to the one I’d been in love with for over a year, the one who seemed too young, the one who wasn’t interested. Suddenly he was interested. Well. It wasn’t sudden. It took a few weeks. Seven weeks? The seven week itch? It coincided with when the Scottish lover asked me to stop letting other people come to the house. He wanted me to himself. Which is kind of fair enough, though I knew it wouldn’t last anyway. (People coming to my house, I mean, not the relationship. I really enjoyed having a relationship with him. He is very sweet, funny, intelligent, and kind. The sex was great. He can cook wonderful food and play guitar well. I liked to sing with him. I am ashamed to say I was bothered by his being smaller than me, though. His face tended to itch me, too- he never quite grew a beard long enough to stop that. As he kept shaving it off, not because he couldn’t. That was the first time he kind of annoyed me, though.)

Lockdown doesn’t help, of course. We were all breaking rules in our grief. Covid is cancelled, my mother said. Masks off. Hugs all round. A friend told me you need extra oxytocin when you’re grieving. I was getting plenty of it. Good grief... 

Now I am frequently alone, and as my new lover is very busy studying (or perhaps less interested in me again now that he has my attention back? Though his reticence in getting with me stemmed from his concerns about the uneven nature of our interest in each other...) I haven’t seen him all week. I feel myself becoming depressed, and withdrawn, and paranoid, yet I still don't feel particularly sad about my daughter’s death. Which is strange. Isn’t it? Here is the email I received from her school this morning (it had her name and class at the top of the email): 

“Good morning

I hope this email finds you all well.

A number of years ago I signed the college up to the campaign against period poverty. I receive and distribute sanitary products to girls, primarily on free school meals, but any who are in need of the products and either can’t afford them or it is difficult to get them. The products are normally distributed by myself, during P.E and games, unfortunately this can’t happen at present.

These products are still available during the school closure. If you wish to avail of them, please contact our school info account (which is only read by one member of office staff) your request will be directed to me and I will contact you directly regarding collection.

These are difficult times for many at present and to quote my favourite supermarket, ‘every little helps’.

Kind regards...”

I was really with her until she quoted Tesco. And said they were her favourite!! Ugh! I mean, it really is a great idea. Though they really should check if the people they are writing about are still capable of bleeding. My heart bleeds....

I replied thus:

“Hello there.

Great idea, but as (my youngest daughter) has died, she won't be needing them any more. I hate Tesco- they ruin many little businesses.

Maybe take me off this mailing list?”

Then I attached one of her seven suicide notes: the one for school. Which I had previously not shown them. I only found it on Christmas Eve. Can I attach it, here? It has no names... 

There we are. Is it wrong of me to find her notes amusing? She is so angry, people say. I wonder how much of it is literal, and how much of it is using the school as a big nameless scapegoat. She was funny in the rest of them, too, and very loving. I found them comforting, like a fucked up Christmas present.

Then I started reading articles about suicide, and they were about how we shouldn’t call the people who do it selfish, about how depressed they are, how they need pity, not anger. I’m tired of the pity (though I’m not the suicidal one). I’m not producing enough sadness from myself when people pity me, either. Where is my sadness? Am I too acceptant of it all? We are all going to die. Is suicide like a C-section? Is it cheating death, like I thought my Caesareans cheated birth? Is suicide self euthanasia? Why do I not miss my daughter more? Is it because she had already left? Was she released, happy, free as a bird, swooping away on an Awfully Big Adventure? Trapezing her way into the æther? I googled to see if I could find any positive reactions to suicide. Is this my nature, to try and find the good in everything? To try and make light of the horrific? Is everything a joke to me? 

I found this blog post, from Andreas Moser.

I love it. Am I trying to take the blame away from myself? The NHS? The school? Should I be reeling and railing against the systems that let my daughter get into that state? Why am I instead trying to find ways to applaud her behaviour, accept it, even enjoy it?! When I read his words, “I admire their courage (because logical as it may be, it’s not easy) and the determination to make the ultimate decision in life oneself.” I felt a strange sensation of relief, that someone else could think those things. I had been thinking them, but trying not to, because it seemed like such an awful thing to think. But then I think, why does anyone else have to be to blame? It was her decision. 

The book I was rereading is called Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson. It’s my favourite book, I have decided, for now. Do favourites stay favourites? I was looking at my old Couchsurfing Profile today (because of Andreas’ blog- he, as a hippy hermit, is, of course, on Couchsurfing). One needs to update these every so often. Explain that you have watched another film in the last twenty years, that there is one less sofa in your living room, one less child on your earth. Even though no-one is allowed to move around, really. No visiting. No exploring. Perhaps she killed herself to escape the boredom. 

In Life After Life, the main character, Ursula, lives again and again. (I forgot that to live again and again, she had to die again and again. It's a very sad and graphic book, spanning two wars- read it. It is, ultimately, uplifting.) I wanted to read it again to make my daughter live again, and again. We need to write her alive. Show her drawings and paintings. Listen to her songs (they're hilarious). Read her poems. Admire her photographs. Tell the stories of her antics.

I know that really she was actually depressed and withdrawn. I know it isn’t a glorious escape. That her wee head was broken, and that sometimes it’s just easier to say, it was unfixable, she was determined, this is what she wanted, than to contemplate it as my (or anyone else’s) failure to help her. I know that she used to be confident and gregarious. She would have danced in front of people, inspiring others. She was always upside-down, tumbling, twirling, cartwheeling. She had a dry, cheeky wit, and rather an amusing obsession with poo and wee. She was kind, and wise. She liked to bake vegan treats. She could draw, and paint, and sing so beautifully. She played the ukelele, but by then she was hiding away. She had started to write poems- songs? She wouldn’t show us them. We had to beg her to perform on the trapeze for her Granny’s eightieth, in July. She did so, beautifully, but you could tell she hated the attention. Four months later, she hanged herself on it. 

Had we all withdrawn into ourselves, this 2020? Was there really nothing else to do? Yet I remember the start of Lockdown seeming idyllic. All that free time, all that sunshine. Was I just trying to convince myself, as usual? The only people we saw were the Woodcarver and the neighbours. She taught the wee boy next door to ride his unicycle. When she died, he brought in a picture he had drawn, of them on their unicycles, she as an angel above herself, a rainbow arcing over the three figures. His sadness affected me. I felt like I could only be sad through other people. Where is my sadness? Where is my grief? Good grief, bad grief, no grief? Alternatives to grief.

[quicksilversquared]

How to Announce a Pregnancy Chapter 4

Several years after the event of How to Fake a Marriage, Adrien and Marinette are ready to expand their family. When it comes to breaking the news, though…

Well, some people are harder to tell than others.

Month Eight, Week 1. Mr. Agreste returned from his trip in the middle of the night. He was too tired and grouchy from the plane ride (and also a very minor sunburn) for them to even try to slip in a family dinner before the gala that he was insisting they attend.

It was honestly getting ridiculous at this point. Or maybe getting ridiculous was the wrong phrasing.

It already had been ridiculous. It was just worse now.

"If anyone knew to look for it, they would be able to tell that I'm pregnant," Marinette said as she scanned her reflection in the mirror. "Otherwise…"

"Considering that you'll be giving birth in a couple weeks, it's insane that it isn't immediately obvious," Adrien commented. He scanned Marinette's dress, looking it up and down. With the draping sweater hiding the side view of the bump and a gorgeous gold necklace drawing attention to Marinette's neck and away from the bump that was almost entirely hidden by the black empire-waist dress, it would be a rare person who picked up that Marinette was pregnant. "I know exactly where to look, but as long as no one is looking too close they won't pick it up. And no one should have any reason to, really."

"I just worry that someone will figure it out partway through the evening." Marinette fussed with her dress once more, than straightened. "Hopefully they wouldn't just blurt it out in front of a group. Private congratulations I can deal with."

"And that's the most we would get, I think. You don't look that far along, especially not in that dress." Adrien gave Marinette's arm a quick squeeze. "You look radiant, love."

"Thank you."

The Gorilla picked them up, since the gala was a bit out of the city limits and neither Adrien nor Marinette wanted to borrow her parents' bakery van again. Mr. Agreste had already headed out, of course- he had insisted on overseeing the last of the preparations- so they had the car to themselves and were free to update the Gorilla on the progress of Marinette's pregnancy. He listened with an interested expression though, as usual, he didn't make any comments.

"We have approximately three weeks left to tell Father," Adrien commented, and wow, saying that out loud really cemented the fact that there was not a lot of time left. "We're talking to Nathalie, of course, to try to get dinner scheduled, but she only has so much control over Father's schedule."

"I've practically resigned myself to showing up for dinner a couple months in the future with Emma in my arms and letting Mr. Agreste find out then," Marinette mumbled into her hands. "That's just how this is going right now."

"I think the papers might have picked up on her by then," Adrien pointed out helpfully. "And honestly, I refuse to hide our kid from the world just because Father can't make time for us. If he finds out the news via tabloid or some investor congratulating him on his granddaughter, so be it."

"I was curious, so I decided to look up stories of other people who didn't discover their babies as early as usual," Marinette told him as they merged onto the highway. "And there were cases where people got to the giving labor part without realizing. And they must have had even smaller bumps than me."

Adrien let out a low whistle. "And we were rushing to get all caught up on all of the tests and forms and whatnot when we found out at four and a half months. I can't even imagine getting to nine."

"To be fair, some of them went into labor early. But yeah, the point still stands." Marinette caught herself mid-yawn and made a face. "Ugh. I rested all day today, I shouldn't be tired."

Adrien glanced over at her. "How is leave treating you?"

"I like sleeping in. And I got one of my projects done, so there's that." Marinette shrugged. "I'm normally going to be doing more during the day, but I just wanted to be rested up for tonight. Not that it's made any difference, it seems. Maybe it's just because it's dark outside and I'm hungry."

"We'll leave early," Adrien promised. "We can say that you've been working hard at work- which is true, even if you've been doing a lot of work from home recently. Maybe we can bring up the idea of scheduling a family dinner next weekend when we see my father."

Marinette made a bit of a face, but she tried to hide it. Adrien couldn't blame her. He was starting to think that they would have to wait two weeks minimum for his father to even consider scheduling a dinner with them, and that would put Marinette at eight months, three weeks.

Traffic was light, and it didn't take overly long for them to arrive at the gala. Adrien and Marinette wove through the crowds, greeting a few people that they recognized and avoiding others that- well, that they recognized but had no interest in talking to. Mostly people who thought that Adrien should return to being a model and Marinette should join Gabriel since she was part of the family now and had no problem telling them exactly that.

"And Father is busy, as always," Adrien sighed once they caught sight of Mr. Agreste, surrounded by designers and investors and department heads clamoring for his attention. "He's not going to work through that crowd until after we've left."

"How deeply unfortunate."

Adrien laughed. Marinette looked as though she wouldn't mind that at all, and frankly he couldn't blame her. Not with how all of their conversations with his father recently had gone.

"We should try to talk to Nathalie, at least," Adrien decided a few minutes later. "She might have an idea of what his schedule is going to look like and if we could schedule a dinner."

Marinette glanced over at the gaggle of people waiting to catch his father's attention and made another face. Adrien followed her gaze and this time, he spotted Nathalie in the middle of the fray, looking harried as she typed things into her tablet.

Things weren't looking hopeful, then.

Still, that didn't meant that they couldn't at least try to have fun. The food provided was delicious, of course- Tikki enjoyed the dessert spread while Plagg visited the cheese plates, and both Adrien and Marinette found things to eat- and there were a few people who were decent enough company to talk to. Mr. Agreste finally worked his way over to greet them, though it turned out to be because he wanted to show them off to a few investors. They managed to exchange a few pleasantries, and Adrien was struck once again by how stilted and unnatural his conversations with his father were compared to his conversations with Marinette's parents. If they were talking with Tom instead of Gabriel, they would have already exchanged at least a couple puns.

His father didn't pun in front of investors. He also didn't pun when they were having family dinner at the mansion. Adrien had had more enjoyable job interviews.

That actually wasn't an exaggeration, which was pretty sad.

It wasn't long before Mr. Agreste moved on, stepping away with his eyes on another potential customer that he clearly wanted to set up an appointment with. Before he went, though, he gave a once-over of Marinette's outfit. Adrien tensed up for a moment, wondering if his father had somehow picked up on her teensy-tiny baby bump, but that wasn't the case.

"I would like to remind you that, for future events, ladies should be wearing at least a short heel," Mr. Agreste told Marinette stiffly, gesturing to her feet. "Particularly short ladies. Flats should be left for informal events."

And then he turned and left.

"Adrien, will you be mad at me if I strangle your father?" Marinette asked after a second of shocked silence had passed. "Or whack him over the head with my oh-so-unfashionable flats?"

"Only because you'd be exerting yourself without Tikki's protection," Adrien assured her. "Otherwise, I would tell you to go for it."

Marinette laughed. "I bet I could take him down with one hit. It wouldn't be exertion at all."

Adrien tried and failed to not smile at that.

Nathalie managed to catch them right as they headed towards the door to leave. She looked a bit hassled, though she managed a smile for them.

"He's going to end up putting himself back at the same level of stress," Nathalie told them. "Which I've told him, but he's convinced that he's fine. I've scheduled regular doctor's appointments, though, just to be safe. And several screenings that his regular doctor recommended."

Adrien nodded, a whisper of worry in his stomach. His father was going to work himself into an early grave, he really was. There was only so much that Nathalie could do to help.

"Make sure that you aren't overworking yourself," Marinette told Nathalie. "Surely you could use some help, too, to back off on the workload."

"I hired two helpers while Gabriel was on holiday," Nathalie assured them. "And set limits on how late I'm willing to work on normal workdays, blocked off weekends for myself, and made a resolution to actually use all of the vacation time that I'm given every year."

Adrien nodded. That was good. He didn't want to lose Nathalie to overworking.

"But enough about that- how are you?" Nathalie asked Marinette. She glanced downwards. "You don't- excuse my observation- you don't look eight months along."

"There's a combination of factors keeping my bump in," Marinette said cheerfully. "But Emma is the right size and is doing well, so we're not worried about it."

"I certainly wasn't judging- I know plenty of women who wish they could have been that small when they were as far along as you, Adrien's mother included." Nathalie smiled. "And I don't think anyone noticed tonight, which is nice. I'm sure it's great to not have strangers cooing over your stomach."

