#i fixed the current drawing but rip the sketch

[mewharley]

Jade as a Mobian:)

Jade the dog 🤔 i guess

can she be a wolf? I want her to be a wolf haha

Also I just realized Sonic characters usually don't have long hair! (fur?)

or when they do, it's really specific how it's drawn 👀 I'm fixing it on the digital version ❤️

[kckt88]

The Lost Dragon 2 - Younger II

Summary:

A glimpse into the past through Aemond's perspective.

Warnings - Fluff, Angst, Language, Eye Injury, Discussion of Dub/Con Street of Silk Visit, Talk of Masturbation, Posessive Behaviour.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

Word Count: 4150

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Aemond stood alone on the balcony of the Red Keep, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ship carrying Vaelys had disappeared from view.

He felt a heavy weight settle in the pit of his stomach as he watched the ship vanish into the distance. Vaelys, his closest companion, and his love, was now sailing away to Dragonstone, leaving him behind in King's Landing.

Aemond couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of his only friend being taken from him. They had shared so many memories together—playing in the gardens, exploring the corridors of the Red Keep, and dreaming of their future. The promise they’d made to one another.

Just the other day she had slapped her brother’s for mocking him, their cruel prank with the pig, not even his brother Aegon had escaped her wrath when she followed him down into the dragon pit and pushed him into a pile of dragon dung.

Now, all of that felt like a distant memory, a fleeting moment lost to the currents of time. She was gone, ripped away from him by her mother.

He leaned against the stone railing of the balcony, his gaze still fixed on the spot where the ship had vanished from sight. He felt a lump form in his throat as he realized just how much he would miss Vaelys' laughter, her smile, and the warmth of her presence.

With a heavy heart, Aemond turned away from the balcony, the weight of loneliness settling over him like a heavy cloak.

But deep down, he knew that no matter how far apart they may be, Vaelys would always hold a special place in his heart.

As he sat alone at his desk in the quiet confines of his chambers, a sense of melancholy settling over him like a heavy shroud. His gaze wandered to the closed drawer beside him, a silent sentinel guarding a treasure trove of memories.

With a sigh, Aemond reached out and pulled open the drawer, revealing the stack of drawings that lay within. Each one was a testament to the bond he shared with Vaelys, a visual reminder of the moments they had shared together.

He picked up the top drawing, his fingers tracing the delicate lines and curves with a sense of reverence.

It was a portrait of him, sketched in painstaking detail, his features rendered with a tender touch that spoke volumes of Vaelys' affection.

As he sifted through the drawings, memories flooded back to him—afternoons spent in the gardens, laughter echoing through the halls of the Red Keep, stolen moments of companionship that had sustained him through even the darkest of times.

Vaelys didn't know that he had kept these drawings, he realized. She had given them to him as tokens of friendship, unaware of the profound impact they had made on him. But he had treasured each and every one, cherishing them as precious mementos of their bond.

With a soft smile, Aemond gathered up the drawings and held them close to his heart. They were more than just pieces of paper; they were fragments of a shared history, a testament to the enduring strength of their friendship.

Aemond stood by the window of his chamber, his gaze fixed on the bustling streets of King's Landing below. In just a few hours, he would be departing for Driftmark to attend the funeral of Laena Velaryon—a somber occasion that should have filled him with nothing but sorrow.

And yet, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement stirring within him. For traveling to Driftmark meant that he would see Vaelys again.

He knew he shouldn't feel this way—that it was wrong to feel even the slightest hint of anticipation for such a solemn occasion. But he couldn't help it. The thought of being reunited with Vaelys filled him with a sense of warmth and comfort that he hadn't felt in weeks.

With a heavy sigh, Aemond tore his gaze away from the window, his heart heavy with guilt. He knew that attending the funeral was the right thing to do—to pay his respects.

But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation that bubbled up inside him at the thought of seeing Vaelys once again.

Aemond stood at a distance, watching silently as his uncle Daemon crouched down in front of Vaelys, her young face etched with a mixture of confusion and sadness. He could see Rhaenyra, standing nearby, her expression solemn as she nodded softly in agreement with Daemon's hushed words.

