#how come you make the best art when doodling with the worst supplies???

[marinasinas]

My pup!

Made with dollarstore paint supplies 😂

[coffeecomicsgalore]

Heated Encounters

Ao3

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Chapter 16

Marinette stood in front of her locker and stared at the closed door. She didn’t want to open it and see the pictures of her and Adrien tacked to the inside of the metal, afraid that if she took one peak, she would start to bawl her eyes out again.  

She already spent the first fifteen minutes upon entering the school by locking herself in a bathroom stall and shedding as many tears as she could; her little kwami comforting her quietly beside her. Only when Alya came in and found her hiding was she able to come out; yet, here she was refusing to open the door and open up the wounds again.

“Girl. You need to hurry up and get your books. We’re going to be late.”

“I- I can’t.” She whimpered; her eyes shiny and red.

Alya pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a sigh. “Open the door and I’ll get them for you. What do you have first?”

Marinette looked at her before reluctantly unlocking the door and turning away. “Literature.”

“Okay. Do you need anything besides that?”

“French History and that blue notebook.”

Alya grabbed the items and placed them in her hands, shutting the door and wrapping her arm around her shoulders to lead them up to homeroom.

“Are you going to be okay in literature? You share that class with him, right?”

Marinette sniffed against the back of her hand. “Yeah. And we sit together too.”

“Can you switch seats with someone today?”

“No.” Marinette mumbled. She knew deep down inside that it wasn’t the thought of sitting next to him that bothered her, it was the idea of switching seats. She couldn’t deny that moving her spot would only break her further. “Besides, Mr. Lovell wouldn’t allow it.”

“Listen. It will be okay. It’s not like you have to do a class project with him or anything.”

Marinette scoffed. “Knowing my luck? That’s probably what’s going to happen.”

“And if it does, then it’s the perfect opportunity to talk to him. You said it yourself you wanted to fix this, and you’d promise you’d fix it. Take the opportunity and talk to him! Start small.”

Marinette looked at her friend and let out a sigh. “I’ll try.”

The homeroom door came into view and the terrified coil started to form in her belly. Alya guided her into the classroom and Marinette hastily made her way to her seat, never once lifting her eyesight off the floor as she made her way up the steps to her row.  

Normally, she would have walked around Adrien’s spot as they continued their conversations; the class secretly cooing over their interactions. Instead, the bluenette held onto her books as if they were made of glass and stepped into her seat from Alya’s side of the room, then sliding in and burying her face into her arms.  

Adrien noticeably tensed the moment she walked in, but his head quickly bowed down and refused to turn towards her to see what she would do. The moment he heard her sit down, he plopped his head down onto the table with a loud thud, not bothering using his arms as a cushion during its fall. Nino reached over and patted Adrien’s shoulders, asking if he needed to run to the nurse for ice to avoid bruising his already ashen face.  

Alya looked between the two mates as the plan slowly etched within her mind. One quick scan of the room only confirmed that the entire class had waited for Marinette’s arrival with bated breath, most likely in hopes that the two would have made up at one point over the last three days. The class broke into hushed mumbles over the lack of interactions between the two, but the moment Adrien dropped his head in defeat was when the room was brought to silence.  

Homeroom passed in a blur. Alya waited until Nino and Adrien left the room before she nudged Marinette up and walked out of the room. They walked in silence, a thankful reprieve to the constant buzz of words her brain was trying to digest in order for her plan to work. The moment they reached Marinette’s class, Alya turned and noticed her friend’s hesitation and Alya tried to reassure her with a forced smile.  

She placed one hand on Marinette’s shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze before she said her goodbyes and made her way to her own class. Marinette stared at the doorway, contemplating whether it would be wise to skip class or suck it up and walk in. She tried to enter the classroom by taking two steps towards the open door, but her anxiety made her dwell longer than she intended. She took in one large stretch of air as she closed her eyes and slowly let out the held breath between her pursed lips. She opened her eyes and licked her lips, finally psyching herself up enough to just walk into the class. The moment she did, her eyes automatically honed in on the tall blonde at their assigned table and noticed that Adrien had already arrived and settled in. She paused, her heart hammering against her chest as she carefully eyed his hunched form. She didn’t get a chance to really look at him the moment he arrived earlier that morning, and his disheveled state only proved how awful he must be feeling. He was wearing a large black hooded sweatshirt over a pair of washed out jeans. His normally tamed hair was a ragged mess while the blonde locks poked out from under the hood. His face was buried in the confines of his crossed arms, but Marinette could see the paleness of his skin. The purple, bruised bags under his puffy, yet dull, green eyes peeked just above his arms, just enough for her to notice the lack of sleep he must had endured.

Marinette could feel her heart cracking at the sight. Was seeing him in a calmed state through his window the night before just a fluke? Did she assume the worst before she even had a chance to ask? She wouldn’t dare think that this boy faked the hurt he was feeling. She could see that the normally vibrant ball of sunshine looked like the light literally left his body, and those presumptuous thoughts made the wracking guilt that was stewing inside her almost suffocating.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng,” the professor sang out as he leaned against the desk, “whenever you are ready to sit down; please, be my guest.” He ended with a gesture to her seat.

Marinette blushed crimson as the class let out a fit of giggles. She ran to her seat and removed the books from her bag as Mr. Lovell began the class. She tried her best not to look at Adrien, mostly due to the fear of her breaking down in tears over his ragged state. She could feel Tikki’s presence as she nudged her paw through the purse, but Marinette’s fleeting thoughts overpowered any calm the god tried to relay.

She knew that trying to take one look at him would be a big mistake. She tried her hardest to avoid the temptation, even going as far as internally screaming at herself to not take the chance. But her heart spoke loudly over her thoughts, enticing her eyes to steal one glance. Just one and she would be fine. Her heart tried to reason with her brain, and her brain was failing to reason with her heart on the matter. But then she did it. Using the excuse of placing her bag down beside her foot, she lifted her gaze as she turned her face towards the board, and her heart sank again at his disheveled form.  

Curse you heart, her brain yelled at the beating muscle as it pounded its blood through her body. She couldn’t believe that it was beating as normal as if her entire frame of mind didn’t just shatter into a million pieces. Yet, here she was, holding it together enough to make it through the class, hoping against all odds that it will just go smoothly until it ended.

She tried to listen to the professor, tried to focus on the lesson that he had planned to give. Unfortunately, her hands decided that doodling tears and shriveled up flowers was a better use of her time.  

Adrien tried to do the same, keeping his eyes onto the teacher instead of turning to the love of his life and pleading for her forgiveness. He then began to doodle in the margins, trying to work his way through the mess of his mind. The anxious coil turned his stomach as he tried to not let her closeness affect his troubling heart. He longed to touch her, to hold her hand under the table. He wanted to sneak glances at her form as she wrote in her notebook, enjoy the subtle movements as she stuck her tongue out as she was deep in thought. He wanted to pretend that they were passing notes in class like they normally did before his rut began. But here he was, focusing on the sadness that was seeping from his heart and trying to hold off the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes.

“Shakespeare not only was a revolutionary as he created these meticulous works of art with the comfort of his quill and candlelight, but he also donned the exquisite handling of heated arguments through satire.” Mr. Lovell drawled out as the class watched him articulate his lesson plan.

Finally, Adrien glanced to the side. It was subtle at first; just his eyes darting to her hunched form. He looked back towards the front, but his mind’s eye already memorized her features. The thing that dawned on him the most was that she looked just as uncomfortable as he felt. She also wore a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts and her hair was messed up in a tangled bun.

The last time she looked this terrible was when he had won her a fish at the carnival and it died three days later. And that was only because she had given him a name and bought an awesome looking fish tank and supplies before it died five hours later...

And even though she looked terrible, she was still absolutely beautiful in every way.

Curiously, he glanced over at her again, this time focusing on her facial features. Her blue eyes were dull, but her orbs were red and puffy and glazed with a shimmery gloss. He could tell that she had been crying and he wanted so badly to just wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly, but he knew he couldn’t.

Marinette could feel Adrien’s gaze on her, but she hoped that it was short lived and he was back to facing the teacher and taking notes. She didn’t want to risk a glance at him and see if he was still eyeing her, so she continued to look at the board. She let out a nearly silent sigh, yet she could sense Adrien stiffening at the sound. She tensed as she could picture what his mind was going through, how he could possibly feel her distress and the act of not helping her was going against all instincts in comforting her as his mate. The very reaction twisted the ever-increasing guilt in her belly and making her sick.

She needed to talk to him. No. No. She so desperately yearned to talk to him. She wanted to tell him she was sorry for putting him in this state. To apologize for her arrogance instead of communicating her thoughts to him. The want overpowered the need and collided within itself to make her anxious to just pull him away and forget this entire week and start over. The fears of losing her mate crashed over her all over again as the thoughts of never speaking to him about it came into play, and all she wanted was for this day to be over so she could pull him away and beg for forgiveness. Maybe she could faint and cause Adrien to pick her up and take them away and maybe she could talk to him about this whole mess-

“Alright class. Today we are going to work through some of that satire in groups.”

-and maybe it just wasn’t the right time. All she had to do was to get through this class and focus on the rest of the day, and maybe come up with a plan to finally talk to him once and for all.

Her thoughts drifted again once the teacher announced the partner groups and all she could do was mutter under her breath when her name was called.

Meanwhile, Adrien pursed his lips as he contemplated his next step in apologizing to Marinette. He needed to get her alone so they could talk, and he went over his apology in his head over a hundred times. He wanted to make sure it was perfect, to make sure that everything he was saying was sincere and magical, yet soft enough that she could feel the love pouring from his words. But watching her facial expressions as the teacher continued his lecture mesmerized him, allowing him to forget for one moment the heartbreak he was enduring.  

He noticed that her lips were chapped, but a part of her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth. That gesture alone was doing wonders to his heart and the whirlwind of imagery sprouting in the guttural hell of his brain were enjoying themselves too.

“Mr. Agreste.” Mr. Lovell called out rather loudly. Adrien quickly turned his head and straightened his back. He realized that he had turned his body towards Marinette, and Marinette’s eyes were darting back and forth between the table and him. Sheepishly, Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and hunched over in embarrassment.

Mr. Lovell sighed as he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “Do you need me to repeat your partner for the class assignment and presentation?”

“Partners?”

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng. Please discuss the syllabus with your partner when you meet. He seems to need a bit of assistance with understanding the assignment.”

“Yes, sir.”

Adrien groaned and bashed his head against the table once the realization of who he was to spend his afternoon study sessions with washed over him.  

-------

“Nino. I’m telling you. If it worked for us. It will work for them.”

“We cannot just lock them in a closet, Alya. That’s just terrible!”

“Why not? Locking her in a room got them into this mess, and Ladybug locking us into a cage together got us into our mess. I think it’ll work!”

“So you’re saying our relationship is a mess?” Nino added with a smirk. Alya gave him a light smack to his arm.

“Nino! You know the only mess our relationship has is the mess we leave on our beds.”

Nino’s eyebrows waggled at her words. “Then maybe you can show me how much of a mess you’re talking about tonight. Maybe after a little dinner, and definitely after a lot of dessert...”

Alya purred at his words as she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down to her lips, teasing the soft muscles with her loving embrace. He responded in kind, chasing her tongue with his own. Abruptly, she pulled away, tapping her finger against his nose.

“As much as I would like to continue this little make out session, we need to talk about Adrien and Marinette and how to help them get over this hurdle.”

Nino narrowed his eyes at the sudden postponement of their little make out session. “Right. By locking them in a closet...”  

“Think about it, babe. We were forced to talk to each other for HOURS, yet it opened us up to so much! Why not do the same for them? Plus, Marinette sent me an SOS when she left Literature. Those two buffoons are partnered up together for a project. From what she said, Adrien zoned out as he was staring at her and Marinette tried her damndest to ignore him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Lovell did it to get them together because those two are awkward as hell.”

“You aren’t kidding, Als. Adrien’s already awkward enough with how sheltered he is. Throw in a broken heart and what was probably a misunderstanding, and you get a mangled, tall, ball of sunshine that looks like hell.”  

Alya hummed in agreement and waited until Nino thought over her idea. Having them being locked in a closet wouldn’t be a terribly bad idea. They just had to come up with the best way to trick them. So, what was the best way to do it?

A devious smile tugged at his lips. “Hey, babe? When’s the last time the kissing closet has been used?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” She could see the gears turning in Nino’s head. The feigning tone in her voice reassured him that she was already liking the plan. “I think the cobwebs have taken over. Maybe we can fix that.”

“I think I know who could fix it instead.”

-----

“Dude. Seriously. You just need to relax. You’ll get the chance to talk to her and then things will get back to normal. Maybe even court her before she matures!”

“Yeah, and maybe Hawkmoth will give Ladybug and Chat Noir his miraculous so we can stop dealing with akumas every other day.”

Nino choked on his drink. “Oh stop. You have loads of chances before Hawkmoth hands over his miraculous on a silver platter.”

Adrien rolled his eyes as he sat on the bench. He was waiting for study period to end before he had to move on to the next class. Studying in the quiet library was starting to overwhelm him and the duo decided that spending some time in the courtyard would be a better use of their time.

“...telling you, it’s the perfect ending for our senior year.”

Nino smiled as he heard his girlfriend walking into the courtyard. He looked over to Adrien to see if he noticed the voice, but the blonde had shut his eyes and was basking in the sunlight. Nino hastily looked over his form and discovered that Adrien had stretched out his legs so he could lean against the backrest at a comfortable angle. This was the perfect opportunity to put their plan into action.

“Dude. You should just- woah!”  

Thud.

Crash.

Nino walked in front of Adrien and tripped over his foot, bringing him and his glass bottle of juice crashing to the ground. Adrien shot up as soon as he felt Nino hit his ankles, but he was not quick enough to grab his arm and stop him from his collision to the ground. The glass flew towards the center of the courtyard, the bottle shattering into an array of sized crystals mixed with the red liquid splatter.

“Nino! Are you okay?” Adrien sputtered out as he reached his hand towards his friend to help him to his feet. He took a moment to look him over to make sure he wasn’t seriously hurt.

“Dude. I’m okay. I’m alright. Just didn’t see your feet there.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

Nino checked his hands and brushed the dirt off his pants, smiling to assure him it wasn’t a big deal. “My fault, dude. Your ankle okay?”

“Yeah, that’s no big deal-”

“Babe!” Alya cried out running to him. Marinette ran closely behind her. “Are you okay? That was a pretty mean fall.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” He looked over to the glass. “I should probably clean this up.”

“I’ll grab the broom and mop.” Adrien offered.

Alya watched as Adrien made his way towards the closet and then looked down over Nino’s outstretched hand.

“Marinette? Could you grab a paper towel? I found a nasty cut on Nino’s hand. We should cover it before we walk to the nurse.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll get it.”

Marinette made her way to the closet and hesitated before walking into the small room. Adrien had just grabbed the broom and dustpan as Marinette tried to walk in to grab the towel. He tried to move to the side to make room for her as he looked for a bucket, but Marinette decided to wait for him to walk out instead.

Quickly, Alya ran to the closet and shoved Marinette into it, closing the door and locking it from the outside. Nino ran over and high fived his girlfriend, then the two mates laughed as they heard the frantic fists pounding against the wood door.

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” Alya called out to them. “The sounds of you making up are kind of loud. Once you quiet down, I’ll let you out.”

Adrien looked over to Marinette as she pressed her finger to her lips. She gestured at him to keep quiet, hoping that not speaking was the way to let them out.

“I’m not letting you out that easy.” Marinette’s thoughts were figured out and she pouted in response. “You have twenty minutes until the next class. I’ll be back. And just so you know, we switched the locks earlier. You can’t get out without a key and I have that key. So, either make up or you’ll stay in there until the end of the day.”

“Come on, Alya!” Marinette squawked as she smacked the door. “Let us out.”

When the trapped duo was met with silence, Marinette let out a defeated sigh. The dark closet was not helping the awkward tension between them, but the faint, ragged breathing troubled her.

“Adrien?” She called out to him carefully.

“Ma- Mari?” Adrien started to breathe a little harder and slightly faster.

Marinette started to panic at what was happening. She tried to hide it and focused on remaining calm. Adrien needed her to be calm right now.  

“Adrien?” She reached out to him and caught his shoulder. She could feel him trembling underneath her fingertips. “Adrien. I’m right here. Do you feel my hand?”

Adrien’s breaths started to become shallower and Marinette knew he would pass out from the lack of air if she didn’t do anything soon. He didn’t do well in enclosed spaces; it was the one thing he hated about himself. Years of being stuck in a mansion with no freedom in sight does something to your mental health. Marinette knew this, but none of his friends did. There was no reason for them to know until now. She’ll pull her friends away later and scold them for it – with love, not anger – and hope to kwami’s that this would be the last time it would happen.

“Adrien. Listen to my voice. Okay?” She brought her hand up to his cheek and she could feel him shake, but his nod ensured her that he was still listening. “I’m going to look for the light, okay? That will help with the claustrophobia.” Another nod. “I’m going to place your hand on my shoulder so you know I’m still here.” One more nod and Marinette helped Adrien bring his hand up to her shoulder.

Marinette started to search for the light source against the walls near the door jam. When she couldn’t immediately find it, she grabbed her phone and clicked on the flashlight feature, looking for the switch with ease. When the closet lit up, Marinette turned around and saw Adrien’s drooping form. His head was bowed towards the ground with his hand still on Marinette’s shoulder. He tried to take in slow breaths as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“Adrien.” Marinette whispered as she slowly walked towards him. It didn’t take much to reach him, but she did it carefully as to not scare him. She placed her hands on his cheeks and rubbed soothing circles to them with the pads of her thumbs, helping him ground him from the darkness he was creeping into.