"My mom once punched someone who wouldn't get out of her personal bubble when she was pregnant with me," Adrien told Marinette. "She broke their nose, I'm pretty sure. I think it made headlines. Father wasn't pleased."

"He's never pleased, though, really."

Adrien tried his best not to laugh at that. On his other side, he could see Nathalie fighting with a smirk.

"I'll let you two go, since I'm sure you're tired," Nathalie said once she had sufficiently composed herself. "And I'll let you know if any openings for dinner come up. Your father has already filled up all of his lunches and dinners for this week with appointments, against my advice," she told Adrien. "There should still be openings for next week, once things die down a bit. You'll be at- what?"

"I'm at eight months and one week now, and eight month-two by next weekend," Marinette told her. She was frowning. "I'd be worried about how long telling Mr. Agreste has been put off if he wasn't literally doing this to himself."

"I'd say that after this, you'll get a good four to five years of him never canceling a dinner on you again," Nathalie said. A small smile slid onto her face. "I personally can't wait to see his reaction. Promise me that you'll make sure that I'm in the room when you tell him."

"I think we can manage that much." Adrien grinned at Nathalie. She had never seemed this devious when he was younger. "As long as you don't decide to leave the city on whatever night we finally manage to pin my father down for dinner."

"I never leave Paris, you know that." Nathalie glanced back through the crowd. Mr. Agreste was gesturing to her, looking irritated that she wasn't right by his side. "I have to go. Good night, you two."

"Goodnight, Nathalie."

  As Nathalie had expected, week eight months, two weeks didn't even get as far as having a dinner scheduled. Apparently investors and potential clients came before family, so Mr. Agreste was kept in the dark for one week longer.

At least none of the tabloids had picked up Marinette's pregnancy. It was probably a combination of two main factors- the fact that Adrien hadn't modeled seriously for years (he made exceptions for Marinette's designs, of course) meant that the tabloids really weren't that interested in him anymore, and then Marinette's small baby bump was easily hidden under a loose sweater or dress. They hadn't really been in the public eye that much, either, largely not going to any high-profile events.

The week after that- eight months, three weeks- came with a canceled dinner. Nathalie sounded exasperated as she delivered the news.

"That really is ridiculous," Marinette said after Adrien had thanked Nathalie and hung up. "And after he made such a fuss about wanting you to live in Paris instead of London! He sees you about as much as he would if we were in London."

"It's all about knowing that he could visit easily if he wanted to." Adrien made a face at his phone. "Just like how he wanted me to live at home, but then never ate dinner with me, and never dropped in to chat when I was back from London. He just wants to know that he would have the option." He sighed, wishing that his mom was still around. She would have way better about spending time with them. But there was no point on lingering on what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. "D'you wanna call up Nino and Alya and see if they want to go out for dinner? My father isn't the only one who gets to have dinner plans."

"Oh, I like that." Marinette perked up, nearly upsetting Masha and Sasha, who were competing for her lap space. "Alya's been swearing up and down that her bump is easily twice as big as mine now, and I want to see."

"I'll call them up right away," Adrien promised. "And even if they can't come out, we can go out. It would be nice to have one more date night before Emma comes."

As it turned out, Alya and Nino were free and 100% willing to head out to a casual restaurant for dinner with them. They hadn't gotten to hang out for a couple weeks, since Alya was still working and also had family visiting from out of town, and baby shopping had taken up all of the time not occupied by that.

And as it turned out, Alya was 100% correct about her baby bump being twice as big as Marinette's. In fact, twice as big was a bit of an understatement.

"Yeah, you're definitely showing," Marinette said with a laugh as they all got settled around the table and accepted their menus from the waitress. "See, that's why I couldn't believe it when the doctor told me that I was already at four and a half months, because that's what I think of when I think of five months along."

"I wish I could just stop at this size," Alya admitted. "It's quite big enough, thanks. Big enough to let people know that I'm pregnant, not just gaining weight, but not quite at balloon stage." She grinned. "But all this pregnancy talk- have you looked at the Ladyblog lately?"

Adrien and Marinette both blinked at that. "Uh, no?"

"Yeah, a lot of people haven't been, but I've been getting submissions and-look!" Alya pulled out her phone, pulling up the Ladyblog with a few practiced taps. "I mean, I always get photos, because people know that I'll publish them and they like having an audience. But I noticed something last night, so I did a bit of digging!"

Adrien and Marinette exchanged a nervous look. They didn't know where Alya was going with this, and considering that it was technically them that she was talking about, that wasn't comforting.

"Look!" Alya announced, shoving her phone at them once the Ladyblog had loaded. "There's one photo of Ladybug from last year, then one from two-ish months ago, and last month, and this month, and last night- and do you see that?"

"You mean, do we see the bright red circle that you've drawn around Ladybug's stomach?" Adrien asked dryly. "Yeah, it's kind of hard to miss."

"No, not that- the baby bump!" Alya exclaimed. "It's still small- just based off of my bump, I'm thinking she's at three months at most, probably- but it's definitely there. That skin-tight supersuit doesn't hide anything."

Adrien hid his smile. Oh, Alya was so far off. That was probably a good thing, actually- other people would probably assume the same, and as long as Marinette didn't go out as Ladybug for a couple months after Emma was born, people would keep that assumption.

Or if she went out, but there was some way to pad the suit to make it look as though she was still pregnant. That might not be a good idea, though, since there were bound to be people who would think that Ladybug shouldn't still be exercising as a superhero when she was pregnant.

(Which was dumb, of course, since both Tikki and their doctor were fine with the exercise (though the OBGYN admittedly didn't know about the magical part of it), but since when did that ever stop anyone from judging?)

"So if I'm right with how pregnant she is, Ladybug'll probably be giving birth a couple months after me! Just think, Emma and Elodie might end up being in the same class as Ladybug and Chat Noir's kid!" Alya was practically bouncing in her seat. "It's so cool that she and Chat Noir are hitting the same milestones as we are! I wonder if they'll dress their kid up in the Ladybug and Chat Noir baby clothes. I mean, on one had that could be a super obvious giveaway, but on the other hand everyone in Paris does that, so maybe not?"

"If their family and friends know- which they have to, right?- then what harm would it do?" Nino countered. "No one on the street is going to think anything of it. Though I do wonder how many amateur sleuths are going to be trying to look up who got married after Ladybug and Chat Noir announced their engagement, and then at which of those couples is going to have a kid."

Adrien and Marinette exchanged a look. They had timed the release of their superhero engagement photo so that people would by and large count out their wedding as a possibility, and it seemed to have worked. Then with a little help- once again, Adrien would have to ask Tikki about potentially padding the suit so Marinette could go out and still look pregnant after she gave birth- they could use the news of their superhero pregnancy to throw people off of their trail.

"Anyway, we've been discussing this ever since Alya noticed the bump in the photos," Nino added to Adrien and Marinette. "She's excited, I'm not sure if you could tell?"

They all laughed at that.

"I just think that it's cool, that's all," Alya defended herself. "Like, I thought that we would never even know 'cause she would stop going out for a bit. Or maybe that would be just as obvious, if Chat Noir was still going out. But we haven't gotten any new news about them for ages, so all I've been posting is old footage that people submitted and patrol photos, plus any new things that I've been sent about the old superheroes. It's not much, really, not when I used to be posting things every other day."

"Well, that's to be expected, since Hawkmoth is gone," Marinette pointed out. Adrien watched as her hand rested protectively on her baby bump. He knew that she was a little self-conscious about it, since she hadn't really gotten used to people really seeing it and commenting on it- well, besides the people that they had told, that was. Finding out that people had noticed that Ladybug was pregnant had come as a surprise.

Adrien hoped that the news wouldn't stop Marinette from wanting to go out as Ladybug again. They enjoyed their exercise time together, and it was a good way to spend a clear evening when they didn't have company over.

"And it's a good thing too, because trying to balance a full-time job and full-time Ladyblogging and a new baby would be really hard," Nino added. "And I'm sure Ladybug and Chat Noir appreciate being able to sit back and enjoy their evenings instead of having to be called out to save the city."

"Anyway, on the whole baby theme- your Nonna is in town now, right?" Alya asked Marinette. "Since Emma could come early?"

Marinette nodded. "Yeah, she arrived- three days ago, I think? She's been meeting up with some old friends and exploring the city so she isn't underfoot at the bakery. I met up with her for lunch yesterday and let me tell you, she is about ready to deck Adrien's father. She thinks that I should be able to wear maternity fashion that would actually show off what bump I do have, and that the worry about tabloids is what is keeping me from doing that. But I don't know if I would necessarily want to wear super form-fitted stuff out and about even if I could."

Alya looked surprised. "Really? But I'm sure you could find some super cute pregnancy outfits. And you would rock them, honestly."

"I wouldn't want strangers coming up and commenting about 'oh! A baby!' or trying to talk about me being pregnant or- or any of the stuff that I've heard about," Marinette said, shrugging. "You've talked about it before, with how annoying it is to have people doing commentary on your pregnancy. And I just don't want to have to deal with that. Besides, loose clothes are comfortable."

Nino made a face. "Okay, fair enough."

"Yeah, I nearly decked a lady a week ago when she was asking if I was planning on bottle- or breast-feeding," Alya said. She made a face. "Like, who are you, lady? Mind your own business."

Adrien grinned. "Marinette was considering whacking my father over the head with her shoe when he criticized her for wearing flats at the gala. Is the urge to hit people a pregnant people thing, or…?"

"The urge to hit your father is a normal person thing," Nino corrected Adrien, who was dodging playful whacks from Marinette. "And the urge to hit nosy people is probably the same."

"I know, I know, I wanted to whack my father myself, I was just joking!" Adrien yelped. He sat up with a grin once Marinette finally let up. "And speaking of which- do you want me to really rub that comment of his in once we tell him? Just to make sure he knows how much of a jerk he's been?"

Marinette's smirk was vicious. "Only if I don't rub it in first."

Nino just shook his head, bemused. "I don't understand how your father dares to cancel stuff on you guys. I would be terrified to cross you two. Particularly when Mari's smirking like that."

Their waiter came back to get their order then, and conversation wandered onto what maternity leave was like for Marinette so far (filled with a fair bit of jittering around when she wasn't resting or making sure that everything was as ready as it could be) and what each couple had left to do (not much for Adrien and Marinette, but Nino and Alya still had some stocking up to do).

"My office is turning into Elodie's nursery," Alya told them. "Which is fine, now that my book has gone to print. My stuff is going to stay in there for the time being, though. It's not like it takes up that much room, now that everything is sorted and put away."

"We had to move a chunk of Marinette's sewing room into our bedroom," Adrien said. He grinned at Marinette. "That does take up a bit of the room. But we'll manage."

"As long as I'm not trying to make twenty leather warrior outfits again, I shouldn't take up too much space," Marinette said with a laugh. "And I've mostly been getting screen-printing orders on commissions recently, since I put up a note on my site that said that I was pretty busy and only wanted smaller projects. That barely takes up any space at all, since I just do the designs on my tablet and then-"

"And then have to fill up your entire living room with clothesline to hang pieces up to dry?" Alya chimed in, looking dubious. "I remember how much space that takes, Mari. Don't act like it's just a tiny side project."

"I outsource the printing part of most of my screen-printing orders now," Marinette told her friend. "I have a professional silkscreen printer doing the printing bit on those pieces, and I just come up with the design. It's faster and more cost-effective. And space-effective."

"And 'fewer chemical smells in our apartment'-effective" Adrien added with a laugh. "Which we all appreciate."

"I can do slightly more complex designs with a pro printer, too," Marinette added. "They cost more, of course, but they cost me more to make at home, too, and there was no guarantee that I would get it right. And I get a discount at the printer, since I'm such a regular customer."

"And then you get to keep all of the printing mess out of your house. Good idea." Alya nodded appreciatively. "...when did you start doing that?"

"Last year, I think. Or is it closer to two years now?" Marinette tipped her head to the side, considering. "I don't remember. I had been considering it for a bit before I switched, and shopping around for someone who would be good to work with long-term took a couple months. I just thought it might be a good idea because I really enjoy the designing part, but not the actual screen-making and printing part so much."

"And stuff was taking up so much space of our storage," Adrien added. "And it was taking up her evenings when Marinette had an order to do."

"You mean it was stinking up the place while you were home."

Adrien grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, well, even if you did try to do as much as possible outside, some smell still ended up in here."

"So anyway, my projects at home don't take up that much space right now," Marinette said loudly, ignoring Adrien's grin. "And they're very portable. So having half of my stuff in our bedroom and half in Emma's room should work until we get our three-bedroom apartment, however long that takes."

"Right, of course." Nino glanced up and hastily gestured to clear the table, just as their waiter arrived with their pizzas. They accepted their water refills, then eagerly dug in.

"So," Alya said as she loaded her plate. "So you have just about one week left, right? Are you excited?"

Marinette laughed. "Excited, nervous, occasionally terrified in case we mess up or somehow missed getting something important. It varies, really." Reaching over, she squeezed Adrien's hand. "I know it'll be all right, though. No matter what happens, I know that Adrien and I can handle it together."

[monkey-li]

could you make a guide of how you make your art please? thanks in advance

Hello dear Anon ^3^~♥,

bless me backpipes /U///U\, that assumes I have a plan what I'm doing *cough*Unfortunately, I don't save all the steps between drawing something. I try...

I am far from professional or even efficient. I'm sure I still waste a lot of time on unnecessary steps, but drawing, like everything else, is an ongoing "learning by doing" process. It really never ends. I doubt there is even one artist or writer or anything else in the world who works creatively who says: Ok, now I am perfect, I can't improve any further.

Most of the time new ideas come at the worst moments, like at work, so in a few seconds I scribble something on the next best note so I don't forget the compilation. From my newest picture I still had the "Ideas Sketch" lying around...

Yes, that's what it looks like and yes all my pictures start like this... You can already see that a lot has changed in the arrangement to the finished motif.

When I am at home and can start drawing, the rough pose is sketched. From this very first process I have no more drawings, because I always use the same sheet and erase, draw, erase... until it is a picture... For the first poses I have now put something on to make it understandable.

This later became this:

The roughest intermediate step I have left is from a WiP. I think this gives the idea how a drawing of me comes into being.

