#hey look i bought a new tablet pen finally

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

MAYBE IT'S FOR THE BEST I CAN'T GET ANY CLOSER.

I WOULD TEAR YOU LIMB FROM PITIFUL LIMB.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 21

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Sickness be gone!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Dr. Kemp gave me this journal. I met him today. He’s a therapist. Or a psychologist? He’s a doctor and he’s going to help me.

I hope.

He told me to put my moods in here, to write about how I feel, and to set a small goal every day. 

How I feel today: scared.

This morning was scary. We went to the doctor’s office and I didn’t know where we were going. I met Dr. Kemp and was less scared. Then we went to the mall and that was scary too. I tried on a short dress and that was scarier. Now we’re back at the house and I’m still afraid.

What if this doesn’t work either? What if I’m stuck this way forever? What if Dr. Kemp can’t help me?

A knock comes at the door and you tuck your new pen into the journal, closing it as you set it on top of your tablet. You put both on the nightstand as you call for Andy to enter. He inches open the door and pokes his head around.

“Hey,” he says, “I was just thinking, it’s been a long day. We can order in for the night?”

You shrug. You’re not very hungry. The large breakfast keeps your appetite at bay. Your anxiety helps as well.

“Um, that’s okay. I’m not very hungry.”

He sighs, his hand on the door. His fingers tap on the wood as he grips his hip, “you really shouldn’t skip meals. It’s not good for you.”

“I ate a lot this morning–”

“That was hours ago. You need to eat,” he insists, “I missed a week of work, honey, I can’t miss any more. I need you to start trying. Didn’t Dr. Kemp talk to you about this?”

You wince. He’s upset. You didn’t mean to make him angry. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I’ll, uh… take out sounds good.”

He lets the door fall all the way open. He crosses to the foot of the bed and touches the top of one of the shopping bags. You chew your cheek as you watch him.

“Are you gonna put all this away?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’ll do that now,” you get up.

He bought all those clothes, he took you to the doctor, on top of everything else. The least you can do is choke down a meal he’s also paying for. You go to the closet and open it up. You have two sweaters and a pair of jeans hung there. The rest of the hangers are empty.

“Chicken or beef?” He asks as he backs up.

“Hmm?” You look back at him with a handful of hangers.

“For dinner?”

“Oh, chicken,” you answer as you come back to the bed, “I’ll come down after I finish with all this.”

“Sure… uh, I could help,” he offers.

“No, I can do it,” you say, “that’ll be my small task today. Put this away and tidy up the room.”

He nods, both hands on his hips, “sounds like a good plan.”

You try to smile but your cheeks only twitch. You focus on taking out the clothes from the bag and looping them over the plastic hangers. He lingers and slowly slides out his phone. He turns on his heel and leaves you, thumbing at the screen with a hum.

You’re tired of letting everyone down. Amber, Andy, yourself. You’re not going to let Dr. Kemp down. You’re really going to try. You look over at the journal and take a deep breath. 

They’re just pages, but you finally have someone to talk to. Someone you can tell everything. The paper can’t answer you but it can listen without judgment. And in the end, you can always crumple it all up and forget the words.

You get everything hung, folded, and some put aside for the wash. There’s a weight of dread in your feet. You don’t want to go downstairs, you’d rather stay up here and lay down. It’s been a long day and you’re exhausted.

You find Andy in the living room. You bring your tablet to quell your restless hands. You sit on the far end of the couch as he watches a ball game. You peel back the cover and take out the pen. 

“Not a baseball fan?” He asks.

You pop your head up and look over at him. You shrug. You look at the screen as the umpire calls a strike.

“Don’t watch sports,” you answer.

“Ah, didn’t want to assume,” he leans forward, elbows on his arms as he presses his hands together, “we can watch something you like. I can catch the highlights tomorrow.”

“No, it’s okay,” you swipe the nib across the screen, “I like listening to this.”

You tuck your legs up and hunch over the tablet. You sense him watching you before he slowly leans back against the couch. You draw without thinking, a twisted elm tree with crows in the branches.

The commentators offer a steady soundtrack for your work. The crowd jeers then roars, swaying with the momentum of the game. You pick the perfect shadow of brow to add streaks to the trunk of the tree. You feel the couch shift but don’t look up. It isn’t until Andy’s right beside you that you tear your attention from your work.

He’s close. Very close. You sweat as heat radiates off of him. He stretches his arm behind you as he leans in to look at your drawing.

“Just a sketch,” you lower the pen.

“Pretty,” he says, “I’m not very artsy. Writing’s chicken scratch.”

You nod, “art is art. As long as you’re creating.”

“Pretty good way of looking at it,” he leans in closer, placing his hand on the corner of the tablet, “do you ever draw people?”

“Sometimes,” you answer, wilting at his proximity. He seems even bigger as he crowds you. You look up at the TV and drag the cover over the tablet, “why are they cheering?”

He lifts his head and exhales heavily. He retracts his arm from behind you and points with his other hand.

“Hitter just got a double and another player got home,” he says, “tied it up. If they can get another run, they’ll win. If not… well, another inning.”

“Oh,” you blink. You really don’t know much about baseball.

“We could go to a game, maybe, if you’re interested,” he offers, “they have great pretzels.”

“Maybe,” you keep your eyes on the TV, even as his head turns and he narrows in on you.

The heat between you becomes stolid. You have no space to turn over and you’re too afraid to stand up and go. You don’t want to upset him. He probably doesn’t realise how close he is. Plus, your personal bubble tends to be bigger than most.

The doorbell rings, breaking the tension, and drops his head as he grips his thighs. He stands with effort and you put aside your tablet. You listen as he answers the door and the crinkle of a paper bag underlines his exchange with the delivery driver.

He shuts the door and the smell of the take-out wafts in, stoking your hunger. You get up and meet him at the doorway, following him to the dining room. As he puts the bag down on the table, you wring your hands.

“Should I get plates?”

“Sure, sweetie,” he says as he rips past the staple in the fold of the bag, “that’d be great.”

🕊️

You can’t help but be relieved when Andy goes back to work. The house is still cold and lonely to you, but you’re happy to be alone. You set yourself a goal for each day; in the very least, you’ll make dinner, and when you feel up to it, you’ll do one other thing.

Monday, you spend most of the day painting. You make a decent amount of progress by the time Andy returns. You reheat leftovers for the night and make sure to tidy the kitchen.

Tuesday, you do the laundry. It feels like a great accomplishment as you sit and fold everything before Andy gets back. You leave his clothes on his bed. He’s pleased by your efforts and you are too.

Wednesday, you paint some more and vacuum the first floor. Thursday, you clean the bathroom, and Friday sees you so exhausted that you only do a quick sweep before starting supper. Each day, you record in your journal. Not just your tasks but your feelings; the pendulum between helpless and sad and proud swings back and forth throughout the week.

Saturday comes and you stay in bed late. You’re tempted to stay there and sleep all day until a knock sounds from the other side. You knew he wouldn’t let you.

“Dove,” he calls through, “you have an appointment at noon.”

“What?” you sit up and rush across the room. You crack the door open and peek out, “I didn’t know…”

“I mentioned it, didn’t I?” He asks.

He may have. Sometimes you forget things. You fight a frown and dip your chin.

“I’ll get ready, I’m sorry.”

“No problem. I’ll have breakfast waiting,” he looks through at you, his eyes searching, trying to see through the gloom. “Why don’t you wear some of your new clothes?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you murmur, “thanks.”

You shut the door and watch the shadow underneath. He doesn’t go right away but when he does, you flip on the lights. You go to the closet and ponder the selection. It’s a bit overwhelming. The skirts and dresses. 

You take out a pleated plaid skirt and a pumpkin coloured turtleneck. Andy didn’t particularly like it but he let you grab it anyway. You put it on with a pair of ribbed black tights. At least you’re covered up, even if it’s all a bit snug.

You go into the bathroom and get freshened up; brush your teeth, wash your face, put some moisturizer on. You’d started using more of the bottles piled into the basket. You feel bad just letting them go to waste.

You go downstairs, the smell of toast greeting you as you enter the kitchen. Andy looks over his shoulders and still the knife as he butters a slice. He turns to you fully and grins, “wow, you look… nice.”

“Oh, thanks, I…” you pull at the fabric across your stomach, “maybe I need a bigger size.”

“No, no, really,” he finishes scraping the butter across the hard bread, “you look really nice.” He grabs a plate and brings it to you as you stand by the island, “those tights look warm.”

“Um, yeah,” you look down, twisting one leg behind the other, “not really.”

He nods and clicks his tongue, “anyway, breakfast,” he hands you the plate, “enjoy.”

“Thanks,” you say as you take it, “er… are we going to see Dr. Kemp?”

“Uh huh,” he goes back to the counter and takes out another slice from the toaster, “you… you like him?”

“Sure,” you cradle the plate, slowly drifting to the door, “he’s nice.”

“Well, you know, you can always let me know if you don’t.”

“What?”

“Just… if he makes you uncomfortable or anything,” he shrugs, “you know I’m always here for you, dove.”

You don’t say anything else. You go into the dining room and set down your plate. You’re almost excited to go see Dr. Kemp. Strangely so. You can’t wait to tell him everything you did this week and talk about your new pens for your journal. It feels like you’ve actually made progress, for once in your life.

🕊️

You sit in the same chair as last time. Dr. Kemp stands by the window. His cool demeanour is a counterweight to your tense anxiety. You chew your fingertips as he turns and pace towards the wall. He stops and flicks on the electric kettle set on the polished console table.

“You like tea?” He asks.

“Um, yeah,” you clutch your hand into a fist and lay it on the armrest.

“Green? Black? I have Earl Gray,” he offers.

“Green is fine,” you wiggle your foot, the action drawing his gaze. His piercing blue eyes crawl up your legs and he considers you with calm calculation.

“New clothes?” He prompts.

“Y-yes,” you open your hand as you bend your arm, rubbing your neck.

“Hmm, cute. I liked that sweater you wore last time.”

“Oh, it was old,” you scratch along your hairline.

“It’s whatever you're comfortable in,” he says, “skirt’s nice but… I don’t know. Not quite you.”

You don’t comment. He’s not wrong. It’s too short and the pattern is cute but you find the fabric stiff. You bring your hand forward and tap your chin.

“So, did you have a good week?” He asks.

“I think… I did a lot. Exactly what you said,” you push your shoulders up, clasping your hands in your lap. He watches you intensely, not looking away as he listens. “I used the journal and uh, I made myself set goals. Erm, oh, I made dinner every night and I cleaned–”

“That’s great,” he turns and takes two mugs from the stacked tower of porcelain. He drops in the tea bags before he backs up. He crosses his arms, pacing around as he rubs his chin, “but what about things for you? Not cleaning or cooking. Those are chores. You should be doing things just for you.”

He leans on the side of the sofa. You squeeze your hands tight and teeter on the edge of the chair. Your chest sinks.

“Well, I… I guess I didn’t… I thought…”

“It’s okay, there’s no wrong answer here. But this week, I want you to focus on you. Do things for you. Treat yourself kindly,” he drops his arms and hooks his thumbs in the tops of his pockets, “you could do a face mask, have a bubble bath, or even just read a book you enjoy.”

“Oh, okay.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being nice to yourself. Self-love is important. If you don’t find worth in yourself, other people won’t either.”

“I’ll try,” you agree.

“That’s all you need to do,” he smiles as the kettle clicks off and he pivots on his heel. He pours the steaming water in the mugs and continues, “today, I think we should talk about your sister.”

“What?” You gulp.

“You mentioned her before. She seems to be a big part of your life,” he sets the kettle down, “I’d like to know more about her.”

You tuck your lip in and frown. You don’t know if you can talk about Amber. You’re still so confused about her. But what is all this for. To understand how you feel. And like he says, it’s all confidential.

“Amber… her name is Amber,” you eke out, “er…I don’t know where to start…”

“Take your time,” he coaxes, “we can take it slow.”

[ninjakasuga]

Sonally Celebration, Year 3, Day Seven & Eight.

Sonally Celebration Week, Year Three, Day Seven & Eight: Slip & Rest.

Due to work wearing me down some I took day seven off and combined both prompts together since they can work nicely together. I had a blast again this year, and maybe I can muster the drive to get my solo-writing back on track, as well as get back to some hiatus’d RP’s I owe people.

Slip & Rest:

Setting her stylus pen down, Sally’s eyes glanced over the proposal she had finished penning on her tablet device. Once she was satisfied with the outline, and it’s concise word usage, she manually saved the document, and then had it sent to each of the Acorn Council members to go over, and give their input before they agreed on a finalized draft to implement. “Done, and done! Nicole, what's next on the docket for today?”

Materializing from one of the many holographic emitters through the castle, Nicole the Lynx appeared. Sporting a rather nice looking lavender, women's business suit. With the dress shirt under the suit jacket a lovely cream-pink. Hands folded, she smiled at Sally as her eyes closed briefly. “Absolutely nothing else! You’re finished for the day!”

Sally blinked, and looked at the clock at her desk, “How can that be? It’s only two o’clock, I should have more work until four or four-thirty. I could have sworn I had a remaining proposal to look over-.”

With a simple wave of her hand in a dismissive gesture, Nicole interjected politely. “You did, but I delegated it, as I did the rest of your itinerary.”

Flabbergasted, Sally pushed back from her desk, but remained sitting. “W-why?! Why did you do that Nicole? Some of those documents could use my oversight!”

“Yes, but also no. None of them were documents that couldn’t be looked over by the right delegate who is knowledgeable of the topic. They will have to cross your desk again, but for today others can do your work.” Hands now behind her back, Nicole’s smile faded, her expression now mild disappointment, and also full of concern. “You’re starting to overwork yourself again, and above all else, you’re still recovering from your ‘slip’.”

Grimacing, Sally looked down at her right leg, which was in a cast. “I’m sitting down, and off of it-.” “Doctor’s orders were to elevate it as much as possible. You can’t do that at a desk.” The Lynx stated in a firm, chiding manner as she moved closer and eyed the leg in question. “Why aren’t you doing this from bed or a couch at least?”

Sighing, Sally dragged a hand over her face. “Because, I get comfy, and I want to rest, I start to let my mind wander, or get nap-craven…”

An amused expression crossed the cyber-lynx’s face as she steps closer and places a hand on Sally’s shoulder. The nanites in her hologram made her body solid so she could do so. “That’s what you get when you don’t get enough rest. Your body will eventually start to remind you it has needs.”

Whining a little, a rarity from Sally unless she was ‘tired’. “I just have so much to do-.” “You have people to delegate your workload, myself included.” Reminded Nicole with an all-too-familiar tone of playful snark. “Sally this isn’t the war, you don’t need to take the world on your shoulders.”

Running a hand through her hand, Sally sighed again. Deep down she knew Nicole was right, but she had her reasons for being hyper-focused on certain aspects of work. “I know, I know, but after what happened in Spagonia last year, I wanted to hit hard on stemming any further diplomatic issues that have cropped up since-.”

The hand on her shoulder softly squeezed, empathy deep in Nicole’s voice. “I know you’re worried about a repeat of the kidnapping. Nor have any relations with other countries soured over bad diplomacy; but the whole incident was staged by a handful of greedy jerks.”

 “Greedy jerks, with a lot of pull, and a decent sized following of morons who bought their spiel, hook, line and sinker.” Sally reminded Nicole, shuddering as the memory of the whole incident made her heart clench in terror. The fear of someone wanting to hurt her babies to get back at her never truly left her. “I can’t let that happen again, ever.”

“None of us want it to happen again. That’s why we made those bracelet watches with two of my A.I.’s to be with them at all times. Whisper and Tangle are their new bodyguards and they’re among the best, and you and Sonic have been teaching them to defend themselves. In fact…” Nicole gestured to Sally’s leg. “That’s how you got that, you got over-zealous showing them some of your moves.”

A blush formed on Sally’s cheeks, going up to the tips of her ears. After the kidnapping incident, both Sonic and she wanted to start the children learning some basic self-defense. They made it a full family event with all four of them practicing, and the kids were really receptive. Then again, they always liked to see their parents show off for them, and neither Sonic nor she could resist those eyes, and pouty lips for too long.

So Sally decided last week to really show off some of her acrobatics. Even after all these years, a lot of it just came back to her, even the skills she rarely used since the war (she did keep up some of her training as an exercise regime) she found herself slipping back into use without too much catch-up practice. However, Sally was now over thirty, and was a bit more… ‘filled-out’ since her teen years. So during one wall-flip and somersault onto another surface maneuver, she miscalculated and ended up landing on her one leg, the wrong kind of way.

Luckily the break wasn’t bad, but of course Dr. Jolene had insisted on bed-rest for the majority of the next month, and to stay off the leg as much as possible. For the first two weeks, Sally obliged the order; until the itch to crack at her work got the better of her. Deep down Sally knew she was being somewhat unreasonable, but she couldn’t just be lazy all day when things had to be done!

Realizing she’d been silent for a time, and Nicole was looking at her with curious concern. Sally shook her head. “I'm well aware of how my leg got injured.” Hands on her desk, she stood up, making sure to lean on her good leg, and not let go of the desk. Reaching for her crutches, she managed to slip them under her arms and eased from the desk. In such a quick motion, Nicole didn’t have a chance to offer to help her with them. “In anycase, even if my other tasks have been delegated, I can still stop by the Council Chamber to-.”

Having had her fill of indulging the notion Sally might listen to reason and ‘rest’, Nicole decided to act and clapped her hands. Instantly she was connected to the intercom of the library. “Sonic, your lovely wife is trying to hobble out to the Council to work when she should be resting.

Eyes wide, and panic setting in, Sally glared at the Lynx who just smiled widely. “Nicole you traitor!” She turned to try and ‘hobble off’, but she could already hear not one, but three ‘booms’, followed by the sound of fast footsteps. Sally could only make a ‘meep’ sound as the door to her office flew open, and there stood her husband and children. “H-hey you three, you didn’t need to interrupt afternoon reading time. I was just seeing myself-.”

Sonic didn’t say a word, he simply crossed the distance, and instantly scooped Sally into his arms. Carrying her just like he always did. “Save the excuses for the Doc, you’re going back to bed. No work, at all. Nicole hun, can I count on you to do your thing?”

“Always my main Hog.” She smiled ever widely, nodding and with a bow, her physical form dissolved as she rejoined the castle’s nanite-network to go about her duties.

Wiggling in Sonic’s grasp, Sally puffed her cheeks, trying to look miffed, but only made herself look like a petulant child. “I can move on my own! I have crutches!” “Denied babe, kids, can you pick up the crutches for me?”

“Yes Dad!” The two seven year olds each grab and crutch and heft the item. The two lay their gazes upon their mother, practically mimicking their Father’s disappointment.

“Mama…” Kathleen puffed her cheeks, and attempted to intensify her glare. “You’re supposed to be resting!”

 As they followed their Father into the hallway, J.C. began to count off as he joined his sister in roasting their mother. “Doctor’s orders, Dad’s orders, Auntie Nicole’s orders, Aunt Bunnie and Uncle Twan’s orders-.”

“I know, I know!” Sally threw up her arms, admitting defeat, if not entirely in a graceful manner. Arms crossed she grumbled as Sonic carried her, she looked to her husband. “Isn’t carrying me a bit much?” She seemed to get more antsy about this fact, than her family putting her in the spotlight.

“Nope.” With a foot he kicked the door open softly, yet swiftly.

“...Aren’t I heavy?”

“Still nope.” Sonic eyed his wife, taking notice of his wife’s look of self-consciousness about the weight comment. “Hey kids, can you do me a solid?” He turned his head to regard the apples of his eye, smiling all the while.

“What can we do for you Dad?” Asked J.C. as he set the crutch he had carried against the wall. Something his sister mimicked as they both gave Sonic their full attention.