“Adrien. I’m right here. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Are you okay?”

Adrien huffed out a dry laugh, finally seeing the light around him again. “Can’t go anywhere- did you- forget?” He managed to say between breaths.

“Yeah. But I made you laugh. That’s important.”

Adrien tried to smile in between his rapid heartbeat and calming breaths and tried to focus on the pheromones that Marinette was emitting. She didn’t know it, but her scent was calming him down and the sweet vanilla was seeping into his body like an elixir coating his tastebuds.

He grabbed her hands and held them tightly in his, squeezing his sincerity in them.

“I’m- sorry.” He breathed out, chancing a glance through his lashes.

Marinette froze and looked up at him, confused as to why he was apologizing. “Don’t you apologize for something you can’t control. They put us in here-”

“No. No.” He interrupted and shook his head. “I’m sorry for- being an asshole- to you.”

Wait- “Adrien, what? You’re not an asshole. If anything, I’m the asshole. Look at us! I caused this.”

Adrien finally caught his breath and looked up at her. His eyes were slightly wet and his expression was pained. “No, I was. You had every right to get mad at me for what I did. I locked you into a classroom during an attack. I wanted to protect you but I didn’t think about the consequences if something else were to happen. That was such a stupid, selfish, and reckless thing of me to do to you.”

Marinette pursed her lips into a tight line. She took one more step forward and placed a hand to his cheek. “I was the asshole, Adrien. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You didn’t deserve it. You deserved an explanation, as did I, but you scared me and you didn’t come back until well after the battle was done. I was so scared something bad happened to you.” The tears started to fall as the thought of losing him started to crash against her mind again. “I just found you, like truly found you. I don’t want to lose you before I’m able to spend my life with you.” She clenched her eyes to stop the rush of tears. “You don’t have a miraculous, Adrien. You can’t save the world.”

Adrien nodded at her words and tried to swallow the lump that formed in his throat. He was unsure of what he could say to that without spilling his secret. She didn’t know he had one, and couldn’t know, at least not yet, and until then, he decided to just nod at her words.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Marinette. I promise that next time, I’ll hide with you or bring you to a safe place that you can easily escape from if you needed to. Like...” he paused, thinking of an easy place that he could escape to transform and where she would remain safe, “...oh, like the bathroom! Safe, small, and easily accessible.”

Marinette let out a small giggle, but then peered up at his gaze. “I think the bathroom works. As long as you hide in the bathroom, too.”

“Deal. But I’ll hide in the boy's bathroom instead. I don’t think the girls need to see a boy hanging around in there.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea unless you want me to dress you up and put makeup on your face.”

Adrien screwed his face up in disgust. “No thanks. I do enough of that at my job.”

The two of them shared a chuckle before the awkward silence took over. Adrien was still holding onto her hands, and the soft feeling of her skin was filling him up with warmth. But when he looked back into her eyes, he could see that Marinette wanted to recoil back into herself. It was one of those quirky things she did when something was on her mind. Adrien let out an anxious breath and knew this would be the perfect time to break the ice and talk to her.

“Hey. Since we both feel like assholes and our feeling are out there in the open waiting to be told what to do, why don’t... we start over?” He shrugged as he waited for her response.

Marinette tilted her head. “What do you mean start over?”

Adrien smirked and took out his hand. She looked at it curiously before cautiously grabbing his hand and slowly shaking it.

“Hi. My name is Adrien Agreste, and I’m an asshole alpha who is in love with this super sweet, super amazing girl with raven hair, sparkling blue eyes, and freckle-speckled skin. And because he’s in love with this girl, he acts stupid and foolish to protect her that he forgets that she has feelings too.”

Marinette smiled and caught on to what he meant. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Agreste. Mademoiselle Marinette Dupain-Cheng here and I’m the girl who apparently has captured this asshole alpha’s heart. She’s hopelessly in love with him over his smile and protective state and she hopes he can forgive her for her outburst. If he does, then she will forgive him for his eagerness in trying anything to protect his mate.”

Adrien perked up at her words. “You’re in love with me?”

“Hopelessly in love with you since the day we first met. I’ve always just had a knack for hiding it.”

“Well, I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I don’t think I would ever want to hurt you. Ever again. Never ever. Did I mention never? Because this week was horrible.”

Marinette hummed in response before whispering enough to be only heard by him. “Then don’t.”

Her tone enticed him to lift his palm and cup her cheek, pressing his thumb against her cheekbone to swipe away any of the residual tears that had fallen against her pale skin. He brought his nose down to lightly brush against hers, while the wistful tension between them filled them with hope of happier moments that were bound to come.

Adrien smiled against her lips. “Well this asshole would like to take this girl out on a date. Do you happen to know how he can achieve that? Seems like the odds are against him at the moment.”

“Really? Because I think I know a way.”

Marinette smiled as she leaned in closer, their noses nuzzling as her lips teased against his. Their breaths mingled in the space between them as their eyes fluttered closed. Soon, the small space dwindled into nothing as their lips danced together in simple symphony.  

The soft lips continued their ministrations as the warmth seeped through their touch. It was slow and careful. There was no rush, no need to catch up on missed days, and no desire to take everything now that they would eventually give to each other in the future. They only wanted to focus on the now, on the love and protection and hope that this first kiss could bring. Slowly, they pulled apart and Adrien leaned his forehead against hers, stealing a quick peck against her temple as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

Adrien leaned back to gaze into her eyes. “I love you, my beautiful soulmate.”

Marinette gazed into his and smiled. “I love you too, my fierce alpha.”

[starryviolentine]

Camp Paya (A Pre-Apocalypse Story): Chapter 3/?

Part three of the “Pre-Apocalypse Adventures” Series

Chapter 1 (here)     Chapter 2 (here)

Strangely enough, Violet, who insisted that she was feeling sick and had been rushed to the infirmary by Therissa and tagalong Brody, makes a miraculous recovery right after Sam drops by to let them know that the tour has ended and they have a bit of free time before having to meet at The Pit. It’s too coincidental, but because Violet keeps dismissing their concerns, insisting that she’s okay and that there’s nothing else wrong, Brody and Therissa drop it, deciding that it’s not worth the fight. Besides, Violet really does seem to be feeling fine again—the color has returned to her face and she leaps energetically off the cot, grabbing her roommates by the arms and pulling them towards the door. 

At the meeting, all of the campers and cabin leaders are given a seven-day time schedule with blank boxes for each time slot that they’re free to choose their own activities. Ms. Pam gives them their first assignment. They’re to spend the next hour thinking about which activities they want to try and plan out their schedule for the first week of camp, starting with their very first activity slot happening later that afternoon. 

Brody, who has always taken her work seriously and is ready to get right to work, unzips the fanny pack around her waist, pulls out two pencils—one blue and one purple—and hands the latter to Violet. “So, what are we gonna do this week?”

Reluctantly taking the pencil, Violet slides off the log bench onto the ground, stretching out her legs and leaning her back against the wood. “Do we have to do this now? Can’t we, like, take a break or get a snack, or something?”

“We have our first activity this afternoon,” Brody reminds her. “I was thinking, maybe we could learn how to make those friendship bracelets. Remember? The really pretty ones they showed us in the art studio?” 

Violet scrunches up her nose. “Really? There are a billion cool things to do here, but you wanna sit in a room and do arts and crafts?”

That hurts Brody’s feelings a little, but she tries not to show it. “Well, okay, what do you wanna do first?”

“The rock climbing wall looked pretty cool.”

“But… didn’t you think it seemed kinda scary? It’s so high up,” says Brody, wearing her fears on her sleeve. “What if you fall?”

“They tie you to a rope, Brody. You’re not gonna fall.”

This isn’t going quite like Brody had imagined. “I just, I thought that we could start off with something simple and relaxing, you know? Since it’s the first day and all. Like, arts and crafts, and then tomorrow we could—”

“Simple and relaxing? More like lame and boring.”

Before Violet can stop herself, the words slip from her lips. She didn’t intend to sound so mean, but she’s getting a little annoyed at the thought of being stuck indoors making jewelry instead of literally any of the other, way more exciting activities. 

Unfortunately, the damage has already been done, and Brody, balling her fists, responds in a defensive tone that’s just as sharp as her friend’s. “Art is not lame or boring, Violet!”

“Oh, sorry,” Violet says crossly, voice dripping with sarcasm and making her sound an awful lot like their older roommate when she’s in a bad mood. “I thought this was supposed to be summer camp, not bummer camp.”

Brody narrows her eyes and bites her tongue to hold back a frustrated yell. “Well, we have to agree on something, or else… or else we won’t get to do anything together this summer!”

“Yeah, well, then maybe we shouldn’t.”

Before Brody realizes what’s happening, Violet slams the pencil down on the seat of the bench and gets to her feet. Without another word, she storms away in a huff and doesn’t look back, leaving Brody to fume and froth all by herself. 

And she does, for a while. 

With burning hot in her eyes and trembling fingers, Brody furiously shoves her pencils back into her bag and folds her schedule in half, tucking it inside the cover of her diary. A walk and a change of scenery should help clear her head. In a few minutes, Brody finds herself standing on one of the docks overlooking the lake. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, filling her belly and lungs with each breath of fresh air. As she breathes, she focuses on the heat of the sunshine on her skin until her arms and legs tingle under the warmth of the sun’s rays. 

Shedding her shoes and socks, Brody takes a seat at the edge of the dock and lets her legs dangle over the side, submerging her feet ankle-deep into the cool water below. Ever since she was a baby, Brody has loved the water. The way it soothes her and puts her heart at ease even on the worst of days is almost magical. Before long, Brody is calm enough to continue working on her schedule, and she fills each box with the activities she wants to do the most. Arts and crafts. Swimming. Hiking. Gymnastics. Horseback riding. Just because she might be flying solo doesn’t mean she can't have fun.  

Violet isn’t her only friend, after all.

Brody finishes her schedule right on time, then stops to double check that her handwriting is neat and perfectly centered in each of the boxes, erasing and rewriting where needed. After careful consideration, Brody has decided to start in the art studio after all. She hasn’t figured out what, exactly, she wants to do yet, so she starts off by wandering around to see what there is to see. The first room she peeks inside turns out to be the jewelry station, and all the supplies to make those colorful, woven bracelets that Brody admires so much are spread out across a table in the corner of the room. As much as she wants to make one, however, in her eyes, this is something that best friends have to do together. There’s only one person she wants to exchange friendship bracelets with, and even though she happens to be upset with said person at the moment… and even though said person might never agree to make one with her at all, Brody’s not going to do it without her. 

During her search for something else to do, Brody finds herself in the doorway of a spacious room with a row of paint-splatted easels along one wall and matching paint-splattered tables in the center of the floor. Stretched out on one of these tables is a long, blank piece of banner paper, and the way the edges are curling inward is a telltale sign that it has most likely been cut from a giant roll. The paint studio is empty except for one other girl, who is so absorbed in whatever she’s doodling in her sketchbook that she doesn’t notice Brody come in. Curiosity getting the better of her, Brody creeps toward the girl, inching ever so slowly her way, until she’s close enough to peer over her shoulder at her drawing.

Finally feeling someone’s presence, the redhead’s hand stops, pencil hovering about an inch above the page. She holds her breath, already expecting whoever’s standing behind her to comment on her art, maybe ask what it is or what it’s for, and then, without fail, ask for a self portrait. The life of an artist sure can be troublesome sometimes!

“Wow, that’s so pretty! You’re really good.”

“Thanks,” the girl replies softly. And then she waits for it. The inevitable “Can you draw me?”

But it doesn’t come. Instead, the auburn-haired girl takes a seat in the chair next to her and gives her a warm smile. “I’m Brody. What’s your name?”  

“Sophie.”

Brody’s smile lingers even after their exchange comes to an end, although it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. After a moment, it fades and a tiny flicker of sadness appears on her face. “Is it okay if I sit with you?”

“Sure,” says Sophie, shrugging. “The paint stuff is in the cupboard by the sink if you need it. They said we could help ourselves as long as we don’t make a mess. And the paper’s in those drawers.”

For the third summer in a row, Sophie has been entrusted with the important task of designing the banner for the Camp Paya Talent Showcase. She really enjoys working with the drama department and getting to witness everything that happens behind the scenes. But most of all, she loves getting to see one of her original creations hanging right above the stage for everyone to see. It’s her own way to shine without having to step into the spotlight. Unlike her sister, who sings in the show every year and usually gets the most enthusiastic round of applause out of all the performers, Sophie prefers to display her artistic prowess in subtler ways—just enough for people to appreciate and admire what she does without being the center of attention. 

After several more minutes of erasing and adjusting her sketch, Sophie lays her personal set of colored pencils out in front of her and picks out a few different shades of purple, red, orange and pink, already having a color scheme in mind. Ever since Ms. Pam mentioned that this year’s talent show was going to be in the evening instead of after lunch like it had been in the past, Sophie’s been unable to get the image of the gorgeous sunset she saw a few days ago out of her head. Her godparents had taken her and her sister out for a birthday weekend treat. They went to the mall to see a movie and even got to play around in the movie theater arcade afterwards. They ended the day with dinner at their favorite restaurant, and, as they walked through the parking lot back to the car, the sun was setting and the sky was the most incredible palette of colors Sophie has ever seen.

While her sister has been recreating the opening scene to the movie they watched every morning since then, dancing and lip-syncing to the catchy song playing in her head while getting dressed, Sophie’s been thinking about the colors of the sky. And it’s the greatest feeling to know that she’s going to get to paint with them very, very soon. 

Just as soon as she copies her sketch onto the banner, of course.   

“Hey, do you think this looks okay?” Sophie stands and turns to her left, wanting to show her sketchbook to Brody and get her approval, but she stops when she realizes that the other girl is just sitting there, resting her head in her arms on the table and looking really upset. “Oh, um…”

“It’s beautiful,” Brody says, complimenting Sophie’s drawing nonetheless. “You know what it makes me think of? Sitting in the sand on a tropical island… and looking out at the line where the ocean touches the sky… and it’s that time of day when the sun’s going down and everything’s just glowing in the low light. Sunset halfway underwater… Silhouettes of palm trees against the clouds...” Even though she sounds a little sad, there’s a soft, dreamy half-smile on Brody’s face as she runs her fingertips across the colors. “I imagine the sky would look just like that.”

As Sophie listens, the girl’s voice turns into the bubbling of salty waves rolling onto the sand and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. The young artist’s face starts to feel warm, as though she was actually there on that island, basking under the setting sun on that beach in Brody’s imagination. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too.”

“Are you gonna make a big version of it on that?” Brody points at the large, white sheet of paper on the table. Sophie nods, and Brody’s smile grows wider. “Oh, it’s gonna look so nice!”

“Do you wanna help me?”

Eyes widening, Brody shakes her head fervently. “Oh, I couldn’t! I’m not that good. Not like you. What if… what if I mess up and ruin it?”

Sophie grabs her pencil and sketchbook and moves around the table to the opposite side. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I’d make you do anything hard. Just easy stuff. That’s why you’re here, right? ‘Cause you wanna make art?”

“Yeah, but I’m not really an artist...”

“Anyone who makes art is an artist,” says Sophie, smiling reassuringly. “I’m gonna outline the letters first, but then you can help color them in.”

The other girl is still worried. “Are you sure?”

“It’ll be fine. I promise,” Sophie insists. “Can you hold a brush?”

Brody slowly nods her head.

“And can you do this?” Pretending that she’s holding a paintbrush, Sophie sweeps her hand back and forth in simple but exaggerated brush strokes. The redhead tries her best to keep a straight face but ends up dissolving into giggles. 

“Well… yeah, I suppose.”

“Perfect! You’re hired!” Sophie holds out her hand for Brody to shake. “Just think of it like a giant coloring book. All you need to do is try to stay inside the lines.”

Maybe it’s because she really loves coloring books, or maybe it’s because there’s just something so kind and sincere about Sophie that makes Brody feel right at home, but that’s all the convincing she needs. After everything that happened today, Brody doesn’t know if she’s going to get a chance to make friendship bracelets with Violet, or if she’s even going to spend any time with her best friend while at camp. But she does know one thing, at least. She very well might be the luckiest girl in the world to have already found a new friend.

[ohblackdiamond]

till it shines (peter/paul, nc-17)

"Look, I'm not gonna quit, I swear. If we have to end the tour, we have to end the tour. We get dropped from the label, we get dropped from the label. We lick our wounds and we try somewhere else. But until then, we got awhile in this hotel." "And no shows." "Yeah." During a five-day lull in concerts, stranded in an Atlanta hotel, Peter and Paul find a means to entertain themselves.

Notes: Inspired and based to a heavy extent on a very lovely, NSFW fanart concerning Paul's on-tour artistic endeavors. No, not the ones he showcases in galleries. 

“till it shines”

by Ruriruri

It was the last day of the Gay Kitchen, with honorable maitre d's, cooks, servers, and busboys Peter Criss and Paul Stanley manning KISS' dwindling hotel fridge and supply closet. At least, it was supposed to be. Peter didn't know if after last night, it was still on the table.

At first, they'd really wanted to go all-out with the band dinners, but their budget hadn't permitted it. One last hurrah before they had to limp back to New York, with a single failed record to their names and all the notoriety of four strays in a junkyard. Back to Lydia for Peter-and Lydia wasn't so bad, Lydia wasn't so bad at all; she'd supported him through worse screw-ups and disappointments, but it was what she represented. A guy who still wasn't paying the bills four years into the marriage wasn't any better than a bum. She'd thought she'd found somebody who'd be going places. She'd been wrong.

For Paul, the prospect of going home was just as disastrous. At least, that was how he made it out to be. He'd get into these depressed rambles about his parents and his sister and his niece and how coming back just wasn't an option.