I try to draw poses out of my head, like here now. But I also like to use TONS of references by googling the pose idea and looking at the photos. Or use screenshots or comic panels.

Never be ashamed to use references! Even people who have worked on huge projects like "Into the Spiderverse" do it! Use photos or have someone pose for you, draw your mirror image... There are no limits /^^/

A FINAL drawing from me looks like this:

You can see exactly how much I erased and changed. In the last step, vectorizing, you can still make small changes.

That brings us to the next part. Outlines and Coloration. I don't use a graphics tablet. I draw with pencil on paper, scan the image and use the free program "Inkscape" to make a vector graphic out of it. Because I love this way and I can create wonderful images that can be enlarged infinitely, for t-shirt printing and so on...

Okay, I'm still exploring this program. I taught myself everything through tutorials. Since I started vectorizing in "My little Pony - Friendship is Magic" Fandom, most of the Tuts came from there. Here for example is a collection

And I'm afraid there's no way around getting into tutorials if you're not lucky enough to know someone who already uses the program and is willing to be your teacher.In "Pony Fandom", Inkscape was the most regular program used to create images. I don't know what it's like in Duckverse fandom. I think many work with Photoshop or other programs. But I don't know anything about that.

Inkscape and vector is what I do. Everybody has to find out for himself what he prefers ♥ The main thing is that it is fun!!!

And to show that practice definitely helps. Here my first Dimeshipping picture versus my newest one:

Change in Artstyle cause I fell completly in love with the Ducktales Reboot Artstyle ♥0♥

Despite my constant nagging about the show THIS is something I will alway defend. I LOVE it! (same with the music ♥)

That doesn’t mean I don’t like the Comic artstlyes. I love them all! I just personal prefer to draw this way! Some say its easier to draw. I say it always depends on the practise put into it *shrug*

Ok, I really hope this answeres the question somehow. I will not be able to create an Inkscape Tutorial. Neither do I have the time nor the skillz. But there are already so many out there! Just give it a try and start \^0^/

Using Inkscape is btw the ONLY way of coloring I ever enjoyed. I hated coloring since I was a child lol. But now its fun ^^

[thegreenfairy13]

Dog Sitter - Prologue

I wrote another Gobblepot fic because it seems I have zero self-restraint. It will be mostly fluffy, maybe a bit cracky too. Hope you enjoy! You can also read it on Ao3.

“You did what?!”

Oswald Cobblepot’s high-pitched voice cuts through the silence like a knife. He’s standing in the middle of the Iceberg Lounge, exactly where its centerpiece - a frozen Edward Nygma - once used to be, a quivering employee kneeling at his feet.

If the situation wouldn’t be so serious it would almost be amusing. Once again, the Penguin finds himself in the situation of shouting frantically for his Edward to be returned to him immediately. Once again, he’s worried sick, half out of his mind from fear for his best friend in the world.

A twisted sense déjà vu creeps up Oswald’s spine as he’s losing his patience. His composure is - even on good days - at best tenuous. And today is decidedly not a good day.

The young man in front of him is shaking like a leaf on a stormy day, expecting imminent death.

“Where exactly did you see him last?” Grabbing the young man’s lapels forcefully, the kingpin starts shaking his subordinate like a ragdoll, doing an impressive imitation of the good Captain Gordon in the process.

“I...I...I don’t know,” the thin boy stammers out, brown eyes darting across the room pleadingly. “I only turned around for a second and then he was gone.”

“You had one duty!” the crime lord hollers, right hand already tightening around the kid’s throat. “And you failed me!” he screeches, slamming the lad’s face against the counter.

“How hard can it be to keep an eye on my dyspneic, short-legged, docile friend!” he screams, slapping the useless fool forcefully.

“It’s mating season for badgers and foxes,” Zsasz supplies unhelpfully from the door. “Makes the little fellows go crazy,” he adds, an evil little smile playing around his lips as he approaches his boss and the unfortunate child sprawled out over the counter.

“He could also have been kidnapped,” Butch chimes in, entering the room one step behind the bald-headed assassin.

“Mr. Cobblepot, Oswald, Mr. Penguin, Sir!” the boy screams frantically. “Please! It was only a dog, I’m sure…”

The boy has no chance of finishing his sentence before the King of Gotham knocks him out cold.

“Zsasz,” the Penguin snarls, wiping a drop of blood from his paper-white cheek, “Show Michael to the door and make sure he never finds a job in Gotham again.”

Turning on his heel he leaves it to Butch to clean up the blood. Flopping down on a sofa in his private rooms, he starts chewing his fingernails frantically.

It’s happening all over again. Once again, he’s losing what’s most important to him. Once again, he has failed to keep a cherished being safe and sound. The Penguin might be able to build an empire from the ashes time and time again, but when it comes to protecting his beloved ones, he’s utterly useless.

It doesn’t matter that his entire army of hired muscle, goons and thugs combs through the city in search for Edward. He’s already sure they’ll come back empty-handed or worse: with only a bloody collar.

And what if Butch had been right? What if Edward had been kidnapped for ransom? Or for more devious plans? His empire might be in danger again. What if, whoever has Edward, threatens to torture him? And who would be as barbarous as to torture a dog?

Oswald starts hyperventilating as his mind conjures one horrible scenario after another in which his dog is being held captive in a cold, dark room without food or water. In the more favorable settings, Ed is roaming the streets of Gotham, confused and scared while being hunted by dog-catchers.

With trembling fingers, he picks up his phone and starts calling each and every dog shelter in Gotham himself. He’s describing Ed over and over again, trying to be thorough and objective and failing miserably. When calling the seventh shelter he already sounds like a raging lunatic and can’t even blame the lady on the other end of the line for hanging up on him.

Needless to say, he doesn’t get much sleep that night. He misses his furry friend deeply as he twists and turns in his empty bed, unable to close his eyes. Edward had always been there for him.

Whenever Oswald would feel sad or agitated, the little guy would shuffle closer, nudge him with his cold nose and draw his attention towards him. Whenever he would get a cramp in his bad leg, he would lay down on it and keep it warm until the pain became bearable again.

In the morning, he would wake him up and force him to get out of bed, uncaring how bad his previous day might have been. During meetings, Ed would lay at his feet, keeping him grounded and preventing him from leashing out. Ed doesn’t like it when Oswald is shouting.

And now the only true friend he ever had is gone too. Just like his parents. Just like his boy Martin. Everyone always seems to leave Oswald or is being ripped forcibly from him.

Curling in on himself, the crime lord cries himself to sleep. He should have killed that stupid kid for daring to tell him Ed was only a dog when in fact he was so much more.

Despite offering a tremendous reward, it takes his men an entire week before relocating his beloved pet. And to his utter surprise, it’s Gabe - stupid, thickheaded, recently revived Gabe - of all people, who makes the breakthrough.

“And you are sure it’s not another imposter?” Oswald demands to know carefully. After the reward managing to attract all kinds of scammers taking complete collections of bulldogs to his home, the kingpin has become wary and doesn’t try getting his hopes up too high.

“There’s a website for people who found all kinds of pets,” Gabe elaborates proudly while pushing a tablet into his employer's impatient hands. “See, there,” he carries on while showing the Penguin various photos of a dog that is without a single doubt Edward.

For a moment, the Penguin is rendered speechless and immobile from joy.

Ed looks healthy on every single picture. He can’t make out any injuries, his fur is clean and he’s lying on a seemingly comfortable, yet cheap, pillow. On another picture, he’s playing with a ball on a lawn, looking happy and relaxed.

Whoever has found his dog, must have taken good care of him. Oswald vows to pay the reward even if the person in possession of his Ed obviously has no idea about it.

When checking the date on which the ad had been placed, the crime lord groans in frustration. He could have found Ed not even five hours after losing him had he just discovered this webpage earlier.

Snapping out of his stupor, he turns towards Gabe. The man is still hovering above him, a goofy grin plastered all over his face.

“What are you still doing here?” Oswald grumbles. “Go fetch my dog!” he adds, already reaching for his cane. It’s the one made of ebony, decorated with a penguin’s head and one his least threatening looking devices - just in case the lucky finder is a nice, elderly lady.

From the corner of his eye, the mobster can see his thug’s smile fading and his shoulders slumping slightly. An uneasiness creeps into the once self-pleased posture when Gabe takes the tablet from him again. The man starts fidgeting with his collar as he looks over his shoulder at Zsasz who, to Oswald’s endless displeasure, looks incredibly amused.

“What?” he grumbles, looking at his men. “Gabe, I swear, if we aren’t on our merry way to retrieve Ed in five minutes, I won’t hesitate to stab you 48 times again!” he growls menacingly, meaning each and every word.

After all, killing your staff isn’t a big deal in Gotham. Once you get sentimental, there’s always a possibility for revival. Well, if the person in question has been bad enough during his lifetime. For whatever reason, it doesn’t seem to work on the pure and innocent.

Arching his eyebrow expectantly he waits for Gabe and Zsasz to jump action, yet neither of them seems able or willing to move.

Finally, Zsasz clears his throat only to reveal with barely masked glee, “your dog has been found by the good Captain of the GCPD.” The Hitman then grins wickedly when what little color Oswald possess drains from his already pale face.

Barely withholding a crude curse, Oswald rises from his seat. Of all people in Gotham, it had to be Jim Gordon who found Ed.

Who else indeed, the kingpin thinks, almost chuckling hysterically when processing the news. It seems, there’s one cosmic joke the mob boss isn’t in on. However hard he tries staying away from the unruly detective, some kind of wicked karma forces him back on the other man’s path and vice-versa.

But here goes nothing. Retrieving Ed and taking him to safety is his first priority - even if it means dealing with James Gordon all over again.

[jessethejoyful]

the art school au no one asked for

I decided I wanted to try writing a carry on fic and they say you should write about what you know so - read it here or on ao3

Baz is a painting/drawing major, Simon is an animator, and much problem ensues. 

BAZ

At the end of every spring and fall semester, the art school hosts a student showcase, so we can gain experience with exhibitions and the like. I thought about entering a piece, one of my paintings, but I deliberated long enough that I missed the deadline. Which is absolutely fine, because everything from this semester felt like garbage to me anyways. I was trapped somewhere in my own headspace - but, anyway.

I wander through the student show, my eyes passing across the canvases and sculptures. Mentally, I have to keep my nose from wrinkling at some of them (how did these kids get into an art school? Is there actually any criteria, or do you just have to toss paint on a slab and say please?). Some of the students are standing next to their pieces, obviously brimming with pride. There’s one boy stopping anyone who is unfortunate enough to glance his way, and asking them a barrage of questions. (“How does it make you feel? Which one is your favorite? How much would you pay for this?”) I avoid him carefully, giving him and his creepy multi-face painting a wide berth.

It’s something of a surprise when I come across a laptop, set up on a podium by itself. That’s not art. But when I wander up to get a closer look, I realize it’s an animation reel. I’ve come up at the tail end of someone throwing a ball at a wall, which looks nice but is rather boring. I’m about to turn away when it changes to another clip.

The shot begins on a girl, curled in on herself, and a moment of her finger tapping the white space beneath her. And then she shoots up, arms flaring wide, head tilting back, and I’m blown away by the style of it. It’s not normal 2D animation, but a sketchy, wild style that somehow carries a lot of emotion just in the chaos. The video follows the girl, a ballerina, through a routine that I imagine would be heart-wrenching if it had music with it. Even without, I feel a pull in my chest, watching the obvious pain that flits across her shadowy and angular face.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.

The scene ends with the girl knelt down again, her back heaving as she breathes heavily, and I realize I’ve been holding my own breath. It comes out in a rush as the reel changes again. I expected something just as amazing, but instead have my eyes assaulted by an ugly, gritty-looking clip of two stick figures beating the shit out of each other. I feel the scowl rise on my face and narrow my eyes at the name attached to the podium.

Simon Snow - who the fuck would name their kid Simon Snow? Sounds like the heroine of some sappy young adult novel. Maybe it’s an alias for a less idiotic name.

I straighten and adjust my jacket, eyes flicking back to the screen in the hopes that the ballerina clip was back, but instead it’s moved on to some boring clip of fish leaping from a river. My scowl deepens, and I move on, refusing to return to the laptop. Anyone who would put such a stupid video in a showcase deserves no more of my attention.

The name Simon Snow flits through my head now and then over the summer, while I serve coffee at a small, artsy shop near campus. I wonder if he ever comes in, but no one claims the name Simon for their cup, and eventually I forget about the reel, and Simon Snow, entirely.

Until the start of the new term, when I’m carrying my supplies into the art building, my  heavy bag hung painfully on one shoulder. A girl’s voice shrieks, “Simon!” and I’m nearly bowled over as she dives by me, and I register a mane of frizzy red hair and warm brown skin, similar to my own.

“Sorry, Basil!” she squeals as she barrels away, and I’m startled enough that it takes me a moment to reply.

“How do you -?” But she’s already gone, down at the end of the long corridor and throwing her arms around a tallish boy with wild bronze hair, freckles so numerous I can see them from here, and a laugh that reverberates through the hall.

That’s Simon Snow?

Shit.

SIMON

Penny surprised me in the art building, but I was glad she did - she’d been gone all summer to study in Italy, and I’d missed her like I’d miss my left hand. She spent nearly two hours chattering to me about the different sites she toured, the museums she visited, the food she’d eaten, and I listened happily, grateful to have her voice filling up our cozy flat again. It had been far too empty without her.

I don’t know how she does it, but Penny is double-majoring in art history and sculpture. She’s dead brilliant at both of them. I was royally fucked in my own mandatory art history class until she started helping me. We’ve been friends since high school, so she knows I’m shit at studying, but I managed to brush by with her help. Thank God - I wasn’t eager to repeat that class. The professor nearly fell asleep at his own lectures, I don’t know how Penny can stand him, and he’s her faculty advisor.

Despite the heavy course load I signed on for this semester, I’m glad to be back at it. I spend summers feeling off-center, like I lose my sense of direction for a few months before wandering back from the wilderness in September with leaves in my hair (it’s a feeling that’s kind of hard to describe).

Animation is a lot more work than anyone outside of the field realizes. I don’t think I even realized it when I started, but now I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. Watching my pieces come to life on a screen is like a drug, a high that’ll never come down.