“Zip to the kitchen, and if Miss Cream’s there, ask her to whip up some pasta, garlic bread for dinner, and whatever else you two want. After you’re done, go and play, I got Mama from here.”

“Are you sure Daddy?” Kathleen raised an eyebrow. “Mama can be wily.”

He chuckled, gosh the kids were picking up those fancy words their Mama liked to use. “She can, but I can be more, that word you used. I got this.” He smiled and winked at the two children.

After a beat, the two children shared a look. “They’re gonna be gross.” Kathleen surmised after a moment. “Probably.” Her twin nodded, and the two rushed out of the room, making sure to close the door behind them. “Sheesh, us gross?” He grinned at Sally as he brought her to the bed, carefully settling her into her side. “How slander’in can you get? By our own kids!”

Unable to help herself, Sally giggled, lifting her leg as Sonic fit a pillow under her cast-laden limb. “Well to them, us kissing and being cuddly can be seen as gross.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, gazing at his beautiful wife for a moment. Soaking in the view before taking her hand into his. “Something up Sal? I mean besides you not taking bed-rest orders, why’re you so touchy about me picking you up? Do you really think you’re heavy or something?”

“W-well…” The blush returned, from her neck to her ears. As those emerald eyes gazed upon her she looked away. “W-well I am, thicker than before-.” “Sal, it’s called having kids. Even I know most women have some ‘thicc’ added afterward. You’re still gorgeous as ever, plus you still work out, and keep in shape.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the last person I’d consider fat hun. Why did someone accuse you of such?”

“No, no this is entirely on me. I’ve just noticed it more, at how ‘thicc’ I am as you’ve put it. Plus without being able to work out due to my leg, it’s like...I just notice so easily when I’ve gained weight.” She rubbed her arms, feeling so vain about being worried over her figure or weight. “I just, wonder if I was off my jump that messed up my leg because of all this extra weight on me…”

“Ahh, I see…” Sonic still felt she was being silly, but he knew he shouldn’t dismiss her concerns either. Kicking his shoes off, he rounded the bed and climbed on from his side so he could sit next to her. Slipping his arm around her waist he leaned in and rested his cheek to hers. “Sally, sweetie, trust me you’re still fine as ever. That said, I could ask the Doc if there’s some exercises you can do without your legs, and we can ask the cook staff to give ya’ mostly light meals until you’re well enough to exercise properly again.”

“I think I would like that…” She murmured, leaning into him and enjoying the contact.

“As for your weight being why you got hurt… We’re both getting older, but Sal, babe, lookit me.” Once she did he leaned in, kissing her softly. “Just cuz’ your hips, boobs and thighs are a li’ thicker than before. Doesn’t mean you still aren’t looking after yourself, you keep in shape, and well… babe, last year you tore through a buncha armed idiots with just a sword, boots and fists. None of em’ laid a hand on you. You are not losing your touch.”

“I guess, I am being a bit silly…” Sally was still not entirely convinced, but it was nice to hear Sonic’s words. Sure he could charm and butter up anyone if he tried; but she knew him well enough when he was BS’ing. Now wasn’t the case. “Although I could argue you are biased.”

He merely grinned. “So I’m biased, I happen to enjoy being biased toward the woman I married.”

“Good to know, though truth be told.” Nuzzling his cheek, Sally peppered him with soft kisses. “I’m rather biased toward the wonderful man I married.”

After the two embraced again, Sonic leaned back and gently booped her nose. “Now if you’ll just relax and get some rest…”

“I get it, I get it, I know when I’m licked Sonic.”

His eyebrows waggle, “I haven’t done any of that… yet.” A laugh tore from her throat as she lightly smacked his arm. “Sonic!! Hahaha, oh you’re terrible!” “I dunno, you didn’t complain last time.” Arms reclining behind his head, the hedgehog clearly enjoyed his wife’s laughter at his admittedly naughty commentary.

“N-no, I didn’t…” Snerking, Sally shook her head, fighting another blush on her cheeks. “I’m sorry I’ve been difficult, I just… I feel compelled to see things through myself.”

“I get’cha Sal, still, relax, rest.” He insisted as he eased her against her pillows. “I’ll rest with ya’.”

“Going to keep an eye on me, huh warden?”

“If the shoe fits.” He shrugged, his infuriating smile remaining on his face. 

With a dramatic sigh, Sally reclined against the pillows, arms up as if she expected to be cuffed and hauled away. “I submit myself to the court.” “Just be sure to repeat that, as the kids are just as concerned as I am.” He stated playfully, going for one last dig. A bit low, but he wanted her to contemplate on that.

“Ouch… right, ughh.” She dragged a hand over her face. “I probably haven’t been setting a good example for them…” Knowing her children, they would milk that for all they could.

“Eh, I can’t be the only one giving em’ bad habits.” Sonic conceded with a mild shrug, before wrapping his hand over hers. “Now, how about we just lie here and chill here until supper is ready?”

Smiling softly, Sally squeezed his hand. “It’s a date, Sonic.”

[sunfish-exotics]

Hey guys! I’m having some issues with my psych keeping on top of my refills so I haven’t been feeling too social the past few weeks, I’m hanging in there though! The animals are all doing great, just haven’t been up to taking a ton of pics or talking about them frequently. I’m hoping to be able to transition the 2021 breeding snakes to brumation around the first week of December as long as the weather cooperates. Just as a reminder I’m going to have 1 corn snake pairing, 4-5 western hognose pairings (in a perfect world anyway lol) and 2-3 leopard gecko pairings. I scaled back my plans a little bit for 2021 just because of covid which is affecting pretty much everything unfortunately. It has encouraged me to be a little more self-sufficient when it comes to breeding my own (invert) feeders though since they can be difficult and expensive to source quickly now.

Expo plans- (BIG disclaimer being this is contingent on covid remaining stable here- it’s not severe here at the moment and Repticon has proticols in place that were followed strictly at the last show I worked in August but it’s going to depend heavily on what happens after thanksgiving..) Now that that is out of the way, I will be working the Charlotte / Concord Repticon December 12th & 13th. I’ll have one table for animals (2020 western hognoses, 1x 2020 corn snake, and sub adult and adult leos)- price wise they’re going to range around $40-$500 so a good range and selection, albeit fairly small since I have sold most by this point from 2020. No isopods at this show, I need to let my colonies replenish. My other table will be all art. I will be debuting the 2 posters I teased earlier (they’re still not here yet and I will post pics and prices as soon as they arrive!) and I have some more 8x8 print designs joining the lineup. I’m unsure how many vinyl stickers / decals I’ll have, I definitely need to get started making some new ones but I need to check my vinyl stock before making immediate plans. It’s too late to get more vinyl for this show but I am looking forward to offering the stickers online soon as well. I am not planning on shipping anymore until the spring so any animals that are not sold will be staying here after the show until shipping weather returns. I can offer them for (paid) holds though if anyone has interest in them.

My art commissions will close for December (and I will hopefully be finishing up all November comms by the first week of December) so I can focus on some personal projects I’m looking to launch in 2021, including my first Kickstarter campaign for the first planned set of enamel pins which will hopefully become a series of pin sets if it goes well.

I’ll also get started on a blog post for my thoughts on how 2020 went (REPTILE WISE lol, the year majorly sucked in general for me like most of EVERYONE else in the world lmao) and my plans going forward for Sunfish Exotics and my life plans in general. I really need some clarity and writing always helps me with that. I also really need a new pen tablet and I think I’m going to go for a cintiq (I’ve never had a pen display before and I think it’s time) and focus on updating and improving my art equipment (printers, etc)

My cage building projects are moving along, a bit slower than I hoped but I’m going to be working on the turtle build first before buying the lumber for the new cage stacks. Since my AP cages (well, hatchling racks) finally arrived I will be selling some old caging soon which will help fund the lumber and acrylic bill. I already have all the supplies bought for the turtle build which is why I’ve been working on that off and on.

Anyway~

Hope y’all are doing well or at the very least coping! Life is tough but we got this 🙌

I’ll try to be more active soon but I gotta get my meds straightened out first!

[artificialqueens]

The Goode Case, 8/14 (Jaida/Jan) - Juno

Chapter Summary: Jaida, Brita and Jackie, with a little help from Dahlia, separate to look into the history of the guest house, and rendez-vous to discuss the plan to reach Gigi. Jaida is surprised by who else she sees that evening …

(A/N: As ever I’ve been really over the moon to receive such lovely supportive comments! Thank you to everyone!! I hope you enjoy part eight.)

2.50PM

Jaida led Aiden to the lobby to meet Crystal, who was sitting with Jackie, a box of tissues clutched in her lap. Aiden’s stoic expression softened at her friend’s tears, and she rubbed Crystal’s shoulder, while Crystal stood and pulled her into a hug.

Back in the meeting room, once the two students had left, Jackie could barely contain herself.

“Crystal saw that same woman that you described,” Jackie blurted out, as soon as the door was closed. “She gave the exact same description you gave us. And she saw Gigi too, in the same room you did.”

“Did Crystal mention anything about the day they found the anklet?” Jaida pulled out the chair next to Brita and sat down. “I wondered if a statement Aiden gave me corroborated with that.”

Jackie pulled out another chair opposite and sat down too, grabbing the jug of water from the centre of the table. “Yeah, she mentioned it. She said when they found the anklet, a woman appeared to her, and took her hand and started singing her some sort of lullaby. She suddenly realised she’d walked to the top of the stairs, and they both left. Well, ‘ran away’, Crystal said.”

“Who was the woman?”

Jackie looked grave. “She could just remember black hair. You were right, it’s the same woman that keeps coming up.”

“Any clues who she was?” Jaida asked, folding her arms.

Brita pushed the file she’d found to Jaida, who took a look at the yellowing paper and the name typed using an old label printer. “VISAGE, T. & M.”

Jaida opened the first page, and gasped at the picture.

“That’s her, I’m sure.” The woman had wavy black hair in a thick mane around her face, with sculpted cheeks and bright blue eyes. She checked the name in the ID details. Michelle Visage (née Goode).

“Records indicate the Visages bought the guest house in 1972. The wife had a reputation, the sort of thing you’d expect in some bad romance novel – seducing customers, you know – got her in a bit of trouble forty years ago,” Brita explained. “But the whole guest house had things happening. Have a look at the papers. Take one case in 1976. A fire broke out in the kitchen, and the only person to die was her sister-in-law. All the kitchen staff escaped, but her sister-in-law didn’t. And later on in 1978, well, read it for yourself.”

Jaida turned the pages, her eyes falling on another photo, this time of a man, a white shirt and large collar, open at the neck, hair long and swept over his forehead. He looked like –

“Girl, this is getting too strange now, this is the guy who I saw on the stairs!” Jaida pointed. She carried on reading the report, her hand going to her mouth as she did.

“He didn’t have a very happy ending, as you see. They found him hanged from the top of the stairs. It was ruled suicide, but it was suspect at the time, because there was a life insurance policy which had been taken out shortly before his death.” Brita craned her neck. “Have you seen the name?”

Jaida glanced at it. Thomas Visage. “Husband?”

“You got it. And of course there’s the link to the Goodes. We thought Gigi was making it up to impress her friend, but you can see the ID. It looks like she was right. And if both you and Crystal have both seen Michelle and Gigi together …”

“I don’t want to think about that until we find a body,” Jackie shuddered. “There’s still a chance. Just because Jaida saw Gigi, it doesn’t mean she’s dead. She saw you, didn’t she? Last night.”

“Anyway, what happened to this Visage woman?” Jaida asked, trying to keep them on track, leafing through the last few papers.

“Well, the hotel was in decline following Thomas’ death, and it seemed like the money from the life insurance couldn’t make Michelle happy,” Brita sighed. “She died in 1983. Overdose. Barbiturates and lots of vodka. The hotel was closed later that year, and it’s been closed ever since.”

Brita straightened up, adjusting her shirt. “Chief wants the whole street searched again. I’ve sent forensics already, sniffer dogs too, to see what they come up with.”

“Okay, good.” Jaida nodded.

“For the house, I think we need to get Dahlia in again. If Gigi is being sighted there, and as there are no other leads really, there must be some link. But we need a detailed plan this time. Anything can go wrong, especially as I for one don’t quite know how to control … this.” Brita motioned to herself.

“Not only that, I think we need some history of past paranormal investigations at this place,” Jaida suggested. “Dahl said she knew a psychic that won’t go near the place, so there must have been other investigations. Brita, I’d like to go talk to her at the shop this afternoon, if that’s alright?”

“Nice one, Jai, we need all the information we can get.”

Jackie clicked her ballpoint pen on and off. “If we’re going to get the truth about what happened to Gigi from these spirits, we need to use all resources. Including maybe Crystal, if she’ll come.”

“You can start on a plan, while Jaida is at Dahlia’s shop. I need to be available on call for forensics if they do find anything on Westfield. We can meet up from six and discuss the plan. Ideally, we’d need Dahlia to agree to come in tomorrow, preferably during the day.”

“I’ll ask, but she might not get time away from the shop. If her mom can get away from her shift early, then maybe. Where do you want to meet at six then?”

“How about … Vanjie’s? With a wine?” Brita suggested, as casually as she could muster.

Jaida looked at Jackie.

“I don’t even need to read your mind. Have you arranged to meet someone else there?” Jaida raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe, maybe not.” A grin spread across Brita’s face.

3.39PM

By the time Jaida got off the bus, the grey clouds had turned to a thick sheet of rain. Great. The wind hadn’t settled from yesterday either, so she had to jog the two blocks from the bus stop to Syn City, to avoid getting swept away by the New York autumn.

The “Open to demons customers” sign was on the door, which meant either Dahlia or her mom would be around. Jaida pushed the door, and the bell above it tinkled, letting them know someone was entering in case they were in one of the back rooms.

The shop was so narrow that there was barely room to walk past the bookshelves and esoteric wares, but once past them, the space was a little more open, with the checkout on the side and two rooms further back for personal readings. Dahlia had learned Tarot from her mom, which was her main trade, but she was also learning other divination methods, as well as her own studies. One of the rooms was Dahlia’s for reading appointments, along with Shuga and her crystal ball, and now Rock, who had replaced Lady Lemon who’d left for Canada earlier in the year.

Dahlia poked her head out of her room, and smirked when she saw it was Jaida. She leapt the three steps to the room and approached Jaida, slapping her hard on the arm.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Girl, why didn’t you tell me you were a medium? I’ve known you for, like, two years, and you never thought you’d tell me you can see spirits?” Dahlia put her hands on her hips.

“I – I don’t know!” Jaida cried, a little exasperated. “You never asked!”

“I shouldn’t have to ask! You were seeing spirits at that house all this time, and I had to find that out from Rock!

“From Rock?”

“Yeah, she’s got this thing where if she touches someone, she knows what they’re thinking.” Dahlia rolled her eyes. “I know, that’s crazy, but it’s true.”

“Child,” Jaida muttered. “And let me guess. You can – I don’t know, you can fly or some shit.”

“Girl, I wish,” Dahlia snorted, “I can do cards, boards, but I can’t do anything naturally, like what you can.”

“I wanted to talk to you about last night, anyway,” Jaida whispered, looked around. “You got ten minutes?”

Dahlia led Jaida to her own room at the back of the shop, a tiny alcove just big enough for two people, and perched in one of the chairs, offering the other to Jaida.

“Thanks. I wanted to find out what you knew about the guest house.”

“Don’t you have the stories on files?” Dahlia cocked an eyebrow.

“Well sure, but we don’t log anything, y’know, paranormal or whatever.” Jaida used her fingers to draw quotation marks.

“I know what I’ve read, and it might not be the whole truth, but if that’s what you want to know?”

“Whatever you can give me would be a help.”

“Alright.” Dahlia grabbed her tablet from her bag under the folding table, and tapped into the screen, finally turning it to show Jaida.

“What’s that?”

“Paranormal Database on New York. Paradata, for short. It’s run by some lady in Queens. It’s like,” Dahlia ran a hand through her wavy brown hair, searching for the right words, “it’s kind of like Tripadvisor for the paranormal. People can go on there and report what they’ve done to investigate, and what’s happened.”

“And this website is in public domain?”

“Yeah, but it’s not really well-known outside the community. Keeps things a bit safer. And not everyone can register.” Dahlia shook her head. “You have to be invited by an existing member. I’ll invite you, if you want.”

“Sure, thanks.”

Dahlia found the house on the map, and clicked the link. She gave a low whistle. “Bitch, I’ve never seen this many reviews for somewhere that hasn’t been visited by, like the Ghost Hunters crew or something. There’s so many.”

She turned the tablet towards Jaida, who scanned through the reviews people had left on there, her breath catching in her throat.

“… domineering, territorial female presence, screaming at us to get out …”

“… my boyfriend saw a lady in the kitchen and won’t stop having nightmares …”

“ … tabletop session saw one woman possessed and a man incapacitated in a trance …”

“ … spirit drawing of a woman aged 37, died in a fire, year approx 1970 …”

One of them caught Jaida’s eye, from last year:

“Avoid the upstairs!!! DANGEROUS THREAT TO LIFE. Ghost tried to pull psychic off the stairs!! DO NOT GO HERE”

“Some of them can be a bit dramatic,” Dahlia interrupted Jaida’s reading, “but do any of them sound familiar?”

Jaida nodded. “Definitely some of them.”

“You want me to go back again, don’t you?” Dahlia asked cautiously. “I don’t even need to ask.”

“Would you consider it?”

Dahlia’s hands were trembling, Jaida noticed, but she moved them under the table to hide them.

“I mean, of course it pays well, but, like, I’m scared. And not just for me. For Rock, too. And for you. And for – actually, for all of us. All seven of us who were there last night, none of us came out the same. And Rock said –“ Dahlia gasped, raising a hand to her mouth. “I forgot to tell you! Rock said you saw Brita astrally project?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t know she was going to until she did it.”

With that, Dahlia leapt from her seat and grabbed Jaida’s hand, tugging her down the three steps and to the bookcases.

“She needs to read … this, before she does it again.” Dahlia pulled a paperback off the shelf. “Tell her she owes me fifteen dollars.”

“Dahl, I’ll just – settle that …” Jaida took her card from her purse. She turned the book over. Astral Projection For Beginners: A Complete Guide. “I’m sure she’ll put this on top of her pile.” Jaida rolled her eyes.

“I’m not joking, Jai. Being able to project naturally is really fucking unusual. Most people learn it. So if she can do it without even trying, she needs to know the risks. Like, now. Especially if she can’t control it.”

“Risks?” Jaida flicked through the book. “What sorts of things?”

“Mainly just other spirits wanting a free ride, or a free body to hop into.” Dahlia shuddered. “Not everyone you meet on the astral planes will be friendly.”

“Have you ever projected?”

“I’ve tried, but not so far.” Dahlia shook her head. “It’s really hard to master.”

The door tinkled, and Dahlia leapt from her seat, Jaida following her, but it was only Rock, her blue hair soaking wet with the rain which was still coming down in a sheet. She held two Starbucks takeouts in cardboard cup holders.

“Oh, hi again,” she waved to Jaida with her free hand. “I’d have bought you a mocha as well, if I’d known you were coming.”

“Thanks, baby,” Dahlia took her cup from Rock and planted a kiss on her lips. “You know just what I need on a Monday afternoon. And I was telling Jai about the projection book you recommended.”

“Yeah, you need to make sure your friend reads it straight away,” Rock’s expression turned grave again. “And tell her to train herself to control it.”

6.05PM

Jackie had met Jaida outside Vanjie’s, telling her that Brita had been called away by forensics to a potential lead on Northfield at about four thirty and hadn’t come back. Jaida had felt her heart sink a little, hoping it was not bad news, but Brita had stumbled in only five minutes after they had arrived.