"Not an option? C'mon, you were in college, what, a couple of quarters-"

Paul had winced and licked his lips, a quick, nervous tic Peter had gotten far too accustomed to seeing as the band's money situation worsened.

"I only went a week. Don't tell Gene." And a swallow. "Look, it's stupid. I know. But I was born to play rock and roll, okay?"

"You're preaching to the fucking choir."

"I mean. if I can't do this, if I can't make this happen, I might as well not be here. This is the only outlet I've got."

Peter had rubbed the back of his neck and tried not to groan. Overblown as ever. Paul thought Peter was the dramatic one, the tetchy one, just because he had enough balls to address what was pissing him off instead of keeping it to occasional bitchy comments. Paul never seemed to hear his own whines.

"You think you're the only one with a dream around here?" Peter couldn't even bite back the rest. "How old were you when the Beatles got on Ed Sullivan? Ten?"

"Twelve," Paul had grumbled back. "Don't make this an age thing-"

"I was just out of high school. And I was already in bands-"

"Pete, I know, I know already. You keep telling me." Paul heaved a sigh. "You keep telling all of us."

"You've got to pay your dues, that's all it is."

"Got to pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues." The right edge of Paul's mouth was starting to perk up.

"Yeah." Peter tugged absently at his bangs, trying not to let himself get too good a look at what he'd been seeing since before he even auditioned for KISS. The semi-permanent dye they all used worked fine on brown hair, but past that first wash, it was useless on gray. The streaks were more obvious against the jet-black backdrop than they'd ever been when he left his hair alone. "Look, I'm not gonna quit, I swear. If we have to end the tour, we have to end the tour. We get dropped from the label, we get dropped from the label. We lick our wounds and we try somewhere else. But until then, we got awhile in this hotel."

"And no shows."

"Yeah." No shows for the next five days at least. Their last pitiful handful of concerts, they'd opened for some redneck band. Outlaws or something. That was another depressing thing. Peter had always expected to at least be friendly with the bands they were the lead-in for, but they'd only been met with indifference at best and hostility at worst. Never ended up opening for the same band more than a few times, either. It just made the whole tour all the lonelier.

He realized after a second that Paul was staring at him. The guy had a weird stare. Kind of like a broke bagboy waiting on his tip, or maybe just like a girl who was really hoping for a proposal. Big-eyed, eager, and not remotely calculating. It might have pissed Peter off, if Paul didn't always follow it up with an abashed grin once he was caught.

"You're thinking about something," Paul said, before Peter could make the accusation himself.

"Yeah. I'm thinking we all need cheering up."

"You need cheering up, Peter."

"You just finished telling me you'd die if you didn't make it, Paul." He paused, still staring at the fridge. "And fuck, I'm gonna die if I have to eat at McDonalds one more time."

"Well, they've got Steak 'n Shake here, if you'd rather."

Peter groaned.

"Not when you're in a fucking blouse and heels. The crowd thinking we're fruits is bad enough." Before Paul could even stammer out a protest, something about it being rock and roll, or about needing more practice in the heels-God, c'mon-Peter continued. "No. I thought we could make our own dinner while we're here. Really make it, not just sandwiches and shit. Real food. We got the kitchen for it. And it'd save Bill some money. You know how to cook, right?" He knew Gene didn't. Ace just wouldn't.

"I'd hope so. My mom started leaving us home alone when I was eight."

"Poor, poor little Paulie." Peter rolled his eyes. "We could-we could make it themed, even. Make out like it's a restaurant. Menus and shit. Invite the guys down for dinner."

Paul brightened, which surprised him. Usually he'd be sore for hours over the slightest crack at his expense, like some spoiled, anxious kid. But for once, he actually seemed excited.

"Like Italian one night, maybe? We could make pizza."

"Yeah, sure, lemme get a shopping list going."

After three beers apiece, they'd named their restaurant the Gay Kitchen, decided they'd act the part of its bent proprietors, and written up a menu full of double-entendres. An hour later, still drunk, they'd pooled their money and ventured out to town in jeans and the lowest of their heels. They'd bought twenty bucks' worth of groceries, which should have been plenty. Then they'd started in on meal prep.

Strange how fun it was. Especially that first night, working on a poor man's casserole, with the radio on and Paul standing next to him chopping up onions, his hands encased in Ziploc sandwich bags because he didn't want the smell on his skin, while Peter cut half-frozen chicken breasts into ragged little cubes. They'd tossed the whole thing into the pan with some salt and pepper, dumped a can of cream of mushroom soup on top, stuck it in the oven and hoped for the best. He knew they should've gone with canned stuff entirely, especially for the meat, if they'd really wanted to save money, but the Gay Kitchen experience demanded the expenditure. At least, that was their excuse.

Besides, Ace and Gene had loved it. Not for the food so much. Peter figured their dinners were decent, maybe even good, sometimes, but he couldn't kid himself. There was nothing impressive about a dessert course that included Hostess cupcakes "with fresh Cool Whip." But the makeshift restaurant had done the job. Cheered them all up. No one said a word during any of the dinners about the tour ending or going back home. Not a single word. And he and Paul had screwed around, too, acting faggy, hitting on each other and the guys indiscriminately throughout the meals. Last night, Paul had even groped his ass while he was mincing around plating everyone's food.

"I had to take him off the menu." Peter could've sworn Paul was deliberately making that annoying lisp of his even worse during each dinner. Pitching his voice into a whine, too. Some commitment. Peter had glanced up, questioningly, but Paul had just ignored him and continued. "You see why, right? He's got such a nice ass-all the boys were looking, I couldn't help but get jealous-"

"Course you're jealous. You dieted yours off, Paulie," Ace had retorted with a laugh. Peter had been vaguely surprised Paul didn't break character at that, just clicked his tongue disapprovingly, his hand still on Peter's ass. Not squeezing anymore, thank God, but Peter had still felt the ghost of Paul's fingers there hours later when they'd both turned in for bed.

Looking back, maybe that was where it had really started. Glancing over at Paul on the double bed next to his, watching him, knees up, with the pad of hotel stationery in his lap and a pencil in his hand, Peter had cleared his throat. Paul lifted his head from where he'd been scribbling.

"Yeah?"

"What're you drawing?"

Paul held up the stationery without a hint of embarrassment. The usual weirdly accurate assortment of veiny, disembodied dicks covered the page.

"What do you always draw those for, anyway?"

Paul shrugged.

"I dunno. Why does Gene refuse to shower?"

"Because his mom told him even his B.O. was sacred." Peter rolled his eyes. "You got a fixation."

"<i>You've</i> got a fixation. You're the one always getting your dick out."

"Getting it out's not the same as drawing it. . That's not even your dick. Whose do you keep on-"

"I went to art school, asshole." There wasn't much of an edge to Paul's words, Peter noticed. "Life drawing comes with the territory."

"In high school? Jesus." Peter cocked his head, trying to decide if Paul was bullshitting him, but Paul was already back to doodling, his eyes averted. "You ever gonna attach them to anybody, or are they just gonna keep floating around?"

"Well, I thought I'd attach them to you, but then I realized that'd mean I'd have to draw your face."

"Oh, fuck you, Paul." He didn't know why, but he got up then, moved to sit on Paul's bed. Paul stopped scribbling just long enough to shift over for him. Peter leaned in, vying for a better look at the sketches. Six, no, seven dicks, from a couple different angles, all varying levels of erect. The balls were so accurate it was almost disturbing. "Ain't even mine. They're too small."

"These are scaled down."

"The shape's wrong, too. Was that one supposed to be bent like that?" Peter pointed at the offending cock, right in the center of the paper. He kind of thought it was intentional. There was something uncanny about Paul's artwork-well, the dick drawings, anyway. His other offerings, at least the ones Peter had seen-splattery acrylic abstracts from his high school portfolio, and the occasional insulting cartoon of his bandmates on the back of a paper napkin-lacked that attention to detail. And that enthusiasm. It was weird. Forget the rockstar shit; Peter almost wondered if Paul's true calling was illustrating gay porno mags.

Paul shifted the paper, blinking at him slowly.

"Are you really critiquing my doodles here?"

"Well, yeah. If you're gonna draw dicks, at least don't draw them bent."

"What's wrong with drawing them bent? Some guys have fucked-up dicks."

"Who do you know with a fucked-up dick? Gene?" Paul's was fine. Smaller than his, sure, but there wasn't anything the matter with it. Peter got a good look at it in the showers after concerts, and during occasional threesomes with college girls that didn't qualify as groupies. Paul didn't care about nudity any more than he or Ace did, which was a relief. Especially since Gene was so weird about it. Months on the road and he still wouldn't strip down in front of the band. Peter had asked Paul why. Paul had said something about Gene going to some Jewish school and that giving him hang-ups, which sounded ridiculous to Peter. If Jewish school was anything like Catholic school, then it was a flimsy excuse for changing in closets and behind closed doors like some chick. Gene probably just had something terribly, shamefully wrong with his dick. Smallness or herpes or both.

"What? No."

Pete scooted over some more. Paul's posture was slightly stiffer than it had been before, but he still moved to give Peter room. Not that the double bed had much space to begin with.

"Does that mean you've seen it?" Peter wasn't sure why he was pressing the issue. Probably because Paul didn't seem all that uncomfortable. In fact, ever since the start of the Gay Kitchen, he'd been more relaxed, more talkative. It'd been nice. Peter watched Paul's lips purse for a second before he replied.

"Come off it. I don't have the right equipment for the privilege."

"Just eat some more and you'll get the tits down."

"Oh, fuck you, Pete." Paul jabbed his elbow into Peter's ribs, just hard enough for Peter to jerk back, but after a second he was scooting in closer again, just to prove he couldn't be nudged off that easily.

Maybe it had been a lower blow than Peter had meant to take. God knew the poor guy worried more about his weight than a chick. Lydia once said Paul was shaped like a rectangle. Just thick, straight lines from his shoulders all the way to his ass, and no definition anywhere. And he had been, but that wasn't the case these days. Paul had ended up with a bad bout of stomach flu about a month and a half into the tour. He would pull himself together enough to do the night's show, but afterwards, Peter'd had to listen to him get up, agonized and grunting, at two in the morning, and hear him retching into the hotel toilet. Paul had probably dropped fifteen pounds since then. Maybe more.

He looked better now. His abdomen still wasn't flat and he still cinched in his waist with a corset onstage, but Peter figured Paul did look a little closer to-well, whatever the hell a frontman was supposed to look like-and a little farther from the shy kid from Queens who drove the band's milk truck to and from gigs. Shouldn't be something Peter was already nostalgic about, especially since they were probably right about to head back to the milk trucks and ballrooms, but he was.

He could hear the scratch of Paul's pencil against the stationery. Paul wasn't going to retort. He'd just sulk and doodle more dicks until he got tired enough to turn off the lamp and tell Peter to get off the bed so he could sleep. Peter licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and he spoke.

"You know what? Maybe you should draw mine."

He hadn't thought the comment through. It just splattered from the corner of his brain to his mouth. Maybe he was just trying to get a response out of Paul, see if he could come up with an insulting way to put him off, or if he'd just stammer out a refusal. Instead, all Peter got in return was a raised eyebrow.

"Your dick?"

"Yeah, my dick."

"You're volunteering?"

Shit. Shit, now he had to commit to it. Peter shrugged, somehow managed a tilted sort of grin, and leaned back on his hands.

"Why not? Least that'd keep you from doing all those crooked, veiny ones."

"Yeah, 'cause yours is fucking Adonis,' right-"

Adonis must've been some underground rocker only college kids had ever heard of. Peter wasn't about to admit to his own ignorance.

"Nobody's complained yet. C'mon, Paulie, how about it?"

Paul hesitated visibly. Peter almost didn't think he was going to agree to it. Too nerved-out by the suggestion. But then Paul nodded, his black curls-somewhat limper without the Aquanet and teasing brush forcing them into bushy, puffy proportions-bouncing slightly as he did.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

Peter yanked off the ratty pajama pants that were all he ever went to bed in, tossing them to the floor. Turned around so he was facing Paul head-on, legs stretched in front of him. He could feel Paul staring at his face, and then at his cock, as he tore out the doodle-covered paper and started on the fresh one beneath. He hadn't gotten more than a few scribbles in when Peter realized-

"Hey, wait a minute. You're not drawing it soft."

"I'm just gonna draw what I see."

"No, you aren't. Hang on."

"Hang on?"

Paul blinked, the beginnings of a mild smirk edging across his face. The expression didn't really sit right on him, somehow. Paul's mouth seemed to Peter to only really look okay when it was either pursed in a pout or spread in a hopeless kind of smile.

Luckily, that smirk of his dissolved as soon as Peter closed his hand around his dick, starting to pump. He didn't look at Paul while he was doing it, not at first, his gaze veering more towards the pad of paper and the burnt orange florals of the covers. His breath wasn't hitching yet, but the pleasure was starting to seep through on practiced automatic. A little harder. A little faster, and Peter's brow was furrowing, eyes glazed, focus on anything but his own dick starting to fade.

Except it couldn't fade completely. Not with Paul barely a foot away from him, his big brown eyes furtively darting between Peter's cock and the pencil, his mouth tight. Looking over at him, Peter could almost swear he saw the faint start of a blush cropping up on Paul's cheeks. "Jesus, relax, would you? I'm not gonna come here."

"Wow, isn't that a relief," Paul mumbled, rolling the pencil back and forth between his finger and thumb.

"'S not like you haven't seen this before." A solid five or six times by now, minus the fact that it was usually a girl's mouth or hand on Peter's cock instead of his own. They weren't great at sharing the not-quite-groupies yet. It had taken awhile before they figured out positioning that'd get all three of them off, and that always hinged on whether the girl was down for it. Once they'd ended up with a chick who'd gotten too intimidated by two guys at once, and after a round of debate over who'd go first, Paul had ended up slinking off to the shower while Peter made it with her. Unsurprisingly, she'd been so satiated she'd fallen asleep by the time Paul returned, and they'd both had to lug her out of the hotel room and into the hallway. Paul had been pissed off. Peter just found it funny.

Paul looked as if he were about to say something, but then he shut his mouth. Peter exhaled, letting his eyes shut for a second while he kept pumping, no fantasy in mind, just the simple mechanics of pleasure. Jacking off was mindless, with or without an audience. Nothing meaningful. Nothing to consider. And Paul, for whatever reason, was still just watching him do it. That pencil lead hadn't even touched the paper. Peter took a sharp breath before he spoke again.

"Good enough?"

He'd stopped himself once he was fully hard, but before any precome could dribble out from the reddened tip. He could feel his face getting flushed, a little sweat starting to trickle on his forehead, but he was all right. If things got too bad, he could always head over to the shower to finish rubbing it out, after Paul was done drawing. But he didn't think it would come to that, though his cock twitched in protest. Paul gave a distracted nod.

"Yeah. It's fine."

Then he finally started to draw again. Peter leaned over, trying to get a glance in, but Paul kept covering up the pad with his other hand, swatting at him when he got too close. Peter snorted.

"C'mon, you're not drawing the Mona Lisa here."

"You throw me off watching."

"What'm I supposed to do, just sit here?"

"That's exactly what you're supposed to do." Paul was erasing now, but carefully. One of those cheap pink erasers. He brushed the residue off the paper, and it landed on the covers, tiny black streaks of rubber against the orange comforter. Deprived of watching Paul at work, Peter tried to focus his attention on the eraser remnants, flicking them.

It didn't really help. Despite himself, Peter was starting to squirm. He didn't think Paul was drawing anything past his dick, but he'd been trying to stay still anyway. His thighs kept twitching involuntarily. The ache in his balls was getting irritating enough that he gave in to a few more strokes, shoving his hand in the covers as soon as he heard Paul laugh.

"You having trouble keeping it up?"

"Fuck you, you know that's not it-"

"Gimme a couple more minutes, all right, Pete?" A pause. "And get a little closer, there." He reached his hand out, fingers curving lightly around Peter's bare knee, just for a second. Immaculately manicured nails, bizarre for a guitarist, even one who hadn't played a gig in almost a week. The black nail polish hadn't even chipped. But Peter only really noticed how the warmth against his skin seemed to linger on after Paul had withdrawn his hand. "There."

Peter got closer. His legs were flat on the bed and spread slightly, toes touching the wall by the time he got closer; he'd ended up more to Paul's side. His painfully hard, flushed dick stood out sharp against the rest of his body, craving attention he couldn't-wouldn't-give yet. He'd get that touch in later. He'd get off on his own. A couple more minutes, like Paul said. Yeah.

The amused expression on Paul's face had shifted, gotten focused and intent. The way it did when he was trying to pull a riff together, or a set of lyrics. Peter didn't much care for that look-usually it meant Paul would try to banish whoever was in the same room, whether it was him or Ace or even Gene, so he could be alone with whatever brilliant thoughts he had. But now that look was locked on him instead. Partially. Flattering, maybe, to be mulled over like a rhyme that didn't flow, or a chord that wasn't right yet, but Peter knew that if he thought too hard about it, he'd get disgusted. So he just let his mind wander to the sound of Paul's pencil scraping across the page.

Peter didn't really notice at first when that sound stopped. Or when Paul put the pencil down. The pad of paper was still resting on his lap. Peter inhaled, waiting, figuring Paul would hand it over-with a joking autograph, probably-any second-but then a mass of dark curls ended up right in Peter's face. Paul was leaning in, heavily, breaths hot and heavy against Peter's neck. He pushed away the pad of paper, his bare chest pressed up flush against Peter's. Peter opened his mouth, started to say something, and then swallowed it down when Paul's hand wrapped around his dick.