But it’s exhausting.

During the semesters, I spend more time in the computer lab than out of it, making use of the huge tablets and desktops provided by the school. Penny will come hang out now and then, but I get so scary focused and quiet that she usually gets bored and wanders out after a few minutes. She fell asleep there once, half-off her chair, and I let her sleep, waking her up around two when it was time for us to walk back to the flat.

Now we’re only a few weeks into the new term, and I’ve already fallen back into the habit, chatting up the lab’s student assistant before I claim my spot in a corner, ready to work until I pass out.

I try to keep an eye on the clock, but I get so into my work that hours pass without my notice. When I realize I’ve been there for coming on six hours without a break, I force myself to drop my pen and sit up, feeling my back creak in the process. I think I’ll go heat up one of the frozen meals I’d thrown in the student fridge last week; I can feel the hunger creeping up in my stomach.

It’s so late, just past midnight, that barely anyone is around. I’d work at home if I could, but the equipment is so expensive that I can’t really afford my own, with only a laptop and a shitty knock-off tablet that I use for personal stuff. The cord is fraying and half of the time won’t connect, but it does what I need.

I’m shocked when I amble into the student lounge to find a guy digging through the fridge, the room around him so dim that the bright white light makes him look pale, like a vampire. But when he closes the door and stands up, I realize he’s got almond brown skin, and grey-green eyes like a deep lake. And he’s scowling at me.

“Can I help you with something?” he snarls, clutching a carton of cream, and I’m immediately caught off guard by the aggression in his tone.

“Yeah mate, you’re in front of the fridge,” I say slowly, pointing. His cheeks darken and he steps away, heading to the counter where there’s coffee brewing. Neither of us says anything for a long bit, while I pull my food out and chuck it in the microwave.

Out of the corner of my eye, I observe him, trying to take stock. The half-up bun and long sleeve black button-up seem about right, but I’m surprised by the massive black combat boots, giving him an easy extra two inches in height.  

Finally, because the silence is deafening, I say, “Working late, then?”

His answer is abrupt. “Yes.”

I try again. “My name’s Simon.”

“I know.”

I furrow my eyebrows at him, fed up. “Want to tell me yours then, or are you just going to keep being a dickhead?”

This clearly startles him, looking at me with wide eyes and saying his name, two quick syllables. “Bas-il.”

“Bazzzz-il,” I drawl, dragging out the z sound present in that ridiculous name. His lip curls, actually curls, and I’m almost impressed before something occurs to me. “Wait. Not Basil, as in T. Basilton Pitch?” There’s no way there’s multiple people in the world with a similar name, let alone this school.

“The very same.” I’m floored. This is the prat whose art I always notice in the halls? Every time I see an impeccable figure study or a breath-taking oil painting, the name ‘T. Basilton Pitch’ is always attached underneath.

Five minutes ago, if you had asked me who I thought was the most talented in the building, I would’ve said Pitch immediately. But now that the arse is standing in front of me, antagonizing me, I’m not about to give out any compliments.

“Oh. I’ve seen your work in the cases.” The microwave beeps at me, and I fiddle with it before saying grumpily, “S’ pretty nice.” Damn. That sounded more sincere than I’d meant it to.

“I’m flattered, I’m sure,” Basilton says sharply, before loudly dropping his mug into the sink and disappearing out the door. I throw myself down at one of the tables and start shoveling mashed potatoes into my mouth, annoyed now.

T. Basilton Pitch.

What a tit.

PENNY

It’s 3 am when Simon finally wanders in, squinting even in the darkness, dragging his feet like he’s left lead in his shoes. He always does this, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion and probably ruining his eyes in the process.

And then he has the audacity to try and lecture me. I’m reading by a soft lamp when he comes in, and he snaps at me about damaging my eyes, by reading in such dim light. I raise my eyebrows at him and flip the book shut. “Who spit in your tea tonight, Simon?”

He glances at me apologetically, dropping his bag onto the floor before throwing himself down on the couch beside me, head resting on my hip. “Basil,” he growls, as I absentmindedly run my fingers through his curls.

“Oh, met him, did you?” Simon sits up and looks at me sharply.

“You know him? How?”

I shrug. “He was in my Drawing II class. Put the rest of us to shame, with his drawings and his shit attitude. The professor told him to shut the fuck up once when he made a girl cry, and he just sneered at him. It was quite a scene.”

It had been a real scene. I make a point not to be friends with assholes, but I remember I couldn’t help being a little bit fascinated by this tall dark prat, who looked ready to throw hands every time the professor said anything. And it hadn’t really been his fault that girl started crying - we were in the middle of a peer critique, and Baz told her in somewhat harsher terms that her anatomy was way off.

She’d just started bawling. It was embarrassing for everyone.

I tell Simon as much, and he seems genuinely intrigued. “Maybe he’s just an asshole to people he doesn’t know,” Simon says slowly. “Maybe if I’m nice to him, he’ll be nice back.”

“Simon, not everyone’s like you. Like if a golden retriever became a human.” He looks almost offended at this. “Baz is endlessly contrary. I wouldn’t put money on even you being able to befriend him.”

“Penn, come on. Everyone needs friends.”

I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

BAZ

Three days after I officially met Simon Snow, I’m still kicking myself for the whole thing.

Seeing him up close had just been too much. This dead handsome idiot, standing over me at nearly one in the morning, staring at me with his mouth open - far too much for my sleep deprived brain. I’d gone and made a complete ass of myself.

It was the first time I’d left my studio that day, just looking for a coffee, and my brain had stayed behind.

Honestly, though, it’s probably all for the best. I’m too fucking queer to have a guy that good-looking around on a regular basis. (What is up with all those freckles? He looks ill. I want to draw the constellations on his face.)

When next I see him, it’s thankfully from a distance again, far across the campus green. He’s got two girls with him. I recognize one of them, short and stout with that mad frizzy hair, but the other is a complete stranger. Even far off, I can tell she’s beautiful, even to my gay ass. (I’m gay, not blind.) She’s the kind of beautiful you can’t help but notice. Waist-length honey blonde hair, a perfect figure, expensive-looking clothes and high-heel ankle boots, though they still don’t make her as tall as Simon.

Too late, I realize I’ve completely stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, gaping at them across the lawn. My eyes lock with Simon’s, and suddenly he breaks out into this enormous grin.

I might be a little fucked.

Simon is saying something to the girls and then jogging toward me, and my time to escape has fled. Not that I could’ve - that smile was so much I think it rendered me briefly immobile, gluing my shoes to the pavement.

“Hey, Basil,” Simon greets me sheepishly, stopping before me and rubbing the back of his neck. He looks so carefree, in loose jeans that somehow look good, and a graphic tee partially covered by a paint-stained hoodie. He rips the green beanie off his head and shoves his hands through his orange curls, making them stand on end. And he’s wearing these massive circular, wire-framed glasses, and I’m mesmerized.

“...Hey?” I say, cursing myself for letting it come out sounding like a question. Simon doesn’t even seem to notice, his smile smaller now but no less painful to look at.

“Look, I wanted to apologize for the other night. I was completely knackered, I’d been in the lab for hours and was feeling a bit grouchy.” To say I’m startled by this apology is putting it lightly. I’d been rude first, what is he apologizing for? Defending himself?

Maybe just this once, it would pay to play nice. I glance over Simon’s shoulder, where the two girls were still watching their interaction, waiting. “Er - it’s alright. I’m - sorry as well. I was barely functioning that night.” Simon’s face lit up at my mostly friendly response, and I think I might be barely functioning now.

“Penny and Agatha and I are going off campus for a bite, you wanna come along?” Agatha must be the other girl. I vaguely remember the name Penny, some distant memory from second semester. But there’s no way I’m up for that much social interaction today; just this interaction has nearly killed me.

“Ah, I’ll - have to pass,” I choke out. “I’ve got a date.” Simon looks surprised before I finish, “With my studio.”

There’s no way it’s relief that flashes across Simon’s face at that amendment. No fucking way.

“Oh, right, then,” he says. “Another time, then.”

Weary now, I try to smile, but I think it must look like more of a grimace, before I stride away.

“Basil!” Simon calls my name and I turn back to look. Now that I’m looking at him, he seems not to know what to say, his hand pulling awkwardly back to his chest like he’d been reaching out. “Uh - good luck with the painting!”

“Cheers,” I reply, walking away then without looking back.

SIMON

I’m wandering back to the computer lab that evening when I notice the light on in the studio labeled T. Pitch. It’s pretty late, already after ten, and while I’m not surprised Basil is still here, I’m a little curious. I’d grabbed a few scones from the bakery Penny works at before coming back to campus, with a mind to eat them later - but maybe Baz would like one. I’d heard Penny call him Baz, and I can’t blame him for the nickname. I wouldn’t want people calling me Basilton either.

I wonder what the T stands for? Could it be something worse than Basilton? Is that possible?

I knock twice on the door of the studio before turning the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. Baz is clearly shocked to see me, jerking his hand away from canvas he’s working and yanking his earbud out.

“Christ - ever heard of knocking?” All this guy seems to know how to do is snap and snarl. I’m already bristling.

“I did knock.”

“Well, you’re supposed to wait for me to say come in.”

“You’ve got headphones in.”

“Exactly.”

I force myself to take a deep breath, before I hold up the pastry bag. “Thought I’d bring you some food. You seem the type to get sucked in and forget to eat, am I right?” I can tell by the defensive look on his face that I am. “Look - don’t say anything. Just take this, alright?” I take the wrapped pastry from the bag and toss it too him, and he’s not too bewildered to catch it. “Have fun, yeah?” I back out the door before Baz can say anything else and snap it shut.

I don’t know what I expected. Some declaration of gratitude? I’d never expect that of anyone, let alone that prickly bastard. That’s not why I do things for people.

But fuck, was it too much to even be civil? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so grouchy. He’d seemed to quiet earlier, soft, almost. Shy. Maybe he’s bipolar. It wouldn’t surprise me whatsoever.

Or maybe he’s just an asshole.

I continue onto the lab, spinning my chair so the back touched the desk, and straddle it, resting my chin on the cushion. Penny yells at me that I’m going to ruin my back sitting like this, but it’s comfortable, so I always ignore her.

I’m struggling with a frame I’m working on, unable to get the flow right between shots. It makes me blink out sometimes, when I get really stressed by something that isn’t meshing. Normally I’d take a walk, but I’m not so sure tonight. What if I run into Baz? I’m pretty sure I’d deck him at this point, I’m so worked up.

I should probably just call it a night. I look at the close - 2 am. Yeah, I’ll just call it a night. I flick the light off as I leave the lab, letting the door shut behind me.

As I walk by the private studios, I notice Baz’s light is still on.

I keep walking.

[imagine-knb]

Kyaaaa I need some angst ! May I request a scenario with Akashi, Mayuzumi and Kise cheating on their girlfriend, and being really S A L T Y with her ! And then bam regret ! Please make it really angsty and make me cry ! Love yaaa 💕

I’m so sorry this took so long but these guys are seriously hard to write remorse for! I’m still not 100% happy with these but it’s been long enough that I don’t want to hold it open anymore. I hope you like! - Admin Jade

Kise

“Ryouta how could you?!”

When his career reignited after high school propelling him not only further into the modeling world but also opened doors to acting opportunities you’d been so excited, so proud of how far he’d come.

Then he’d been called to an overseas project and the tabloids started filling with pictures of your golden haired boyfriend looking a little too chummy with his co-star.

You’d tried to ignore it, knowing those rags always tried to twist things into what they weren’t but the longer time went on the harder and harder it was to deny what your gut was telling you.

So you can’t understand your surprise when you confronted him and he actually admitted he’d slept with the woman.

He’s not looking at you, still concentrating on the pages in his hand. “Ryouta answer me!” you scream.

He sighs, “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. It’s not like it meant anything. I just needed release. There’s a lot of stress working on a project like this.”

“So you call me and have phone sex! You masturbate to the nudes I gave you. Hell, I wouldn’t have cared if you ordered porn and got off to that!”

His eyes finally look up but there’s no remorse, no shame, no guilt to be found. “I needed a body,” he says simply.

“…a body? You needed a body…”

You’re shaking, rage flowing through your veins and if you don’t get out of here now you’ll probably throw up but still you bellow, “If that’s all you see your bed partner as then what the fuck am I, Ryouta? Just another in a long line of live fuck toys?!”

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses.

He may as well have slapped you. Blinking back tears, you nod, numbness overtaking your body as the last five years of your life flash through your mind’s eye in a moment. Without another word, you leave the home you’ve shared for two years with a man you thought loved you.

You never come back.

Kise sits on a patio of a bistro in a city he doesn’t even remember the name of watching people as they go about their lives, his mind drifting to you as it usually does in his moments of peace.

Peace? More like torture.

It grates on him that you still affect him like this after so much time. Is it guilt? Maybe. It’s so long since he felt that emotion, it’s like a stranger. He sighs, taking a sip of what he finds to now be lukewarm coffee, wrinkling his nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a familiar face…could it be…

He whips his head around. Yes, it’s you.

After over a year of not knowing where you went, whether you were alive or dead, you’re suddenly before him. His heart races and he wonders if this is the sensation people have when they see a ghost. But he’s relieved that you’re not a body lying in a ditch somewhere.

A body…

How did he allow himself to really become as callous and crude as that? Was it because of the industry? People often forget models and actors are more their appearances, more than the lines they deliver, more than the characters they portray. Eventually he’d forgotten that too. And he’d lost you.

You’re walking quickly, eyes darting up then back down to your phone clearly looking for something.

He steps into your path and you bump into him.

“Oh excuse me, I-“ but your voice halts when you look at his face.

“________-cchi, it’s good to see you.” He winces. That’s his opening line?

Nothing, no response, your eyes are…cold.

Kise’s feels an unpleasant sensation crawling up his spine as you continue staring, almost looking through him.

“________, I wanted-“ he begins again but is cut off by another voice calling your name. Both of you look to the side watching as a man in a well cut suit darts across the street to your side pecking your cheek drawing a fond smile to your lips. “Sorry I’m late gorgeous, traffic on the platform was a nightmare.” His voice is low, tinged with what Kise believes to be a British accent.

He stands back up, level in height to Kise, his brown eyes meeting the blonde’s own as he asks politely, “And who’s this whose been keeping you company while you waited for your deplorable fiancé?”