“Was it serious?” Jaida asked quietly.

“Oh, no, it turned out to be a false alarm,” Brita laughed her infectious laugh, waving her hand. “Everything is fine. Wine?”

A glass of wine later, this time the three of them squeezed together on one side of the six-seater booth, somehow feeling much more comfortable and cosy than they had at any time previous. Jaida was on the end, always preferring an escape route, with Jackie sandwiched in the middle and Brita at the window, looking down at her phone and sometimes glancing outside at the street around them.

They’d forgotten it was student night when they had arrived, expecting it to be quiet like most places on Mondays, but the bar was getting busier and busier, and they had one of the last free booths. Lots of the students elected to stand, leaning on the bars and tables, and there was enough chatter in the air to drown out most of the music.

“What have you got so far, Jackie?” Jaida asked.

“The only person we’ve seen so far who’d led us to Gigi is … well, Thomas. And the only one of us who’s seen him is … well, you, Jai.” Jackie clicked her pen on and off, before Brita irritably snatched it from her hand. “Ow! Anyway, could he be responsible?”

“But he wanted to show me that Gigi was there,” Jaida said, the realisation dawning on her as she said the words. “Wait, why didn’t I get that before? He was trying to help us. Maybe he wanted to show -”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Brita interrupted suddenly. “He would have helped you get to Gigi, if that was the case. You said he just stood there.”

“That’s true,” murmured Jackie.

“Well, we’ve established that Gigi is stuck on the same plane that Thomas is on,” Jaida said, swirling her glass. “Can’t I just – link with him again? Persuade him to help? Maybe you two can connect too?”

“But we can’t see him,” Jackie whispered. She drummed on the notebook with her fingers. “Can we just link physically with you?”

“That won’t work, because it should have worked today if it did!”

“Maybe if Brita can project –“

“I don’t think that will work,” Brita interrupted again, wine obviously going straight to her head, “because I can’t control this fucking thing! There’s no point trying.”

“Can Dahlia come in the daytime tomorrow at all?” Jackie asked. “That would be the ideal, rather than waiting until the evening. And it depends on Crystal being free, too, but it’s been four days since anyone saw Gigi,” she added.  

“I’ll ask Dahlia, but she works days in her shop.” Jaida pulled out her phone.

Jaida:Dahl, can u do tomorrow at all? Day time possible? X

Dahlia:girl u know I cant just close the shop! If I can get mom to watch it then yeh x

Jaida:Cool cool let me know x

“I’ll see if I can call Crystal,” Jackie said, and Jaida let her step out of the booth and walk to the door for better signal. Jaida’s phone buzzed in her hand as she left.

Heidi: Jai!! im french kissin in the USA lol xx

Jaida: LOL!! Are u with Nicky?? Xx

Heidi:yeah her student cancelled so we havin a night in xx

Heidi:her housemate has a big Farsi dictionary

Heidi: and a french one too

Heidi:Jai do u wanna know the french word for bitch?? Xx

Jaida laughed at the selfie Heidi sent over, in the apartment she recognised as Jackie’s. Wait until she mentioned to Jackie that her housemate was Heidi’s date.

“Left her a voicemail. Also, when this case is over, I’m not drinking for a month,” Jackie declared, coming back over. “I swear we’ve been out to a bar all week. Saturday, Sunday, and now today. I don’t wanna be drinking on weeknights!”

“Speaking of which, it’s your round Jai,” Brita sang, nudging her empty glass towards Jaida and pointing to the bar at Vanjie’s. It was still quiet, but people were starting to filter in and it wouldn’t be long until they were engulfed in people, queueing at the bar.

Jaida got up and grabbed the tray, going to the bar to order. Vanessa was way at the other end of the bar with someone else, and Brooke was nowhere to be seen, so Jaida was all alone, with her thoughts.

“Well, hey there!”

Jaida spun round at the voice, and the familiar peach shampoo, to the radiance that was Jan. Her brown eyes were crinkled as she smiled, her blonde hair slightly damp from the rain. Jaida felt her heart jump at the sight of her, the very last person she’d been expecting to see.

“Hey, Jan.” Jaida wasn’t sure what else to say, but she smiled widely, and turned to look for Vanessa, who was still on the other side of the bar. It wasn’t like Jaida to feel tongue-tied, but she couldn’t find any clever words to say for once.

“I uh, will try not to spill stuff on your shirt today, looks too smart to ruin!” Jan laughed at her own comment.

“Your shirt is nice too,” Jaida said, taking in Jan’s lavender blouse and the black knee-length skirt. Jaida silently admired how the material fell.

“Thanks! I had an audition this afternoon. Another ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ moment!” Jan laughed again, this time a little bitter. “Getting a break is hard anywhere, but here in NYC? It’s impossible. I was just on my way back, and a little birdie told me you’d be here.”

“Which little birdie might that be?” Jaida chuckled, looking over at Brita and Jackie, who went from watching them to snapping their necks the other direction, in the blink of an eye. “Or do I need to ask?”

“I don’t think you do!” Jan sniggered.

“So,” Jaida rested her arm on the bar, “you sing?”

“Sure!”

“What’s your favourite song to sing? Because I can’t sing a note!” Jaida cringed at her awful conversational skills. When did she become this corny?

“That’s just modest! I bet you can sing Christina with me.”

Jaida’s jaw fell wide open in shock. “The Christina? I’m not even sure I can sing one octave, let alone five!”

“I’ll teach you,” Jan winked, “just follow my lead.”

She tossed her hair, rolled her shoulders back, and opened her mouth.

I am beautiful, no matter what they say / Words can’t bring me down!

Jaida listened to the slow, emphatic lyrics, the perfect pitch that came from that throat, the way Jan’s face twisted with the emotion, and Jaida’s whole body tingled for a couple of seconds, feeling a spread of goose pimples down her arms.

“Now you try,” Jan took one of Jaida’s hands, her shoulders twitching with excitement. “Just relax, look at me, take a deep breath …”

The peach shampoo swirled round them both, and Jaida started to feel like she was in some sort of dream, and not wanting to wake up; as she took a sharp breath in to knock Jan flat with her dreadful voice …

You are beautiful, in every single way / Words can’t bring you down / So don’t you bring me down today!

Jaida realised that she wasn’t singing the words; it was Jan’s voice, while Jaida just mouthed the lyrics along, the glorious sound filling up every pore of her skin, every empty space in her mind. Jan’s thumb was rubbing her palm, and Jaida found she could focus on nothing else but the slight pressure, feeling herself being pulled slowly into Jan’s eyes as they came closer to her …

“WAIT, who’s singing? Does this bar say KARAOKE on the sign? Monday nights are for SINGING are they?” Vanessa had come out of nowhere, breaking the spell, Jaida dropping Jan’s hand and turning to face Vanessa.

“Sorry, V!”

But Vanessa was smirking, raising her eyebrows knowingly at the pair of them, before disappearing to the other end of the bar. Jan waited until Vanessa was busying herself serving before resting a hand on Jaida’s forearm.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again,” she said, her eyes darting around Jaida’s face. “My shift starts at seven, I have to get back. See you soon.”

Jaida was hit with a little bit of courage. She put her hand on Jan’s, holding her to her forearm. “Jan, give me your phone number. And on Friday, get the night off your shift.”

“What?” Jan looked stunned.

“Well … if you want, we can go somewhere nice. Quiet. Have a coffee or something. If you want, that is? I clock off at four thirty if I can get round Brita.”

Jan was silent for a second, blinking. Then she leaned in towards Jaida, and kissed her on the cheek, right next to her lips. Jaida momentarily lost herself in the heady scent of Jan’s perfume, the tender  sensation of Jan’s lips against her skin, and as Jan reclined, smiling gently, Jaida had to blink to get her eyes to focus again.

“That sounds perfect.”

She was gone before Jaida could even think, a whoosh of blonde hair, closing the door of the bar and putting up her hood before walking off into the evening. Jaida exhaled slowly, not realising she’d been holding her breath.

Jaida glanced at her own booth, where Brita and Jackie hurriedly turned away from her again, like nothing had just happened.

“Child,” Jaida muttered to herself as she came back with the tray and three wines on it. Jackie looked at Jaida through her eyelashes, while Brita smirked triumphantly.

“You weren’t actually messaging Aiden, were you?” Jaida realised, tilting her head at Brita.

“Maybe I was and maybe I wasn’t,” Brita teased.

“Maybe you had a message from Jan, asking you to get me here tonight so she could drop in before her shift!”

Brita looked far too pleased with herself. She picked up her wine from the tray and chuckled.

“Have you got any more single friends?” Jackie asked Brita with a laugh.

Jaida ignored them both for a few minutes, busying herself with her phone, sending another urgent message.

Jaida: Heidi Almighty x

Jaida:My lovely ride or die

Jaida: The Bonnie to my Clyde xx

Heidi: Jai how many times have I told u, I got no bail money xx

Jaida: I got a fashion emergency, need date outfit help for Friday night! Xx

Heidi: oh really, where have I heard that before lol x

Jaida: Please!!!!!! :(

Heidi:ok hang on

[Heidi has added Nicky to the chat]

Nicky: bonsoir

Heidi:Jaida needs ur help with fashion cherie xx

Nicky: bien sûr

Jaida: LOL have you been teaching Heidi french? X

Heidi: merde!!

Nicky:that one was from my housemate’s dictionary……

[kuvvydraws]

Gabriel (Good Omens) x Reader

The Chicken That Finally Crossed The Fucking Road

Chapter 2

*     

*

     Having someone move in with you within a day was an adventure, and one you wouldn’t want to partake in ever again.

     The easy part was the talk with your landlady, and the woman was happy that you were no longer living on your own with how dangerous London was for young people like you, gullible and vulnerable; her words, not yours. Her husband, on the other hand, found heavily immoral that your roommate was a man and that you both were single, and he made sure his opinion was listened by the whole neighbourhood.

      One would say that dealing with the people responsible of your housing was the difficult part. It was a difficult part indeed, just not the only one.

     Dealing with Gabriel was a Whole Thing on its own.

     You know those old people that have a hard time coping with technology and new stuff and just complain when nothing goes their way? That was Gabriel. While eager to learn, he behaved like every object was invented yesterday and everyone in the world got together in a secret meeting to learn how to handle it just so hey could spite him. You were sure he believed all the blenders from all the kitchens in the world were out there to get him. At least he was polite about it.

     Having him moving in was a poltergeist experience. He had no problem with the flat’s layout, and you, expecting some snide comment from his rich ass about your minuscule place of residence, felt much more at ease. The issue with his wardrobe was a bit more pressing. He had nothing but the clothing he was wearing the day you two had met, and that was more like a Trojan costume for a thematic party than anything else. It did match his old fashioned aura, and reinforced that feeling you had about him not belonging to any era in history, but that was about it.

      “Oh, the wardrobe shall be no problem at all” he said pleasantly. The very next day, when you came from work, he had his closet filled with the most expensive, most comfortable outfits you had seen in your whole life. Bitch clearly had in his possession a money tree.

      He wanted, he had told you just after settling in, the whole commoner experience. If you translate that into poor dialect, it meant that you had to accompany him to get every piece of the top notch technology available at the market. He was slightly familiar with cell phones and tablets, but computers turned out to be far trickier for him.

      He said he desired to start from point zero and you had no idea, at first, about what that implied. After seeing him fumble with the keyboard of his shiny new smartphone, you concluded that the guy didn’t even know what YouTube was. You wished you’d had a camera at hand when you had showed him, because his expression was priceless.

     A puppy with a new squeaky toy wouldn’t had been more excited.

      He also had the tendency to call you ‘human’ or ‘mortal’ instead of your name. You found this to be hilarious. He would add some dumb adjectives in front of it and seriously, it was like watching a pair of too sweet teens figuring out nicknames fused in one big, clueless businessman. His favourite so far was calling you ‘tiny’. Kind of unfair, yet very fair at the same time, since the top of your head barely brushed his shoulder.

     Cohabitating with Gabriel was easy, unsurprisingly. The moment he had learnt how the vacuum and the mop worked, your stress about the house being indecent midweek flew out of the window. Gabriel found great pleasure in organizing things. You had agreed on a common budget for food too, instead of separating the shelves inside the fridge and he had classified all the groceries by alphabetical and nutritional order. Of course, to be functional, you two now had to cook together.

      Gabriel had obvious issues with food. It was clear that he did not enjoy eating. The cooking process was another talk altogether though. It implied following established steps, times and measurements, and he had even bought a colourful apron for, what he said, was the proper attitude and mind set for cooking.

      That sentence, coming from the mouth of a man that hadn’t known what a whisk was three minutes prior,  made you cry in laughter. *

     You were incredibly useful, Gabriel discovered. Not only willing to provide with all the bothersome necessities his body now had, but with living quarters and explanations about what happened around him.

      It had been a long time since Gabriel had had to stay on Earth for more than a few hours, and the world had evolved in ways he couldn’t always comprehend. Things were faster, noisier or more silent, everywhere he went was crowded with people and the air smelled weird, congested his nose and, in some occasions, when he was too close to the back of a car of bus, it irritated his eyes.

     He was still getting used to the body, to the sensations and nerves and strange inner reactions and noises it would make. Being so far from divinity had also taken a toll on him, and due the forced tiredness he had to lay down on a bed -his bed now- and sleep. He wasn’t sure he liked sleeping. He didn’t dislike it per se, but he was aware that his surrounding were not part the real world, and that time was a mockery. He would remember moments of his angelic existence, mostly, but also dreamed with new, made up, things. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with that.

     He didn’t sleep every night, and would spent his time reading or watching videos. You had books all over the flat, as if a library had exploded in the centre of the room. Some were in English, some were not. Those fascinated Gabriel. He could guess the general intentions when in a conversation with someone no matter the language, but reading was another matter. You also had no preference about topics, and the novels, encyclopaedias, dictionaries and collections of poems would mixt with the astronomy, art and engineering books right under the pot of that thick leaved  plant you had growing near the windows. After thoroughly dusting the area, Gabriel found the mess didn’t bother him that much.

     The nights he did sleep were not always good. He would wake up covered in cold sweat, a scream choked inside his throat and his body painfully taut or trembling uncontrollably. He tried to be silent. As an Archangel, he feared nothing, and no stupid machination the human world would make him stutter. The pictures of Hell affected him differently though. So he kept quiet. He took a shower every time, scrubbing hard, and by the time he was done and on his way to rest on the ugly couch at the living room, the light of the kitchen would already be lit.

     You sat with him every time, at his left so you wouldn’t obstruct the view from the window, and handed him a mug with tea. He never looked at you, and you never spoke a word.

     Gabriel tried to keep his body strong, now more than ever. His lack of celestial influence was no excuse to grow soft, and he had created an exercise routine. He woke up at sunrise everyday and went for a run, and then followed some exercises before showering. You usually emerged from your room at that time, clad in pyjamas, shoved you feet in some ugly and ragged trainers Gabriel refused to even look at, put on a jacket and went to the coffee shop on the opposite side of the street to fetch some coffee. You always brought the same tea for yourself, claiming you had a delicate stomach at such an early time, but Gabriel’s beverage changed everyday. He was starting to pick some favourites.

     You went to work daily, too, and returned very late in the evening. Your shifts were scheduled oddly, and you spent the majority of the day out. Gabriel was social by nature, and, while his purpose on Earth was to learn, he had to do it from real experience, not only books. So he took his tablet -you had bought him a protector for it decorated with a pair of what humans thought were angel wings, and Gabriel didn’t now if to laugh or to cringe, although he thanked you nonetheless-, a notebook, some far too expensive pen and a book, and went outside to read or take annotations on particular behaviours.

     He was always home by the time you arrived, exhausted, from work. *

     You groaned, every step of the stair high as a mountain. You lived on the last floor, the fifth, in the building. You just climbed up to the first one. Life was a terrible thing. By the time you reached upstairs, you were panting like a congested fifteen-year old bulldog, and you bag-pack weighted a ton of bricks.

      You crossed the doorway, kicked your shoes to one side -Gabriel would had your head for it-, the bag to the other, and face planted on the couch, the armrest digging sharply in your stomach. Gabriel, sitting straight as a broomstick on the other side of the cushions yet looking incredibly comfortable at the same time, gave you a sideways glance before returning to his book briefly to dogear it. On his lap rested his faithful notebook.

      “I see you have returned. How was work today?”

      He was like a therapist at his hour. He let you ramble while going to close the door. It’s not like he could understand you, your face buried in the fabric as it was, you socked feet on the air. This time, you just grunted. It’s been a lot like that recently.

     “I’m in severe pain at this very moment” you whined, not daring to move a muscle “. And I’m hungry too.”

      Your arms were heavy, and so were your legs, like you had attached weights to them and then went to win a marathon. Existing was a bit too much right now; for some reason, the restaurant you worked at had gotten surprisingly popular in a very short time, and the clients wouldn’t top coming. You were stressed every second of it, now not having time to even joke or chat with your co-workers between servings. Everyone but the manager was jumpy, and grumpy and the bad mood in the atmosphere increased with each passing day. The cooks at the back would bark at you waiters for being two seconds too late, and today you had slipped with something -you swore it had been that damned child from table seven throwing a spoon full of ice-cream at your feet- and landed heavily on your wrist. You hadn’t twisted it by pure luck, but it still ached, and an ugly, throbbing, purplish mark had found its home in the area.

      You saw Gabriel’s white crocs pass in front of your face -the best fucking purchase you had convinced someone to make- and he handed you a kitchen towel with ice. He was a businessman in his own house too, dressed sharp and elegantly. A month after becoming roomies and you hadn’t seen him in pyjamas yet. You drew the line at some point though, and it was located at the exact time you had noticed he would wear formal shoes even inside. Getting him to discard his scarf and coat hadn’t been that hard.

      Gabriel claimed the crocs were the ugliest thing he had the disgrace to glaze upon. You had agreed wholeheartedly. They were too white and the creator had decided to sprinkle holographic glitter on them too.  They were positively horrid. And you had been dying to see Gabriel wear them.

      Poor Gabriel, bless his soul, had obliged. He had forced you to buy what he considered the most atrocious thing in the store besides his new shoes. It was socks. Fluffy, sprinkled with pancakes and the face of the Grinch -of all things to put with pancakes- all over and you had fell in love. You only put them inside the house, and Gabriel cringed every time he would mistakenly look at your feet now. For someone with Gabriel’s sense of style, your mere existence was abhorrent. It was not that your fashion inclinations were all over the place, it was that you had sold them for a chewed corn chip at the flea market on a Sunday afternoon. He had seen you in pyjamas, in teared pants, in shirts with corny messages and in those puke inducing socks, among other atrocities.

      Right now, bent over the sofa, you were wearing what Gabriel believed to be your best clothes. You had an oversized hoodie -you had thousands of those, Gabriel believed- from which neck protruded the white collar of a dress shirt, your previously pleaded pants, now wrinkled, still maintained the ironed fold somehow, but your socks showed now two holes, one each, at the front part. You would have to throw them out again. You destroyed a pair every two weeks and Gabriel was sure half of your income was sorely designated to acquire socks.

     He cleared his throat and you sent him your deadliest glare. Gabriel stood there, unaffected, hands comfortably resting in the pockets of his pants. On the crook of his elbow hung his apron. “It’s dinner time” he said “. Go change, we have soup tonight. I’ve bought onions, and eggs and bread.”

     You had told him about your mom’s recipe a week ago. Gabriel, a big hater of anything more solid that jelly, had discovered the metaphorical Garden of Wonders in soup. He loved soup. He locked eyes with you and made a show of putting his apron on. You grunted again and stood, heading tiredly to your room to change. You would shower after dinner.