Peter couldn't believe it. Didn't protest or argue-didn't want to. He was surprised, that was all. Surprised Paul would go for it. Have that kind of nerve. Paul didn't pull back enough to look him in the eye. Didn't say a word.

His palm was sweaty against Peter's cock, fingers only a little callused. The first few strokes were too slow, unintentional teasing, but then Paul got steadier, built up a rhythm. Like doing it to yourself, Ace had told him once, lazily, in the worst and best advice Peter had ever gotten on handjobs, but different. Different. Peter could feel Paul's heartbeat against him, like a pinball smashing against the bumpers. Each breath was getting more tattered, soft curses forcing their way from Peter's throat; each inhale pushed more of Paul's Aramis cologne into his lungs. Peter's hands, curled up into the covers, flew up desperately as he got closer, warmth and need pulsating inside him, threatening to burst-clenching Paul's shoulder, his back-holding him there, right there, as he spilled into Paul's hand.

Paul let go as abruptly as he'd started. His whole body froze up, and he shifted backwards, brushing away Peter's hands, dark eyes wide, almost scared. He scrambled off the bed and onto Peter's, yanking the covers around him like a little kid caught up too late.

"Paul?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and shut off the lamp.

--

Peter got up early the next morning, before the alarm clock, but it didn't matter. Paul was already gone-got a cab, evidently, leaving everyone else with the crappy tour bus. Peter could hear Ace and Gene grumbling about it through the wall before he got out of bed, stopping short of the pad of paper and pencil on the floor. He picked both up and took a look.

The drawing was immaculate. Paul had gotten the balls just right. Everything. Taken the time to shade it, even, like it was a serious study. He'd signed it, too-initialed it, rather, P.S. nestled in a forlorn corner. No date. Peter tore the sheet carefully from the pad of paper, looking at it, unsure of what to do with it. Whether to keep it or not. He ended up setting it on the nightstand, face down, before crossing over to what had been his bed up until last night. He didn't have to pull back the sheets to see the semen stain from where Paul had wiped off his hand.

He could've used some washing off himself after last night. No Paul hogging the shower was an empty comfort right now, as Peter turned on the water, letting it get blisteringly hot before stepping inside. It didn't really help.

Paul was back before lunch, anyway, quiet and withdrawn. Bill was talking about booking them a couple more shows further down South-a terrifying prospect, but better than heading home-and Gene was chatting about it with all his usual enthusiasm, while Ace added vodka and ice to his coffee. Paul just looked sunk. Gene kept throwing questioning looks Paul's way, and glancing at Peter, but if he ever asked outright, Peter never heard it.

The band meeting drifted off into nothing after awhile. Paul got up abruptly, saying something about a headache, and excused himself with about as much subtlety as a dying animal. It was a few minutes before Peter got up the nerve to follow him back to their room-and, as expected, Paul had locked the door.

"Paul, c'mon-"

The sound of the knob turning was almost gratifying. Paul was standing there, looking awkward, mouth pursed. Peter noticed, belatedly, that for all Paul had gotten up early that morning, he hadn't shaved, stubble poking hopelessly all around his jaw. His t-shirt and jeans-one of maybe ten street outfits he'd rotated over the tour, same as Peter, same as everyone else-were rumpled past what Paul usually would allow for.

"You didn't have to come check on me."

"I did, we share a room."

Paul swallowed.

"Look, if you wanna change rooms, go ahead, just don't tell Gene about-"

"I ain't telling Gene nothing. And I don't wanna change rooms." Pete exhaled. The look on Paul's face twitched just a bit, but Peter didn't give him a chance to respond before plowing back in. "Are we gonna do Gay Kitchen tonight?"

Paul flinched. Almost like he thought Peter meant it badly, or was making fun of him, or something. Like one of those Japanese trees, the ones with flat leaves that folded up after the briefest brush of a hand. One word and he'd curl back up. One touch, leaving Peter all out of sorts, trying to undo the trick, get those leaves to unfurl again.

"Do you want to?"

"Ace was asking earlier."

"Oh." Paul turned away, walking over to the kitchenette on the other side of the room. He pulled open the fridge, getting out the last can of Coke, popping the top before he really answered. "I guess."

"C'mon, it's our last night here. It'll be fun."

"We're almost out of food."

"We've got enough. Still have those hot dogs." Peter felt awkward, still standing there, barely past the doorframe, as if he was a visitor to his own hotel room. He stepped over to sit on one of the beds. The drawing wasn't on the nightstand anymore. "Hey-"

"What?"

Peter's throat was suddenly a little dry. The words were out before he could hold them back.

"You didn't have to get rid of it."

"It was stupid."

"No, it wasn't. It-it was good, Paulie."

Paul was still all tensed up. Like a battery coil on the verge of springing. Peter almost thought he was going to walk out, more prepared to face Gene and Ace or another lousy cab ride than spend the rest of the day with him, but instead, Paul sat down on the other bed.

"You really don't wanna change rooms." He said it flatly, borderline disbelieving, clasping the Coke can in both hands. He looked strangely young, sitting like that. The six years between them never felt like much except when Peter really let himself give it some thought. At twenty-two, he sure as hell hadn't been on the road with a record, however indifferently-received. Hadn't made it-with threesomes, even-with a whole bunch of girls. He resented it when he considered it, but right now, all Peter was considering was the tightness of Paul's lips and the way he was staring at the floor.

He was just a kid, really. Scared of getting rejected as any other kid, hell, as any other adult. Putting on onstage, putting on during their dinners, only ever peeling back how he really was during all the time in between. The worries and frets, the painful, painful shyness behind every sharp retort. The panicked heartbeat against Peter's chest last night as he'd pushed past his nerves for something he wanted.

Something Peter wanted, too.

"Fuck, no. You and me are the only ones around here that know how to pick up our own shit."

"Pete, that's not it-"

"No. No, it's not it. C'mere. C'mere," he said, quietly, scooting forward on the bed, hands resting awkwardly on either side of him, those orange covers clashing badly with his chipped black nail polish and cheap silver rings. He watched as Paul set down the Coke can and stood up, crossing the tiny threshold between their beds. He still looked like he was about to flee. One wrong word, one sudden movement and it'd be over.

So Peter was slow, agonizingly slow to take his arm and tug him forward. Paul let him do it, didn't go rigid at all, though the fear in those wide eyes was still there. Peter wanted it to fade; suddenly, he wanted it to fade more than anything, as he got to his feet, palm hot against Paul's arm. As he leaned in, pushing Paul's dark curls behind his shoulder, and pressed his lips to Paul's neck.

Paul didn't respond at first. Then, just as Peter was about to pull away, he felt Paul's other hand close around his. Too shy to even lock their fingers together. But that was all right. That was all right. Peter did it for him, shifting his hand in Paul's until their fingers were laced. He raised his head, and Paul's mouth met his, cautious and careful. None of that too-eager fooling around like with the girls. None of that silent desperation from last night. Peter liked this better, every second feeling warmer and fuller than the last. As if he was just on the brink of discovering something grand as his tongue slid across Paul's lips and he let go of Paul's arm to trace the stubble on his jaw, cup his chin in his hand. Paul parted his lips for him, Peter tasting cereal and toothpaste when his tongue slipped inside, but he didn't care. Paul was opening up for him. Finally opening up.

It wasn't too long before Paul started pressing up against him, hips rocking meaningfully against his. Somewhere along the line, he'd ended up with Paul's hair in his fist, and he tugged, lightly, urging him forward as he sat back down on the bed. Tugged his hand, too, as if he needed to. Paul got the picture, following him down, timidity shifting to urgency, until Peter's back was pressed against the mattress. Peter thought about yanking his hair hard for that one, and he might have, except Paul kept kissing him all the way down, except Paul's knee was rubbing against his crotch, his thin blue jeans barely a barrier at all.

Peter's breath hitched as Paul shifted lower, moving off of him enough that Peter could shuck off his own shirt and toss it to the floor. Paul was unzipping him, those long, thin fingers hooking around his belt loops and pulling down his jeans. Freeing his cock, already far too hard, worse than last night, easily. Peter took a sharp inhale when Paul sank down, pushing his thighs apart with his knee, and started to lick at his cock. All the way down, pouring on the attention, fingers pressing hard against his hips, keeping them steady. Peter watched, dazed, breaths hitching, until Paul's warm mouth was around just the tip of his cock.

"Paul, hold on."

Paul pulled back, lifting his head like he'd done something wrong.

"What?"

"You don't know how to do it, don't worry about it." It was just a guess, but Peter figured it was a good enough one. And that wasn't all of it. He didn't think Paul would give himself enough leeway for a screw-up. Perfection or nothing.

Paul hesitated.

"But-"

"It's okay, man." It was hard to think past the blood pumping straight to his dick, going untouched for now, but Peter was managing, barely. The brief image of Paul with his lips around his dick was promising enough, the lead-in for a dozen jerk-off fantasies already. Maybe more than that. "Just-c'mon, let me-"

He tugged Paul back up, helping him peel off his t-shirt, then his jeans and underwear. Taking him in like this, with no girl between them, didn't feel strange or wrong or any of that bullshit; it felt good, every shed layer lending Peter more skin to touch, making him more certain of everything. Despite the concert performances, despite the threesomes and the locker room showers, he'd never really gotten a sense of Paul's physicality before. Now that Paul was straddling him, hair hanging in his face, mouth pressed to his neck, his ear, Peter could really see it all, the wide, powerful build of his chest before it bore down against Peter's, his arms, taut and muscular, tensing as Peter's hands tightened around them. Paul's cock brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through Peter, and then he was grinding up against him, their hips flush, flesh against flesh. Peter was cursing before long, the stimulation maddening, almost agonizing because it wasn't quite enough. Paul seemed like he sensed it, reaching over, taking both their cocks together in one hand-but Peter shook his head.

"I've got a better idea."

"Yeah?" Paul's fingers rolled up against his cock just so, the pressure of his hand and his dick incredible enough that Peter almost changed his mind. Looking up at him, that slightly-sweaty brow, those dark eyes, dilated and needy, Peter nodded, fingers closing on Paul's wrist.

"Yeah. I already know you can jack me off." An exhale. "Get on your back and I'll show you what I can do."

Paul let go of him. There was a little consternation somewhere in his expression, a hesitancy Peter tried to erase, hand running down Paul's hairy chest, fingers tweaking a nipple, but Paul did as he'd asked, grasping Peter by the shoulders and rolling them both over. Peter shifted, repositioning himself on top of Paul, putting his hands beneath his thighs. Almost immediately, Paul stiffened up, started to try and lift up his legs. Peter pushed them back down before he could.

"Nah, we're not doing that. Don't worry." Peter watched some of the tension fade from Paul's face, curiosity replacing it. "Spread your legs out a little. there, now." He slid his dick between Paul's thighs, tip right up against Paul's taint. He didn't need to instruct further. Paul's mouth tilted in a distracted grin, his thighs closing tight around Peter's dick-and from there, Peter started to thrust, the soft warmth surrounding his cock nearly overpowering.

Paul was finally making a few sharp sounds as Peter's thrusts sped up, thighs squeezing hard against his cock. The sounds got louder, turned into curses, turned into strangled attempts at Peter's name. Between Paul's moans and his own urgency, Peter couldn't think, his pace speeding up, every brush against Paul's cock, every tensing of Paul's thighs pushing him closer to the brink. He came with a cry, spurting hot between Paul's legs, Paul still urging him to keep going, just a few more, a few more. He managed, grunting, shuddering with exertion as he kept thrusting. Beneath him, Paul looked out of it and focused all at once, dick throbbing against his. So close. Too close. It was seconds before Paul came, quieter, spilling all over them both, head lolling back in the aftermath. Peter was still panting as he slid his cock out from between Paul's slick thighs, as Paul put an arm around him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his cheek, before finally meeting his lips again.

--

The Gay Kitchen's final evening went well. Ace and Gene had brought dessert-a box of oatmeal creme pies and a gallon of cheap Neapolitan ice cream-and they'd served it along with the hot dogs and stale chips. A beer apiece, except for Gene, who got a Sprite from the machine downstairs in a rare spendthrift moment. Paul's come-ons and gropes weren't any heavier than the night before, but there was a warmth and a relaxation in him that was new to Peter. A softer look to his expression he'd only been privy to late, late at night in the hotels, just before he drifted off.

Peter liked that. He liked that a lot. Feeling that, maybe, something of Paul's might be reserved for him. That maybe he'd be let in for more than an afternoon. He thought he might be. He figured he would be.

They didn't fool around that night. They didn't really have the time to. Once dinner was over and Ace and Gene had gone back to their room, Peter took a shower, and then he started packing, too-aware of how quick check-out came. Particularly when they were headed straight down to the bottom edge of Florida tomorrow, a solid ten or eleven hours on the road, to play at some college or auditorium or-something. Peter was just glad Bill had secured them another handful of tour dates, no matter the location.

He tossed his makeup kit and street clothes and shoes back into his suitcase, fiddling with the wobbly latches, tracing the crack down one side. Ten to one the damn thing would break before they got out of Atlanta, but maybe he could tie a scarf around it or something to hold the luggage together. He turned to Paul, who was sitting on the floor next to him with his own ratty suitcase half on his lap, about to ask him, but Paul spoke first.

"You forgot your heels."

"I didn't. They're in the laundry bag with everyone else's."

"Not the ones that go with your costume. The other pair." Paul pointed under the bed. There they were, three-inch platforms he'd barely worn all tour, neatly placed. He didn't remember putting them there.

He pulled them out, a piece of paper under one heel catching his eye. Setting the heels aside, he picked up the paper.

"Paul?"

It was the drawing of his dick. Paul hadn't thrown it away after all. He glanced over at him, and Paul smiled, a little bashful. That hopeless smile he hadn't been able to plaster on a single promo picture, more endearing and elusive than any sketch.

"It's for you. I don't know if I'd frame it, but."

Peter felt himself grin back.

"Are you kidding? It's the best drawing of my dick anyone's ever gonna give me. I'll keep it forever." Peter held it up, examining it anew. "There's only one problem."

"I thought you were done critiquing my art."

"Hell, no." And Peter handed it back. "You gotta sign it for me."

"I initialed it-"

"Sign it. Make it worth a million bucks someday." Peter didn't think he'd stop smiling as he leaned over, tousling Paul's hair. "You can even add the star."

[howtodrawyourdragon]

The Boy Next Door

Summary: Astrid never liked the thought of moving to a new town and leaving her friends behind. But when she notices the dork next door, she decides that maybe moving wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Author’s Notes: I had so much fun writing this one! Smolhiccstrid is the best, honestly. Constructive criticism is appreciated!

If there was something Astrid hated, it was moving away from her nice and comfortable appartment in the heart of the city to live in an suburban home in a neighbourhood far removed from a different city and leaving both her school and her friends behind. It might be a little specific, but it was true.

Her mother had gotten a promotion at work and her daughter was happy for her. She really was! She just didn't understand why that meant they had to move.

Sure, their appartment was a little small, but it was just the two of them. They didn't need that much space. They lived close to her school, to the mall, to the supermarket, to the gym, even to the hospital! Where they used to live was perfectly fine for a single mother and her only child. Plus, all of her friends lived in her area!

They hung out together almost daily, walked to school together because it was just that close by, met up often for homework, exercised together, ... Now what was she going to do? How was a girl supposed to stay active now?!

Astrid had to admit though, her mother had chosen a gorgeous house. She might've even loved it if it hadn't been for the fact that she had to leave behind all that she knew and loved.

There was a lot of space, the people who had lived here before them had obviously taken great care of it, the wallpaper was pretty and modern... It honestly wasn't a bad place to live in. Astrid just missed her friends, missed life in the city in general, she missed her best friend, Heather. Though the girl had certainly promised to come for a visit.

It was too quiet here. Nothing ever happens in the suburbs. That was why all the good tv-shows took place in cities. There was not a hint of the bustling life she had gotten so used to there and it was unnerving.

"Astrid, will you please grab some of those boxes? Otherwise we'll be unpacking for days, Honey!" Her mother requested her help and Astrid did not suppress a sigh as she stood up from the porch and pulled her earbuds out of her ears.

"Okay, mom." She let her displeasure be known even as she agreed to help. Stuffing the phone with her earbuds wrapped around it into the pocket of her jacket, she went for the car to grab another one of the last boxes. The moving van had already brought most of their stuff over. All that remained were the last of their things, unpack them all, and they'd be officially moved in.

Astrid was not looking forward to it.

A box or two aswell as one text exchange with Heather later was when one of her new next door neighbours opened their front door to leave the house. Astrid, as she removed another box from her mother's car, didn't pay much attention to them.

She'd say 'hi' another time, if it ever came to that. Meanwhile her mother, just as blond as she was, was already unpacking in the living room. She thought it would make things move a little faster. They didn't have all day, after all.

It wasn't until she heard a phone ring, papers dropping and someone equally as young stopping themselves from cursing that she bothered to look up.

The boy she saw couldn't have been much older than thirteen, judging by how short he seemed to be, with limbs as spindly as willow branches and brown hair that probably wasn't as short as its volume seemed to suggest.

"Oh! Hey, Hiccup! Is your father home?" Her mom came outside at that exact moment and the boy seemed to answer to... 'hiccup'. Looking up, he gave the woman a crooked smile before approaching with a tighter hold on what looked like a sketchbook and some art supplies.

"Uhm, no, my dad isn't home at the moment. You need him for anything?" This 'Hiccup' walked closer to the hedges that separated their front yards and Astrid found herself losing her grip on the box she held.

Not only was his name 'Hiccup', honest to God 'Hiccup', but he had the sort of dorky appearance that you would expect from him. Lanky body, freckles, teeth, chubby cheeks and all.

But then there were his eyes.

His green, green, forest green eyes.

And Astrid found herself staring.