Fi…fiancé?

Kise’s heart burns then shatters completely when you grab the man’s hand and shoulder past him saying in a saccharin tone, “He’s nobody.”

Akashi

“She and I are more suitable. In the long run, you’ll see I’m right.” Akashi’s tone remains even, no regret, no hesitation. You’re no longer of use and are cast aside like yesterday’s trash.

“Does this have to do with my infertility, Sei?” you ask quietly.

His glance is more than enough reply.

“But, we could adopt! We could bless so many children without parents! You know the pain of growing up alone, without love and-“

“It’s important to pass down the Akashi line through an absolute heir. Someone else’s bastard doesn’t interest me.”

You stand trembling, tears rolling down your cheeks. “You’re just like your father.” The proclamation is quiet and you’re surprise at the steadfast way in which you speak it. “You use someone until they’re no longer any good to you. You take what is not yours, simply because you feel it should be. You’ll see, Akashi Seijuro!  You’re absolute, alright, absolutely deplorable. And you’re going to regret this.”

“Seijuro, I need a new dress for the event tomorrow.” Akashi grits his teeth, willing his temper to subside lest he lose control which he is not in the habit of doing.

“Fine, but take Itsuki with you.”

“I’m not taking a three year old shopping.”

Akashi grips his pen hard enough to bend it but she’s gone before he can respond, slamming the door. Across the hall a shrill cry of “mama!” is heard followed by a wail of despair. Standing, Akashi makes way to his son, gathering him in his arms a bit stiffly -he’s still not quite used to this- and rings for his valet.

“We’ll be going to the park,” he advises as the man rises from his bow.

Sitting on a bench, Akashi glances up from the tablet in his hands occasionally watching as Itsuki plays in the sand, a happy giggle floating on the air every so often. But then he realizes it’s been a long time since he last heard it. Looking up, his heart stops when he sees Itsuki is nowhere to be found. The park is empty.

Panic like he’s never before experienced seizes his heart. Inadequate as he is as a father, he loves his son and the thought of him lost or injured or worse makes him want to throw up. But he swallows down the bile and takes off, unsure which direction to go. There isn’t even anyone around for him to ask seeing as most people are at work this time of day.

Rushing towards the wooded area - Itsuki always has loved trees - he hurries around scrubs and brush, catching his face on an errant branch but he doesn’t feel the sting.

The sound of laughter catches his attention. People! Maybe someone saw something!

Sitting on a blanket in a circle around your picnic basket, you smile warmly at your husband and three children as they turn him into a makeshift jungle gym. “Can’t we take them to the park where there are things made to be climbed on?” he complains but his tone is fond, laughter in his eyes.

The crunch of leaves draws your attention away and you’re startled to see a young boy, a toddler really, teetering forward. There’s dirt smudge on his face and his clothes are a bit sandy but overall he looks ok, just curious.

“Where did you come from little one?” you ask, slowly moving to face him, giving him room to decide if he wants to come closer.

From behind you hear Taiga inhale a sharp but quiet breath. “Look at his eyes,” he says.

You hum agreement; there’s no mistaking who this child belongs to. A shiver takes over your spine at the thought of the wrath you’re sure will descend to whatever poor unfortunate soul allowed the pride and joy of Akashi Seijuro out of their sight.

“Do you want to join us?” you ask patting the blanket.

He steps forward, stumbling slightly and making a face that causes your own children to laugh which draws a giggle from him. Just as he reaches you, someone bursts through the underbrush and you can’t believe what you’re seeing. Akashi’s clothes are a mess, his hair disheveled and brow sweaty; he looks like he ran a marathon.

“Itsuki!” he cries, surging forward to yank the child into his arms, pressing him to his chest, half his face buried in the crook of his neck. “I was so worried!”

There’s silence save for the mild protest of his son wanting to get back down and continue his adventure. Slowly, Akashi’s eyes open, taking in the scene before him.

“Good afternoon Akashi-san,” you manage to say.

He nods, but doesn’t speak.

Akashi’s relief turns to discomfort the longer he stands before the two people he betrayed. He should be happy for you both, that you found love and solace in one another but all he feels is envy. Envy of how happy you look even in your shock to see him. Envy at the affection apparent in the way Kagami holds his three children – adopted by the looks of them. But he can’t help the feeling of contempt from rising up as he’s forced to face the truth of your words.

He’ll never regret the boy in his arms, but he regrets what he did, especially now that he sees what he could have had.  

Mayuzumi

“Where did you get the idea this was a serious thing?”

You’d never known it was possible to feel punched by words alone. Now you do.

“Close your mouth, you look unsightly,” Mayuzumi grumbles, though it’s surprising he can even see you with a book in front of his face.

“You bastard,” you whisper with tear laced voice.

His grey eyes level with yours. “It happened. Deal with it or leave, I don’t have time or want to coddle you.”

“No, you just enjoy fucking me.”

“Finally, something we agree on,” he sighs with rolled eyes.

“I loved you. Despite your ambivalence, I poured all of myself into what I thought was a relationship. For someone so well versed, you’re a shitty communicator.”

“Maybe you’re just stupid,” he snaps back.

You can’t stop your hand from whipping across his face. “You’re a waste of space, Mayuzumi, even with no one to notice you.”

Regret is not a familiar emotion to him. 

Life is life, what happens, happens and you deal with it and move on. Wasting time looking at the past is just pointless. But no matter how many times Mayuzumi repeats this to himself, regret barrels over him like a freight train whenever he sees you; especially with him. 

Because it’s just like high school all over again, a time with little to no fond memories for him. This just adds to the pile of reasons he has to loathe the man on whose arm you lean while Kuroko looks at you with eyes full of admiration and love.

And next to you he’s seen. 

One would think with such vivaciousness so close to him he’d fade away, become even more of a shadow. But here, in the real world, your light is bright enough to shine on both of you, warming him, drawing him to the forefront.

To a place Mayuzumi has wanted to be all along.

[ambunny]

If it isnt too much trouble can I ask you to go in depth about the Yiynova tablet you have? I've been looking at display tablets for a while and you're the first artist I've followed using this brand, and im curious about the what you like and dislike about it

Hey there! I’m no master reviewer, but I can share my thoughts and experiences using this tablet. I hope it’s of some help to you!

Firstly, the model I have is the early model Yiynova MSP19U, which I got back in July 2013, making it around 5 years that I’ve had this tablet. I believe they don’t make this exact model anymore, they seem to have upgraded it to an MSP19U+. The one I have does not have the side buttons, the face of the tablet is completely blank (this is preferable to me though, as I’m left handed and having shortcut buttons on the left side would not be useful to me anyways!).

Here’s an old image of what it looked like on its sale page:

I’ll now mention some of my opinions in pros and cons that I’ve seen while using this product. Keep in mind this was my first monitor tablet, and it’s still the one I currently use! I have never used a Cintiq or seen another brand in use other than a Huion of similar size that my housemate owns, so I don’t have enough experience with other brands to compare them to this one.

PROS-

-cost, does its job well for much cheaper than many other competitive tablet brands

-viewing angles are great, I use this tablet both for art and also as my main viewing monitor for watching videos and browsing websites

-monitor settings/programming are very nice and have many options for customizing

-pen pressure is responsive, minimal lag, feels very natural to draw on

-size is large, can easily display art programs + open reference images and has lots of workspace to utilize

-colour quality is excellent. May require some adjustment through monitor settings to get to what you want. It also had no dead pixels on arrival, and 5 years later I only have one or two dead pixels on the entire thing that are barely noticeable.

CONS-

-pen it came with has a few annoying quirks: the buttons on it are easy to accidentally press (which causes it to interrupt lines) but are programmable and can be disabled, which I did. The pen also is not rechargeable and uses 1 AAA battery, which gives it a weight some people may dislike (I prefer it though, & I use rechargeable AAAs anyway). It has a screw-on cap which unfortunately can be easily over-tightened by accident, this has caused my pen’s cap plastic to split a bit, making it easy for the cap to fall off while drawing. Taping it shut has helped, although it’s annoying. Lastly, the pen’s thin rubber grip cover can slip off super easily, it can be annoying while drawing (I’ve since just removed it entirely). I have heard that they’ve updated the design of the pen to no longer be the one I have, and fix the many issues mine had. But I have not been able to try out the new pen design yet. Here’s what my pen looks like:

The new pen design shown in all of their pages now is this:

From the pictures I can see that this new pen is reinforced so it shouldn’t be able to be overtightened, and it seems to have a texture throughout instead of a removeable grip that slips. It still runs on battery, and the buttons are placed in a way it still looks like they might be easy to accidentally click during drawing, though.

-vesa stand plastic quality is a bit poor, mine recently had the hinge holding it together shatter, which made the tablet no longer able to be adjusted in height/angle. I had to do a DIY fix haha, so far it’s holding up okay but not as well as when it was in original working order. Here’s a small picture of my broken vesa stand hinge, pointing to the part on the tablet that I’m referring to:

-VGA cable is a bit outdated and also a very delicate, susceptible to bending. VGA is an old input that many newer computer graphics cards don’t support, so I had to purchase a VGA to DVI converter. Minor issue, as it works fine with the converter. The second problem is a bit more serious. The cables on the yiynova are very seemingly delicate. They worked fine for the first few years of use, but now if I so much as bump the cable, it distorts the display and makes it flash in RGB colours. This is due to my computer setup requiring me to bend the cable slightly in order to fit in the VGA converter + tablet cable between the wall my computer is against. Right now I’m at a point where I have to manually bend/straighten some parts of the cord using zip ties, for the display to show proper colours. Here’s a short video showing what I’m talking about, in it I am bumping the VGA cable to show how the screen goes to magenta by a simple touch (warning for people with epilepsy, flashing colours):

https://www.youtube.com/embed/3_B6Vsv6deA

-screen resolution is a bit weird to work with at times, 1440 is fine but 900 is on the lower side. Other reviewers have complained about fuzzy resolution, but it doesn’t bother me so much and/or I don’t notice it as much, but I would definitely prefer an HD version. However, for the cost this serves its job well.

-size is great workspace wise, but this tablet is far too big and heavy to easily take with during travel. For those who travel, this is definitely a home model not intended for that.

Ultimately, I truly believe this tablet is worth it. It is easy and fun to work with. You get what you pay for, as there are some mild quality issues BUT these may have been fixed or improved upon in the updated versions. I don’t have much money and can’t afford to replace higher-end purchases like this, so I tend to use things I have for as long as possible until they are entirely dead and irreparable, hence the DIY things I’ve done to repair the pen, vesa stand, and VGA cable. I’m not sure how long a tablet like this is supposed to last, but this one has survived 5 years of heavy use, including moving house multiple times as well as across country, and cats that like to play with cables and loose pens.

This is all I can think of for now, I hope it helped! Feel free to ask me if you have any specific questions :D

[twilightvolt]

A 3 month late art summary featuring art that i haven’t uploaded here due to my absence. unless i randomly feel like it, i don’t think i’m gonna go back and upload them here. if you wanna see them, though, they’re all on my DA.