     Cooking was methodical -Gabriel wasn’t very fond of physical contact and you always kept enough distance as not to make him uncomfortable- and an actual approach at conversation. You did get some commentary on anecdotes that happened today while Gabriel chopped veggies with a surgeon’s accuracy. He always pointed that he wanted to listen, learn about what people did with their dull lives and whatnot.

      Gabriel made sure to have time to listen to you. He never, ever, made you feel dumb for mispronouncing  a word and would always give you helpful tips with grammar. You appreciated it immensely. You would be reading, wouldn’t understand a term and he gladly explained it to you, or spelled a word you didn’t catch right from TV and, in short, let you ramble and corrected your grammar whenever you had a question about anything.

      You were so fucking grateful for having him.

      You weren’t anxious or self-conscious about your language skills around him. You didn’t have to be on guard 24/7 because of judgement and you didn’t have to worry about him laughing at you behind your back. He was far too good for that. Had he not been a snarky, rich bitch, you would’ve thought him an angel of sorts.

     Angel or not, you thought looking at him, he’s dumb as fuck.

     The aforementioned angel had just taken a huge bite out of a red onion and now his eyes were, quote-unquote, ‘leaking’. His face was getting very red.

     You ran to get him a glass of water. *

     Gabriel thought he would feel lonely here on Earth, or bored. He had a lot of labours up in Heaven, very important duties. He was sure Michael was now taking care of them, but he felt kind of bad for relying so much on her. Upstairs decision or not, Michael had her own duties too. He hoped Sandalphon was helping her.

     As an Archangel, he was basically the representative for the Higher Powers among the other, lesser angels. He was to assign protocols, check the security and make sure that everything in Heaven, from the upper spheres to the organization and distribution of newly arrived souls ran smoothly. He was very good at his job and took pride in its effectiveness.

     He had had to find new people to be around daily now, during your absence. Coffee shops and little restaurants were his usual spots to find a loner human willing to share a conversation, no matter the age or gender or whatever -Gabriel wasn’t very sure what gender was, but many humans seemed to believe it was a huge thing or something, and after some well aged people screamed at him for indecency and tried to call him out for his sins, which he did not have, he had decided that it was better to leave some topics untouched.

     He had not felt that necessity with you yet. You relied on him when you had doubts and random things to ask about anything and it made him feel so fucking appreciated it was unbelievable. From the simplest of questions regarding his day -you always made a point to ask him about his day, even if his routine was always the same- to you screaming his name so he would come ad watch a cool thing on a video or a show you thought he could be interested in.

     Half of the time, Gabriel didn’t know what you were talking about, and you would pause the video and explain the general context to him, which would cause a new landside  of questions and, maybe, three hours later, you would return to the original topic. That didn’t happen most of the time but it didn’t seem to bother either of you.

     Existence on Earth wasn’t as shabby as he would have thought it to be. 

     It was kind of... tolerable.

-----------

Chapter 1

[rantingpaiges-blog]

Hey y’all I’m not exactly new here but this account sure is, but i only made this account specifically to rant about shit that pisses me right the fuck off. 

This blog is specifically for rants so if you don’t like rants then you don’t need to be here sweets- have a nice day :p

so anyways yeah i’m gonna start off this blog with an intro and a rant that happened not too long ago- so if you wanna keep reading go on ahead!

So its called "RantingPaiges" because well- ranting- and also pages-> paiges

ye- jokes ha ha funny

i will swear in these rants so if y’all don’t like that you may also move on yee yee- this is just how i express myself sweetly. UWU thanks-

so boom- new blog- hi, how are ya?

I wont say anyone’s names- I wont tag anyone- this is purely anon- no exposing- no witch hunt bullshit

A N O N Y M O U S

~tah dahhhhhh~

thanks for coming by! now onto the first rant-

alright so, this literally happened just a few moments ago, before making this blog. 

I have this friend, that sometimes likes to make shit up, and tell lies and try to justify their lies by adding on more bullshit to them to make themselves look “correct” when i try and tell them what they’re saying doesn’t make any fucking sense.

they brought up drawing tablets. we both like to draw, and i have a Wacom tablet named “silly” and shes just the best tiny tablet I’ve ever had and i love her. 

They brought up the tablet with “HEY DID I TELL YOU I MIGHT BE GETTING A TABLET?” cool. (also keyword here is *M I G H T* just keep that in mind ;))

 i asked right away “what brand is it?” because the brand is usually a strong saying on whether the tablet is actually a GOOD one- OR NOT!

they respond to that with “honestly i don’t know the brand”

“okay then hopefully its a good one though..” i say back.

to which they respond with, “It’s a really good tablet- i used it before, but i wear out the pen tips really fast”

okay quick question: HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU “MIGHT BE GETTING A TABLET” NOT KNOW THE BRAND NAME, BUT HAVE ALSO USED IT BEFORE YOU’VE EVEN GOTTEN IT?

OKAY DOES THAT MAKE SENSE? 

THEY D O N T HAVE THE TABLET BUT THEY HAVE USED IT BEFORE, BUT EVEN IF THEY’VE U S E D I T B E F O R E THEY DON’T KNOW THE N A M E. 

W H A T.

After fumbling around that for a solid 3 minutes like ‘what the fuck do you mean M=MC^2 8+5=10′ i just continue on with why TF their pen tips don’t last long, cause- you’re probably pressing too hard on the tablet and hurting it you dweeb.

after googling it real fast and seeing how long people say their pen tips last before they change them, I say: “if your pen tips wear out really fast you’re pressing way to hard on the tablet, sure its cool to mess around with the pressure thing with the pen, but there’s no reason to murder your pen by pushing down on the tablet hard. they’d last longer if you use light pressure"

to which they respond with: "Look I used light pressure but I draw a shit ton... Like my time I used it I fucking wore out entire tip because I just went from one project to the next "

Okay- back to the whole they’re PROBABLY GOING TO GET THE TABLET. THEY- WHAT I THOUGHT THEY SAID- D O N T H A V E I T Y E T. BUT THEY'VE BEEN USING IT-? OKAY- THEN- WHAT-THE- FUCK.

to which I ignore that fact and say, after once again searching around to make sure: "that doesn’t make any sense. if you use light pressure your pen should last longer. if they last up to like 6-15 months then its fine but if they barely last as long as 5 you’re doing something wrong."

which- maybe makes sense- right? i say 6-15 months because from what ive read around some people don’t change their for YEARS, or some people change them every 4-6 months, which could also be just preferred by the tablet user themselves- so i just ranged it around there. and depending on the use of it- which i highly doubt they use a tablet as much as they say they do because they draw on paper or their phone all the time from what i’ve seen. the PRESSURE <- they use on the pen, and/or the tablet itself is rough- okay then yeah. sure bud.

to which they respond to me with: "You do realize that my pen tips were half priced and were knock off right-? My one friend *name* told me the same thing and I gave her one of my pen tips-- to use (brand new too) and she used half of it just sketching and she was really light on her pen too"

OKAY YOU----

A) DIDN’T TELL ME THEY WERE KNOCK OFF

B) STILL HAVEN’T GOTTEN THE TABLET FROM WHAT YOU TOLD ME AT FIRST

C) SAID YOU’VE NEVER HAD A TABLET BEFORE SO WHY WOULD YOU BUY NIBS?????

THIS 👏HUMAN 👏DOES 👏NOT 👏MAKE👏 ANY 👏FUCKING👏 SENSE 👏WHAT 👏THE 👏FUCK 👏

OKAY ANYWAYS-I RESPOND WITH: "no you didn’t tell me that that explains that then. knock offs aren’t the greatest thing in the world, which is why its just better to get well known and highly rated brands. and if they’re too expensive, then holding off until you have a job would be better and save you annoyance of terrible pens. that’s what I did."

some knock offs can be good, sure, but from what they’ve said to me this alleged "knock off" isn’t good. i used to draw on my phone because i didn’t have money to spend on a tablet, so i just decided to wait until i had a job so i could save up money so I could get a computer and a tablet- which i mentioned before, is amazing and i’m so happy with her- so i could have a better experience drawing than up and getting a shitty tablet i wasn’t sure worked or didn’t know the brand. unlike this human. 🤔🤔😒

and their response was a voice recording so i’m gonna listen and copy down what they say rather than copying and pasting like i’ve been.

they say: “honest to god my tablet was a knock off, cause i had a brand picked out but the fucking name brand *blubber i don’t understand* so it was a name brand- and.... *pause* it cost 100 bucks originally and my grandparents i gave them the money and the refused to get the 100 dollar one and made me get the knock off which was 50 bucks *pause* it still works really nice. *stops to read what i just sent them* I-I CANT GET A JOB. *laughs* I’M NOT THE LEGAL AGE TO GET A JOB NOW. *laughs more*”

OKAY OKAY LISTEN. 100 DOLLARS IS FUCKING CHEAP IF YOU DON’T MIND ME SAYING. PLUS THEY HAD THE FUCKING MONEY TO GET THIS SO CALLED “NAME BRAND”-TO WHICH THEY STILL DIDN’T TELL ME THE FUCKING NAME- AND I SAID TO THEM ITS BETTER TO W A I T UNTIL YOU GET A JOB AND S A V E UP MONEY TO GET A TABLET YOU WOULD KNOW WOULD WORK BETTER THAN A KNOCK OFF WHICH YOU’VE ALREADY SAID IS SHITTY WITH THE PENS BUT IS STILL GOOD-? W H A T

ONCE AGAIN:

YOU SAID YOU M I G H T BE GETTING A TABLET, ONCE AGAIN, YET YOU BOUGHT IT- AND YOU WILL HAVE IT???? BUT YOU WONT HAVE IT BECAUSE YOU  M I G H T??? YOU HAD MONEY FOR A NAME BRAND TABLET- BUT YOU WEREN’T ALLOWED TO GET IT FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON? SO YOU INSTEAD BOUGHT A KNOCK OFF TABLET THAT WAS HALF THE PRICE, BUT FROM WHAT I’VE BEEN TOLD BY YOU, IT WOULD’VE BEEN BETTER TO TRY CHANGE YOUR GRANDPARENTS MIND TO GET A TABLET THAT YOU’RE GOING TO BUY WITH YOUR OWN MONEY- BUT AT THE EXACT SAME TIME YOU ALREADY HAVE THE TABLET AND HAVE BEEN USING IT TO FINALLY FIGURE OUT THAT THE TIPS DON’T LAST VERY LONG- W H AT? PL EA SE H E L P M E-------

TO WHICH THEY, THEN, RESPOND WITH: “i really need to get name brand stuff just the thing is is that i’m completely broke (<- YOU JUST SAID YOU HAD MONEY) and i cant get a job” 

A) YOU HAD MONEY TO GET A SUPPOSEDLY “NAME BRAND” TABLET- YOU CLEARLY SAID IT TO ME. 

B) I DIDN’T SAY YOU ABSOLUTELY HAD TO GET A JOB AT THIS VERY SECOND AND START SAVING UP MONEY IMMEDIATELY- N0- I SAID TO WAIT TO GET A JOB (BY WAIT I MEAN WHEN YOU’RE OLDER BECAUSE YOU’VE REPEATEDLY SAID TO ME THAT YOU’RE NOT OLD ENOUGH BEFORE THIS CONVERSATION) BEFORE WASTING MONEY ON A SHIT TABLET THAT THE PENS DON’T APPARENTLY LAST VERY LONG WITH EVEN THOUGH YOU APPARENTLY USE LIGHT PRESSURE, SO YOU END UP WASTING MONEY THAT YOU SAID YOU DON’T HAVE ON NIBS TO CHANGE ALL THE TIME BECAUSE THEY DON’T LAST VERY LONG-WHICH S T I L L DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE-  SO WHAT THE FUCJK IS HAPPENING WHY AM I TRYING TO FIGURE THIS OUT- YOU’RE MOST LIKELY LYING AT THIS POINT REEEEEEEEEEEEE????????????

AND I STOP TALKING TO THEM RIGHT HERE CAUSE THEY’RE JUST GONNA KEEP TRYING TO JUSTIFY THAT THEIR TABLET IS STILL GOOD WHEN THE TIPS DON’T LAST- AND GO OFF WITH RANDOM UNKNOWN STORIES- AND SAY THEY HAVE THE TABLET-WHEN THEY’VE ALSO SAID THEY*KEY WORD* M I G H T BE GETTING A TABLET STILL. 

OKAY 

OKAY

IF SOME HUMAN READ THIS WHOLE THING TAHNK YOU- IF YOU CAN SOMEHOW CLEAR THIS WHOLE STUPID THING UP THEN THAT WOULD BE F A A A A N TASTIC- 

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK.

[scattered0mind]

Missing Notes (Bucky Barnes x Reader one shot) [request]

A/N: Hello again! OMG THANK YOU ALL FOR THE WONDERFUL NOTES ON MY FIRST ONE SHOT I WAS JUST BLOWN AWAY. IT WAS BEAUTIFUL AND CRAZY AND THANK YOU. But this is my first request! I’m hoping I’m doing this right. Please give me feedback and send me request! I’m currently working on one or two one shots on my own but I love to hear from you guys. This is really fun! Thanks again! This is really long whoa.

warnings: fluff, mention of depression and anxiety, disability (dyspraxia)

disclaimer: I do not have this disability and I tried to write it to the best of my ability. I hope you all enjoy it. I also proofed read this like once so I’m sorry for like all my mistakes >.<

prompt: my request for an imagine is that I am really insecure about my dyspraxia and how I can't really do normal tasks like everyone else can, My hands tremor, and my muscles get tired very easy. (Irl I have such a hard time opening bottles and jars, (that's how weak my muscles are, but I work out) I don't want to talk to anyone and I stay in my room but Bucky manages to get me to talk to him about it and does something to show me that he loves me for who I am along with Steve Natasha and the rest of the gang.

BAM!

You don’t think you’ve ever jumped so high before. You turned away from the piano keys to look behind you. It was Sam, he was testing out his new drone and it happened to fly directly into a wall at full speed. He cursed as he ran across the room to get it, picking it up in pieces. You rolled your eyes and tried to get back to playing.

You didn’t understand why he was testing out his new drone in the middle of the common area of the base, you knew it was raining outside but there was also the training room that had higher ceilings. You knew Sam liked to pick on you even though sometimes you wished he wouldn’t. You knew he thought of you as a little sister and you have heard him tease his own sibling the same ways over the phone but sometimes you took what he said to heart. Like when you couldn’t pass the physical field test on the first try….or the second try…or the third. He teased you endlessly about it, probably thinking it would give you motivation but all it did was discourage you even more. You even asked Fury to be taking out field work and put behind a desk.

It wasn’t just because of Sam’s teasing. You had dyspraxia, a condition that prevented you from doing normal tasks sometimes and made you weak and tired. No one knew in the base but Fury and Hill. They needed an absolute reason why they couldn’t have in the field so you were forced to tell them. You were embarrassed by the condition. Who wouldn’t be when you’re surrounded by superheroes and enhanced beings constantly. But they were your family or at least the closest thing you had to it. So in order to stick around you settled for reviewing mission files and presenting research.

You looked down at the piano keys, spreading your fingers to hit the right notes. You played a few before you felt the tremor of your hand and the piano let out an awful note. You flexed your hand, hoping it would pass quickly but as you relaxed it gave a tremor again and you sighed, closing the piano.

“Something wrong?” Sam asked somewhere behind you. You looked over your shoulder and saw him trying to fix the drone before Tony found out from FRIDAY what he did to it.

“No, just got tired all of sudden. I think I might go to lay down.” You said. Sam nodded, watching you as you left the piano and walked into the hallway connected to the common area. You were upset and tired at yourself and just wanted to lock yourself away. What good was knowing how to play music if your own body didn’t allow you too.

Music was a huge escape for you. When you were feeling depressed or anxious it was a great reliever, something you had all to yourself. You felt yourself get more upset at the thought of it. You shook your head as you continued down the hallway to your bedroom. You were the last door on the left. Most of the Avengers lived on this floor with you, Wanda and Vision just started a room, letting Sam move into Visions old room, Steve and Natasha were across the hall from the each other and Bucky stayed across from your room.

You reach your door as Bucky comes out of his room. He smiled a little seeing you. He looked good as always. His long sleeve red henny shirt to cover most of the metal on his arm and dark jeans. His long hair was tucked behind his ears and away from his face.

“Hey Y/N.” He said lowly. You smiled slightly, brushing a loose hair away from your face, you felt it tremor again and clenched your hand, quickly tucking it into the pocket of your sweatshirt. Bucky eyes followed you as you did and you prayed he didn’t notice anything.

“Hey Buck.” You replied, dropping your eyes to the floor. You had a tiny crush on Bucky ever since he showed up on the base. He didn’t talk a lot and when he did it was always quietly. You often found him loitering around the tiny office you work in, reading whatever book Wanda picked out for him to read. You wish you had the nerve to ask him why he was always around the office when Steve and Nat were training or everyone was watching a movie in their down time before a mission. Sometimes you liked to think he was there because he wanted to spend time with you but you guys barely talked when he was there and it was mostly him asking some questions about a pop culture reference or your music (which gave you butterflies).

“You ok?” He asked. You nodded, shifting your eyes quickly to look up at him.

“Yeah, just tired might lay down for a little.” You said, gesturing to your door with your body. He looked at you, his blue eyes confused.

“It’s only 9 in the morning.” He said. “You feel ok?”

“Yeah I’m fine, just woke up too early.” You were lying through your teeth but how could you tell him about everything? It wasn’t like you thought he’d shun you or anyone else would do that but it was embarrassing and you didn’t want the pitiful stares or to be a hindrance on anyone.

Though sometimes you did need help.

And your crush on him would hurt even more if he knew. You already knew Bucky wouldn’t love you like you loved him but you couldn’t even daydream about it if he knew anymore. How could someone so perfect want someone who sometimes couldn’t even open a jar by themselves.

“See you later Bucky.” You said softly, opening your door and swiftly closing yourself inside, leaving a confused and worried Bucky staring at your door.

A couple of days later you were feeling better and your hand wasn’t giving tremors anymore. Though you haven’t really played the piano or any other instrument since then just in case. Though not playing was making you more depressed and Hill decided to unload a mass amount of mission files onto your desk. You could already feel the stress ulcer forming just by thinking of all of them. Other than that things were kind of normal, Bucky still hung around your office, though a lot more as of late, and you try not to blush too much now that he’s taken it upon himself to lean  over your shoulder to check on whenever you sighed.

You were typing up a report, when you felt your hand tremor again. You quickly tucked in against your person, flexing it a bit. You glanced at Bucky at the couch against wall, he was sitting hunched over, today he bought in a notebook and his tablet. Lucky he was writing something into the notebook occasionally looking at the tablet and tapping his pen against his knee. You went back to work, or at least attempted to. Every few words your hand would shake, and your eyes already felt like a desert just by staring at the screen for the past 3 hours. You sighed, scooting away from your desk and standing up. Bucky looked up finally after hearing you move. His blue eyes gazing over at you as he closed his notebook and darkened his tablet. Moving them to the side so he could rest his elbows on top of his knees.

“You alright? You look exhausted.” He said. You shrugged.

“Yeah I’m fine, though I might already consider middle age retirement by the time I finish this stack of files Hill gave me.” You complained, pulling your hair into a low bun, halfway through you felt you hand spasm. You winced, pausing but finishing putting your hair in the bun. Bucky was still staring at you and watched you with a raised eyebrow.

“I know it’s none of my business,” He started, looking down at his palms, the pen still in one as he hit it against his metal palm. You shifted uncomfortable not exactly liking where this conversation was going. You knew Bucky was observational and you couldn’t help but notice he was watching you more often these past few days since your guys encounter in the hallway.

“But are you okay? I know I’ve been saying that a lot but you just seem…not yourself.” He said softly, standing up and walking towards you. You crossed your arms over you chest, looking away from him and his all knowing blue eyes. “And I haven’t heard you play music lately.”