How dare he? Who gave him the right to have such gorgeous eyes? The poor girl found herself captivated and could not look away no matter how much she tried.

It was only when the box did eventually fall from her hands and landed on her own toes that Astrid could finally tear herself away from his gaze.

Cursing and jumping at the weight crushing her toes, she decided that this was definitely the worst way of meeting a boy. They had barely exchanged a word and already she was embarrassing herself. Hiccup was staring at her.

It was when she went down to her knees to pick up what she had dropped that she stopped herself and wondered just why she was already worried about what this complete stranger thought of her.

Hiccup was cute sure, downright adorable even, but Astrid would rather wait and see whether he turned out to be an asshole or not. Until then she would not care a bit.

"You need help moving? I have nothing to do." He suggested with a shrug when the girl straightened herself, box once again in her hold.

And it seemed, Astrid just noticed, he had a hard time looking at her.

As subtle as he attempted to be, with his head somewhat downcast and his gaze moving to the corners of his eyes to look at her, Hiccup was definitely sneaking shy glances at her. And he utterly failed at the sneaky part.

"That... would be really helpful, Honey! Thank you!" Her mom decided to accept the boy's offer for help and Astrid felt her heart skip a beat as Hiccup walked away to leave his sketchbook inside his own home

Her mom had just called Hiccup 'Honey'. She used that little petname! And the only boys she had ever used it on were either her friends or the one or two short relationships she's had! And she used it on Hiccup!

Astrid only snapped out of her shock in time to notice her new neighbour passing her by with a box in his fishbone arms and a small limp. She had almost asked what that was all about when her mother stopped her, resting her hands on her shoulders as she pulled the girl closer to her.

"Adorable little thing, isn't he? And the best part? Not only is he going to your new school, but he's in your year." At that did Astrid turn her head to look at her mother in total surprise.

"He's fifteen?! But I thought he was thirteen or something!" Hiccup only didn't hear them because he was already inside.

"Oh no, he's short, but his father definitely told me he was fifteen. Just like you." She pressed a brief peck on her daughter's temple before continuing to unpack, all the while muttering how strange it was for a man the size of a grisly bear to have such a twig for a son before figuring that his mother must've been a short woman. What a height difference that must've been.

Hiccup passed her again with that same smile and limp. Astrid was reminded that this was something she needed to ask her neighbour about, her curiosity was killing her. About that and if he could draw. Because she was pretty sure she spotted the doodle of a very judgy, very dark axolotl on that sketchbook of his and she was curious what else he could draw if that was really done by his hand.

Astrid didn't outright hate moving away from her old home she now supposed. Perhaps there was something good that came out of this after all.

[hereliesbitches--me]

“You really think we should be celebrating that now?”

Valentine’s day in the Zompocalypse! ( Always accepting) 

“ As good of a time as any. I don’t think we’re gonna have a break like this again for a while.”

       After a weeks of travelling, avoiding the dead and other scavengers, sleeping with one eye open, and rotating in shifts when they had to sleep in the open, this was one of their rare opportunities to sit and sleep in a house that wasn’t tainted by any of the dead. They hit the jackpot. They found sanctuary in one of those gated communities that seemed clear enough to use the house without fear of waking up to a herd caging them in. The suburbs of New York had a sparse population of the undead in comparison to the congested cities. Here, Rosie comfortable let her bag fall into the kitchen, let the dogs roam about and sniff out for pests, and from the corner she watched as the kids excitedly pulled out a collection of colorful papers, scissors, markers , and glue to set out over the dusty table to work on once Eddie had left for some scavenging and clean up in that day. What he came back to find was a mess of paper clippings and cutouts all over the floor, the kids hiding their little projects away from his sights with a whine that it wasn’t ready – more Mia than Thursday, as her brother timidly tried to hide his creation under a dscolored manila folder he found. It was Rosie keeping Eddie in the living room, checking over what remains of supplies and what had been added. 

“ It’s Valentine’s day, ya know.”  She spoke up suddenly, softly, peering up from the collection and smiling briefly at him. “ That’s why they’re making projects. We used to have a tradition to make gifts for each other, just in case things don’t go so well at school.. ”Rosie settled for a moment, letting herself sit in the worn cushion that had once belonged to some unknown person that was probably among the wandering dead outside. It only took them a few months, but they were finally beginning to get along.. comfortable enough to speak with a little more ease. Sometimes she just talked.. sometimes he would listen, sometimes he wouldn’t, but it didnt matter to her (or did it?) , as long as she could just let it out. Those rare moments he actually conversed back, even if it was just a few words, she savored and kept in mind. The mother let her shoulders sink back for a bit, leaning into the groaning seat as the springs threaten to give, and she looked aside to where she could hear her children quietly chatting in hurried voices. The feline features at the top of her head stood tall and rotated to better catch their words. Her smile was always a tired one, but at least hearing them happy brought a warmth to her soul.. 

 “ Don’t ask why I know its Valentine’s day. Its an amazing worthless sixth sense I have for vital dates to keep in mind. I get its probably stupid to you, but its really important for them to still have a chance to keep good memories alive..”  Though Eddie asked for no explanation, she felt the need to defend it even when no one else would think it wise.  There was a conscious self awareness in her soul that always existed even before the end of the world. She was off in many ways, confusing and nonsensical to many, even before her spiral against mental illness after years of service in the military, and the police force. So few bothered to understand.. She knew something was strange inside her.. Something so very wrong that she just couldn’t fix, but she tried her best to hide it. The only one who had ever seemed to accept it was her Rocky… but just like everything else she touched, her illness was the very thing that killed him. She lived with it every day.. Could Eddie see how she wilted in that moment? How her eyes seemed to sink into her skull and hollow out as her racing thoughts remind her of her loss on a supposed day of love..? She practically ran in a state of autopilot, wearing an empty smile while her tired eyes stared off. 

 Wake up, Rosie. Wake up, you’re drifting. Don’t be so insensitive, you’re not the only one who’s hurting.

Suddenly, she blinked again. That’s right, she thought, he had a wife before too.. 

Rosie turned her head back to Eddie, and she mustered all her energy to offer him a warm look as she dug around her back for something that crinkled loudly as she pulled it out, “ I know it’s not much but..you won’t believe the fact that I found really good chocolate not too long ago to share on this day- ”Then, she was cut off by a chirping high pitched voice.

“ ITS DONE! ITS DONE! We finished- EDDIE, EDDIE, LOOK! FOR YOU!! ”Mia practically skid across the floor, her voice much too loud in a world of deathly silence as she skipped towards the two adults with her colorful crafts in each little hand. Even Rosie winced, and her heart spiked up in paranoid fear at the crowd the volume could arouse from outside. The look alone, sharp on her mother’s slim features, was enough of a warning for Mia to realize her mistake. The 8 year old gasped quietly, a warmth rising in her colored cheeks as she gave Eddie a sheepish grin. She lowered her voice in a quiet apology. In each hand she held a small, hand made card with the artistic eloquence of an elementary schooler’s work. To each adult, she offered her mismatching cards with an eager brilliance in her eyes. “ For you.” 

Eddie’s was a cutout heart much like Rosie’s, decorated in small doodles of hearts and stars and other little images in colorful marker on the front, titled ‘ Happy Valentine Day! ’ in bulky, slanted handwriting.  ‘ From: Mia! To: Awesome Eddie!  ’          Signed off with a heart.Mia was practically bouncing on her toes, eyes shining in anticipation while her restless little tail wagged. Rosie held her card, but her eyes were drawn curiously to Eddie’s card more than her own. “Open it!” Mia urged him, impatience clear in her voice. Rosie found her lips switching slightly in their corners. When the hard opened, It was a mess of glitter, stickers, and drawings. A true arts and crafts work with an explosion of color all around the lopsided heart she cut out of the card. In the center, her bulky little words were written with clear attempt to make it formal, though her hand writing send to change direction as she went. It read: 

      “ Dear Eddie, Don’t let mommy read this.        Happy Valentine’s day to the coolest superhero ever!         Thanks for staying, and making Mommy happy.           And you make me happy! And Thursday happy!          And the doggies happy! (Yes, even doggies are happy)          You make everyone happy, and we have lots of fun together!

          I love you lots, and think you’re so cool.          Thanks for not letting the monsters get us.We protect you too!

         I want you to stay forever. Can you stay forever please? 

         P.S. Mommy likes you a lot. I like when you don’t fight.         P.P.S. Keeping secrets are super hard.

             Love you! And Goop!   - Mia   ”

Drawn on the other half of the heart was their little family, made of triangles and circles. There was Mia in the middle, a lovely rectangle and triangle with a circle head, and little triangles that marked the ears on her head and tail. Besides her Could be assumed as Thursday, made of circles and ovals, with a head full of squiggly lines much like Mia’s own picture self. Mia’s doodle held onto a much larger catlike person, made of circles and triangles that made both her body and cat features. Rosie stood on one side, while on the other, holding onto the Thursday doodle, was the large Dorito-bodied persona that was Eddie. He was composed of bulbous circles and rectangles that make his arms and legs, towering above the rest of the family, with a triangle knife in his stick figure hand. Of course, complete with the dogs on the side, tied together with hearts, and dead bodies of green skinned zombies all around. And the family crudely colored in color pencil to complete the master piece.  “ What does it say?” All Rosie could see was the picture, her brows quirked curiously at the long paragraph her daughter had written, but Mia would not have it as she hopped in between the two and pushed for Rosie to read her own. 

Off in the corner, 6 year old Thursday stood quietly, bashful of the two cards he had in hand. They were not as elaborate as Mia’s… he couldn’t draw like her.  His handwriting was still shaky and in the works.. and worst of all, he decorated his cards with the flowers he picked from outside. Boys dont pick flowers.. men don’t like flowers.. He chided himself and felt the need to sulk away in embarrassment. Eddie would laugh at his card..He was about ready to crumble his creations, up until his mother noted her silent son hiding behind the wall.“ Honey, do you have cards too? What are you doing over there?” Rosie looked at him expectantly, smiling affectionately as she waited for her youngest to come over.. Thursday was startled that she mentioned him. A fearful feeling rose in him suddenly, a horrible ache in his muscles that didn’t let him move. The little boy felt his stomach drop under the eye of both adults, his face growing hot that showed blatantly on his pale freckled face. With wide eyes, he found himself frozen like a deer as they all turned to look at him. Especially Eddie… The light look became concern from Rosie when she noted the fearful shake that overtook her young son. How his breathing changed.. and his body shook like a leaf with the signs of tears that already threatened to fall. Rosie was quick to stand and hurry over to him , but by then he had already taken cover behind the kitchen wall and curled up. The two had vanished for a time.. Thursday whimpering and crying, Rosie’s hushed voice quietly soothing, until they both could talk low enough to not be heard. Mia frowned a bit as the attention was taken away from her card but she turned her attention to Eddie with a shrug of her shoulders. “ Sometimes, Thursday can be so weird. I can never tell why he suddenly cries..”

Rosie emerged once again with her son after a few minutes had passed, holding him in front of her, while Thursday timidly held his card desperately behind his back. His mother already had her pink card in hand, and smiled  gently as she ushered him towards where Eddie sat, “ He made you a card, Eddie. But he think you won’t like it because it has flowers. Isn’t that silly? Everyone likes flowers, right?”Thursday seemed to shrivel even more the closer he came. The boy dropped his head as he grew even smaller than he already was before his idol, stricken with fear that couldn’t make him stop his shaking. Rosie pursed her lips, and looked at Eddie expectantly for some comfort for her son. Her eyes expressed her desperate plead that he say something to encourage Thursday. As they stopped , Rosie knelt down and gently tapped on Thursday’s arms to bring them forward. From his mother’s touch, he nearly recoiled. Rosie grew more worried than before as she carefully put her arms around him, “ Thursday, please.. You didn’t work hard on it just for Mr.Eddie not to see it, did you? ” “ He won’t like it..”“You won’t know that unless he sees it. And I don’t believe he thinks flowers are bad, baby.. It looks so pretty. I bet he’ll keep it forever.”

Her assurance seemed to work to some extent. Thursday raised his head up just enough to look at his mother, and Rosie gave him a nod in return. He felt fragile and pathetic.. more than normal as he was put on the spot. But Rosie was right.. he wouldn’t know unless he tried. If Eddie liked Mia’s.. then he could like his own, right? Right. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and mustered all the courage he had in his little body to will his arms forward, to offer the black card of hearts.    “.. I-I hope y-you like it.. “

Yes, it was simple. It was not like Mia’s , who’s card looked like a rainbow threw up all over it with her abundance of stickers, glitter, and drawings that made it up. No, Thursday kept his card simple and clean. To the true nature of a fan, he kept it black and white themed, having written in chalk ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ on the cover with each letter a struggle to keep at the same size, and decorated the outside with an array of little flower blooms from lavender to yellow. Inside were drawings much like Mia’s, however oriented around action as ‘Venom’ kicked Zombie ass and protected them all. His text was much simpler, and expressed all he wanted Eddie to know :

    “ You’re my favorite Hero.        You make me happy. Please dont go.

       I love you.” 

Just like Mia’s, Rosie had taken the hint enough not to look.. Perhaps she’ll glance in later when the kids sleep. Satisfied with the scene, Rosie sat down on the couch, and pulled both her little ones into the seat besides her before once more reaching in to pull out a silver bag for them all.The Jackpot: Half melted hershey’s kisses. 

The sight of chocolate drew both the children’s attention onto the crinkling bag with slack jaws gaping. Chocolate had not been seen.. in months. almost  a year? Not edible chocolate at least. The fact that they let out audible gasps of excitement was enough to earn a rare titter of laughter from Rosie as she grinned,

“ I say since we passed out the cards, its about time we get into the chocolate.Dessert before dinner sounds good.

Anyone disagree? ”

There was not a word of protest from the children as golden smiles lit up across their faces. This would be a good Valentine’s day..

Even with their new friend.

[zonerobotnik]

Best Pal (BATIM one-shot)

Henry had met Joey Drew in school, in a creative writing class. Writing wasn't really his forte, so Henry had been doodling while the teacher droned on and on. Sitting in the back of the class, the teacher hadn't noticed that he had his sketchbook tucked under his required reading and he quietly doodled the characters in the story in peace.