I know i've pretty much said all the important bits in A Sacrifice for the Wind, but i figure i reiterate everything said along with expanding upon everything that occurred during 2017. piece by piece. and yes, i did intend to make an art joke. So, to get it outta the way, 2017 stunk more than a dead fish on a city bus. i lost a lot during that year. i lost the will to believe in whatever the future had in store for me, i almost lost a few friends, i lost my motivation to work on my projects and above all...i lost the smile i've always kept on every year before that. never have i been so emotionally damaged in all 5 years of my artist life leading up to this point. But, i can't say it was completely terrible. as much as i bashed it, art wise, 2017 was a very progressive year. looking at every wedge on the clock, i can't stop staring at how far i've come since the end of 2016. after being stripped of my tablet at the end, i've even learned how to not be afraid of making permanent mistakes. But yeah, let's begin. by turning the clock all the way back to January. when things were much simpler.... January: Hukaro Nakawa ~Final Mix Yeah, this was done in October, but i uploaded it in January for Moon's birthday. plus, there was nothing noteworthy this month. i still remember all the nice comments i got. this was the beginning of a year that i ran right in and yelled "LET'S SHOW THIS WORLD THAT WE WON'T STAND FOR ANOTHER 2016!" Oh how naive i was... February: The Beast Inside Remember when i played a lot of League in my free time? i sure do. anyway, this was my next attempt after Hukaro to continue doing my "Squeenix Cinematic Style." this time on the, at the time, new revamp for Warwick. needless to say, i still think i did a better job on Hukaro. BUT, this was still pretty good. it was during these first few months when things were really lookin' up for me. i was continually working on things cuz i really wanted to make something and school was pretty cool too. March: Digimon ZX Cover ZX ISN'T DEAD I SWEAR! *ahem* I MEAN....hai. owo As we march on into March, i think R2 of Digimon Temporal Jump was going on at the time. we were going through our story entries and things were pretty great being with my best buds. i also began doing art streams i'm pretty sure, with this drawing in particular being done during two days of streaming. i'm being serious, by the way. ZX is not dead. i've been typing up the story on my phone, so look forward to those chapters sometime soon! April: Are You Ready? Yup. in anticipation for Digidestined.Com, i decided to start seriously developing Digimon Unchained ahead of time so people would be able to get to know Yuki beforehand. unfortunately, i didn't actually get to start the story until much later, but that was just me being a lazy bum. i was hangin' out on Discord and stuff, talking about how excited i was for what was to come. we all know what happened, but at the time, being able to go back to the world i once knew with Luneth was a big deal for me. it's like i was going back to the beginning. And fear not, peeps! i've been working on Unchained for quite awhile. you'd be surprised how much i've worked on it with Gao. ^w^ May: Bits n' Bytes Ultima Vocal Collection Oh yeah, i did a birthday gift for Fire too! just so you know, i do still wanna make OSTs for my other Digimon adventures, but without my tablet i can't really do them right now. this month was pretty alright if i remember. making new friends and strengthening bonds with old friends. things were pretty fun in the sun cuz y'know......summer was coming. June: Connection Flow in Ice and Snow AWWW YEEEAAAAH, LET'S KICK IT!!! *Another Way by Girugamesh plays at full blast* (if .Com had a vocal OST, that would be opening.....3 if i remember the list i made. would've been the final opening i think. it's been awhile since i looked at the files.) Now that .Com finally began, i was on the hype train to the sun as i feverishly worked hard on my .Com stuff. this poster was one of my proudest works this year tbh. i promised i would make something great outta this story. this would be the closure that Luneth and Vivi so desperately needed, and Yuki and Arcus would be the ones to save them and close their book for good. not only that, but i was also graduating high school. after throwing my cap in the air, i said my heartfelt goodbyes to all the friends i've known since elementary and middle school including the close friends in my AP Art Squad. Team AP Art Will Never be Apart! honestly, things couldn't be any more exciting for me. Gee, it would be a shame if something were to happen that would trigger a chain of events that would divide my friends forever and send me down a spiraling pain train to the void known as crippling depression. July: DigiJuly Day 5: V-Mon (Vivi) This drawing was done to commemorate three years of adventures with Luneth and Vivi. this was during DigiJuly, when i was doing Digimon doodles nonstop for the duration of the month. What was once a hype train became a train wreck once July came around. things were ok until DTJ burned down in a raging fire and that set the stage for the rest of the year. i literally wouldn't be able to overcome any of this until November or so. i don't wanna dwell on it anymore since i'd be sounding like a broken record at this point. August: D3P: D-Sona 3 Portable Not a lot of art this month either. can you believe that? XD Hoo boy. August. need i say anything more about this month? we thought things settled down after DTJ shut down, but something was amiss.... This was the month that it happened. the climax of the story best left untold....even though i told it a hundred times already. >_>' Outside of the incident, time was running short for our stay at our current home and we were thinking of our next move. i began to worry about college as steep student debt caused us to have a change of plans on where to go. i was beginning to doubt if i even had a future to believe in. i was running out of options, and i was running out of hope. And trust me, it only gets worse from here. September: The Next Generation After awhile, things were still going on outside my realm of knowledge. it only made me feel worse seeing everything transpire long after the initial conflict. with this stigma hanging over me, i finally decided to pack my bags and leave the Digimon group era of my artist life. it was a pretty sour note to end it on, but let's be real here, there was no way i could wait any longer for things to get better. granted, my birthday was awesome, and i couldn't thank everyone enough for coming together to try to bring my spirit back. unfortunately, my bout with depression was just beginning. it was so bad, i pretty much stopped taking care of myself, which would lead to a few days ago when i'd end up with one less tooth in my mouth. i swear i won't let it get that bad again. With everything plummeting down to the dark abyss, i said goodbye to the life i once knew. from here on, things were about to change. i wasn't gonna end here. not now. October: Howling in the Shadows From this month forth, my family had no idea where we were going. the beginning of the tale of the borderline homeless that still continues to this day. Packing away my computer and drawing tablet for what feels like an eternity, i was moving out of my current home that we rented for the duration of my senior year and into grandma's house......in a raging storm. i'm not kidding. the rain was so bad that when we got there, our clothes were completely soaked and we couldn't even see 5 feet ahead of us outside that night. i knew immediately that it was some sort of ill omen for what was to transpire in the coming months. in fact, i even had dreams of the aftermath of what might happen. Now that i was stripped of my digital art abilities, i had to think of something else to do. so, i decided to dedicate myself to going back to traditional art. Boy, did i have fun. November: Return to the Realm of Sleep Now, this was the only thing i was able to crank out in November. BUT, that doesn't mean i didn't draw. i drew stuff, but nothing noteworthy enough to upload here. i'm gonna tell it to you straight now. Arcus will return. With my mental health still kicking me in the butt (it hit me so hard i had a panic attack one day.), i wasn't really motivated to draw much. in fact, i even hid myself away from the internet for quite awhile. without my friends or my sense of purpose, i felt like i had nothing and i was pretty under the weather for a majority of this month. that being said, i snapped myself out of it by force. it was stupid that i still felt the way i did months after what happened. sure, it was horrible, and i wish i could forget everything. but i can't stay stuck in the past. And so, i picked up my colored pencils and other such tools, and began my journey to recovery. December: Lexicon (Lex) and A Sacrifice for the Wind I got the hang of drawing traditionally pretty quickly. throughout the month, i was on fire, drawing masterstroke after masterstroke. (at least, in my opinion. XD) Making my new home in the mobile communities of Amino, it was a nice change of pace from the big screen of my computer. i made a bunch of new friends (to the staff of the Aminos i'm in and the rest of the crew in our Digimon Discord server, you guys are the best and thank you for healing the pain of yesteryear!) and had a grand old time making new OCs, Lex being one of them. i honestly luv Appmon and i wish we got more, but i'm content with what we got tbh. it'll live on in Seikatsu and his friends. be ready to see them once again in the near future! And so, in the wake of destruction as the world continues to change around me, i chopped off my signature anime emo locks, revamped my wardrobe and set my sights toward the future. Nowadays, i've completely moved on from the pain, but that doesn't change the fact that it still happened. overall, 2017 was a complete pile of poopoo garbage and i'm glad the nightmare is finally over. Even if i can't completely write it off as bad, there's just way too many negatives that weigh down the rest of the year for me personally. it's March now and things are pretty hectic, but i've got newfound courage and i know this year will be better than the last. time for me to get back up and charge forth to a better tomorrow!

[sadrien]

prince of cats

chapter eight: which mannerly devotion shows in this

on ao3 || on ffnet 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

sorry this is late, its been. rough.

maybe dont expect a chapter next week? i should (hopefully) be moving into my dorm on sunday so uhh yeahhhh.

i literally know nothing about apartment hunting. i did some googling on like..what happens if you apartment burns down but i kept it suuuper vague so...sorry about that

enjoy

Marinette curls up at a chair in Alya and Nino’s kitchen and clicks through emails on her laptop. She needs to be designing, but her bag with her tablet in it is across the room and she doesn’t want to get up right now. She has a cup of tea in front of her and is comfortable with the way she’s sitting.

She’ll be productive later.

She checks her phone for messages, not sure what she’s expecting, but still being strangely disappointed when she doesn’t have any.

“Hey, girl,” Alya says, wandering in from the bedroom. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Marinette murmurs. She closes her email and goes back to the apartments she was looking at. “Still looking at places. I am…struggling.” She pulls on her pigtail as she chews on her bottom lip.

“Hm.” Alya places a dish in the sink. “You know you can stay here as long as you want, right?” she asks, turning around to face Marinette.

“I know,” Marinette answers, keeping her eyes on the screen.

“Mari.” Alya sits down across from her and slowly pulls the laptop away.

“Hey! I was—”

Alya closes the laptop. “The world won’t end if we talk about this.”

Marinette sighs. “I am definitely intruding.”

Alya scoffs. “Shut up, Mar. You’ve been my best friend for like a decade now. Which, one, holy shit we’re old. Two, you will always have a home with me. You’ve known Nino for even longer, trust me, he doesn’t mind.”

Marinette rubs her temples. “I just…”

“You don’t want to be a bother. You don’t want to overstay your welcome. Blah blah blah.” Alya grabs one of Marinette’s hands and squeezes it. “Remember when we were starting university and we both thought we were going to be jobless and homeless and I promised I would share my box with you?”

Marinette nods.

“This,” Alya taps on the table, “is my box. I am sharing it with you. I swear to god, Nino and I are more than happy to let you stay here as long as you need to. As long as you’d like. We want to help you. If you feel that bad about it, you can buy groceries every once and awhile. Give us a few euros for the rent.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marinette mumbles.

“I know you don’t want to back to your parents, but they’re there too,” Alya reminds her. “Even if they are a little bit further from your work. You might have to figure something out since they totally renovated your space, but your friends and family are here to support you. But you have to let us help you.”

Marinette sighs. “I know. I just… I don’t want to feel like I’m leeching off of others.”

“You’re not,” Alya says firmly. “We all know you can provide for yourself. Right now you just need some help and that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Marinette takes a deep breath. “I know.”

“You don’t have to keep looking for an apartment if you don’t want to,” Alya says softly. “Or if you want to take a break from looking for a few weeks. But don’t stress out about this too much. We’re here for you.” Alya leans across the table and presses a kiss to Marinette’s forehead. “I have to go work on an article, but let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Mhm.” Marinette stares at the table as Alya gets up and goes back into the bedroom. Marinette reaches for the laptop before she stops and unlocks her phone instead.

She opens up to a text conversation she keeps opening up to, like that will change the messages that have and haven’t been sent.

From: Marinette (the Neighbor) To: The Cat Guy Hi this is Marinette Just checking to make sure we put in the right numbers and everything

From: The Cat Guy To: Marinette (the Neighbor) Yup! Numbers are right, this is indeed Adrien How are you doing?

From: Marinette (the Neighbor) To: The Cat Guy Im doing ok Im going to be staying with Alya and Nino until I figure out what to do Ho w are you?? Are you able to stay with your friend?

From: The Cat Guy To: Marinette (the Neighbor) I’m doing pretty well, Plagg isn’t loving it though And I am, yeah! Hopefully I’ll be able to find my own place soon enough

From: Marinette (the Neighbor) To: The Cat Guy Thats good!! Hopefully Ill find a new apartment soon too, Id love to get my stuff out of storage you know??

From: Marinette (the Neighbor) To: The Cat Guy If you need any help looking for apartments, let me know! Ninos surprisingly good at it andhes been helping me out

From: Marinette (the Neighbor) To: The Cat Guy I hope youre doing well

She closes her messages and locks her phone. She looks desperate. It’s been over two weeks since Adrien last responded to one of her texts. She didn’t think he’d fade from her life that fast, but apparently she was wrong.

She needs to move on. She has bigger things to worry about. Like finding an apartment.

Marinette apartment hunts for about twenty minutes before she switches over to YouTube and starts binging random YouTubers.

Goodbye, productivity.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Has he texted you back yet?” Alya asks as Marinette and Nino lounge on the couch.

“Not yet,” Marinette says, keeping her eyes on the action on the screen.

“Hm.”

Nino pauses the show. “Did you ever find his social media, Al? You were pretty determined.” Alya groans and drops onto the couch, laying across Marinette and Nino’s legs. “I tried. And I did find an instagram, but it’s just pictures of his cat.” Marinette smiles a little, even though it kind of hurts. “I can’t believe he has nothing else.”

“He’s not a very social person,” Marinette points out.

“Whatever,” Alya mutters. “He’s kind of a jerk anyway.”

Marinette looks away. “He might just be busy.” She can feel Nino and Alya’s eyes on her.

Yeah, she doesn’t really believe it either.

✦ ✦ ✦

Marinette tries to leave the apartment whenever possible. She goes to work and stays out for lunch and gives Alya and Nino as much space as she can. She loves them and believes that they would let her stay for the rest of time, but she still wants to give them privacy sometimes.

She would get sick of herself too.

She visits apartments. Some that are too expensive, ones that she hates, ones that are too far from her work, ones that are falling apart. She finds a few that she likes. There’s one she sort of has her eyes on, but she’s also, strangely, a little worried about moving in. Or out. Or…on.

She’s getting lunch at a café when she looks out the window and sees a black cat sitting on the fire escape of the next building.

She finds herself thinking of Plagg.

Marinette goes back to eating and tries not to think of Adrien too much, but part of her knows that all she’s going to draw tonight will be Adrien’s face. The curve of his nose, the line of his hair, the sweeping lines of his hair— 

That reminds her that she still needs to buy new watercolors and colored pencils. Unfortunately, of the things to survive the fire, most of her art supplies was not on the list. The fire had started on the floor above hers, and had just reached her apartment when it was put out.

Honestly, she’s relieved that anything of hers survived.

On her way back to work, she stops at the art store. She shells out on a new set of watercolors and some paper and a brush set. She hesitates at the copic markers before getting a single green that reminds her of springtime and nothing else.

As she exits the store, a black cat rubs against her legs. Marinette looks down and the cat looks up at her, meowing.

She sighs and reaches down to scratch behind its ears. “I have to get to work.” That cat headbutts her hand. “So I can only be here for a minute.”

The cat meows in protest when Marinette stops petting it and stands up. Suddenly struck by inspiration, Marinette takes a picture of that cat at her feet.

She opens a message thread that hasn’t been active in over a month.

From: Marinette (the Neighbor) To: The Cat Guy [image sent] I met a cat today and thought of Plagg I hope youre both doing well

✦ ✦ ✦

Nino turns up the music as he cooks dinner, rocking back and forth and singing into a spoon. Marinette rolls her eyes and maneuvers around him to get to the cabinet with the spices.

“Marinette!” Alya shouts from the livingroom. “You’ve got a text!”

“A text?” Marinette yells back. “From wh—”

“Holy shit!” Alya screams. “A text!”

“That sounds important,” Nino says, raising his eyebrows.

Alya trips overself as she runs into the kitchen, shoving Marinette’s phone at her.

From: The Cat Guy To: Marinette (the Neighbor) [image sent] Plagg says hi and that he’s extremely jealous

[elfiesink]

Sands of Time, Chapter 1

History is a strange thing.

It is viewed by many as something forgotten and rediscovered. The past is something far off and distant. History is remembered but it’s not a memory. It’s old. It’s gone.

For you, history is ever-present. It’s remembering every face you’ve ever called friend. It’s standing in the middle of a crowded city and remembering when it was just a couple of poorly built shacks. It’s recognizing a sword hanging in a museum and remembering when a friend used that very same sword to cut every piece of fruit he ate because he could. It’s staring up at a portrait of yourself and struggling to remember who that artist was and why they thought you were something worth painting.

For you, everything is history. Time isn’t relevant anymore. If it ever was.

You’re walking the streets of Paris, remembering when the streets weren’t quite so clean, when the light wasn’t quite so clear. For a moment, you were still there. It was winter and everyone was cold. The snow was piled up to your neck and everyone looked at you suspiciously. You were a stranger after all. One who seemed to avoid the snow that dropped from the rooftops like it parted just for you. Which wasn’t exactly true. The snow didn’t part for you, you just pushed it away. You lingered there, in the time when the darkness flourished and called so loudly to those unfortunate enough to walk after dark. The darkness was still there, but now it had to be clever. Had to use pretty songs and pretty faces to get what it wanted. What you wanted.