Again. You shrugged. You knew you were being closed off and distant. But you could feel the swell of panic in your chest. How could he possible understand what it’s like to be weak while your surround around all these amazing people. You’d rather just deal with everything on your own then admit it to them. You didn’t want to bother anyone, and you didn’t want anyone to feel obligated to help you. Especially if it came to Bucky.

“It’s fine, I just have a lot of work to do. And you’re distracting me.” You said harshly, looking him in the eyes. You immediately felt bad watching his face drop. He clicked his jaw, sighing while bringing his hands to cup your face. Your breath hitched.

“Listen, I don’t know what your thinking or feeling but I am here for you.” He said softly to you. His blue eyes sad with something else lurking behind them though you couldn’t place your finger on what. You nodded, looking away from him. In your experience, you knew everyone always said they were there. But when you finally took down a wall or two for them, they quickly distanced themselves from you. You didn’t want that to happen with Bucky.

“Thanks, I appreciate that but I’m fine.” You stepped back away from Bucky, grateful for the extra space now. He was so intoxicating. You wanted to lean further into and have him wrap his arms around and just spill everything little thing thats been eating away at you. But you couldn’t. “I just have to head downstairs to the basement, I need an old mission report to wrap up this one and Hill didn’t put it in the pile.”

You rushed out of your tiny office as Bucky opened his mouth probably offering to get it for you or at least come with you. Grabbing a sheet of paper with the report number on it before you left. You took took the elevator down to the last floor it went too and you knew you had to take the stairs to go all the way into the basement. After the destruction of SHIELD, most of the old files were of little use, especially when half of them was out on the Internet. Still Fury decided to leave the ones they did have on hand in what basically was a storage space under the training room.

The only problem was the stairs. You stared down the darken steps, biting your lip. It wasn’t the dark that scared you but you knew how physically demanding these stairs will probably be. You could already feel the exhaustion. You sighed, and started down them trying to breath easily and not freak out. You kept the entrance opening hoping the lights from the training room will lit the way for you because the last thing you need to do is fall down almost three flights of steps Finally getting to the bottom, your legs were shaking and your lungs were burning. You didn’t even want to look for the mission report, nor could you think properly about it. You sat yourself on the bottom stair and just existed in the dark and the dust. That nagging voice in your head repeating that this is where you belong in a superhero base. Forgotten about and useless. You tried focusing on playing a melody in your head, humming out the tune but your throat felt tight and your eyes burned with tears.

“Hello?” A voice said from the top of the stairs. You yelped, jumping up as fast as you could while wiping away the tears. “Anyone down here?”

“Yeah.” You replied meekly. It was Steve and you could hear him already making his way down before you answered him. You started looking for the mission report, hoping it looks like you were working instead of actually feeling sorry for yourself.

“Y/N? What are you doing down here?” Steve asked reaching the bottom of the steps. You were leaving through a box of reports, you shrugged in response.

“Working.” You said, keeping your eyes on the box.

“Uh huh.” Steve replied unconvinced. You heard him walk to the table you were at, picking up the paper with the number of the report you needed. “I can find this for you if you want.”

You started to object, but two seconds later he pulled out an old box on one of the higher shelves surrounding you two. He pulled out the report you need quickly, smiling as he handed it to you.

“I come down here sometimes, you know. I like to read Peggy’s old missions.” He admitted sheepishly. You couldn’t help but smile softly at that. You thought it was both wonderful and tragic that Steve still loved Peggy after all this time. They might not have been together for very long but love seemed to last through lifetimes…..and freezing cold water.

“Thanks Steve, but just so you know I could have done it myself.” You reiterated. Steve rolled his eyes.

“You sound like me before I turned into Captain America.” He said, crossing his arms and leaning against the shelves behind him. You rolled your eyes at him, opening the report to look over it.

“You were always Captain America.” You quipped.

“Not always, I was just a kid from Brooklyn too dumb to run away from a fight.” He said grinning, like he was remembering a time before all this super hero craziness. You stared at him for a second, blinking slowly. You turned back to the report, biting your lip as you hands shook a little.

“How did you do it?” You asked quietly. “Back then it must have been worse with everything.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have much. I just had Bucky.” Steve took a step towards you, his blue eyes drilling holes into you. Seeing through you. You swallowed thickly. Then he said completely serious.

“He was with me until the end of the line.”

That night you sat in your room, thinking about Bucky and what Steve had said. Bucky had stuck with Steve in the 40’s. He looked after Steve, cared for him and never once complained. If anything Bucky complains about Captain America. But not Steve. Not the kid from Brooklyn. When you got back to your office Bucky wasn’t in there any longer. You finished up the some of the reports you had started before heading to bed, tired and feeling down you skipped dinner.

Getting back to your room, you didn’t attempt to play. You just laid face first in your pillow, face burning while remember how Bucky’s hands felt on it. His metal one was cool and smooth against your cheek and you could feel the roughness and callous on his flesh one. He looked good today too, wearing that a black t-shirt that was too tight for it to be appropriate and his hair pulled back into a low bun. You also thought about how open and honest he sounded today while trying to get you in return to be open and honest. It scared you obviously.

But you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything ease when you even considered telling Bucky.

That was it. Bucky wasn’t going to judge you. He wasn’t going to feel obligated to help you or feel pity towards you. He didn’t with Steve and he wouldn’t with you. He already tried helping you, he would bring you lunch or reach the mug you wanted on the highest shelf. You caught him more than once telling off Sam for teasing you a little too hard.

You liked Bucky. And if you even wanted the chance for him to like you back you had to tell him. It was going to be the hardest thing, but it was the best thing. Getting off of your bed, you pulled on a oversized hoodie and went across the hall to knock on his door. You paused briefly with your fist raised to knock. You could hear the sound of a guitar on the other side of it. It was rough and the song kept missing notes but you liked it anyway. He was probably just listening to music, you thought knocking on his door.

You heard the guitar stop and him shuffle around in his room before he opened the door. You took a step back as it opened, not expecting him to look so…comfy. He was wearing a white tank top, showing off his metal arm and flannel pajama bottoms, his hair still wet from the a shower he took.

“Y/N! Hi!” His voice was high as he greeted you. You shoot him an odd look and he cleared his throat.

“Hi Buck, can I come in?” You asked. He nodded opening the door a little to let you in. Walking by him was torture, whatever soap he used smelled like heaven. When you were actually in his room, you noticed how bare it was and how everything was very mute colors. Looking around at the stack of books by his bed and the desk with a lone picture of him and Steve from a time you couldn’t ever know and an open notebook.

“I just wanted-” You started, turning around as he closed the door. You notice something against the wall. It was an old acoustic guitar. Bucky followed your eyes to it and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. You looked at him and grinned.

“So you were playing music in here. Actually playing it!” You exclaimed. You couldn’t help but be excited. You could talk about music for hours and to be able to talk to Bucky about it was just icing on the cake.

“Yeah I was….” He trailed off, keeping his eyes on the guitar.

“May I?” You asked, walking towards it before he could answer.

“Uh yeah, no yeah sure go ahead. I’d be honored.” You shot him a confused look as he rambled a little. You didn’t see the light blush adorning his cheeks as he watched you take it over to his bed. You sat down on the edge of it and strummed lightly against the strings. You couldn’t help but smile. Bucky took a seat right next to you. You played a little, both of you enjoying the comfortable silence excluding the sound of the guitar. You didn’t have to talk to Bucky all the time and you really enjoyed that. It was like the two of you just knew that this was enough.

And then you felt your hand tremor and the guitar let out an awful not. You stopped playing immediately, practically shoving the instrument into Bucky’s arms as he watched you concerned. Your face felt hot and the familiar sting of tears were in your eyes. You flexed your hand obsessively in front of you, keeping your face turned away from Bucky.

“Are you okay? What happened? What can I do?” Bucky asked, setting the guitar to the side and sliding close to you, taking your hand into his. You closed your eyes at the touch of smooth cool metal and rough hard working flesh. You felt the tears fall down your face as you finally turned to look at him, taken back about the deep blue his eyes were. The way he was looking at you made your heart beat hard in your chest.

“I-I have a condition.” You confessed quietly. “It’s called dyspraxia. It causes me to be very weak after the easiest things. I can’t even a jar by myself sometimes. It also causes my hand to tremor and-”

“Stops you from playing.” Bucky finished for you. You nodded, crying quietly. Bucky shifted himself bringing you so close that you were sitting on his lap. You head resting against his shoulder and he cradled you, rocking the two of you softly back and forth. He shushed you softly while you cried into his arms. You couldn’t stop to tell it was because you felt so relieved to have told him. That the familiar burn of embarrassment wasn’t there. You knew this was the right thing to do.

“You know-” He cleared his throat and you could have sworn you felt his heart beat a little quicker. “You know I actually noticed you not playing. I use to listen to you play the piano or your guitar all the time. Sometimes I could hear you sing from my room. And when you stopped, I uh, I missed it.” You stayed still against him, listening to him talking.

“And I knew something was going on and I also knew you loved music. So I thought that if you didn’t play I would. So I was learned guitar or tried to I’m not very good at it really. I even tried writing a song. Sam said it was dumb but Steve-” You lifted your head before throwing your arms around his neck. You hugged him so tight and you felt him chuckle as he wrapped his arms around your torso.

“Thank you Bucky. I just- I knew I had to tell you.” You whispered.

“Well, I’m glad it was me.” He replied, kissing the side of your head as you two stayed there locked in an embrace neither of you wanted to get out of.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you-” Bucky said, pulling the two of you apart so he could lean back and look at you. You smiled at him softly and he smiled back letting out a breath.

“Steve is having an art show soon. And- And I wanted to ask you” He explained shyly. “Would you want to go?”

You laughed and nodded, “I’d be honor to be your date.” You said, smirking a little. Bucky rolled his eyes, a blush blooming on his face.

“I actually like that sound of that.”

[sherlockxreader]

Man and Machine

Title: Man and Machine - Part 1: Tony’s Invitation

Summary: Your new life in Baker Street has been challenging, exhausting, exciting and satisfying. It has been little over a year since you have moved away from your brother Tony and after becoming part of the duo that is John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. You hadn’t expected their worlds to collide so quickly however, with Christmas fast approaching, you find yourself caught up in the whirlwind that will be the Avengers Christmas, featuring two British best friends, one obnoxious boyfriend and one protective older brother. Merry Christmas?

Author: Maddy @laterthantherabbit Words: 2220 Characters/Relationships: Sherlock x reader, Tony Stark x sister!reader, John Watson x platonic!reader Warnings: Nada

Request: Hey it’s me again Haha so I was hoping if I could request that reader is Tony Stark’s Daughter (or maybe sister would work better for you?) and she manages to drag her boyfriend coughSherlockcough to America during a holiday to meet him(?) that was my idea and I know it’s a really weird and specific niche of fic but if you guys are comfortable with it ik you’re the best ones to pull it off - anonymous

A/N: Hey anon, thanks for this request! I love it heaps! I’ve decided to write this with the reader as Tony’s sister just cause of the ages and stuff. I’ve also added in a few more Avengers cause they’re always fun. The Accords exist but all the drama that had happened and the split has been resolved, so everyone’s together in the new compound. Also this is after Sherlock’s fall but he and John made up and are still working cases together. Season 4 didn’t happen in this universe. I’ve also decided to write this in multiple parts as well just cause I feel like I’m doing some major info dumping here that I don’t want to try and put it all together into one. Hope it’s what you were expecting!

———————————————————

Being Tony Stark’s younger, introverted sister was both a blessing and a curse when living in New York City, especially after he gained countless enemies over the near decade of being Iron Man. After the Battle of New York and the events of The Mandarin, you had decided to move to London, away from any business your brother was involved with, into a quieter, more stable lifestyle.

It was more peaceful in England and though there were some people who recognised you as Y/N Stark, they were more polite about your personal space and kept their distance better than those in NYC. Life was quaint, as Tony had described it when you showed him pictures of the small apartment you were going to be renting in Baker Street from a nice old lady. Mrs. Hudson if you remembered correctly. You commuted from 221C to the law firm you worked at via the tube daily, preferring that over any eccentric cars Tony would have bought you. You met up with Mrs. Hudson frequently, finding solace in the woman when your cases were getting to your head; she always knew how to help in the drug-related cases somehow.

The most exciting part about your move however were your neighbours, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. You didn’t meet them until your third day in London, as your hours required you to leave early and work late. You had always heard the occasional violin upstairs, sometimes loud arguing between the two men at the early hours of the morning. Their theatrics amused you even if they didn’t know you knew of their various exploits and adventures through Mrs. Hudson’s stories and John’s blog, kindly provided by Mrs. Hudson herself. When you finally met the men on one of your afternoon’s off with Mrs. Hudson, your amusement towards them grew tenfold.

John was grumbling to Sherlock about running off by himself again from the front of the building to the dining table in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen, ignorant of your presence at the end of the table. You chuckled quietly over your tea as he walked in ahead of Sherlock, looking at the ground and flopping into the chair at the other end of the table, his head in his hand and his elbow in the table. Sherlock came in next arguing against whatever John had just said, stopping abruptly when he saw you sipping tea at Mrs. Hudson’s table. John looked up at the sudden silence and blushed a little at having not noticed you in the room.

From there, your life became far more interesting. John became a close friend, one of your best. He was always one to listen to your problems at work, letting you whinge on his shoulder as he read a book or watched crap telly.

Sherlock on the other hand became one of the most important people in your life. At first, he was his abrasive and obnoxious self yet he had always left the light on for you when you came back to the building especially late and you began to notice that he’d play soft music at these times, helping you sleep before the next monstrosity of a day. After a couple of weeks, you’d find little post-it notes on some of your work, suggesting at evidence you should use and even pointing out parts that would change the game immensely. You knew who it was immediately.

John managed to get Sherlock to face his feelings for you when he saw him drape a blanket over your exhausted figure which had collapsed on the couch of 221B, a smile that could only be of adoration on his face. It took some time, but eventually, he worked up the courage to open up his heart to you and from there, your life was perfect. Until the first Christmas away from Tony approached.

—————————————————————-

You were sitting cross-legged on the ground of 221B, your back against the couch and mounds of paper strewn across the floor in front of you, different coloured highlighter and post-it notes dotting the white in a code that only you and Sherlock could really understand. You were alone at the moment, John having gone to work and Sherlock having gone out to examine something with Molly. You had the day off from work, only to have to catch up on a heap at home. You attention remained fixated on the papers in front of you as you heard someone’s footsteps on the staircase outside, the door creak and the person shake out their coat from the rain outside.

“Hello Y/N. How’s the case coming?” Sherlock spoke as he stripped on his way to his bedroom, coming back out a moment later in his pyjamas and blue dressing gown. “Y/N?”

“Hm? Oh it’s dismal, as always.” You chucked the pen you held onto the words with frustration, lying your head back onto the couch cushions as you scrubbed the tiredness from your eyes. “This one’s hopeless. God dammit.” You kept your eyes shut, letting them rest as Sherlock flopped onto the part behind you. He began to stroke your hair out of habit as he let his other hand drape across his own eyes.

“It’ll work out. You always make it do.” You hummed in appreciation as he continued.

“Only with your help. I can’t remember how many times you’ve helped me.”

“True.” You smiled and brought your hand up to playfully swat at his chest. You heard him gasp at your antic and felt him shift as he brought his fist to his chest. “Rude.”

“Rude yourself.” You sighed and opened your eyes, lifting your head to continue with your work only to have it brought back to it’s resting place by Sherlock’s hand on your forehead. “Sherlock. I really need to get this done, I don’t have time.”

“I’ll help later. You need to rest anyway.”

“You shouldn’t be helping at all. These are confidential documents. In fact, everything I do is confidential. I should’ve stopped you right away.” Your bickering was pointless as you settled your head back and let Sherlock fiddle with your hair.

“Mycroft can sort anything out if we’re caught. Don’t worry.”

“How horrid.” You both laughed, the domesticity of the room making you sleepy. You dozed until John came in a couple of hours later, letters in his hand, one nearly double the size of the rest.

“I see you two are cozy. I brought your mail up as well Y/N. It’s mostly junk except this one.” He handed you the giant, off-white letter, the outside rimmed with a thick gold border, a thinner one next to it in hot-rod red, before he made his way into the kitchen to make tea. You knew who it was from immediately and your sleepy body sprung upright immediately as you worked on opening the letter. Sherlock, who had managed to catch some sleep with you, was jolted by your movements, making him grumble and turn to the back of the couch.

“It’s from Tony!” You heard John chuckle to himself as he emerged from the kitchen while the jug boiled.

“I kinda guessed that. I thought he usually called?”

“He does but you know Tony. Always going that extra mile for the wow factor.” You smiled as you lifted the flap of the quality envelope, your address written in Tony’s messy handwriting, a contrast against the pristine paper. Inside was a thin black screen branded with the Stark name. When you lifted the rectangle, it flickered and came to life, scanning your fingerprints where they were at the edges, projecting the Stark image above the tablet when it was flat, as it was in your hands.

“That’s a bit much isn’t it?” John had made his tea while you were pulling out the device. His face was a mixture of confusion and awe towards the advanced piece of technology. “And he sent that through the post? Would’ve thought it would break.”

“It’s probably stronger than that mug you’ve got there.” You smirked at John as he scowled and sat in his chair, preferring to read the paper. The scanning completed and, after confirming that you were you, the face of your brother appeared in the holographic image.

“Y/N?” Holo-Tony called through the screen. He was in his engineer clothes of a singlet and grease stains, as you had dubbed them, and he was leaning in with his head tilted showing the left side more. You could see his workshop and suits behind him.

“Tony! How’ve you been?” You stood from your place when you realised this was a phone call of sorts, moving to Sherlock’s room to have some privacy.

“Splendid. Never been better. How’s the Traveling Utility for Removed Dumbasses working?” He had leaned back to fiddle with something out of screen though you could still clearly see the smirk on his face as your face dropped, unimpressed.

“Seriously, TURD? It’s like you’re still five.”

“Well I had to find some new way to insult you. You should be grateful I made that thing just for you.” He was looking smugly at you through the screen as the smile that had disappeared flickered back onto your face.

“You dork.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah yeah. Anyways what’s up? That can’t be the only reason you made this thing?” You sat on Sherlock’s bed and rested the tablet at one end so you could lay down on your stomach, nothing behind you except a blank wall.

“Course not. You know what the date is?” He had gone back to looking down at something and you could see his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration.

“Um, the twenty-fifth?”

“Of?”

“November?”

“Exactly! And where are you?”

“England. Tony what has this got to do with anything?” He dropped his hands loudly on the desk and looked into the screen with a gobsmacked face.

“Christmas! The Big Stark Christmas and now the Big Avengers Christmas! We are planning the best Christmas ever and that can’t begin until you’re here so pack your bags sis, you are coming home!” He spun in a circle on his chair as holographic fireworks surrounded him on screen in the vibrant colours of Christmas. You giggled at his theatrics and shook your head.

“Tony, I can’t. I have so much work here and-”

“Nope.” He waggled his finger at you and picked up what he was working on, one of his thrusters, “It’s already been sorted. I got you the whole month off and am sending a jet over tomorrow so you can come here and celebrate. Meet the newbies. Maybe meet someone.” He wiggled his eyes suggestively and you blushed, hiding your face in your arms.

“Uhh, well, about that-”

“I’m just joking Y/N.” He began tightening a screw in his thruster, not registering the direction you were heading with. “Anyways what I’m saying is that you have no choice really. You’re coming here for Christmas whether you like it or not. So?” His eyes flicked to the screen and you saw how hopeful they looked. You sighed and smirked at your brother.