Joey Drew asked a lot of questions, and spoke a lot in class. He constantly led the discussions and all eyes were on him at the front of the class. They practically lived in different worlds and Henry was fine with that. He wasn't sure if he could handle the hyperactive older teen if he ever had to deal with him. Except then he had to deal with him. Joey had somehow found out about his art and his hiding places and pestered him in all of them to let him see his art, even going as far as meeting him on the way home from school. Worried that he was going to follow him home, Henry finally relented and showed him his artwork. “Henry, this is beautiful!” Joey had praised him. “No, really, this is amazing! You could be something great with this talent!” With a father that didn't support his art and a mother distracted by several things in her life and teachers that brushed off his art as a waste of time, it was...nice to get praise for his art. He honestly hadn't expected it. “Thank you.” He said, feeling a bit warm inside. Maybe Joey wasn't so bad after all. He and Joey became friends after that. He would show him his art and Joey would show Henry his writings. They grew closer and closer, remaining friends all the way into college. And then, one day, Joey had this wild, amazing idea. “Let's open an animation studio!” He said excitedly. “With my writing and your drawing skills, we'll be a sensation!” Caught up in the high of Joey's excitement, Henry had jumped right in with him. Joey used some money from an inheritance to buy the building, a glorious studio that was one floor and a basement, and also some other supplies they would need to get them started. Turns out, a big building like that was a bit much for two men. And they needed more staff anyway. So Joey recruited some others they had met in college. Wally Franks, who they'd met in Chemistry. Susie Campbell, who they'd met in the music room. Sammy Lawrence was also from there, and he brought his own band. Of course they needed someone to run projections, so Joey had hired a guy named Norman Polk that kept to himself. Henry could respect that, honestly. For two weeks, they worked together to try to figure things out. Henry did random little animations and Susie playfully made goofy voices for them, but as for something solid...they had nothing. Joey was adamant that they not leave the studio until they had The Next Big Thing. The lack of windows in the place made it hard for Henry to know how much time had passed, but he tried to call home as much as he could to make sure his Linda was happy and healthy. Too bad he couldn't bring her into the studio, but her fur would get everywhere. What he wouldn't give for her wet nose, though. And then, it came to him. He was just doodling aimlessly as he listened to Joey rambling on again about the importance of teamwork and belief and whatever else, and all this talk about belief in some unknown power had caused him to doodle a demon, of all things. And he loved him. He called him Bendy, though he didn't show him to Joey right away. He hid in his own little nook and perfected his character, drawing a tutu on him, drawing him dancing, so cheerful, drawing him playing pranks on random characters, he was having so much fun he didn't even notice when someone came up behind his chair. “Is that a new character?” Henry jolted in place and accidentally put a blot of ink on Bendy's face. Whoops. Sighing, he looked up at Joey with impatience. “Yes, Joey. I'm working on a new character. Can you not sneak up on me?” “Sorry.” Joey laughed a bit and offered him a steaming mug. “Coffee?” Henry sighed and finally set down his quill so he could free up his hands. “Thanks.” He took the mug and gulped the contents down. “So, tell me about this new character of yours.” Joey said with interest. So Henry told him all about his new character, Bendy the Dancing Demon. After finishing his coffee, he whipped up a few movement animations and they showed them off to the crew. Naturally, everyone adored him and grew excited about their future. Finally, they had The Next Big Thing for sure. And Bendy took off like a storm. People practically begged for more Bendy shorts, they got a sponsor bringing more money, Joey hired on another mechanic and got someone to manage his finances for him and then they brought in someone to make toys for them because the people demanded merchandise. Henry's quill flew as he drew Bendy over and over, but over time he was starting to want something else. He wanted his Linda. He got to go home a few times, but he still couldn't bring her with him. His beautiful husky, with fur that reminded him of a wolf. He drew a new character, Boris the Wolf, to try and ease his loneliness of Linda. Like her, he was prankster that Bendy just couldn't stay mad at. Annoyed, yes, but not mad. The two were a huge hit and the people loved them. Joey loved them, though he especially favored Bendy. Then Susie came to Henry one day, massaging his shoulders. “You look like you need a break. Want some coffee with me?” “I'm almost done with this animation.” Henry told her. “Come on, Henry.” She coaxed him. He looked up at her, setting down his quill. “I don't think Bendy would appreciate the interruption.” Susie laughed a bit. “Well, maybe you should tell Bendy he's not the center of the universe?” Henry smiled wryly. “Tell that to Joey.” He looked back at his work. “I'm almost done, then I'll have the new one ready.” “We should hire more artists.” Susie sighed. “You're overworked.” “Tell that to Joey, every time I talk to him about anything that's not art he tells me that I should get back to drawing.” Henry frowned, picking up his quill. “I'm going to get you some coffee.” Susie kissed his head and walked away. And that's when Henry got the idea to introduce a new character. A beautiful angel that fell from above, an angel to counter Bendy's antics with her goodness. He finished the animation and handed it off and then set to work again on his new design. Susie, of course, was excited to see the beautiful angel character that she had inspired. Joey wasn't so excited, worried that people wouldn't care for her, but with Susie's voice and Alice Angel's looks, people adored her. Finally, they had a main cast. But Henry wasn't done. He drew side-characters that showed up more than once, and they were Bendy's friends. Things were great. But, there was competition. Henry hadn't really noticed it, hadn't been outside much, but one day Joey came to him saying they needed fresh ideas, they needed something amazing that could combat all the others, that would stand out. Stand out? What on earth stood out more than a dancing demon, a wolf and an angel?! Try as he might, he couldn't think of anything new. They lost their sponsor, interest declined, but they kept going. Joey gave orders and demands like a madman, and started reading some really weird books. Henry's concern was met with “Just go back to work”. Drawing felt like such a chore now, and even Bendy's grin and Susie's soothing voice wasn't enough to help Henry relax. He finally had enough when Joey swung at him when he asked for a week-long break to attend a family event out of state. Joey, in his anger, said that if Henry was going to take that long a break he may as well leave. So he left. He packed up his things and left that very day and didn't look back. He didn't draw again. Just the thought of drawing reminded him of happier days and made him sick and so he locked it all away, instead going to work at a factory. He noticed that interest in Bendy had declined until it finally stopped, and then it was like it was all a bad dream. A bad dream that kept cropping up every time he got a maniacal letter from Joey, telling him about some machine, or talking about how it was like Bendy was alive lately. He brushed it off as the ravings of a madman and sent cordial responses asking how he and the others were doing. The others sent letters, which he responded to, but then he left home to go fight for the country and by the time he returned they had stopped contacting him. Twenty years of silence. Thirty years since he'd walked out the door. He was tempted to go back so many times, but didn't. He was...afraid. Afraid of Joey. Afraid to be sucked back into drawing endlessly until ink stained his hands permanently. And then he got a message from Joey. [Dear Henry, It seems like a lifetime since we worked on cartoons together. 30 years really slips away, doesn't it? If you're back in town, come visit the old workshop. There's something I need to show you. Your best pal, Joey Drew.] “Best pal”? How long had it been since they had last met, and he called him his “best pal”? How long since he had swung at him like a madman? Still...he sounded a little more coherent in this letter. Maybe he'd finally come to his senses. The tiny little Bendy shape in the corner of the letter made all the memories of the good times come back and he sighed, grabbed his keys and headed out. A decision he would come to regret. The studio he returned to was not the same one he left. Extra basements had been built and every member of the staff was... And Bendy was alive and chasing him down. It was like he was living one of his worst nightmares, except this was reality. Joey had made a new definition for the word “insanity”, and dragged everyone down with him. Susie, poor beautiful Susie, had been turned into Alice Angel. Covered in ink with her skin falling off, Susie was...no longer alive. No one in the studio was, he guessed. At least...not in the proper sense of the word. Zombies. His old friends had turned into zombies, and it was up to him to stop them from rampaging. Tears slipping down his cheeks, ink staining his body and clothes, and heart pounding dangerously in his chest, he took up an axe and went deeper and deeper into the hell that Joey Drew had created. God, he hoped he survived this... End

[clonerightsagenda]

These keep getting longer

I think it’s evident at this point that I consider my duty to the prompt filled if the words are mentioned in passing or even implied

tuesjade prompt: art supplies

Jade isn't in the greenhouse or napping in the common room (or even halfway up a tree, which is where you found her last time you went looking) so you check her bedroom, which maybe you should have done first. There she is, flat on her back and flicking pennies at the ceiling. Instead of dropping back down onto her pillow, they settle into orbit around her head like a glittering halo. When you walk in, they fall in a copper shower around her shoulders.

"Jake!” she says from beneath a pile of loose change. “Do you need something?"

"Not need, exactly." You hover at the doorway until she motions for you to come in. "It's more that I'm here to ask you something. You see, Calliope and I have been working on a comic together."

"Oh, is that what you two have been hiding away to work on? We were wondering what you were up to." She sits up and pats the bed. Stray pennies clink and shift. "Can I see it?"

"As a matter of fact, I did bring some samples along." You're a little shy, but if you can't show your fumbling attempts at artwork to your grandmother, who can you trust? Calliope took the reins for most of the first booklet anyway. "Behold!” You hold out the hand-stapled collection of pages with a flourish. “The brand new adventures of our enterprising heroes."

She pages through your first issue, complimenting the art and laughing aloud at your cornier jokes. “My grandpa used to make that exact pun, you know," she says, tapping one speech bubble you were proud of.

"That stroke of genius must be hereditary."

She smiles down at the panel for a moment before turning the page. "Guess so."

“It’s funny,” you say. “Speech bubbles feel so… constrictive, for some reason. I know it’s a function of the medium, but you just can’t fit that many words in. You’d think I’d be used to it, since I’ve read my fair share of the funnies. But I keep thinking, how can they say everything they need to? They have to be so terse. It makes for a lot of revising.”

“You’ll get it with practice,” she promises. “And then we’ll all notice you’re sending us monosyllabic texts!”

When she reaches the end, you clear your throat. "I wanted to ask if you'd like to be a guest artist. We're trying to get as many people as we can for different issues, so it can be a group project." Calliope took a while to sell you on that. Some of your friends are actual artists. Their work will make your scribbles look pitiful. Still, you saw her point in the end. These things are more fun done together. And she's promised to stab people with pencils if they laugh.

"That sounds like a lot of fun. I haven't drawn in..." She shakes her head. "I don't know. A long while! I'm not great at it, but it was a nice way to pass the time."

"Oh grandma, you're being modest. You were always the best at arts and crafts.” Once you’d gotten into some old paints and left a trail of child-sized handprints on the wall. Instead of yelling, your grandmother had handed you a brush, and the two of you had covered the plain surface with a mural of swirling colors and flowers. It was one of the things you missed most when your house exploded. “The things you could do with a magazine collage were sheer magic."

"I don't know about your version of me, but this me is no Picasso." She waves her hands, and a sketchbook appears between them. You’d expect something with glitter or drawings of flowers – Jade is no stranger to the stereotypically “girly” end of accessorizing, even with the deconstructed guts of appliances and a few odds and ends of weaponry stacked up in the corner of her room - but the leather binding is plain and worn. "Here are some things I did before the game."

You open the book to the first page and blink. You know that handwriting. “Is this… mine?”

“Oh, that’s right.” She reaches over you and turns over a big chunk of pages. “This used to be one of my grandfather’s journals. He drew schematics for inventions or sketches of wildlife he’d discovered on his explorations. Sometimes he’d take me out on an “expedition”. He’d take field notes, and I’d imitate him by trying to draw what I saw. That’s how I got started doing art, actually. After he died, I kept it up. Maybe using his book was disrespectful, but…” She shrugs, reaching a page where no more of your – your other self’s – writing is visible. “I always thought he wouldn’t mind.”  

The sketchbook feels different in your hands now that you know your alternate self once held it. Heavier. You try to put it out of your mind. You have drawings from the Jade who is right here. Her lines are thick and defined, like a child's crayon drawings. Of course, she would have been a child then. Here's a doodle of a school classroom, with Jade and Bec behind a desk. The other students... They’re not pretty, but one of them has clunky square glasses. Another wears a headband. "Are those John and Rose?"

She laughs. "Yes. They hadn't sent me pictures yet, but I'd seen them in the clouds. I liked hearing about school, even when they complained. They never understood why I pestered them for so many details, but I wanted to imagine myself going too. Maybe they’re right and I wouldn’t have liked it, but I hated having to wait until they came home to tell them something."

Her human faces are clumsy and cartoonish, but she has an eye for rendering detailed objects in perspective. Students like flat paper dolls sit behind three-dimensional desks. "You could be an architect," you say.

"I had a Pictionary modus, so I had to be accurate," she explains. "I was never as good at people. I didn't have anyone to practice with."

You nod, flipping further. "Going off a picture just isn't the same." Here's something different. She's drawn a figure fast asleep. The lines are sketchier and more uncertain, with a realistic softness the other drawings are missing. This time, you’re confident assessing their identity. “You drew John?”

"I tried to get a good look at him while I was dreaming on Prospit," she says. "Then I drew him from memory afterward. I thought about asking him to pose a few times once we were on the battleship, but I couldn't think of a way to ask that wouldn't sound silly."

"So you resorted to candids, did you?" The last few pages of the sketchbook are populated with quick doodles built from lighter lines. The jointed fingers of a carapacian. John with his long windsock hood, gesturing broadly with his hands. Dave, no, it would be Davesprite, hiding a half-smile with one hand. An echidna curled in a tight ball with its tongue poking out. It would set your behind ablaze to say any of them are photorealistic, but you can tell what they're supposed to be.

After those you find renderings of the innards of the battleship, a mess of interlocking pipes and conduits. Now these you'd believe were ripped out of a user's manual. The rest of the pages are blank. "Did they catch on?"

She snatches the sketchbook back. "No, they don't know about it, so don't show them."

"Have you been sketching me at all?" You strike a pose, lifting your chin in the air. "How’s my profile?"

"Stop teasing, I haven't drawn anything in years." The book vanishes, and she puts her hands on her hips. "So you see, I'm not sure I'd be very good at it."

"I'm much worse than you, and I'm one of our lead storyboarders. Calliope insisted she wasn't doing all the visual components. Apparently I'm supposed to "learn" and "grow"." You tug at her elbow until she drops her arms. "Don't you want to learn and grow, Jade? Isn't that what you Space players are all for?"

She puffs out her cheeks. "Fiiiine. I guess I can pick up some colored pencils again."

"There's just one thing..." Oh rats, you hadn't thought of how this would come across. "Our guest artists... policy is that they do the villains. To keep the heroes consistent and all that. Is that ok?" You hurry on. "You could be a werewolf, or a mad professor who gets turned into some creature after exposure to magical radiation. You know, something fun."

She blows her cheeks back out. "Radiation sickness isn't much fun. I might prefer a well-intentioned extremist. Maybe I destroy corporations for harming the environment."

"But..." You hesitate. "Is that a heroic thing to do, when you boil it down? Greater good, and all that. It might be more of an anti-hero occupation, so to speak."

"Not when you're hurting the employees."

"We could convince you to let them go first... No." You shake your head. "It doesn't fit our profile to become anarchists. We'll have to save that for our gritty reboot in a few decades."

"I'll go with something more ethically simple."

"So it's ok with you?"

She pats your hand. "I'm not going to get offended about it. I know I was the bad guy for a while. Pretending to do it again won't hurt me."

"I know I wouldn't want to relive it."

"It was different for you.” She looks down at her hands, and you wonder if she’s remembering them ashen gray. “I didn't have a bunch of people living in my head. After the first moment, it was just me, the worst bits. It's not like you wanted to rip anybody's heart out."

You shudder. Caliborn had shoved you to the back of your mind, where you kept company with a bunch of silly green men and a spooky clown, but you'd caught flashes of the outside world. He was happy leaving you to feel your body's pain. Human hands weren't meant to take that kind of punishment, but the vision-blurring impact hadn't prevented you from seeing one of your best friends die. "Can we talk about something more cheerful?"

Her ears pull back slightly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"And here I was worried about upsetting *you*.” You laugh. “I guess we know which of us is made of sterner stuff."

"You're pretty tough," she says, poking you in the shoulder. "You're our adventure guy."

"Mostly in comics. My alter ego is much braver than I ever was."

She shakes her head. "They're just made up. You're the real deal. And you made it through the worst a bored comic book writer could ever throw at you."

You tap the cover of your comic book thoughtfully. "We *are* the grittier reboot."

She laughs. “That’s right. We are! So now you can enjoy your… less gritty reboot, if that’s a thing comics do.”

“We could have a beach episode.”

“Name a day, and I’ll take us back over to the island. We’ll make a vacation out of it.”

How will it feel to revisit the place where you grew up? Will it feel like coming home, or more like visiting an old prison cell? Which memories win out – the fond ones or the terrible ones? At least you’d have your grandmother at your side. Maybe that way you won’t keep expecting her to pop out from behind every tree and boulder. “There’s an idea. Your character could be a Captain Nemo type. He had a mysterious island and everything.”

“I have in the past piloted something somewhat like a cool submarine,” she agrees.

“Let’s doodle you a nifty uniform,” you say, and she grins and picks up a pen.

[enterinit]

Hollow and other games coming to Xbox One this week

Hollow and other games coming to Xbox One this week. 2urvive (June 12, 2019) In 2URVIVE, the world is devastated by a virus. Your only goal is to defend yourself against hordes of Infected attacking you. Infected are too numerous and sooner or later, your time will come ! If you're gonna die, fight till the end ! 2URVIVE is a top-down zombie shooter with tactical and strategic elements. Prepare yourself before every wave. Buy weapons and ammo, set up turrets and stay alive as long as you can. Each wave becomes more dangerous than the previous one and the Infected are more and more numerous. Features: 3 diffent game modes (2URVIVE, 28 days before, Mercenaries)2 player local co-op for all modes13 narrative episodes (with different areas and objectives) 10 weapons (shotgun, flamethrower, rocket launcher, etc...)10 enemy types (Walker, Runner, Colossus, Dog, Zero, etc... )Pixel art graphic style Bertram Fiddle: Episode 2 – A Bleacker Predicklement (June 12, 2019) Puzzles! Pigeons! And Puns! Take a journey deep into Victorian London with Bertram Fiddle. Explore secret passages, discover hidden objects, meet suspicious characters, solve befuddling puzzles and cringe at puns more terrible than ever as you unravel the mysteries of A Bleaker Predicklement. The Greatest Comedy Murder Mystery Adventure set in Victorian London you will ever play! At long, long, long last Bertram Fiddle is back! Unfortunately, due to unsufficient Expeditioning Opportunities he is currently working at Dulsworth’s Adequate Soap Factory… but not all is as it seems and the rumble of an Adventure once more begins. 85% historically inaccurate. A Bleaker Predicklement is Inspired by Victorian novels, Hammer Horror and Monty Python. It is literally bursting with pre-Brexit British Humour. This installment concludes the story started in Episode 1 of the Adventures of Bertram Fiddle, but is a stand-alone game. With almost 60 scenes, a unique jazz-prog infused soundtrack and fully voiced characters this Adventure can truly be described as epic! Doodle God: Evolution (June 13, 2019) UNLEASH YOUR IMAGINATION & BE A GOD! Create and change your planet with each new reaction. The whole world is in your hands. Doodle God: Evolution is a unique edition of the well-known game that includes not only the classic Doodle God, but Doodle Farm as well. And now, in this addicting all ages game, not only fire, earth, water and air but also plankton, mammals or birds will be at your disposal. Mix and match different combinations of elements to build an entire civilization and re-create the evolution of the animal world! Of course, the universe was not created in a day, a long journey full of joy and creative torments awaits you. Don’t worry, you will not be alone in this adventure! Every time you successfully create a new item you’ll be rewarded with an interesting scientific fact or wit and wisdom of some of the greatest philosophers and comedians of all time. But beware, the power of creation may have unintended consequences, inventing the wheel might just trigger a zombie plague! Unleash your inner god with Doodle God: Evolution! Features: Huge variety of wildlife awaits you in the new Doodle Farm mode!Over 500 Items to create!“Planet” Mode allows you to see your planet come alive as you play.“Mission” Mode offers new challenging puzzles."Puzzle" Mode. Can you find the final object?Various quests will not leave you indifferent.Hundreds of interesting facts and funny, thought provoking quotes! Hollow (June 13, 2019) "I never cared about this ship...I just…wanted to find myself. I had to. Something deep in my brain – deep in my very soul – clawed at me, struggling to make sense of everything. But the sad truth is that it never could. I never could. I still can't remember who I am." Hello, prospective crew member! Welcome to Shakhter-One, the first space mining ship to gather resources from the atmosphere of the planet Jupiter! Shakhter-One provides mass quantities of supplies to a resource-starved Earth. Thanks to Shakhter-One, we no longer have to depend on coal or oil! Still not sold on making Shakhter-One your new home? "I don't even know if this has happened before. Me, here, telling this same, exact story. …Surely not. I would remember that… Right?" Shakhter-One offers a fresh start among the stars! On Shakhter-One, everybody is important! Everybody is employed! All children have an equal start! We're confident you'll see that Shakhter-One is the perfect place to begin your family's future! "The only thing that I can truly be sure of is the constant, pervading feeling I have deep inside. I'm empty. I'm hollow." In "Hollow," you are one of the pilots that transports precious resource cargo from the mining ship Shakhter-One down to Earth. One day you wake up in an emergency capsule drifting near the facility. You don't remember who you are, or how you got out there… All you can remember is an autopilot docking code for capsule dock NR 6. When you dock with Shakhter-One, it is clear that something has gone horribly wrong. The crew is missing and the entire facility is dealing with catastrophic power issues. As you start to uncover the ship's terrifying secrets, Shakhter-One threatens to take your identity, your sanity, and – ultimately – your life. The worst evil is the one that knows us better than we know ourselves. The worst nightmare is the one borne in our past, emotions, fears, and pain. Features: Explore a derelict mining facility in orbit around JupiterFight through the nightmare and solve the mystery of the Shakhter-OneFace your fears head-on or use the environment as your allySolve puzzles and use your brain to proceedMaster fast-paced, frenetic gun combat to surviveReveal the backstory of the protagonist and set him free from his demons… or succumb to them. Hexologic (June 13, 2019) Immerse yourself in the beautiful world of Hexologic. Solve challenging, yet rewarding puzzles, listen to relaxing music and dive deep in the game’s atmosphere! Hexologic is very easy to learn and in the same time a highly addictive language-independent logic puzzle game. Based on hexagonal grids, the game reinvents sudoku rules and brings it to a whole new level. Combining the dots inside the hexes in three possible directions, so that their sum matches the one given at the edge, will be a rewarding experience for both puzzle games’ veterans and newcomers. A simple gameplay mechanics adorned with a beautiful graphic design, relaxing music and challenging yet not unbeatable puzzles, will guarantee long hours of fun for gamers of all ages. IN HEXOLOGIC YOU’LL FIND: 6 completely different game worldsOver 110 beautiful levelsChallenging yet not unbeatable puzzlesRelaxing, putting one’s mind to ease atmosphereAtmospheric soundtrack emphasizing the game’s ambienceEndless mode with procedurally generated leve Verlet Swing (June 14, 2019) Grab your hookshot and enter surreal fever dreams. An eccentric world where weird stuff happens. Where statues stare you down and you die on impact with any of your surroundings. That’s Verlet Swing – an abstract gauntlet that transforms into weirder and more challenging courses as you sail and soar through strange landscapes of koi fish, pizza slices and other bizarre obstacles. Features: 100 levels of fast-paced swinging actionIncreasingly surreal levels to swing throughProgressively difficult gameplay. Only the best of swingers will reach the final levels!Test your swinging skills with leaderboards and Challenges modeMixer broadcasting integration (Xbox One version only) Read the full article