You dance, calling attention to you. The people, the crowd, they watch you. Yearn for you. To be close. They reach and weave and tangle themselves together. You reach, and pull, and drain the silken twists of energy. A little thread from each sweat misted body. It fed you, sustained you, gave you strength and power. Your lips parted and your eyes began to search the crowd. You pick one, just one, and release the rest from your allure.

You are an ancient thing. A creature that has existed for eons. It’s not that you’re not human. You’re just also, not, not human. People have had a lot of names for your kind but only one has stuck in their world and yours. Vampire. Not the bloodsucking kind either. That is one of the greatest mysteries of the supernatural world. No one understands how it happened. None of you have fangs. None of you drink blood. Very few of you have a neck biting kink so it’s just, so strange. You, you are one of the ones with the neck biting kink but that’s none of anyone’s business. And it’s your neck that you like being bit. So the whole thing isn’t at all your fault.

… It’s, a little your fault. Don’t have affairs with strange Hungarian noblewomen.

Your new friend has a decent house, lives alone with more rooms than he needs. His will is weak and he buckles to your commands with an ease that almost makes you feel queasy. It should never feel so easy. There should always be something to push against. Some will to put down. You were finding it easier and easier. So you put him to sleep and stroll around his things. You stop when you find a tablet at the bottom of his sock drawer. It’s blinking. You carry it to him and order him to turn it on. The logo was familiar. Overwatch, you think.

You had never been particularly interested in Overwatch. Or in anything, actually. Not for a long time. You mostly wandered from city to city, party to party, drawing in energy and then picking someone to hang out with for a bit. You weren’t even sure why you did that. Were you lonely? It wasn’t clear. What was loneliness? What was company?

But this...talking gorilla, which you were not sure if it was normal or not, wanted to revive Overwatch. Or, something. You stopped listening here and there. The talking gorilla thing was distracting. Were there talking gorillas? Did you miss something? Were you in a haze somewhere in the desert again? You tended to do that. That’s how you ended up living in Egypt for a few centuries. You kept trying to leave, forgetting what you were doing in the desert, and somehow wandering back. You would stop, try to figure out how you were in Egypt, Again, and then you would repeat the process. It was reasonable to assume that talking gorillas happened sometime mid-desert. Maybe?

The gorilla wanted help. Wanted the people who used to be in Overwatch to come back. You glanced at the man dreamily looking at you. You took his face in your hands and looked back into his eyes, willing your mind through his. This man hadn’t cared anymore about Overwatch than you had. He had some friends in it, yes, but he didn’t care about helping anyone. It had been an opportunity to network to him.

“You will answer me truthfully. Would you go to help?” You asked, holding out the tablet.

The man shook his head. “It’s not my problem. I’m not a soldier anymore.”

You replay the message. This time paying attention. You’re not sure why. You just have to. You can help. You have powers. You’re strong. You can drain energy from their enemies. Perhaps, you should go. If they needed help… Maybe this is an opportunity to feel like you’re part of something again. Maybe this is an opportunity to feel anything again. The world might be a little less empty if you’re trying to save it.

“Where do I find this… person?” You asked.

“I think he was in Spain… Gibraltar?” He mused. He looked dizzy.

“I am taking this. You will forget you had it. You will forget you met me. You got drunk at the bar and got home safely.” You hold the man still, letting him go as you get up and walk up out of the house.

You get a plane ticket. You’ve got money enough. Truly old money. Because you’re truly old. It used to make you laugh. But nothing really makes you laugh anymore. It’s been far too long. Sometimes you think, maybe you’ll find something to laugh about again. Something will spring a spark to your eye again. But you’ve found nothing. Oh well. Keep searching. Maybe it’ll just pop up.

And maybe it’ll snow in the desert.

You haven’t spent a lot of time in modern Spain. It’s easier to look around and see the past. Glass and steel melt into stone and clay. Thatch roofs. The sound of horses and mules drawing carriages through the muck and mud. You lose focus on your way to Gibraltar itself, distracted by a lively club and a particularly good smelling bakery. You ate three loaves of their bread and left a bewildered and partially smitten baker in your wake. You’re in Spain for three months before you finally make it to the location on the tablet.

You can sense a few lives, deep within the mountain, far from the entrance you were lingering at. You wonder if they’re watching you. You pull out the tablet, waving it in front of you. There are cameras, you’re sure. You have no other way of speaking to them, so you wave the tablet and then you sit.

You’re wondering why you’re there.

You can’t just up and tell people vampires are real. You wouldn’t even have the time to explain what you really were and how you didn’t actually drink blood. They would immediately assume that you were a liar or a spy and then either kick you out or try to kill you. You couldn’t use your powers for them because eventually, you would need to regain that energy and drawing from power outlets was, odd. Less effective. So finite.

So you couldn’t tell them you were there to fight. And if you weren’t there to fight, then what were you there to do? Cook? Clean? That would make sense. People always needed food. Heroes couldn’t possibly have time for laundry. But you did. That was it. That was your offer. It was a shitty, disappointing offer. But they didn’t have to pay you. So.

The doors opened. You wondered how much of their remote functions still worked. The entrance tunnel was barely maintained. The floor was cracked, several lights were out, there was rust everywhere. The further you went in, the more decay was apparent. You were going to be, very busy. If they accepted you. You came to a large hub room, populated by a brightly dressed young woman. She smiled at you, waving for you to follow.

“This way!”

The woman leads you through tunnels leading up until you came out a door to the open air. You would have marveled at the view a few thousand years ago. Now it was just. The ocean. It was everywhere. Only the deepest parts of it were an unknown to you and contrary to common belief, you needed to breathe. Not that you really cared what was down there. It was just something you didn’t know. And that’s all it was.

You ended your journey in what looked like a workshop, staring at the talking gorilla. Which by now, you’re pretty sure is abnormal. Maybe. You don’t feel much surprise as you listen to him talk. You hand him the tablet and shuffle.

“It was my ex’s, he left it when he moved out. I saw your message and… I’m not a fighter or, anything but. I was thinking you could use someone to cook and clean but now it looks like you need repairs done. I could start by fixing… what… needs fixing. And then I could. Cook. You don’t have to pay me or anything.” You stumble and stop as you speak. It’s been too long since you’ve actually talked to someone without mesmirizing them. You shudder and pull your abilities into yourself. Your awareness of the gorilla, Winston, and the woman, Tracer, disappear into vague blips. It’s strange. To be inside your head, alone.

“Well… You are right. We do need help with repairs, and we’re stretched thin. Let’s start with a week, and see how it goes from there. Alright?” Winston holds out his hand to you and you look at it, confused for a moment. Oh yeah. People shook hands sometimes. You placed your hand in his and wiggled. Yes, that seemed right. You were doing it. Go you.

“Do you live close by?” Winston asked.

You hadn’t lived anywhere for longer than a few weeks in the past 500 years. You could just apartment hop but someone would notice. It was time. To Rent. You slowly blink, and then realize that he and Tracer are looking at you, concerned.

“No, but I’ll get an apartment...Sorry, I was trying to remember Spain’s rental market. I’ve lived here before.” Not quite this century, but you had lived here before. What was it like? The ham was good.

“You can stay here till you find one. Our quarters are just, not very private.” Winston offered. He seemed nice. You could get a hotel. Maybe if renting takes too long. You should just go with the first listing you find that’s a close walk. You don’t have magical speed. You could hurtle your body through the air with your mind but that’s noticeable. You probably shouldn’t. That would get questions. Unless you made it look like someone else threw you. Then it. Would only work once. Maybe if you were late and remembered how time worked.

“Thank you, are there bunkrooms or something that need to be fixed?” You started, then shook your head. “Medical space first. Then. Kitchens. Then dorms.”

Tracer smiled gently. “Sounds great! C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

Now she had unnatural speed. Probably science. Science moved so fast. Cities were changing every time you blinked. The more people found out the further they pushed. It was. It was something. Something to look at. Sometimes. You stopped following her to stare at some exposed wiring. That would need to be handled quickly. Before someone got hurt. You could absorb some of it though. Number one perk of being a vampire: can’t really be electrocuted. It’s the equivalent of poking your mouth with a chicken strip. But she’s calling you and you should pay attention to the teleporting woman.

Tracer leads you to a small room filled with beds, shuffling through them until she finds one unclaimed. You smile, thank her, and sit down with your phone, shuffling through internet articles on the best flooring for hospitals.

[ernmark]

Can I please have a vixen Peter sequel

Can I just say?

I love that we’re well into the seventh part of this particular series, and all this time the unwritten part is always referred to as the “Vixen Peter Sequel”.

I actually thought of a plot point at work a little while back, and I mentioned it to a coworker. To which she goes “oh, you’re writing this story now? What is it called?”

“Uh….” And honestly, I have no idea. Because all this time, I’ve always been calling it “Vixen Peter”.

Gonna need to come up with a better title before it goes up on AO3…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

I’ve had some pretty bad hangovers, but they’ve been nothing like this. I squint against the light that hits my eyes, but it doesn’t hurt like it usually does. My vision is swimming– usually that stops by the time I pass out– and I usually don’t get as nauseous as I am right now.

The ceiling over my head is too close, all neutral tones painted over riveted alloy plates. 

This isn’t any bar I’ve ever been to, and it isn’t my apartment or my office. And I… I distinctly remember drinking at home. A bottle of bottom-shelf rotgut I had stashed under the sink. And sure, it tasted kind of funny, but that comes with the territory of “bottom-shelf rotgut I had stashed under the sink”.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

I try to sit up, and my vision sloshes again. My thoughts are slow, but I can rub enough brain cells together to draw a conclusion: I’ve been drugged. 

I’m too busy trying to figure out which way is up to notice the other person sharing the cramped berth with me until he speaks. “Oh, good. You’re awake. I was starting to worry.”

Peter.

I whirl to face him, and it feels like the inside of my head decided to keep spinning without me. I think I’m gonna throw up, but I manage a glare. “Where– where the hell am I?”

He looks down at a tablet in his hand. “We are… passing through the Solar asteroid belt at the moment, from the looks of things.”

“The as–” Oh god. I’m on a spaceship. “How the hell did I get here?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Peter admits. “You’re heavier than you look, Juno, but I can be quite resourceful when I need to be.” 

It’s a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one, but it tells me enough. “You kidnapped me.” Which means… “You drugged and kidnapped me.” 

“I rescued you,” he says, like this whole goddamn thing is just a matter of semantics. “I take it you’ve never read A Tale of Two Cities?”

“What?” 

He waves me off. “Never mind, it’s ancient literature. These journeys get rather dull if you don’t bring reading material.”

Right now I have half a mind to slug him, but I’m pretty sure I’d miss. “We’re getting off the topic that you drugged and kidnapped me.” 

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he says– no, whines. He abducted me, and he’s got the nerve to whine about it. “The police were closing in. If I waited much longer, they would have caught you. I wasn’t about to let you rot in prison.” 

“Are you serious?” I’m practically shrieking. “Fleeing the planet just makes me look guilty!”

“But you are guilty,” he points out.

“That was entrapment and you know it.”

“That’s what I said, but the officers didn’t seem to care. In fact, they didn’t seem particularly interested in whether you were actually involved at all.” He sniffs indignantly. “I can see why you quit the force. You’re in better company without them.”

“I didn’t quit,” I mutter under my breath, but my mind is elsewhere, and I’m still too foggy to multitask. “If you actually wanted to help me, you wouldn’t have drugged me to do it.” 

“You were fairly clear about not wanting to see me again. I didn’t think you’d actually listen if I tried to reason with you. You might have turned yourself in, just to spite me.”

I huff. “Come on. Like I’m that petty.” I am, and I know it. And judging by the look Peter gives me, so does he. “Why do you give a damn what happens to me, anyway? I’m nothing but your fall guy, aren’t I? That’s all I ever was to you.”

His expression softens. “Oh, Juno…” And he reaches for me.

And that’s the last straw, more than the drugging or the kidnapping or the fact that he fucking dragged me into this mess in the first place. There’s plenty of time to be pissed about that later. But after all of that, he still thinks he can just bat those pretty eyes at me and I’ll be putty in his hands again? How goddamn pathetic does he think I am?

I slap his hand away before he can touch me. “Don’t even start. I’ve had enough of your lies.”

“Alright.” He sits back, putting more distance between the two of us. “Then turn me in, if you don’t trust me.” 

I glare, but my head is still too foggy to process it. “What?”

“Turn me in if you don’t trust me.” He’s completely calm and composed. “There’s a marshal on this ship with the authority and equipment to detain me. It isn’t as though there’s anywhere for me to run. I’m at your mercy, Juno. Do with me what you like.”

I swallow. There are a few dozen things I’d like to do to Peter, and handing him over to the authorities is pretty low on that list. I’m pretty sure Peter knows that.

Lacking a snappy comeback, I drag himself out of the berth and stomp away. Peter doesn’t try to follow me.

I wander the public halls of the ship, feeling lost on more than a few levels. This is all actually kind of new to me, beyond the drugged-and-kidnapped bit. I’ve  never been on a spaceship before. I mean, I’ve considered buying a ticket and leaving Mars for good, but I could never quite justify it in my head. Where would I go? Why would it be any better out there than in Hyperion City?

Technically now I have the chance to find out. It’s either that or go back and spend the rest of my life in prison over a grudge and a misunderstanding. It might not be all that bad, going out into the great big world and seeing it all firsthand. Maybe Peter might be able to recommend a few good places to start–

“Not going to happen,” I say aloud, and immediately I get shushed by the occupant of a nearby berth with its hatch still open. Frustrated, I keep moving. 

Peter’s a criminal. The last thing I need is to get even more involved with the likes of him. Shady morals aside, that’s a fast track to getting stabbed in the back.

But Peter tried to plead my case to the police, didn’t he? Why the hell would he risk talking to the cops when they’re actively investigating him? Or did he do that at all? Did he make it all up? And if he did, how did he know about how much the cops hate me? It’s not the kind of thing I ever told him myself, after all. 

Dammit, I want to trust Peter. More than anything. But I can’t. I shouldn’t.

I keep walking.