“Well after all the trouble you’ve been through, of course I’ll be there. Tomorrow the jet was coming you said?” His eyes crinkled at the sides and his mouth widened in a brilliant smile.

“Yes it is! I’ve got stuff to do but I will see you soon!” He leaned in to hang up but you waved your hands at the screen and spat out syllables in objection.

“Wait! Wait, stop!”

“What?” Tony looked confused at you and slightly worried as you fiddled with your sleeve and said you were going to bring some friends if they agreed. “Is that all?” He relaxed against his chair and smiled softly. “Course they can come, the more the merrier! I’ll need a name to do a background check so, who are they?”

“Uh, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.” You thought you saw recognition flicker across his features however, it disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced with his previous relaxed face as he asked FRIDAY to remind him to run a background check on the two.

“No worries Y/N. I’ll see you soon yeah?”

Your tense face and body loosened and you smiled into the screen, saying you’ll text if they agree to come. “I can’t wait. Bye T.” He smiled back then the screen went dark, leaving you reeling as you realised that you were about to introduce your boyfriend and new best friend to some of the most powerful people in the world as well as your brother.

On the other side of the world, Tony sat in his workshop, a dark screen in front of him and his mind racing. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t worry about that background check and bring up everything I have on those two people.” A moment later, a mass of virtual newspaper clippings and information appeared in front of Tony. John’s service in Afghanistan, Sherlock’s rehabilitation, their work on a multitude of cases, John’s blog, Sherlock’s fall. Anything and everything that was related to the two men was at Tony’s fingertips and a steely expression was on his face. “She just had to meet a Holmes, didn’t she?”

[e-dash-lace]

It’s actually probably a little late for this because most people have already bought their laptops.  But hey you know what I’m gonna do this anyway.  

I was lucky when I bought my laptop.  My dad was big into Microsoft and taught me to be very wary and serious about buying a laptop for college.  There’s a lot to consider and it’s important to know all of the laptop jargon and everything when you’re looking for a laptop.  I never got an honest student-to-student guide on laptops so I wanted to make one.

Preface:  Rules for Looking at Laptops

1.  Consider what you will use your laptop for first.  Almost all college students will use their laptop for these things: 

- Typing 

- Watching videos

- Reading 

- Messaging

If you plan to use your laptop for gaming or video production or photo editing, you need to consider the specs of your computer and the system requirements for the products you want to use.  Consider getting a computer that has expandable storage or purchasing an external hard drive.  When buying a computer, don’t forget that the operation system and preinstalled programs will take up some of the listed storage.  

2. Do your own research.                                                                                                

Write down all the things you think you want to be able to do with your laptop.  Read reviews, go to more than one store.  Go to the Apple Store on a weekday and ask them questions about the laptop.  I’ve found that the Apple employees tend to be kind of vague unless you pester them and it’s easier to do that when the story is less crowded.  They assume that if you’re in their for a laptop, you’ll easily buy it just for the logo on the back.  

3. Look for student discounts and consider a protection plan.  Also consider your school’s tech store and your school’s location to the nearest specialist for your computer.  Do not buy a laptop that you would need to send away to get fixed if you can help it.  There’s nothing like your harddrive giving out the day before an essay is due.  Apple and Microsoft both offer like a 20% student discount if you give them proof or a student email.

4. Check to see if your school will give you the Office Suite for free. Pages and Google Docs are great but Google Docs is kind of painfully unprofessional looking and pages is kind of annoying so I recommend that you get access to Microsoft Office for Word, OneNote, and Powerpoint.  Chances are your school may also offer Photoshop CC and Final Cut for free so know what you can get for free from your school and the specs you’ll need to use those if you want to.  In some cases you can also get these programs for free to use on library desktop computers.

5. AN IPAD IS NOT ENOUGH.  Tablets are great but you’re going to HATE YOURSELF for your first all-nighter.  If you want a tablet that bad, consider buying a 2-in-1 or bringing a tablet along with your laptop.  I have known people who bring only IPads and they did not have a fun time writing essays.

Now that you know the rules let’ s get on the laptops.

I want to say that I don’t really know that much about laptops.  Like I know the basic basics but like you know whatever.  I’m gonna do my best so please let me know if there is something I said wrong or something I should add.

Processors and RAM

Processor: Your computer’s brain.  How fast can your computer do things? the higher the number the better.  i5 or i7 are usually the most common for college students.

RAM= Random Access Memory : How much shit your computer can do at one time.  The higher this number, the more things you can run at once.  This is why when you have 35 apps open on your phone it gets too hot and slow.  It doesn’t really have that kind of RAM. 8 GB of RAM is usually the base but if you do more, you can go up to 16.

College Kid Computers

I’m a big PC gal so I will vouche for that real hard. But I’m trying to be fair. 

There are generally five laptops (or laptop adjacents ) you will come across in college:  MacBook (including the Pro), SurfaceBook, the Surface, Chromebooks, and Razers.  Othe alternatives include Lenovo Yogas (which are cute as shit), Surface Laptops (I don’t believe in these because they have fabric on them but they come in cute colors), and the HP Spectre.

MacBooks are usually best for video and audio editing.  They have fantastic displays and you can get great support for them on campus because they are so common.  However, they have very little ventilation and even though on campus help is common, due to the way Apple likes to conduct itself, they will need to be sent away if you’re having a serious problem.  They can also get expensive so don’t cop out and try to buy a cheap model with low storage because YOU WILL REGRET IT.  I had a friend who did that and she had to lug around an external hard drive because she didn’t have enough storage to do projects on her laptop.  There are two types:  the MacBook and the MacBook Pro.  The Pro is probably the better option but it costs a lot more.  However, the keyboard is better and it is a little sturdier so it will probably last longer.

Surface Books are really nice.  This is the laptop I have.  It’s best for photo editing and like design because it has the pen.  The Surface Book separates into a tablet and comes with the Surface Pen.  They’re windows computers so they come with Office and if you use a windows computer at home, it’s easiest to adjust and transfer over important files.  It also separates into a tablet and has a crazy nice battery life because it has two batteries.  This computer has pretty decent ventilation and directs all of the heat it generates to the battery on the screen of the computer so it will not burn your thighs!  However, these computers are super new so there is no IT support for them on most campuses.  These computers are also HELLA ‘spensive because it is a 2-in-1.  It start at like $1500 I think.  Also, because of the tablet bit, they have a weird hinge that makes the computer gap when closed which is kind of ugly.

Surfaces are often considered to the best college PC.  They have an adjustable kick stand  and a nice keyboard.  They come with the pen and they’re nice and lightweight.  Since they aren’t really laptops though they don’t make good computers for lap work and again, because they’re on the more uncommon side, IT support on campus is weak.

Chromebooks are kind of weird.  They’re nice and cheap which is cool but that’s really about it.  There are my least favorite laptops.  If you’re going to bring a desktop to school, this is a great idea because it’s simple and it will get the job done.  But it cannot run anything in the Office suite or any other programs you might need for class like statistics software or even Arduino.  It can only run web apps and chrome extensions.  While Google Drive apps are great for group projects, they aren’t the best for writing papers and making presentations so take that into consideration.  

Razer Blades are the most high end of the laptops.  They are fucking MONSTERS.  These are great for everything from design to video gaming.  I haven’t heard anything bad about these computers to be honest.  They're gorgeous machines with rainbow keyboards that come with presets for how they light up which is lit as fuck.  They can run League of Legends pretty smoothly and I really don’t know anyone who has had a problem with them.  I do suggest you have some knowledge of computers before you order one of these though because I think it’s more common to order them online.  If you plan on playing a lot of games on your laptop while you’re in college this is probably your best bet. ALSO IF YOU WANT A DANK KEYBOARD OMG THIS WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE.  The click of a Razer Chroma Keyboard is the music of my dreams.

[chocleanne]

Too tired

Characters: BTS’ Taehyung x Reader Genre: Angst and a hint of Fluff Word Count: 2,970

Rolling his head to the side, Taehyung sighs. This is the fifth Corona he finishes in the last two and a half hours, the clear bottle now joining its peers on the small neglected carpet. He can’t exactly tell the last time he cooked a proper meal for himself, but it was some time around last week, or the week before… maybe.

He had been rejecting Jimin’s texts inviting him to join in on club nights with the other boys. Even if he called, Taehyung just told him he was too busy. He just wasn’t in the mood, he hadn’t been in the mood for anything since that night you left. His life had become a loop of sleeping, showering, half-heartedly slurping in some instant noodles whenever he felt his stomach growl, and watching some senseless movies or series on Netflix until he felt like sleeping again. He hadn’t been to the studio in a week, and whenever he showed up before that, he could barely walk or was absolutely hungover.

He just can’t take you out of his head. Showering reminds him of you, he could swear he can smell your body wash in the morning when he wakes up, or your hair tickling his neck whenever he turns around in his sleep. He could swear he can hear your quiet huffs whenever he presses play on yet another episode of Breaking Bad, your fingers running through his hair right as his eyelids start to give up on him, pulling him into a dream where he’s complaining, trying to work on his first solo song while you jam out to your favorite song.

You’ve never had the most gifted of voices, but he didn’t mind. He used to love hearing you trying to hit especially high notes, your voice cracking in a way he found funny yet endearing. He was just so head over heels for you, when did that change? He started to come home just one hour later than usual, that hour eventually becoming two, three, six… More often than not you were already fast asleep whenever he came home, and he was too tired to wake you up, so he just turned his back on you and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He stopped sending you good morning texts whenever he woke up to an empty bed due to you being at college, he stopped sending you heads up texts when he knew he was going to be late for dinner.

He stopped waking you up with sweet kisses on your neck whenever he had a free day, sneaking a hand under your shirt to let his fingers feel your warm skin whenever you’d watch a show and cuddle on the couch. He stopped paying attention to your rants about your day, focusing more on his texts with Hoseok about a move he couldn’t get quite right that afternoon during practice, he stopped cracking jokes at you and teasing you for being too short to reach the utensils in the kitchen. He stopped being your boyfriend until one day you decided you’d had enough.

He was sitting down on his desk, writing and scribbling and scrunching papers as he had been for the past three days, brows furrowed in concentration when you appeared from the side, holding two dresses in front of you. “Hey, Mozart,” you teased and he hummed in acknowledgment. “Blue or green? You’re wearing your green shirt, right?” To your last question, he arched one of his full eyebrows without lifting his head from his notes “Me? Why would I wear that now?”. You licked your bottom lip and stared at his back in disappointment, you were expecting this to happen anyway. “Our three years dinner, Tae. The reservation was for today,” you reminded him calmly, holding onto the bit of hope you still had. He turned around to face you and let his eyes roam over your figure. He can’t deny he felt a pinch of guilt tug at his heart at that moment, but that didn’t stop his calm words when he looked at you in the eye. “I’m sorry, babe, I’m really tired and I think I’m finally getting somewhere with this.”

Your face dropped completely when he just sent you an apologetic smile and turned back around to keep scribbling on his notebook. It was that simple for him, an ‘I’m sorry’ and a small smile fixed it all. But it wasn’t, you were tired of ‘I’m sorry’s, you were tired of excuses, you were tired of him being too tired for you.

“Sure, don’t worry about it.” You spoke your preset words and walked back to your shared bedroom to leave both dresses back on top of the bed. You stepped into a pair of black jeans and threw on your favorite hoodie, not one of his. It took you about twenty minutes to throw as much of your stuff as you could inside of a backpack and call one of your friends to ask if you could stay with her for a few days.

As you reached for your phone charger on the corner of his desk, he took a quick glance at you and had to do a double take to realize you didn’t have your usual sleeping clothes on. Instead, you were dressed to go out. “Where you going?” he asked casually and for the first time noticed how you had put makeup on and done your hair. He was forced out of his small inspection by the words that left your lips next.

“I’m leaving.”

You spoke to him with such a serene tone and looked at him with such a normal expression that he thought it was a joke at first, so he just played along. “Leaving where, I bought dinner on my way back from the studio when I went to che-”, he was interrupted by you once again. “I’m serious, Tae. I’m leaving. I can’t take this anymore.”

His expression changed so quickly that it was almost funny. His eyebrows furrowed and he let his eyes shift towards your fingers holding tightly onto the strap of your bag. “Because of the dinner? Don’t be dramatic, we can go out tomorrow night. I’ll come home early, I promise. Now go change.” He spoke in a condescending tone as if he were speaking to a child before going back to his notes yet again and you could feel your ears heat up at that moment.

“The reservation was for tonight, though. I made it three weeks ago, and I told you. But of course, you were too tired to pay attention,” at this point, he just dropped his pen and turned on his chair with his hands on his lap and looked at you with a bored expression, eyes begging you to continue and finish already so he could go back to focusing. “You’ve been too tired for the last six months. There hasn’t been one single day where you haven’t told me you’re too tired to watch a movie, too tired to touch me, too tired to have dinner with me in our kitchen. Were you even listening when I told you last night that my partner for my thesis decided to drop out and now I have six months to complete a one-year work on my own and I have no fucking clue where to start? I don’t think so, you were probably too tired for that too. You’re not the only one here with stuff to do, with a schedule to keep and deadlines to meet. You’re not the only one here staying extra hours working on your stuff and stressing over it. But you know what? You are the only one that’s too tired to be with me, though. I’ve been having a shitty time trying not to come to my fucking boyfriend with my problems because he’s “too tired” to cope up with me. And you know what? That’s not right at all, I shouldn’t need to stress about that as if I was whining twenty-four seven. I’m leaving and I won’t be on my phone, so don’t call me or text me and expect me to reply. I’ll take a few weeks, not too long, and text you to meet up and talk once I’ve decided if I want to stay in this relationship or not, and I will hear you out if you have anything to say. I love you, Tae, but I hate feeling like a nuisance when I do not cling to you not demand attention from you all the time.”

He took a deep breath once you were finished and brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re being childish, Y/N. We’re not sixteen,” he replied shortly, not being able to recall something on his behavior lately that was worthy of such a scene. “If that’s what you need, take your time.” He looked at you straight in the eye and you figured there was no use on saying anything else, so you just turned around and stepped on your shoes before disappearing out the door.

Not being ones to cry, neither of you shed a tear that night. You spent the night ranting to your friend in anger and Taehyung buried himself into his lyrics until his eyes gave up. It took him three days to notice you really weren’t coming back. He had expected you to come home the next day but you didn’t. He was used to your warmth on the bed whenever he came home so sleeping on the big bed on his own after two years became a little too uncomfortable and cold.

On the fourth night, he tried texting you for the first time.

To: Y/N

C’mon, don’t make such a huge deal out of this.     12:36 a.m

As expected, you didn’t reply. It just angered him, he still didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, it’s not like he’d never been busy before. You’ve been dating him for three years, Jesus Christ! He was a musician, weren’t writer’s block and bad moods supposed to be part of the hassle? Well, he technically wasn’t a songwriter, but he was trying something new, couldn’t you just cut him some slack?

Coronas became his best friends that night, and he had kept drinking them until he had no other choice than to go to sleep or drop his stomachal content on the toilet yet again. Namjoon had sent him home with a kick in the ass and an Advil tablet the fourth consecutive night he showed up to practice almost speaking another language from so much slurring and tripping over his own words.

He had spent those two next weeks as a zombie, living mainly on the couch of your shared apartment and his side of the bed. At the moment your text arrives, he’s starting to get up to head to sleep and the notification sound makes him jump slightly and falling ass down on the couch. “Who the fuck is texting me at three fucking a.m?”

From: Y/N

Is it okay if I come over tomorrow night?      3:15 a.m.

He looks around and curses at himself for making such a mess. He replies with a quick ‘Sure’ and silently thanks you for not wanting to come in the morning when he’d still be hungover out of his mind. He makes sure to set up an alarm and swallow a couple of Advils after breakfast before starting to clean up the mess that was the apartment. He surprises himself with the amount of instant noodles packages he’s managed to hog up in the span of two weeks and does his best to leave the apartment as good as it would be on a normal day with you.

You arrive at exactly eight p.m, drenched from the suddenly pouring rain and he won’t admit he spent a little bit more than five minutes choosing his ‘casual, just playing games’ outfit, but he pays it no mind when he pulls you in quickly before shutting the door. He hands you a towel and gets you dry clothes from the wardrobe. You can’t help but feel a sting of warmth cross your heart at the way he helps you dry your hair off so gently and the fact that he got you your favorite pair of sweats to change onto. You two have take-out dinner and try your best at small talk about your time away. You tell him about your friend’s son and his little quirks and you two laugh for a few hours, toning down the tense atmosphere with some neutral talk.

You didn’t come to have a date, though, so you eventually get serious and call his name to tell him what you resolved in your two weeks away, wanting to hear his response as well. He, nevertheless, surprises you with his response. “Can we talk in the morning? It’s raining, and it’s late” you look at the clock and he’s right, it’s slightly past midnight. “you look tired too, why don’t we just sleep for a few hours and then I’ll listen to all you have to say, no interruptions?”. You stay silent and look at him, thinking how lame his convincing sounds but you comply anyways.

You two head to bed and lay down, both laying on your backs. It’s like the tense atmosphere from before has come back before he turns on his side to look at you, his expression serious as he stares at you directly in your eyes. “I know you didn’t come here to talk,” he speaks calmly yet not dismissive this time and you turn your head to look at him. Your heart starts to feel heavy when you stare back at him and see the small hint of sadness in his eyes. “I came to pick up my clothes,” you tell him in a small voice, breathing slowly and feeling your world flip upside down when he says his next words.

“You’re wearing Jaesuk’s earrings, I’ve always thought they were obnoxious,” he smiles faintly and you bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears at the mention of your college mate. He had been your support ever since Taehyung started shifting away from you and you slowly fell for him, finding the smallest excuse to leave Taehyung. At the moment it seemed like a good idea so you wouldn’t hurt his pride, but he knew. Taehyung isn’t a dumb guy, nor an innocent one, and the dam in your eyes gives in when he lifts a hand to brush his large thumb across your cheek. “I’m sorry,” is all you can mutter before your voice breaks and your throat starts to hurt as you cry silently.

“No, I’m sorry I lost you like this and gave him the opportunity,” he shakes his head slightly and brushes your hair behind your ear. He isn’t crying, but you can tell by the slight pout tugging from his lips that he’s fighting the tears just as much as you were. You know him so well, and you are so in love with him, with the Taehyung in front of you right now. You turn on your side so you’re now facing him with your whole body and you bite your lip.

“I’m not going to give up, Y/N. I was an asshole but I know now what it is to be without you and it���s not what I want at all. It’s not what you wanted either, and I’ll try my best to get you to feel like that again. I will get you back, okay?” He speaks with a firm tone and you can’t help but start sobbing. Why’d he have to change? This is the Taehyung you know, not the one that you’ve been living with for the last six months. Why did he have to change and give you the perfect chance to fall in love with someone else? What if this is just because you left? What if this is just one more of his excuses? You cover your face with your hands, not baring his stare anymore and he pulls you closer by your waist.

You cry into his chest and let his strong arms wrap around you, wrapping your own around his torso and pressing your forehead to his shoulder, eyes closed until you fall asleep like that. You’ve been missing his touch for the past six months and getting to feel it again under this situation was making your heart shrink with too many emotions. Happiness for being between his arms, relief because he wasn’t mad at you, guilt for having run to another man so fast, fear of this being just temporary, insecurity because of your feelings towards Jaesuk… You just couldn’t bear to think about it anymore so you end up falling asleep.

Taehyung buries his face in your hair and waits until your breathing slows down to finally inhale deeply and let a few tears escape his eyes. He feels so stupid, he’s disappointed on both you and himself for letting this happen. He doesn’t want to lose you, though, that he knows for sure. You two have been through too much for this to be the reason it all ends. He doesn’t know how he’ll manage to fix the mess he made with his friends in the past two weeks and with you in the past six months, but he’ll find a way. Not today though, today he’ll hold you to sleep and revel in your warmth. He doesn’t plan on leaving the bed or you today, today he’s just too tired.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing after literally (not misusing the word) years so yeah, also yes this is totally an excuse.