[mariposalass]

Cafe AU Main Post (The Cozy Place Cafe)

Okay, this is probably a big silly long post of nonsense, but I’m really serious about making this Cafe/Coffee Shop AU a thing big time. Having been to my fair share of hanging out in Starbucks, Coffee Bean, and smaller cafes (including my time in college), I can safely say that I would love to imagine an AU where me and many of the fam bunch run a cafe in the awkward love child of FRIENDS, The Office, and Parks and Recreation.

So if you don’t mind the madness that will ensue here, then click and read this thing:

So, Mari’s family runs this cozy cafe for quite a long time in the heart of (insert name of whatever city in the godforsaken world). Harry and Kairi are obviously still adopted into the family, at just ages 9 and 5 respectively here. The cafe’s name is The Cozy Place, lame name based off the Good Place TV show (might change it someday).

The Space Grumps himself, 12th Doc, is the main manager of the joint; sure, he’s a grumpy old Scottish fart who always feels that he’s surrounded by idiots (customers and employees alike whenever they give him a hard time), but he’s quite a lovable goofball once you get to know him more. Loves to listening to rock music (although he wouldn’t let you in on it), wears shades occasionally, awful in being not socially awkward, carries a fob watch at all times, and doesn’t do hugs. He’s basically the kids’ mentor to teach them the ropes and one of the oldest members in the staff.

Kirby is a loyal new employee in charge of cooking food along with Michiru & Ron and taking orders in the afternoon shift, but since he’s new to the job and a little baby, he’s pretty slow on doing his assigned task. And he has a tendency to occasionally eat what food he makes, still, he’ll try to resist the temptation for the most part and is always happy to see customers new and old.

Michiru and Ron handle much of the food preparations like pastries (with the head baker Jacob Kowalski), salads, sandwiches, pastas, soups, and more. Michiru is the Lesbian Team Mom who is kind, friendly, and always there to talk to, though she can be sneaky in speculating the everyday madness within the team, holds shipping guessing games during off hours, and she can handle such madness so much before she could snap back in sharp anger. Her girlfriend Haruka, their friend Setsuna, their foster daughter Hotaru, and the Inner Senshi are regulars to the cafe; sometimes Michiru would give the Outer Senshi something to eat for the day ahead before the next shift starts. Meanwhile, Ron is the witty sarcastic joker who never fails to multitasking the stuff he’s given, although he does have insecurity issues being mostly underappreciated by his own family and he does have concerns over his siblings being more off-kilter than he is (mostly with his older twin brothers Fred and George). It got a little worse when his sister Ginny tried to flirt with Harry and Ron had to reprimand her in front of the public out of concern; since the incident, she has moved from trying to get Harry’s attention to dating an unknown person instead.

Hermione is the dutiful by the books barista who wouldn’t dare to break the rules in everyday life and in work but does do it anyway in mild amounts. One of the well-read of the staff (outside Mari, Philip, the Doctor, and Michiru), has an adorable awkward relationship with Ron, manager of the library in the cafe, and knows nearly all drink recipes by heart and mind.

Harry is the kitchen manager of the cafe: responsible for checking & ordering ingredient supplies and running the kitchen, Team Dad, knows how the business works, normally chill guy to talk to, but man this guy has a temper! He’ll crush you with brutal honesty if you’re being a jerk. Has a crush on Issa (who’s a regular frequenting the place as a journalist working nearby, to which he responds through shy blushing and ducking under the register), best (overprotective) brother to Mari and Kairi, and bad customers & employees’ worst nightmare. Harry never lets them to get away with it and will make bad customers to leave and bad employees to do kitchen chores as a punishment should they get out of line.

Kairi is the resident latte art maker: people never forget the creative doodles she makes on their drinks (thanks to her art degree) & her calligraphy-like way of writing their names in the cups, up and about in fulfilling orders, and always there to give you a smile. Dates Sora the barista, and can be too much of a chatterbox at times.

Sora and Riku also work as baristas: Sora is the adorkable excitable bean and Riku is the calm & collected dude. The kids’ childhood friends, and since Sora & Kairi are dating, Riku will tease the two out of fun and Mari & Harry often join him as well for the same reasons. Sora finds it really awkward to deal with that they’re working altogether under one roof, although Kairi doesn’t seem to mind it in ever.

Marina may only work in the cafe part-time on weekends and holidays and being mute can be an obstacle for her when it comes to getting orders, but she’s a dedicated employee willing to help out, has a patience of a saint, and is quick in taking orders on paper like a soldier at war, although her usual self-sacrificing habit can be taxing on her mental health and it does worry Mari, the cafe staff, and her adopted folks a couple of times. It doesn’t even help that Ventus also works as a part-time employee in the cafe too, which leads to tons of adorable crush moments between the two as they help out the business. Mari’s family wants to make sure that the cafe is safe for everyone to come over and to work in regardless of religion, race, sexuality, disabilities, etc., and especially with Mari being autistic and Harry being a survivor of child abuse. The cafe taking in Marina and a few others further strengthens this belief even more and they are hoping to find and train more employees with disabilities in the near future, as well as treating them right as they do with Marina.

Mari is the assistant manager to the Doctor and the actual heiress to the business, but she’s basically the heart of the group: ensuring that the whole place doesn’t burn and running efficiently as heck. Will mince you with harsh brutally honest words if you dare to cross her, the customers, her family and friends, and everyone else. Quite smart for her age, though her Asperger-induced social awkwardness can be a weak point and it frustrates her a lot.

Philip is another new hire to the cafe and is low key having a noticeable crush on Mari, but he couldn’t spill it out. He and Mari don’t usually see each other often due to him working in a different shift, but there are multiple times when the cafe is understaffed and needs more back up during the more intense rush hours, and he is assigned to the same shift as Mari’s schedule: that’s when sparks do fly between them and it gets adorable and awkward at the same time. Their mutual friend, Theodosia Burr, is a regular taking up Law and she highly suspects that Philip is hiding his feelings towards Mari, hence her constant nagging on him to go on a date with Mari (which is not happening, yet).

Issa, as said above in Harry’s section, is a rising star journalist whose work place is near to the cafe, and that fact is helpful for her whenever she needs to get something to eat or get her coffee fix. Her frequent visits has become more awkward on Harry’s part as he began to develop romantic feelings for her as she does, but he’s such as nervous wreck that he would duck and hide whenever he sees her face to face for longer than he wanted to. Ahk’s her co-worker in the news agency in this AU: not too crazy for coffee but enjoys the ambiance of the place and does like other food & drink offerings as well.

As for everyone else? They’re all cafe regulars, the same applies to nearly all the self shippers and other f/os I know of. Sure, some of them can be rowdy at times, but they’re not that terrible compared to the ruder customers the cafe rarely gets. It’s because the cafe won’t tolerate any crap from the nasty customers and they simply avoided the cafe anyway.

[survayzfordayz]

*** Girly Do you like the color pink?: + -- It’s alright I guess. What have you spent more money on: a purse or a pair of shoes?: + -- Probably shoes?  Do you ever wear heels?:  + -- I’ve never been able to wear heels. Exercise is the only form of physical punishment I will put myself through voluntarily. Heels HURT. And to me, it’s not worth wearing them.   What are the most stylish but uncomfortable shoes you own?: + -- I mean.. I have a pair of running shoes lmao. Do you have any shoes you mostly only wear for photo shoots?:  + -- This is truly a stereotype, hah. Anyway, I don’t take selfies or pictures of myself because no filter is going to make my ugly ass look any better. What's your all-time favorite lipstick (brand and color)?:  + -- Lipstick is way too heavy for me. I can barely handle chapstick.  Do you buy drugstore make-up or high-end make-up?: + -- If I bought makeup, it’d be cruelty-free and of decent quality, so it’d be a little more expensive than some brands I guess. What dog breed do you think you look the most like?:  + -- I don’t know. I don’t think I look like a dog, but I’ve been told otherwise, so who knows. Do you like light blue jeans or dark blue jeans better?: + -- I don’t have a preference. Jeans are jeans to me. What are your favorite type of pants to wear?: + -- Umm. Baggy sweatpants. Hah. What's the last good love story you read?:  + -- Ikigai by Lanse. If you like Naruto, it’s worth a read. I’m not usually a fan of romance because it’s hard to relate. Who is/was the most romantic of your friends?: + -- I don’t know. Have you ever had a magical kiss?: + -- Are they supposed to be magical? They’ve always just been messy and wet to me... Do you like kissing or hugs better?:  + -- HUGS. But only from one person. Retro Do you own any records?:  + -- No. Do you own a pair of bell-bottoms?: + -- No. Have you ever tie-dyed anything?: + -- In school, once or twice. What's one oldies song you like?: + -- I like a lot of ‘oldies’.  Do you think Disco is a cute name for a boy?: + -- CRINGEE Do you own a lava lamp or disco ball?: + -- Nope. Did you own a disco light when you were younger?: + -- Nope. Have you ever put a dime in a jukebox?: + -- I’ve put money in, but I don’t specifically remember how much. When was the last time you went to the roller rink?: + -- Hmmm. 5th grade? I went to an all-night skate and I haaaaaaated it. I just wanted to go home. Do you wear hoop earrings ever?:  + -- Nah. Do you own a kaleidoscope?: + -- Nope. Have you ever done hard drugs?: + -- Nope. Tumblr What are three of your favorite Starbucks drinks?:  + -- I actually don’t like Starbucks drinks... Do you have photos on the wall in your room?:  + -- No. If you own/owned a Polaroid camera, which color would/do you have?:  + -- I don’t care. It’s a camera. Its importance lies in its function. Have you ever done a craft with a record? if so, what?: + -- Nope. What's one of the best Tumblr-inspired craft projects you've seen?: + -- I have no idea. Do you have a Tumblr account?:  + -- Wh-  WHAT IS THIS SORCERY Which do you like better: Tumblr or Pinterest?: + -- I can barely use either.  Do you have a mandala tapestry hanging in your home?: + -- Nope. Do you own any succulents?: + -- Nah. I’d love to own some plants, though. Fake succulents or real succulents?: + -- EITHER.  Do you doodle on your notebook paper?: + -- I doodle on everything. Do you own Sharpies?:  + -- Yes, they’re in a drawer along with my other art supplies. What's your favorite Sharpie color?: + -- None. I don’t use them often because they smell too strongly. What color are your Converse shoes?: + -- I miss having Converse. They hurt my feet though. Have you ever made an inspiration board for your room?: + -- Nope.  Who is the best-looking male celebrity?: + -- Uhhh. I don’t know? I don’t really ...think that way? I kind of have to know someone before the physical attraction sets in. Ahah.  I DON’T BELONG HERE IT’S ALL OVER WAAAAH Boho Where would you like to travel to next?:  + -- ANYWHERE LET’S GO RIGHT NOW List three more vacations you would like to go on: + -- FINLAND, Alaska, ... okay anywhere I don’t care. Hah. Where are three places you go to relax?: + -- I don’t... Why do you think elephants are a boho/hippie/free spirit icon?: + -- I don’t really stereotype myself..

Are you a musician, artist, or writer?: + -- I’m not PAID to do any of those things, but I do write and draw.  Do you believe in truth, freedom, and love?:  + -- I’m sure most people believe in this to a degree..? What is your favorite store at the mall?: + -- I don’t know. Probably anything relevant to my interests. Anime figurines? Would you hitchhike if people were generally trustworthy?:  + -- If forced. I hate relying on other people. What's the most daring thing you've ever done?: + -- I can’t think of anything right now. Moving cross country with no prior knowledge of where I was going, maybe. Would you ever belly dance at a faire?:  + -- PFFF I’d be laughed off the grounds. If you became famous, would you change your name to something exotic?: + -- N...no?  What are five exotic names that you like?: + -- I don’t know. I like plenty of names but I wouldn’t just change it to something without first knowing the history/culture behind that name. Do you own a dreamcatcher?: + -- When I was little, I did. But not now. I feel like that’s kind of treading on grounds I shouldn’t? I’m not part of that culture so I’m not sure if I should own one? Don’t get me wrong - they’re very pretty and I love looking at them, but I don’t think I need one either. Do you feel closer to God in nature?: + -- I’m definitely happier out in nature, and there might even be some spiritual connotations to that. But not specifically ‘God-related’. Fashion What are five things that were in style when you were in high school?: + -- Ohhh boy. You’re asking me to go back a LONG TIME. Honestly I think the scene trend was just starting to kick off. Tripp pants were a big thing. I can’t think of anything else. What does your favorite scarf that you've made look like?: + -- It’d be fun to make a scarf, but I’ve never done it. Do you wear scarves?:  + -- Rarely. They’re bulky and get in the way. List the different colors of jeggings and/or skinny jeans that you have: + -- I don’t own a single pair of skinny jeans because I hate them. Heh.  What color is your favorite pair of shorts?: + -- I don’t own any shorts either. Okay, I have one pair of basketball shorts I stole from my husband. Does that count? What color is your favorite sweater?:  + -- I don’t have a sweater. Ahaaaa. Do you think Lularoe is overpriced?: + -- Not really? I mean it’s kind of a name brand isn’t it? I don’t have a problem paying more for something if it means the money is going to a good place, but I don’t know anything about Lularoe. List five people whom you think have great style: + -- Honestly I don’t work that way. If it’s comfortable (and horror themed) it’s good. List five of some of the worst trends you've seen: + -- Fur. Leather. Other clothing made out of animals. List five items on your current wardrobe wish list:  + -- I would like some cruelty-free clothing.  Where do you shop the most for clothes?: + -- Depends, honestly.  Do you own anything leopard print?: + -- No. I wouldn’t wear it in real life, so it would feel strange to pretend to wear it? Do you wear earmuffs?:  + -- Nope. What color are your favorite pair of boots?: + -- Don’t have any. Music What song makes you cry?: + -- Honestly I have to be in the right mentality for that. What could be the theme song to your life?:  + -- I answered something similar to this already. What is a good break-up song?:  + -- I don’t knooooow.  What song makes you want to dance?:  + -- A LOT OKAY. What is one of your all-time favorite songs?:  + -- Buckethead - Welcome to Buckethead Land. What is your current favorite song?:  + -- Hmmm. I’m really into Gert Taberner right now. Which show has a great theme song?: + -- /shrug Which song is so catchy it's easy to get stuck in your head?: + -- Poison songs.. heh.  Which song is used in a lot of youtube videos?: + -- I don’t know. Which song is sad?:  + -- Lots. Who makes great song covers on youtube?:  + -- I don’t knoooow. Who is one of the best songwriters?:  + -- There’s a lot, I don’t know. Who has a beautiful voice?:  + -- Plenty of people? Who made it big fast?: j + -- Meeeehhh Arts and Crafts List five DIY youtubers you love to watch:  + -- No one in particular. Who makes the best craft videos?: + -- Aaaaaaaa Have you ever painted rocks and hid them in your town?:  + -- Nope. I’m starting to dislike this survey though. What craft project is harder than it looks?: + -- Most DIY projects are harder than they look.  Have you ever got hot glue stuck to your hands?: + -- Yeah. Are you messy when it comes to painting?:  + -- I’m messy, period. What color is your cutting board?: + -- I don’t have one. Would you rather build something or decorate something?:  + -- Either sounds fun. Have you ever painted something on canvas?:  + -- Yes. List a few of your favorite painters:  + -- Van Gogh, uhhh Do you love the brand Natural Life?: + -- S’alright. Do you love the brand Lisa Frank?: + -- Nostalgic, but I hold no attachment to it. Oil pastels or chalk pastels? Which do you prefer, and why?: + -- I’m not into that. Glitter gel pens or regular gel pens?: + -- Don’t care about those either. Colored pencil or regular pencil?: + -- Depends on what I’m doing? Charcoal or colored chalk?: + -- Neither. I hate the sound. Painting or drawing?: + -- Drawing. Or digital painting. Painting that shows brushstrokes or painting that looks like a photograph?: + -- Either. Knitting or crocheting?:  + -- Either. Sewing on a machine or doing embroidery by hand?:  + -- Machine. Color or black-and-white?:  + -- Either. Digital photography or film photography?: + -- Either.