It’s hard to keep track of the exact layout of the ship, but I try anyway. Most of its mass is taken up by passenger berths, some of them large enough to accommodate couples, like the one I woke up in, while others are only meant for a single occupant. They’re not big– long enough to lay down in, tall enough to sit up, and not much more than that. There are larger, more luxurious suites cordoned off to one side of the ship (the back, maybe? It’s hard to be sure), kept separate from the other spaces by a little public area that’s probably meant to resemble a park. At least, it’s painted green and there are a few potted ficuses scattered around. The park is mostly there to let passengers stretch their legs; most of the several-day trip is meant to be spent sleeping or reading or watching the in-flight entertainment.

Which would be fine if I wasn’t trying to avoid my bunkmate. 

I can only make so many laps around the ship before I take a wrong turn and wind up in front of the berth I woke up in. Peter’s still inside, reading something off a tablet and sprawled across the small space in a pose that shouldn’t be nearly so sexy. 

He looks up with a bright-eyed smile that has quite literally brought me to my knees. 

“Ah, Juno,” he says warmly. “Did you enjoy your walk?” He glances over my shoulder. “I see that the marshal hasn’t come for me yet.”

“Not yet they haven’t,” I mutter under my breath. 

But Peter just beams at me. “I take it you aren’t planning to turn me in, then?”

“Maybe I’m still making up my mind.” 

Peter’s smile turns indulgent. “Come now. You won’t be stuck on this spaceship forever, Juno. Once we dock on Europa, you’re free to go anywhere you like. To the Outer Rim, back to Mars– or perhaps somewhere else entirely.”

I keep my mouth clamped shut. Nevermind that I was just thinking the same thing. It’s not going to happen. 

It doesn’t help things in the slightest when Peter puts down the tablet and comes crawling toward me on hands and knees in the narrow berth. It paints a picture that I really, really didn’t need in my head.

“We could go together, you and I. We can sell the loot and live a life of thrills and decadence across the galaxy, always running, never looking back. We could have quite a time together, Juno. Who knows what kind of trouble we could cause?”

I almost bite through my lip trying to remind myself that I’m not interested. Because it does sound like an adventure. Like everything I could possibly want. Only I’m not supposed to want something like that with someone like him. 

“I should turn you in.”

“And yet you haven’t.”

No, I haven’t. And I already know I’m not going to.

I turn around and walk away.

It’s been hours.

My comms isn’t good for much right about now, but at least the clock still works. Unfortunately, all it’s showing is how very slow time can move. 

I won’t go back to the berth– not when Peter’s still in there– so instead I walk laps around the ship. Just endless walking, round and round and round.

No wonder I never hear much about space travel. It’s really boring. 

When my legs get tired and my feet hurt, I slump down in the park and checks my comms again.

Six hours down. Just… sixty-two left to go.

Goddammit.

A shape steps between me and the nearest shrubbery. “Have you been enjoying your new exercise routine?” Peter asks.

Not this again. “Go away.” 

Peter just crouches beside me. “You can’t keep avoiding me forever, you know.”

“Doesn’t have to be forever. We’ll be docking in a few days. I can hold out that long.”

“Can you?” He sounds concerned. “The body needs sleep, Juno. And the flight attendants aren’t about to let you nap out here.” 

‘The body needs sleep’? Sounds like a challenge. “Watch me.”

“Then take the berth now. I’ll wait out here if you want; you can lock it from the inside. All I ask is that you talk to me.” 

I’m about to point out that we’re talking right now, but that might just invite more of a conversation. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“You–” He stops himself abruptly. When he continues, his voice is lower. “No, you don’t.” 

It’s about goddamn time he figured that out. “You lied to me, you used me, you drugged me, you kidnapped me, you let me think–” I clamp my mouth shut before I say something I’d regret. He let me think he could love me. “There is absolutely no reason why I should want you in my life.” 

I throw myself off the bench and stumble to my feet. My legs feel like jelly and I stagger, but I keep marching because I can’t take this anymore. I’ve just had too much. It needs to stop now.

“Then what do you want, Juno?” Peter calls after me.

“I should–”

“I’m not asking you what you should do or think or feel. I’m asking you what you want.” 

I don’t turn to face him. I can’t, because he’ll see it in my eyes.

I want to be his. I don’t care if that means being his muscle or his fall guy or his side piece or whatever. I want him, and I hate myself for it.

“I…” I scrub a hand down my face. “I’d really like to lay down right now.” 

“Alright, Juno.” His voice is soft. “I hope you sleep well.” 

I don’t need help finding the berth– not after all the times I’ve rerouted my pacing to avoid it. After all that marching, it feels amazing just to lie down. 

I pull the hatch door shut after me. There’s a lock on the inside, just like he said. I can lock him out and avoid him for the rest of this trip.

I leave the door ajar.  

I don’t know whether I’m disappointed or relieved when I wake up alone.

[batsy-batsy-batsy-blog1]

Your Puddin’ Wants You [The Joker x Harley] A sequel

The very much requested and long time coming sequel to Where Are You Looney Tune? which you can find here (tumblr link) and here (ao3 link)

Authour’s note: This is my interpretation of how long it took him to find Harley. I apologize if you’ve been waiting for this and it’s kinda bad. Also I’m writing this while my mental state is not very good, let’s see how depressing this can get.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was not supposed to take this long. He was not not supposed to end up here.

The bedroom was not supposed to become an unbearable place to be. Causing destruction, causing chaos, hell even so much as shooting someone wasn’t supposed to become so lonely. Yet joking around with no one to admire your humour is a pretty sad business, and not that he’d ever admit it, that’s what the joker was, sad.

2 weeks into Harley’s disappearance, Joker was more mad than anything. He smashed his phone, going even more insane from all the unanswered texts. Finding her had been but on the back burner (maybe he was half hoping she’d turn up on her own) and his every waking moment, which was every moment, was dedicated to revenge. He blamed the world for the fact that his favourite play thing had gone missing, and he destroyed where ever he went. This wasn’t exactly unusual behaviour for the Joker, but this destruction came with less laughter and much more irreversible damage. Instead shooting up a building and taking what he wanted, or maybe what she wanted, he burned the place to the ground and watched with stone cold eyes. Instead playing with one victim, drawing out the death and torture as long as he could, he would shoot and stab, killing in quick succession, because no one was innocent, everyone had wronged him. And why bother put on a show when you had no one to cheer you on?

1 month into Harley’s disappearance, revenge became boring, and what with never being able to get his hands on the two big culprits, Gordon and the Bat, he began to feel like he was wasting his time. Harley still wasn’t home, and he realized she wasn’t coming on her own. 

At this point, being alone was actually starting to take a toll on the Joker, and it was becoming visible. The man always looked positively immaculate, and now, he seemed to have dulled. Smile less wide, teeth less blinding. He almost always looked bored when at his club, because no matter what dancer they had that night, she wasn’t Harley, and she was, in his mind, and absolute train wreck compared to her. They simply didn’t, couldn’t, and would never do “it” for him. Harley had a certain something, maybe it was the fact she was bat-shit crazy, totally unhinged-mad, he never could out his finger on it, but he knew no one could compare.

2 months in, he had no more time for his personal endeavours, Harley being gone made everything un-fun. His smile was becoming a rarity, he was aware of that fact, and he wasn’t okay with it. He needed her home, fast, for his sake. He missed having his own personal cheerleader, his missed hearing he laugh, without fail, at every single one of his jokes. Her laugh always mixed perfectly with the screams of his latest comedic bit. Now, nothing. He had always been a firm believer in the fact that silence was deafening, and her silence had him going blind too. 

Public appearances were rare for him, he sent his goons to do all the work now. Everyone, except Frost, were now doing 100% of his “work”. A group of more trusted men were now in charge of the club, and he only came in when, what he liked to called, business disputes, arose. On a regular day, getting a face to face with the Joker was a terrible honour, and if you were oh so unfortunate as to receive one, you best had learned to hold your tongue. Now a days, it was certain death sentence, for those who distracted him from getting his Harley back deserved nothing less than the most painful death.

The 3 month mark came with a tremendous turn of events, that, thankfully wouldn’t last long. Anyone present in the Joker’s penthouse that night, those left alive anyway, would recount it as the most petrifying moment of their lives. It started a goon being sent to Joker to tell him that his latest lead on Harley had turned up empty. This lead also happened to being the first one he had been able to find since she went missing. From Frost’s point of view the night went a little something like this:

He was downstairs, hovering near the foot of the grand staircase, anxious to hear the Joker’s reaction to this news. He heard a gun go off, and the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor, that much he had expected. What he didn’t expect was the crashing, and yelling that followed. His feet slammed on the steps as he dashed to find out was was going on. Closing in on the bedroom, he could hear wood splintering, and could it be? Laughter? Frost arrived in the doorway, and he was shocked.

“Bitch, stupid fucking bitch...” Joker was muttering between wild-eyed laughter that seemed to be leaking how of him without him wanting to. Yes, laughter was an involuntary reflex, but this looked uncontrollable, and Frost could tell he wanted to stop, but he couldn’t.

The bedroom itself was in the process of being destroyed. The large wardrobe had been tipped on top of the body, it had a large pool of blood spreading from beneath it that gave the illusion the wardrobe was bleeding. His desk looked as if it had been picked up, and thrown against the wall, which Frost had no doubt he’d done, because now Joker was using one of the legs to smash the mirror of Harley’s vanity. The same vanity that held all of her makeup and the countless pieces of jewelry the Joker had acquired for her, the same vanity he had refuse to touch until she came back. This vanity was not covered in glass, but only for a moment, because not even a second after he broke the mirror, he threw the desk leg aside, and swept everything from it’s surface, smashing what could be smashed.

“She didn’t disappear, no no no, that little bitch left me...”

He jumped onto the bed, slamming the pillows into the walls until feather flew from them, and they depleted to nothing but fabric. He wasn’t done there, as he fell to his knees, digging his boney fingers into the satin sheets, and pulling until they tore. He put one piece in his mouth and grabbed the other with both ends, splitting it clean into.

“She never appreciated anything, did she Frosty old boy?”

Frost hadn’t even realized the Joker knew he was there.

“Nothing, that bitch, leaves me, turns me into this, I’m gonna kill her” More laughter “I’m going to fucking kill her Frost.”

After this announcement, he destroyed everything Harley owned, burned her clothes, broke her shoes, smashed her guns, snapped her knives. Then he killed. To list date, Frost swears it was the biggest massacre the Joker ever went on. The GCPD is still finding corpses from that night.

Before moving onto the city, the Joker killed every last goon he could find in his penthouse, a lucky few hid well enough to survive, then there was Frost, who was merely ignored, he felt so honoured.

Mr. J returned home with the sunrise. No one quite know what happened that night, there are few witnesses, and even those, only caught a glimpse of him, maybe a flash of green hair, a blink of he purple suit. The only things that are for certain that night is countless people died, 6 buildings crumbled to the ground, 3 burned down, and the Joker returned broken, bloody, and with a black sharpie smile drawn around him mouth.

Frost was the only one left in the penthouse, and the Joker looked him dead in the eye and whispered;

“Harley never learns of this,”

As he stumbled up the stairs, Frost could have sworn he heard him say, “Harley would kill me if she found out.”

As more months flew by, the bedroom had been completely shut up, Joker refused to set foot inside, and chained the door shut with an, albeit, over-dramatic chain.

Joker had taken to spending his time in a previously empty room, one of the many he had no purpose for. It had started with him taking his nightly drinks in there, sitting in the middle of the floor. Maybe he’d leave a knife or gun behind, the room was actually quite a mess of empty bottles and mismatched weaponry for a while. However, one day, the knives had been arranged into a neat circle, then the guns around them, he added his empty liquor bottles as well, then he started requesting things, the oddest of things. Obviously not from Frost, Frost had been ordered not to speak to him unless in was news of Harley. But his other goons, new ones he’d brought in, he sent them to fetch him more weapons, then laptops, 3 dozen roses, a piano at one point, but everyone heard him destroy it. The requests became weirder and more frequent, odd knickknacks, stacks of cash, full bottles of various alcohols he never drank from, tablets, iPads, a ridiculous amount of specifically joker and queen playing cards, even baby’s footie pyjamas, but no one was certain of where those came from, the list goes on. All of this gradually building up into his very own, neat and tidy, circle of insanity. And the second the Joker, King of Chaos, starts trying to create order, you know something’s up.

After the 8 month mark he never left that room, he delegated all the things he once loved doing, killing, mind games, all of it, put on the shoulders of his men, because the Joker may not have been himself anymore, but even he knew the importance of keeping up appearances.

9 months, and he was never not drunk. He had slowly been replacing all of Harley’s things he had destroyed, adding a mannequin into his room wearing one of his favourite jester costume of her’s. The first outfit he ever gotten her, you can’t beat a classic. Some of the iPads and tablets now displayed her face twenty four/seven.

Maybe this looks a bit sweet from the outside, but don’t be fooled, this man was broken. A shell of the grand, dramatic, show-boating, attention-seeking person he was, and to see him like this, well, it would have made the GCPD throw a party, I’ll put it like that.

You see, during these months, crime had gone way down, down for Gotham anyway, it still had some of the highest rates in the country. Without the Joker, other villains and maniacs viewed it as their opportunity, their 15 minutes of fame, but without trying to catch the Joker tying up all their time, the police had could actually crack down on everyone else, but no one could top him. He was Gotham’s most wanted, no one could compare.

Order had to be restored, Frost knew this, the mob bosses couldn’t think they ran the city again, all hell would break loose, and the perfect pecking order the Joker had created in Gotham’s underground would crumble.

Frost had been putting his full force into trying to locate Harley, he had never expected it take this long, it was as if they had erased her from society. Reduced her existence to nothing but a single mug shot circulating the air waves to serve as a warning, and a reminder the police could actually do something right. He new better, she wasn’t merely gone, Harley Quinn would never allow herself to be gone, someone knew something, and Frost was going to find it. It was, after all, all on him now, as Joker was too busy drowning his sorrows and slaughtering his liver to search anymore.

At exactly the one year mark, Frost found his final puzzle piece, a name. Grigges, first or last name he wasn’t sure, although, that would be a hell of a first name, it was all he needed.

This puzzle piece also served as a key, unlocking the ruthless killer we all know as the Joker. When he heard this, the car was brought around, and he emerged from his cave as bright and shiny as ever. A real smile on his lips instead of the one he fashioned for himself. Hair slicked back once again, clothes changed for the first time in weeks, and miraculously, he had managed to rid himself of the pungent stench of alcohol.

“Let’s play Frosty!”