[mangled-dreams]

Dealings with a Devil (Part 6)

Dealings with a Devil (Part 6)

Reader X Darkiplier

You, Reader, have made a deal with what you believed to be a fantasized version of your favorite YouTuber’s alter ego, Darkiplier after he’d visited you in a dream. You believed Darkiplier to only exist in your dreams and on Markiplier’s YouTube channel, but by some impossible way he’s real and he intends on collecting on your debt to him.

Walking around your hotel room you lay out your clothing for the day and make sure your snacks are carefully packed away in your laptop bag. Of course there will be food at the convention, but it'll be over priced for very little. An unforgiving pattern at large events in general.

After showering and dressing you gather up your portable phone charger, cord, and your all access badge given to you by Mark. Your badge allows you access to the restricted areas as well as into the venue without paying. You have reserved seating for panels you want to sit in on as well as the panel that Mark and the others will be on later in the afternoon.

Hearing a knock at your door you walk over and open it, greeting Mark with some level of surprise. “What are you doing here?” you ask not sure what he'd need to come to your hotel room for. Not that you don't like spending time with him, you just doesn't know what the man could need from you just an hour before the convention.

Mark chuckles and holds out a plain white tube to you. “I wanted to tell you know I did a thing.” he says sitting down on the arm of the couch. You raise a brow in question. “Open the tube.” he tells you, watching you cautiously open the tube. “It's not a bomb.” he jokes earning a laugh from you.

“I dunno... there's something shifty about you, Mark.” you tease back tilting the tube so that the content slips out into your hand. You set the tube down and unroll thick card stock paper in your hands more than confused. Was it a limited edition poster for the convention? As you unroll the poster your eyes widen. This isn't something Mark had made, this is yours! This is the poster you'd made for him as a gift.

“Mark, w-what does this...?” you look at him, seeing the joy in his face.

“So the guys and I were talking, arguing, about who's poster was better.” Mark says standing up and takes the poster from your hands. “With your permission, we want to sell them at the convention; kind of like a competition. Sean and I got a wager going on about who can sell out the quickest.” Mark tells you trying to gauge your reactions.

“What?” you shout, a little freaked out at the thought of such a large volume of people, physical people seeing and potentially buying your art work. “Ah...” your speechless. Obviously Mark seems to think your art is good enough to display and sell, but... “I... I don't know what to say, honestly. I mean, I'm honored, but at the same time I'm so scared of having so many people looking at my work right in front of me. It's different on the internet. I mean I don't see anyone on the net, but ah...I did give them to you as a gift without restrictions...” you say rubbing the back of your neck. He seems so excited about display and selling the posters.

“We won't be keeping the money past paying for the posters.” Mark tells you earning a confused look from you.

“What?” you ask a little but more than confused.

“The money from the posters will go back to you, what ever we make it'll be up to you what happens to it. You can keep it, give it to charity, refuse it... You deserve to have a little bit of publicity. You art is amazing, and I'm not just saying that. The others agree with me.” Mark says earnestly. You look down to your poster then to Mark again.

“You seem so sure of this.” you tell him a little weakly. Mark grins nodding his head.

“I'm so sure of this. Even Chica agrees with me.” Mark says earning a little bit of laughter from you.

“Well, if Chica agrees.” You say softly. You both talk a few minutes more and reluctantly agree to a trial run for the first day which sends Mark over the moon. You laugh, watching the goofball jump up and down encouraging you to believe in yourself before he leaves telling you he'll see you at the convention. You laugh bid him goodbye before gathering your things and take your leave. Sure, you're not completely confident in the prospects of your art being bought, even if it is backed by Markiplier and his A-Team, but it makes you feel better.

From your vantage point behind Mark and off to the left,  you can see just about every one's sections. Sean is set up directly across from Mark, Ethan and Tyler on either side of Mark, and Wade and Bob are just a few booths down. You assume they try to get their booths next to each other if possible for just discussion and comedy reasons and so far, it's been enjoyable. There are periods where the flow of people slows down but for the most part it's been busy, busy, busy!

Your computer on a small table to your left, your tablet in hand as you do a few quick sketches of Sean at his booth. His expressions so amusing to watch as he interacts with his fans. Glancing up you spot him looking at you with a raised brow. You laugh and twist your computer screen, blowing up a small doodle enough for him to vaugely see. He gives you a look that says “not bad” before turning to a young woman that had walked over to his booth.

You turn your computer back to face you, minimize your page, and look at Sean again. He's turned, looking at a few things on the wall behind him, his wall of merchandiser as he talks with the girl. You sketch the scene, barely registering that Sean is now smiling quite largely and pointing directly at you. Your pen hand pauses and you look around, seeing if there is anyone directly next to you. Mark is talking with a ground of fans, glancing at you with curiosity.

You shrug your shoulders, but before you can dismiss the odd actions of your new found friend a voice calls out you to.

“Are you Dream Maker?” the young woman from Sean's booth asks, in her arms are a mountain of posters tubes and plushies. You wonder how she's going to make it through the rest of the convention like that before your handle on Tumblr brings your attention back to her face.

“What?” you ask a bit confused.

“J-Jack said you made his poster, oh wow! I see one for Markiplier too!” she says with a dreamy look in her eyes. You blush, glancing at the poster to make sure she's looking at the right one. She is.

“Ah, y-yes. I made the posters.” you say setting your tablet and pen down. You stand up and move to the empty corner of  Marks' table.

“You have to be Dream Maker, then! I know your style anywhere! It's so awesome to meet you in person! I didn't even know you were going to be at the convention! I would have told my mom! She  loves the dreamscape you made me! I have it hanging in the living room.” the woman says before her words finally click with your head.

“Holy mother of fucks!” you gasp earning a few curious glances from the people around you. “Ashlynn! I, damn, girl, I didn't know you lived in LA!” you say happily. Now you can finally put a face to the user handle slash best customer.

“Yeah! I knew you'd be in LA, but I didn't know you'd be here!” Ashlynn says setting her things down. You smile at her.

“It was kind of a surprise to me too, but hot damn, it's good to meet you in person!” you say brightly.

Ashlynn pulls out the poster she just purchased from Sean's booth and holds out a silver pen to you. “Will you sign this for me? I thought I saw something that reminded me of your art work at one of the other booths, but then I saw your poster at Jack's booth and I just knew it! I asked him about the poster and he said that you were actually here!” Ashlynn says as you slowly take the pen from her.

“Y-yeah, I mean I made these for the guys as gifts, but then Mark came to me this morning and suggested selling them. I...I kind of just went with it.” you say laughing softy.

“That's so boss!” Ashlynn says smiling big. “I just...I never thought I'd meet you, you're a lot prettier than I had imagined.” You're not sure to take that as a complement or an insult so you remain silent. “I mean, not that I thought you were ugly, but I kind of imagined you'd be in sweats and a sweatshirt with alike a mess bun.” You laugh at that one.

“That's actually what I very similar to what I look like minus the sweat pants. I'm not a fan of socks, shoes, or pants in general.” you laugh. You converse with Ashlynn for quiet some time before wondering around the convention center together. You talk about your interests and converse with some of other artists, collectors, and entertainers before going back to Mark's table.

“Oh, there you are. Hey, our panel will start soon so we're going to head over to Hall B.” Mark says in greeting. You nod.

“Oh, gotcha. I'll be over shortly, I'm a little hungry so I was thinking to snag a few minutes to munch on some grub.” you say watching Mark nod.

“There'll be a seat waiting for ya when you arrive.” Mark promises as someone near the marked off doors calls for him. Mark waves to the person, nods, then tells you, “See you in Hall B.”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world.” you tell him with a wink before he chuckles and runs off. You turn to Ashlynn, noting her shocked expression. “What?” you ask a little off put by her expression.

“Dude, are you two dating?” she asks bending the ear of a few passerby.

Your face flames red. “No! Mark is just a friend, if that. He's just really personable.” you say not sure if you'd want to date the man. Sure, he's charismatic, charming, handsome, funny, sweet, caring...there is very little you can fault him on, but there isn't that spark that makes you want to jump him. “Here's what I mean; I don't know him all that well. He's very nice and I find him adorable and funny, but that's not all you base a relationship on. I respect him as an artist, as an entertainer, and as a human being. Once you get pass the face he's such a huge star, he's just a person with troubles and history.” you say, not meaning to sound like a rehearsed speech, but it's the truth.

You hate people blowing things out of proportion. It is possible to have a normal friendship type of relationship between woman and men. That is what you have with Mark and his friends. Whether the friendship will stand the test of time, which you doubt, has yet to be seen.

“Whoa, did you practice that in the mirror?” Ashlynn asks smirking at you.

“I wish. I could never that made that up beforehand. I'm a decent artist, but not a very good liar.” you say sighing. Ashlynn bids you goodbye and you go to gather your computer and tablet. Everything else you can replace, but it'd be difficult to replace your artwork saved to your laptop. Reaching for your water bottle you pause, there is a dark red, almost black rose sitting next to your bottle. There is no note or even a card, simply a rose.

Standing up you pick up the rose and look around. No one is watching you with intent interest and other than a few people stopping to look at the merchandise hanging up there isn't anyone that catches your eye.

“What a pretty rose, for such a lovely Lass.” you heard what sounds like Sean, but the tone is darker, distorted in a way.

“Oh, God, you scared me.” you say spinning around to see a AntiSepticEye cosplayer standing behind you. Placing a hand over your heart you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Wow, your costume looks so authentic.” you say wanting to touch by know better. “That must have taken you hours to do.” you say admiring the realism with the slit around his throat. This cosplayer really, you mean, really looks like Sean.

“Oh, it took ages.” he responds smiling at you. His smile unsettles you a little and you take a step away from him without thinking about it. “I heard you're the girl to talk about regarding the posters.” the man says motioning to the poster to your right. You don't follow his gaze.

“Oh, ah, yeah, but I'm not the one selling them. You'll have to talk with Mindy over there if you'd like to buy one.” you say having an inkling this man is not a Mark fan. “JackSepticEye has his own version if you haven't see it. It has Anti on it too.” You tell him looking over to Sean's booth. He too has left for Hall B.

The Anti cosplayer nods, his eyes focused on your face. He smiles and you get the feeling it's meant to be reassuring, but it has an edge to it that doesn't sit right with you. Like when you see Dark... Actually, now that you really analyze your gut feeling this is the exact same feeling you get when Dark is around. It's the feeling of the Void. Is this truly the AntiSepticEye?

“Aye, lass, but I wished to commission a piece from you.” Anti says looking to the rose in your hand.

“Y-you do?” you ask trying to sound causal and failing. “I am currently taking commissions, but you have to make a submission for one. T-there is ah, a lot that I don't do and based on your desired overall look I give you a price and a timeline.” you say trying to stay in your business mode. Anti nods, his hand reaching out to brush a stray hair behind your ear.

“That sounds fair. How do I submit a request?” Anti asks stepping closer to you, crowding your space. You stare up into his eyes, watching as they change from blue to a possessed demon black.

“E... E-mail.” You tell him noticing for the first time he seemed to flicker around the edges of his frame.

Anti smiles at you, this one seems to be genuine and non-threatening as he reaches passed you, his chest brushing momentarily against your own before pulling away. “Expect a message from me lass, but as I had said before, such a pretty rose for such a lovely lass.” Anti says fixing your hair slightly, his hands making quick work of securing the rose.

“Ah...thank you...” you manage in a slight daze. If this is the real Anti, that means the reality of the alter egos doesn't just apply to Mark.

Anti smirks, leaning down he presses a kiss to your cheeks, and leaves. You watch him go, unsure if what just happened actually just happened. Your attention is pulled away when one of the event photographers calls out to you. You talk with the photographer dressed as Princess Peach before running off to Hall B to watch the panel, barely making it in time for the introductions.

Part 7

[nipponnomad]

TRANSLATION TAKE 2: One-sensei’s interview with Young Sunday (excerpts in detail)

Thanks to the lovely and talented @isasm, we’ve been blessed with a Japanese transcript recording excerpts from One’s interview with Young Sunday. Even though I already summarized the interview, I thought you all might be interested in reading some passages in greater detail (plus whoever put the excerpts together focused on different parts than I did, so it’s like looking at the interview from another angle). I hope you all enjoy it. Especially everyone over at @one-blog!

(P.S. I’m so exhausted I did this all at work today I’m gonna get fired someone help me aaaaahhh :P)

EDIT: Here’s a link to the summary, which I’ve tweaked to fix a couple mistakes I made before I had access to the transcript. :)

Submitting to Weekly Shonen Jump, the magazine everyone longs to be part of

YAMADA: Hey, you know the student council president from Mob Psycho 100? That page is really intense, where the whole page is that scene with the monologue about the pressure he gets from his parents? And it was like, suddenly it's gone all Yoshiharu Tsuge (TN: A famous Japanese cartoonist and essayist).

OKKUN: Tsuge and Kazuo Umezu (TN: Horror manga author).

YAMADA: That guy's style is totally Garo (TN: Avant-garde manga anthology magazine).

OKKUN: For real! It's so Goya (TN: The painter I guess? Or the Spanish film awards? I'm not sure; the literal translation is "So it's Goya," which is so vague I give up aaaah).

YAMADA: (while pointing at Okkun) We better watch it! We'll get drawn into the darkness of artistic criticism. We've gotta handle this like they do on Sawako no Asa (TN: A Japanese talk show).

OKKUN: (to ONE) So you were painstakingly drawing in secret, you created a homepage, did you ever submit your work?

ONE: I submitted something in my first year of college, it was a 19-page gag manga I drew and took over to Weekly Shonen Jump, which of course is the venue everyone aspires to.

YAMADA: So you did submit something!

ONE: It was just the one time.

YAMADA: So how did it go?

ONE: The thing I submitted was really dull. Even as I drew it I was like, "The moment I show this to the editor, I'll be laughed at." Anyway, the guy I showed it to went through it at a crazy speed, totally passing over the parts that were meant to be funny.

YAMADA: Yes, exactly! That's how it goes even now!

ONE: The editor went through 5 or 6 jokes I'd put in, and I immediately broke out in a cold sweat. I was like, "I'm a complete joke, I wanna go home." After that experience, I'd made an elaborate homepage with a blog I updated incessantly, and my updates only accelerated.

YAMADA: Ah, I see.

ONE: That felt a lot safer than submitting anything again.

Posting Manga on Garake

(TN: This seems to be a type of SoftBank cell phone)

YAMADA: So after that disappointment you returned to what was safe, intending to redouble your efforts. I see. Like you decided, "Let's forget about submitting, make my own homepage, and post manga for everyone to read for free"?

ONE: Basically, yes. I had already made the homepage by the time I submitted, and all these other aspiring mangaka I had met through the homepage were winning awards.

YAMADA: So it was like, "That guy too?"

ONE: I was thinking, "Him too?" At that point I was working under the pen name "ONE," and one of the acquaintances who had won an award was like, "Maybe ONE-san will be next?" That was pretty much why I made the mistake of submitting.

YAMADA: So that's how it was. Like, "What have I done?"

OKKUN: So what did you do then?

ONE: Before I tried submitting, I had bought myself a cell phone (TN: Garake) with a camera on it, and I would take tiny little pictures of the manga I was drawing, getting really up close so the pictures wouldn't come out shaky, and upload them to my homepage. Because there was this cell phone service that let anyone create a homepage.

YAMADA: You're part of that generation.

ONE: That was how I released my super ugly manga on my homepage. At that time, you couldn't view an entire page at a time on your cell phone. When you opened a manga, you couldn't see more than two panels or one word bubble at a time.

YAMADA: So hard to read!

ONE: To get through one scene, you'd have to read through about 15 pages that way. At that time, acquaintances of mine started drawing pasokon manga.

The first serialization of One Punch Man on the web

ONE: I didn't know anything about the culture at the time, but I started drawing pasokon manga and uploading it to a website. As I learned more about creating a series, I looked through that site. It was called Niitosha. (TN: "NEET Society," though the characters used for "NEET" spell out "new capital.")

YAMADA: That's an awesome name! Niitosha is an amazing name!

ONE: The name was meant to be something like a place where NEETs gather, though the actual users were mostly students and members of society. When I saw the site, I thought it was really awesome. All the users were beginners or semipros publishing their own works. People had been publishing there for however many years, and there were more than 5000 registered works.

When I looked at the work my friend was publishing on there, I saw a column called "Send Impressions" or something like that. When you clicked it, you could see the feedback other Niitosha authors had left all lined up. And you could also give your own impressions of the work. This site had been made as a place where beginners could receive feedback.

"I've stumbled across a really good place," I thought. "I wanna draw pasokon manga!" I was bubbling over with motivation. So I got myself a notebook computer and a drawing tablet and started drawing in a program called Comic Studio. The manga I drew became One Punch Man.

YAMADA: What!? For real!?

ONE: Yes.

OKKUN: Your very first work was One Punch Man.

YAMADA: Isn't that just the Japanese dream! Amazing! That's the dream we have in this country! At that time, did you ever think it would be broadcast as an anime?

ONE: I never would have believed it.

YAMADA: That manga could have been a Marvel movie! It could come right after Ant Man! "Iron Man," "Ant Man," "Whatever-Else-Man," and then comes "Anpanman" and then "One Punch Man!"

OKKUN: You put Yanase-san in there too. (Laughs) (TN: Takeshi Yanase, creator of Anpanman.) "One Punch Man" follows the Marvel pattern, right?

YAMADA: They'd definitely have to accept One Punch Man over there! (TN: Overseas). On the other hand, Anpanman would totally have the wrong feel. People over there would be like, "I wanna eat him," it'd be like, "No, you can't do that!"

We've got a self-sacrificial type of spirit in Asia, that's why Anpanman is popular. (TN: Anpanman heals others by giving them pieces of his head to eat.) But outside of Asia they'd be like, "Eh? You guys are eating yourselves!?" And it would never become popular.

Surpassing ONE PIECE abroad

(TN: This was my biggest mistake in my first translation because I missed that they were talking about One Punch Man's popularity outside of Japan. One Punch Man does indeed surpass One Piece in sales in the U.S., though not in Japan.)

OKKUN: Looking at viewer comments, it looks like One Punch Man outsells One Piece abroad. I don't know if that's true, but that's what the comment says.

YAMADA: Believe it, everyone!

ONE: I think One Punch Man is number one depending on the day or week, but I don't know all the details.

YAMADA: See! What did I tell you!

OKKUN: What? What did you know that I didn't?

YAMADA: We're sitting next to the guy who's taken over all of America! That time has finally come! (Laughs)

OKKUN: (Looking at viewer comments) It outsells the Bible!?

YAMADA: Whooooa! Wait a second, wait a second! Is that a Beatles reference?

OKKUN: That was Jesus!

YAMADA: Saying, "We're more famous than Jesus"?

OKKUN: Because there's a Paul in Christianity!

YAMADA: All right, that's enough! We're getting way off track!

ONE: Murata-sensei is so amazingly talented.

YAMADA: But it's really incredible. I think of Kinnikuman, and that's drawn like kids' doodles, two people were just casually chatting and they created this character all by themselves.

OKKUN: Are you evangelizing about Yudetamago? (TN: The duo responsible for Kinnikuman)

YAMADA: I'm not talking about Murata-sensei, but rather I'm segueing into talking about ONE-kun's characters. They've (TN: The characters in Kinnikuman) got such a total One Punch Man feel.

ONE: I guess they do.