[paintandpotions]

The 7 Secrets That You Shouldn't Know About SEO 2019

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[sarahburness]

How Creativity Creates Mindfulness, Happiness, and Peace

“Mindful and creative, a child who has neither a past, nor examples to follow, nor value judgments, simply lives, speaks and plays in freedom.” ~Arnaud Desjardins

No human being lives without experiencing the duality of life.

Good and bad. Love and hate. Life and death. Acceptance and rejection. Success and failure. Joy and jealousy. Compassion and judgment.

So why do we spend so much time trying to pretend that it’s bad to experience all of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly?

Even our weather men and women tell us it’s a going to be a bad day because it’s raining or snowing. I mean, come on! The earth rejoices when it rains; snow is a natural part of our eco-system.

Why do we try so hard to suppress the difficult feelings and experiences in our lives? Because our brains are wired that way? Because we were traumatized? Because our parents, teachers, and God knows who else told us to?

Does it really matter, as we heal, who, where, and why?

I remember the first time I heard the quote “Thoughts are things.”

I knew instantly that if that was true, I was in trouble because I had a lot of thoughts I wasn’t proud of and never voiced out loud. I was taught at a very young age not to “rock the boat” or be “too dramatic” and the worst, “Your mom is unhappy because of you kids.” Yikes!

So, when things got bad at home or at school or at church, they got stuffed. In me. In my heart. In my gut and in my head.

On the outside I looked fine. Cute, bubbly, artistic, smart. But on the inside I was scared, confused, and anxious, and did not have a clue how to interact comfortably with people.

I tried really hard (unsuccessfully) to fit in.

Luckily, I had the outlet of art. I drew, I painted, I sewed, I made batiks—whatever I could get my hands on in the art department at the Catholic High school I went to, or whatever my mom would let me touch at home. She was an amazing seamstress, but, with eight kids, had neither the time nor patience to teach me. Luckily I’m old enough that we had “Home Ed” in high school, so I learned to sew well enough that my mom would let me use her sewing machine.

Being creative got me through high school and into college with no major consequences. I wasn’t insecure, lonely, or in need of an outlet. I didn’t drink too much, I wasn’t promiscuous, and I didn’t do drugs.

Fast forward a couple decades and I can tell you that eventually, I did experience the consequences of trying to drink my thoughts and feelings away. 

I stayed pretty creative as long as I could, but, as life goes, I grew up, got married, had kids, and started to work.

The turning point was when I lost my family of origin after some dramatic, painful events that I've chosen not to discuss publicly. (I learned the hard way that going over and over painful past events is not helpful to my healing.)

I could not deal with what was going on inside of me.

I started to drink more and more to squash what I was feeling.

Within a few years, the addictive gene in me eventually cried out “GOT YA!” and I was lost.

And this is what led me to the finding peace through being creative again. My crisis. My breakdown.

An intervention with beautiful, sober women, who didn’t know me but wanted to see me find myself again led me to being creative again.

These women had been learning how to draw and paint from a friend who eventually became my sponsor.

When I saw what these women had painted, with no artistic experience, it triggered something good inside me—the memory of being creative. (Yes, people, we can have good triggers!)

“Whatever this is, I’m in!” I said, and I was on my way home. Home to my true self.

They introduced me to an art form I had never heard of before, mandalas. I had no idea what a “mandala” was. Never heard of it and didn’t care. The mandala teacher had a studio full of every art supply you can imagine and space for many women to create. I was in heaven!

As I drew and painted my first mandala, my creative mind took over and the crazy thoughts in my head stopped.

I didn’t realize it then, but being creative again forced me to be what we all strive for when we think of being mindful: calm, serene, awake, and aware. 

My goal was to have fun and be creative again, but what I got was far more than that.

I reactivated the divine creative energy we are all born with.

When I’m engaged in any creative activity, my “monkey mind” settles down. My inner critic has little to say. I’m not regretting the past or fearing the future. I’m in the here and now. I’m centered, relaxed, and rejuvenated.

I got really curious—what’s was going on?

Why had engaging in creative endeavors become so significant in my life? Why did it feel like that had been the single most important thing in my healing (after being sober, that is)?

The Interconnectedness of Creativity and Mindfulness

So began my research into creativity and mindfulness.

I discovered that Carl Jung used art therapy with his patients. He encouraged the spontaneous drawing of mandalas. He believed that by just letting his patients draw with no interference, they would heal things in their psyche without even knowing it.

“Most mandalas have an intuitive, irrational character and, through their symbolical content, exert a retroactive influence on the unconscious. They therefore possess a “magical” significance, like icons, whose possible efficacy was never consciously felt by the patient.” ~Carl Yung

I stumbled upon a new book about the power of doodling called The Doodle Revolution, by Sunni Brown. In the book, Sunni cites a lot of very famous people who used doodling to help them think better and retain information. She challenges all the parents, teachers, and bosses who say, “Stop doodling! Get serious! Grow up!”

“There is NO SUCH THING as a mindless doodle,” according to Sunni.

CNN reports creative activities impact the body in a way similar to meditation. It’s like yoga for your brain.

This was also about the time that “adult coloring” became a billion-dollar industry. Why are millions of adults coloring, I wondered?

The more research I did, the more obvious it became.

Our society is craving sanity. Coloring reminds us all of the days of childhood when it was okay to pick up crayons and zone out for a bit. Having “adult” coloring books has given millions permission to stop, color, and find peace.

What I personally experienced while being creative was mindfulness; my brain was quiet yet active brain while painting, collaging, sewing, drawing, coloring, baking, and crafting.

Being creative somehow taught me the skill, if you will, of paying attention to me, of being mindful.

As it turns out, when you are being creative, you are using both your creative self and your analytical self, your left and right brain hemispheres at the same time. This not only quiets your mind, it engages it.

You are creating without angst. It kind of just happens.

My creative self was reawakened. I was allowing myself to be me, to feel me.

Having something creative “in the wings” became important, something to look forward to. Downtime became fun instead of something I dreaded.

This is not say that being mindful instantly became an easy process for all the other times when I was not doing something creative.

Having gone through some pretty traumatic years, it was “normal” for thoughts of dread, unworthiness, sadness, and shame to rumble through my mind, like the undercurrent of a river when I was engaged in mundane activities.

Being alone cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, doing bills, and working was still wrought with angst and despair.

I began to yearn for that calm, serene mindfulness I felt while being creative at all times in my life. So I engaged in more creative activities and hung out with people who were on the same path of healing. I began to create a new “family” of people who supported and loved me. 

I found and became active in a spiritual home. I started to naturally attract friends on the same path of becoming more creative, more mindful, more spiritual, more compassionate and successful in all areas of life.

I read The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle and learned how important it is to notice it all—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

“Wherever you are, be there totally. If you find your here and now intolerable and it makes you unhappy, you have three options: remove yourself from the situation, change it, or accept it totally. If you want to take responsibility for your life, you must choose one of those three options, and you must choose now. Then accept the consequences.” ~Eckhart Tolle

Wow, it’s okay to have “bad” thoughts. It’s actually normal. It’s hard. And I learned that it’s my responsibility alone how to handle it.

I’ve subscribed to helpful blogs like TinyBuddha.com and mindful.org.

I started doing Bikram (hot) yoga.

Ninety minutes in a hot room doing yoga brought up a lot of difficult memories. But I stayed with it. I stayed in the room even though I was terrible and even though I would sometimes cry during the thirty-second rest periods between poses as I processed memories of hating my body and feeling ashamed and remembered being teased for being fat.

I began meditating.

At first I could only meditate with music or a guided meditations for five to ten minutes. I meditated like this sporadically for years.

Just recently I started meditating in the morning and before bed at the suggestion of my life coach. She suggested two to five minutes, silently, in the lotus position. I said, “I can do at least ten I’m sure.” Much to my surprise, ten minutes was easy so I progressed to fifteen, then twenty, then thirty.

I am now meditating for thirty minutes, alone, no music, sitting in the lotus position (as best I can) twice a day. This I consider a miracle. Meditating like this has also allowed more memories to gently come up and dissipate. Wow.

Being mindful is not always an easy road, but it’s a much better path than trying to stuff painful memories, feelings, and thoughts down. 

It’s much easier than trying to drink them away.

I know this to be true.

Being mindful has helped me be comfortable with my thoughts. Okay, that’s not always true—I still sometimes get angry and want them to go away, but I don’t dwell as much, I don’t lash out as much, and I am most definitely a happier, more peaceful person.

The Process of Being Creative Triggers Memories—Good Ones

If you activate your divine creative energy, you are activating the positive, shiny aspects of yourself. You remember happier times. You feel accomplished. You’re happy with yourself. You smile more (and people smile back)!

As you then become more mindful, perhaps through yoga and meditation, the difficult thoughts and feelings are balanced with the positive, creative, and happy aspects of you.

You take responsibility for your life. It’s fun to be with you.

You realize that you are the person you’ve been waiting for.

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from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/how-creativity-leads-to-mindfulness-happiness-and-peace/

[aquiliscreations-blog]

Some things I’ve learned

It’s not easy being a full-time artist. Money-wise it’s feast or famine. I’m either doing really well, or I haven’t sold something in months. I’ve learned quite a bit and I wouldn’t change a thing. I figured I’d share for other artists out there.

#1 There is no Time for Procrastination.

     I’m not always good at getting on the ball in the mornings. Mornings are rough for me in general, and I’m usually in denial about being conscious. I find that the longer I procrastinate on a project, either waiting to start or waiting to finish, the harder it is to actually do the project.

#2 Walk the Talk

     If you call yourself a full time artist, you should be creating everyday. Even if its a 15 minute doodle. I’m also not very good at this. If I wake up later than normal I feel like I’ve wasted the day, and therefore can accomplish nothing. This is a fallacy. Steal the time to work on something

#3 It’s OK Not to be Perfect

     Perfectionism is the enemy of creativity. As a perfectionist in most things I do, this has been a very hard lesson for me. Even if you can’t get that one detail just right, you have to know when to call it finished. If you keep overworking your piece, not only do you stand the chance of ruining it entirely, but you are also preventing yourself from moving on to your next project. This, however, does not mean quit working on something because you’re scared to mess it up.

#4 It’s OK to Experiment

     It’s OK to work in a different medium then you’re used to. It’s OK to try a different style within the same medium. Not all of your work has to look the same. Especially early on it’s important to try different things to find your style.

#5 You have to promote yourself

     As an introvert this is very hard, but no one is as invested in your work as you are. No one will promote you if you don’t promote yourself. This can mean going to art events and talking to everyone, or having a large online presence, or both. It’s not easy, it takes dedication. Prepare a short and concise artist statement about your and what you do. Memorize it and be ready to tell people about it when you ask

#6 It’s not all about You

     When you’re networking don’t just talk about you and your work. Listen to what other artists and art enthusiasts have to say. Take genuine interest in it. Building art relationships is much like building friendships. And you never know who you’ll be working with in the future. You don’t want to come off as self-obsessed in your first impression.

#7 Take High Quality Images of Your Work

     This seems like common knowledge, but I’ve seen some pretty terrible images of art. Most smartphones now have decent cameras, but they aren’t the best for art. They don’t capture the fine detail. You want at least 300 dpi  images for submitting to shows. If you can afford it, consider buying a DSLR camera. If not, you’re a member of an art community, I bet you know someone who has one, and for a small fee, or trade, can help you out. Don’t ask for it for free. They’ve spent as much time learning their art as you have yours.

#8 You’re Your Own Worst Critic

     I’m never happy with my work. I’m just not. I find one detail I hate and I fixate on it. Most of the people I know seem to love my work, but I have a very hard time believing it, and it slows down my creative process because I get very down about it.

#9 Create an Online Portfolio

     It may not get much traffic in the beginning, but and online portfolio can really help you when submitting to exhibitions, and many request them on their applications. It’s easy to find cheap hosting. I use SiteGround and their built in Site builder. You don’t have to be a web guru to make and elegant and professional looking online portfolio. If you don’t believe me, you can check out mine. I’m nearly computer illiterate. I pay for my domain name, www.aquiliscreations.com, because it looks more professional than say, www.weebly.com/aquiliscreations.

#10 Have Business Cards Made

     I know it sounds like work, but it’s easy to go to a site like VistaPrint and design your own business cards. You can almost always find promo codes. My latest order is 13.94 for 100 business cards. They currently have a special for 500 basic one sided cards for 9.99 (plus whatever extra you add on.) Usually, I put the name of my business (it’s ok if you don’t have one) I add my artist name, and I state what I do. (Artist, pianist, musician, etc.) I also list the mediums I work in, but this isn’t necessary. I also add my phone number and e-mail. If you’re not comfortable with phone number, just do your e-mail.

#11 Have an E-mail Set Up Just for Your Art

     I know it doesn’t sound important, but it looks more professional. For example here’s mine, AquilisCreations@gmail.com. Other things that could work for me are: Aquilisedwardsart@gmail.com, or Aquilis@Aquiliscreations.com. All of these look much more professional than Babylove1979@yahoo.com.

#12 Use Keywords on Your sites

     Whether its a Facebook page, or an Online portfolio, looking into SEO (search engine optimization) can help you gain more foot traffic. Using keywords like art, painting, drawing, your name, artist, where you’re located, your subject matter, etc. in the Titles of your page or home page, and the file name of your images you upload can help you come up in search engines. For Example, if you search Aquilis Edwards, I’m the first 2 listings on Google. If you search Aquilis Creations, pictures of my art are the first things to pop up, and the entire front page of the google search is linked to my patreon, my facebook, my portfolio and my etsy in some way.

#13 Put Yourself Out There

     Submitting your work to exhibitions and galleries can seem daunting, but it’s worth it. You may feel like your art isn’t good enough, but you’ll never know until you try, and you have a good chance at getting feedback if you’re rejected. So it’s a win/win. Some shows have entry fees. Usually between $15 and $35 in my experience. That can make it more daunting, but it’s an investment in your future. Not only does it give you a chance to sell your work, it also gets your work in front of your ideal audience, art connoisseurs and collectors. You can find Art opportunities at Artopportunitiesmonthly.com and ZAPP. You can sometimes find opportunities with no entry fee as well.

#14 Create an Artist Resume or CV

     Even if you don’t have a large amount of experience, you should still create a CV. Include any classes you’ve had, whether formal or informal. Include any shows you’ve had, even if they are group shows. Include any art you’ve sold, even to private collectors. Include any classes you’ve taught even at community centers. (If you haven’t volunteer!) Do some research and look at examples to show you how it’s done.

#15 Never, Ever Give Away or Trade Art for Exposure

     It doesn’t work out. Chances are the person offering exposure just wants to get art for free and has no influence over a large audience. I did this once for a charity event. I’ve yet to see a single penny from the so-called exposure. This isn’t an unpaid internship. You’ve spent years developing your skills. You’ve spent money, whether on training or supplies. Don’t give your time and money away for free. Just don’t do it.

#16 Learn How to Price Your Work

    Underselling yourself isn’t doing you any favors. Prices too low can make your work seem insignificant. Prices too high can drive away customers due to sticker shock. If your a novice, you’re prices should be a little less than a professional. There are two ways to price your art, per square inch, or for time. I prefer the square inch model, because it prevents works of the same size having vastly different prices that make the artist look inconsistent. if you’re prices are too high you can always come down later. It’s hard to raise prices.

#17 Do the Work because YOU Love It.

     Its one thing to take commissions. Many artist make a good living that way. However when you don’t have a commission and you’re just painting for things to have in stock or in your portfolio, don’t try to pander to an audience. Do work you’re passionate about. You can certainly tell the difference in a piece the artist loved doing and one they did because they felt they have to.

#18 Don’t Do this For the Money

     Lets face it, making a career out of art is hard. Don’t do it because you want to make money, you may never make enough to sustain yourself, and that’s perfectly OK. Make your art to express yourself, to let your creativity run wild, and because you are passionate.

#19 If you have Art Block, Do it anyway

     Don’t wait for inspiration to strike, work even when you don’t feel like it. Make it a habit. Practice. Do nonsensical things. Sit down, start with a line on your canvas and see what grows from there. This is how you learn new techniques, find new subjects, and generally grow your creativity. Many times, once you start, inspiration will find you.

#20 Love Yourself

     Even when you feel like a failure, love yourself. When you haven’t made a sale in months, when you feel like your art isn’t good enough, when you just know you’ll never make it, pamper yourself. Get together with your people who make you laugh, who make you feel genuinely loved. Listen to the music that makes you feel good. Take a bubble bath with a glass of wine. Take yourself out on an artist’s date. Don’t let yourself wallow in the self pity and despair.

I hope that this has been helpful or inspiring. If I can help just one aspiring artist on their journey, I’ll be a happy girl. Cheers and Happy Arting!