The hero who solves everything with one punch

YAMADA: What kind of feeling were you going for with that character? (TN: Saitama)

ONE: There's no point trying to cover it up, I liked all the normal manga aimed at elementary schoolers and I read a lot. But by contrast, I thought it would be funny if the character started with the sort of strength you usually see in the final chapter, and I noticed that after drawing the first chapter.

In that first chapter, I wrote "One Punch Man" because he's a guy who takes out enemies in one punch and goes, "Damn it, I did it in one punch again!" That's all I'd come up with.

OKKUN: So it's like you cut out all the boring stuff.

ONE: Yeah, exactly. From there, it started spreading, and it spread far more than I'd predicted.

YAMADA: Was that difficult?

ONE: No, not at all. On the contrary, I suppose you could say it felt easy.

YAMADA: Most people wouldn't think of starting from the end like that, would they? In that sense, the fact that it feels like the character immediately comes out like "HYAAAH!" and makes you go "Whoa, whoa," is probably why it spread like that. Did all that come out naturally?

ONE: Yeah.

OKKUN: There you have it, he's a genius. We've got a genius here. (Laughs)

ONE: There were various difficulties and dilemmas, but at times when things got tricky, it was like the hero trying to use knowledge and personal experience to push his way through...

Reiji-sensei (TN: Yamada Reiji, the host and a fellow mangaka), you've met and spoken with a lot of different people and absorbed a lot of things in a lot of different situations, so I think you can write all different types of characters. I don't think I can do that. So I just solve everything with one punch. (Laughs)

Of course there are also times when things can't be solved through punching. Within the world of One Punch Man, Saitama can adapt his strength in a flexible way. If he has a problem, it's with regular people or with running out of money.

OKKUN: Or hitting up a special sale at the super market.

YAMADA: That's the issue this week. (TN: The literal translation is "That's this week's guy," I'm not sure what he's referring to)

OKKUN: That kind of everyday stuff. Plus he's just become too strong.

ONE: That's true. As the author, I started by creating a character who's really tough and reliable, Saitama's always there no matter what other troublesome character shows up.

OKKUN: I see. That's what makes it so fun to look at.

YAMADA: A real Mito Komon type of guy. (TN: The hero of an old Japanese period drama)

OKKUN: There will always be justice in the end.

The surprising popularity of One Punch Man

YAMADA: Mob Psycho is the same way. He stays quiet, until whatever percentage comes out, and after it comes out it's kind of refreshing. He's the kind of guy that shows up in a manga like "The shocking answer will be revealed just seconds from now!"

OKKUN: Isn't Mob Psycho drawn as the flip side [to One Punch Man]?

YAMADA: We're moving on to Mob Psycho now.

OKKUN: This program's been all about One Punch Man, it seems like.

YAMADA: I actually think we've showed off One Punch Man considerably well. He's a true human being, that guy. That's become all too rare, I think. Thank you very much. Have I got it all correct?

OKKUN: So you were getting responses from others, but when you posted on Niitosha, did One Punch Man become popular immediately?

ONE: It was pretty quick. I was shocked. I drew and uploaded the first chapter thinking I'd be happy if I got one or two comments like other manga, but then I was sitting their watching the comment column after each update and the number was increasing more and more. There were people who said they were looking forward to the second chapter, so I worked hard and released the second chapter, and within three or four chapters, it seemed like the people on Niitosha decided I was an author who was going to update properly, so I got even more views.

There are a lot of web manga that just stop right in the middle, or chapter one gets posted and the next chapter gets posted 3 years later. (TN: Ain't that the truth!)

YAMADA: That's why we update every week. Every week on Wednesday, everyone can rest assured that the next update is coming.

OKKUN: Saitama's a hero for fun, isn't he? Then he enters the association and gradually rises through the ranks, like he's just flowing right through them. Like he's just going at his own pace. Then he gets this disciple, right? A cyborg.

YAMADA: I need to butt in here, this show has been crammed full, it's time to snag your favorite food and prepare for the second half.

OKKUN: For real!?

YAMADA: It's already been 40 minutes.

OKKUN: You're right. Crap.

One's three themes

YAMADA: When I look at Mob Psycho, and One Punch Man is the same way, I feel like it conveys three themes.

YAMADA: Basically, the three themes ONE has embraced are: "What is power?" "What do we do with power?" And moreover, "What is our true power?" How do people who have power live their lives in relation to that?

So in the end this leads to a theory of life or a theory of happiness, really the mechanism underlying everything, I think that's amazing.

Basically that thing with wanting more power never changes, and it leads to the same problem at the start of both works that you see in common with works by other authors. The character's default is overwhelming power. It's the same in both works.

Looking at it objectively, the people who always win are naturally going to be viewed as protagonists. This is what we always want to show. But first, I want to show some great pictures you've done. Your pictures are the best. This is the scene where the protagonist shows up in chapter 2. This picture, at the very beginning.

YAMADA: Was this the picture you started with on the homepage? What kind of picture did you start with?

ONE: It hasn't really changed. (TN: Between the online and the print versions) But this is much better, because the homepage I used in college was so bad.

YAMADA: When you were taking pictures with your phone?

ONE: Right. I was just drawing these tiny pictures because I was restricted by the camera. You can't just draw tiny pictures, right? So I was drawing pictures and making what looked like reduced versions of them.

OKKUN: Everyone, this viewer comment says: "ONE has gotten so skillful."

YAMADA: He has. He's become so good since the beginning, but these pictures at the beginning are really interesting. This is a picture from the beginning. Reigen is showing up like "BAM," this is chapter 1.

YAMADA: I think this is so awesome.

YAMADA: And this, it looks like Ebisu Yoshikazu. (TN: A Japanese actor—our Tome-chan is way prettier than him, btw!)

(Laughter in the studio)

No assistants or anything

YAMADA: It's like this awesome magazine from the 80's, Garo. Was that an influence at all?

ONE: I actually haven't read it.

YAMADA: Where did a picture like this come from? You just did it and it turned out like this?

ONE: I probably didn't use a reference.

YAMADA: It definitely feels like you didn't copy anyone else's work.

OKKUN: Do you have any experience with assistants?

ONE: None. (TN: I know he has assistants now, though...maybe they’re just talking about when Mob Psycho first started up?)

OKKUN: Ah, that explains it!

YAMADA: If you'd had assistants a lot of things would have been fixed up. (TN: His verb form here implies that would be a bad thing, like ONE's art would lose its originality)

OKKUN: No assistants, and I've been told no editor either.

YAMADA: Like these lines that draw focus to Reigen here, the points hit right here and it just pops like "BAM."

YAMADA: Normally it has that effect. This was done without white out?

ONE: It's a sticker.

YAMADA: Oh, so it’s just put over top! (Laughs)

ONE: Yeah, it's just a sticker from Comic Studio.

YAMADA: So you can do this because you're using Comic Studio, this is awesome.

The Sid Vicious of the manga world

YAMADA: As I think you can see from this program, I take an oblique view of what's skillful in terms of artwork. A picture can be unskilled but still interesting, some pictures have more expressive power and I respect that. That's one way of saying it. Higashimura Akiko's like that too. (TN: The mangaka who did Princess Jellyfish, among other things)

It's a doctrine of expressiveness. A doctrine of anything being good as long as it conveys. I like people saying, "I want to convey this, so let's do it this way." It's so punk. It's avant-garde.

This is especially interesting, Reigen's hand when he's talking on the phone. This is the best.

YAMADA: Everyone has trouble drawing a hand holding a telephone.

(Laughter in the studio)

YAMADA: It's hard to draw. But I don't think you should start with trying to do it properly. All things considered, anything goes. This is punk. This is early hip hop.

YAMADA: Looking at a guy who goes with his gut, I feel like, "This is super unskilled but super interesting, maybe I can do this too." It's like Mashi's guitar playing in The Blue Hearts. (TN: A Japanese punk band) It's Sid Vicious. It's destruction and creation at the same time.

OKKUN: (to Yamada) There's only one person in your class, and he's the one who drew it.

YAMADA: Moreover, the contents seems like it gives rise to some delusion that, "Anyone could draw that!" But in your case, you draw totally differently from anyone else, you give us real human beings.

YAMADA: All fluffy or intense like "BOOM" (Imitates a Dragonball Kamehameha pose) That's how everyone draws. Speaking of which, what is "BOOM"? Nobody ever seems to think "It just went BOOM, but what's actually BOOMing?" There's just this BANG when someone's like, "At last I've achieved power, the world belongs to me!"

 Because you're giving us real human beings, we feel like, "No, it really is like that," or "I can totally understand that, but let's not act like that around people."

 When it comes to true human beings, those who have power are the ones who must carry it, and there's a sense of security in that. It times of political instability or whatever, those with political power are the ones who have to worry about it. Everything rides on those with power deciding they want to join forces. Which is really interesting. This is the most important part of these drawings.

[zackilada]

Hey guys. Sorry for lack of updates and such. Just haven't been up to sitting at my computer and whatnot. I even bought a new computer chair and it's currently only being used to elevated a fan and my work clothes lol. I did finally buy a tablet and downloaded some art apps. This is the best of my ability so I'm currently looking into getting a Bamboo Pen that's compatible with this tablet. Hopefully I'll get to draw more. Anyways, to celebrate the HD re-release of FF 12, here's sky pirate Shadow and bangaa Knuckles trying to figure out this manufactured nethicite business. I NEED TO MENTIONED HOW WONDERFUL IT IS THAT THE MUSIC WAS RECORDED LIVE IT SOUNDS SO BEAUTIFUL SO MUCH BASSOON FOCUS SO MUCH FRENCH HORN MURDER

[ellemarchen]

I love your art so much! What do you use to draw?

EDITED (because some things changed): Hey, jaellisme–thanks for your support (꜆ > ෆ

What I Use:-Usually only Ink Pen, Marker Brush, and Marker Chisel brush unless I want to experiment.

-Layers so that I can color without coloring overmy lineart. I’m impatient so coloring in this app is alwaystorture for me especially when I’m attempting to color in hair. I can finish the lineart in 1-3 hours (maybe less if my handsaren’t fumbling so much that day), but coloring can take triple the amount ofthat time.

-The Paper 53 Pencil Stylus isn’t charged. I’ve never charged it. Used to be myDad’s, but he lets me use it now after theApple iOS Software Update 10.3.2 ruined my iPad Pro. I use it the same way the Nintendo 3DS stylus is used todraw on the Nintendo 3DS.

-GIMP is used for color saturation, cropping, sharpening lines, filters, etc.

On a different tangent:I used to use an iPad Pro and an Apple Pencil (which you can’t use except with an iPad Pro). Don’t get them unless you’re willing to shell out at least 2 monthsrent (about $900+; I don’t remember how much the tax was at the time) andpossibly the AppleCare+ insurance if you believe that’s worth having (which is$99 for iPads; I didn’t get it because my Apple electronics are in cushionedbags when I’m not using them so I’ve never physically damaged them before).I bought my iPad Pro in January 2016 and it was working fine until the Apple iOS Software Update 10.3.2 at thebeginning of July 2017, which started the “Ghost Touching”, ruining it.First appointment, July 8, Apple Store worker ran the diagnostics on my iPad Pro and confirmed that there was noissues found in the hardware or software so he just reset everything. But theerratic glitch activity reappeared a few hours later so I went foranother appointment on July 9. This time no diagnostics test because apparently he can’t run it unless the iPad Pro is “workingproperly”. He can’t do anything for me because apparentlymy iPad Pro has a “Sensor” and “Multi-touch” problem unless I replace it sincemy 1-year warranty expired.He made no attempt to prove that there was aproblem with my iPad Pro’s “Sensor” or “Multi-touch” by opening my iPad Pro upand showing me that it was a hardware problem instead of because theApple iOS Software Update 10.3.2, which both Gordon Kelly from Forbes and Adam Mills from GottaBeMobile have written online articles about is still a problem with Apple clients. I’ve wasted $900+ on an electronic device that lasted for 18 months. I’m infuriated about this because several of my cheaper video game consoles such as my Nintendo 3DS (which is 4+ years old) and my Wii (3+ years old) are knocked around by me daily and work fine even now.Conclusion:Expensive doesn’t mean better, Apple is a corporate capitalist bloodsucker that preys on their clients by keeping up and not fixing Software Updates that ruin an electronic’s software. I wish Nintendo made tablet computers and laptops. If I  find my Gamecube (15+ years old) again, I could probably plug it in and I’d still be able to play Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles or Phantasy Star Online Episode I & II as if it was brand new.

[procreate-brushes]

Brush Reviews & Customer Feedback

Please feel free to follow me and share your feedback in the Procreate Forum. Thanks for your great support. You're awesome! :D

joe12south: George, thank you SO much for these amazing brushes! I was very disappointed in the ink brushes included with Procreate, and was dreading the hours that I would have to spend to create suitable inking brushes, when I discovered your set. Not only did you save me untold hours, but the quality is almost certainly better than I would have achieved on my own. The combination of the Apple Pencil + Procreate + your brushes yields an amazingly natural drawing experience. I've used every drawing tablet ever made since the Koala Pad (1984) and this is the first time I don't feel like I'm losing something by not using pencil/pen and paper. ... I've been using Georg's brushes for my morning warm-up sketches all week. Tons of fun. I've also fell in LOVE with the Dupa pencil brush. Previously, I really liked the 6B included with Procreate, but I find the Dupa brush superior in every way. My guess is most people buy this pack for the ink brushes, and may have overlooked this gem. For the first time, I feel like I could throw away my black and white Prismacolor pencils and never look back! ... Savage Interactive needs to seriously consider working a deal with Georg to include these brushes. I love Procreate, but the base included ink brushes are not "inky" at all. ... Lest you think Georg's brushes are only for cartooning, here's a portrait commission I did this morning using only the upcoming "BRISTLY" brush.

Wizard of Zog: Thanks so much again for making such awesome brushes. I hope the folks at Procreate send you all kinds of free stuff because your brushes are what truly makes that app sing for me.

Kazart: Thanks Georg for your work, i already found my favourites brushes wich allow me to draw like my traditionnal style. Here is a sample, a space assassin! Thanks again. 

kewlpack: Georg - Thanks for continuing to make the MegaPack an INCREDIBLE value with these updates. Fantastic customer service right there.

dftaylor: Just a quick note, since I've already harassed Georg on Twitter, that these brushes are wonderful. I've used nearly every art app out there, and between Georg's brushes for Procreate and Frenden's brushes for Manga Ex, I can work on my comics on my iPad Pro and my Surface Pro seamlessly. They're just brilliant tools - my favourites are the Penciler, the DUPA pencil, the Eisner, the Watterson, and the Underzo (both the texture brush and the lettering brush). I've used them on everything I've drawn since I got them. Great work and amazing value for money. Here's my most recent piece.

jollyrein: I LOVE LOVE LOVE The COPICESQUE set! Absolutely magical :D It's exactly what I was look for! Thank you so much Georg.

Vezinho: Hi Georg ! Just wanted to say that i bought your megapack and i find your brushes fantastically natural to use, very precise !  ... Fantastic Georg You ROCK The link appeared… A lot to play with !! These are all fantastic Top quality And the watercolor serie already seems a joy to use It will take a bit of time to get the feeling of everyone Once again thanks a lot ! I will post some portraits soon. By the way i exclusively use your brushes for now!

Finch: Beautiful brushes. Thank you for making these!

monarobot: I just got the G-pen and woooow it's the o my brush I've found that is anywhere close the feel of the clip studio version, awesome job!

pixelsnplay: You had so many great brushes for free too that I went ahead and bought your MegaPack. Thanks for sharing :)

dankelby: Hi Georg, just wanted to drop in and say that I love all of your inkers, great job! I just purchased them and can't wait to work with them. Cheers!

Bos: Just tried the ELDER, and immediately bought the Megapack. Wonderful. I like how you inclined the shape of the brushes (a thing I had planned but not had the time to try) and played with pressure AND velocity together. I've redrawn a panel of mine to try, and love the Watterson, the Peyo and the Uderzo especially (but haven't had the time to ding into them all, yet). Very flowing, very natural, with and without the textures.

FranklinKendrick: I just purchased the mega pack as well and am blown away at how natural the brushes are. Haven't tried the pencil yet (I should have time later) but, now you really make me want to play around with it! I stayed up way too late doodling with some of the inks. These are so much better than the ones included by default in Procreate - and well worth the money. I originally got into Procreate because I wanted to do some detailed ink work and just never had the tools to do it digitally. Now, with my iPad Pro, I feel like I have the tablet I always dreamed of having ever since I learned that digital drawing was a possibility. Thank-you Georg vW! I am so excited to try drawing cartoons again with these brushes.

Philip R: I really love the brushes, Georg! Thanks for all the hard work! My main favorites are The PEYO, The BREUGAL, and The FURBALL. I can finally create digital art the way I imagine. I mainly use the brushes for cartoon illustrations.

bem69: Bought your MegaPack too, and enjoying all of the brushes. Awesome! ... I love your ink brushes. So much potential and so fun to use. Totally recommended for those who are still considering.  ... CAN'T WAIT FOR THE UPDATE! 

Batsquatch: yo georg, when are we getting the update- your brushes have CHANGED MY DIGITAL CARTOONING LIFE! I'm jonesin' for the new brushes! -Phil

kawoody: Hey Georg! I'm totally about to buy all these brushes. They look amazing! Just what I've been wanting!

Bas0411: Hi Georg, your brushes are great! My favourites at this moment are the Bruegel, the Watterson and the Yellow Kid, all of which I use daily. 

tmp2209: Thanks so much for the option Georg the brushes are spectacular, I picked them up last night and have been very happy with the results and look forward to your future brushes. Thanks again!

Klaas: I have been testing your brushes, George! They are great!

Caricature Shop: Truly enjoy these brushes!  ... Really appreciate the MegaPack addition! I was eagerly anticipating the DAVIS, but have to say that my new favorite is the STRATMORE. It's feel, flow and responsiveness makes it a notch above, in my experience. Thanks George!

DougHardy: Oh my god these are AMAZING

sajishtr: Installed cartoons Brush set. Installation was smooth as I used AirDrop to transfer .brush file from mac to ipad. (Pls. include this instruction in your website). I tried Watterson first, to my surprise I was able to achieve a lot in the very first attempt itself. Pls. find the sketch with the original on the side. THANKS A LOT!!

Kris_Lap: Hi, Done a Crumb copy from blue layer. Always with excellent Mort Drucker Brush. Better traditional feeling using those brushes / Procreate than with Manga Studio. (...) Keep up your genius work ! ... A MANGA STUDIO Robert Crumb Copy with Astropad Please compare previous post with Procreate copy and Georg vW Mort Drucker Brush, above. The Procreate app / Georg vW brushes combo is a far superior inking tool. I would tell it to the world (if i was famous)... 

Patman: Impressive brushes! 

Ripples: These are wonderful, Georg, and thank you very much again; an honour that you used the names, and I love the other names and set too. Looking forward to doing a painting over the next couple of days, and will post it up! Thanks so much for making these.

Anne R. Cutler: This is a crazy good deal… thank you! The Air-Drop method worked perfectly. 

nylontoast: I just bought your MegaPack, fantastic! wonderful work, can't wait to use all the brushes! 

Silpi: Thank´s GEORG wonderful work Hug

Jennifer Bannink: Exactly what I was looking for! Thank you so much, it's an amazing brush :)!! 

timskirven: Hi Georg - these brushes are fantastic!! Thanks for all your hard work.

Doomsayer: Thanks mate - love the set / have been playing with it all morning while my Christmas presents gather dust :) I did a bunch of alterations to the G-pen and it is really solid / I made it so that it can get a very scratchy, scetchy feel - first 2 panels are my old brushes / 2nd two is the new ones. Love the tone brushes btw!

Brush Feedback via Twitter