Aemond strained to hear what they were saying, as their voices were barely more than whispers, lost amidst the bustle of the courtyard. He could see the furrow of Vaelys' brow, the trembling of her lower lip, and he felt a pang of concern tug at his heart.

He wanted to go to her, to offer her comfort and reassurance, but something held him back. Perhaps it was the gravity of the situation, the unspoken weight of whatever Daemon and Rhaenyra were discussing with her. Or perhaps it was the fear of intruding on a private moment between mother and daughter.

As he watched, Aemond felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, a fierce desire to shield Vaelys from whatever was causing her distress. But he knew that this was something she had to face on her own, that he could only offer his support from afar.

And so, with a heavy heart, Aemond remained rooted to the spot, his eyes never leaving Vaelys as she struggled to come to terms with whatever news Daemon and Rhaenyra had imparted to her.

“You will die screaming in flames just like your father did-BASTARDS” the venom dripping from Aemond’s voice, his anger directed towards Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, who had set upon him after he had managed to claim the dragon Vhagar.

But it was the look on Vaelys’ face, that broke his heart. He didn’t want to hurt her. But she stood before him, her lip wobbling, her hair a mess from where she had tried to pull Baela and Rhaena off him as they pummelled him with their fists.

Ever since her talk with Daemon she had been acting strange, avoiding his gaze and his attempts to speak to her.

“My father’s still alive” cried Luke.

“He doesn’t know does he? Lord Strong” mocked Aemond.

His grip around Luke’s throat, tightened. The bastard strong boy struggled against him.

“J-Jace. No” exclaimed Vaelys, her eyes wide as her brother pulled a knife from his sleeve.

Aemond threw Luke to the ground and Jace flew forward, brandishing the knife aimlessly.

Vaelys was stood with Baela and Rhaena, her eyes wide as she watched Aemond smack Jace in the head with a rock, her younger brother falling to the floor in a heap.

“Aemond-No” begged Vaelys as he raised the rock above his head, he faltered, lowering the rock slightly at the sound of her voice.

Then the blade like lightening through the air, sliced through his skin, the blood pouring from his face as he collapsed to the floor.

“What did you do? Luke-WHAT DID YOU DO?” screamed Vaelys.

Aemond gritted his teeth against the searing pain that radiated from the wound where his eye had once been. The Maester's hands moving with practiced precision as he stitched the torn flesh, but each tug of the needle sent waves of agony coursing through Aemond's body.

He felt dizzy and disoriented, his vision swimming as he struggled to remain conscious.

But amidst the pain and the despair, Aemond found himself yearning for the touch of another's hand. He longed for Vaelys to be by his side, to offer him comfort. But when he turned to look for her, he found her standing next to her brother Jace, her hands shaking with fear and uncertainty.

Aemond felt a pang of disappointment, a sense of abandonment that cut deeper than any physical wound. He wanted Vaelys to hold his hand, to be there for him as he faced the agony of his injuries. But she was standing by Jace's side, her attention divided between her brother and her wounded uncle.

With a heavy heart, Aemond turned away, his gaze falling to the floor as he resigned himself to his fate. He knew that he couldn't fault Vaelys for choosing to stand by her brother's side, but it didn't make the sting of rejection any less painful.

As the Maester continued his work, Aemond closed his remaining eye and focused on the rhythmic sound of his own breathing. He would endure this pain, he told himself,

He may have lost an eye, but he gained a dragon.

Aemond lay in his chambers in King's Landing, his body wracked with agony as he endured yet another round of procedures on his injured eye. The infections had taken hold, spreading like wildfire through the delicate tissue, leaving him in constant pain and discomfort.

But the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in his heart—the hollow emptiness that gnawed at him day and night, leaving him feeling more alone than he had ever felt before. He longed for Vaelys, for her presence to offer him solace and comfort in his darkest hours. But she never came.

He cried out for her, his voice a desperate plea echoing through the empty halls of the Red Keep, but there was no answer. She was gone, taken from him in the aftermath of the tragedy on Driftmark, once again whisked away to Dragonstone and out of his reach.

He remembered the promise she had made to him, spoken in front of the sacred weirwood tree—the promise to protect him, to love him. But now she was gone, and he was alone, left to face his pain and suffering without her by his side.

As he lay there in his bed, tears streaming down his face, Aemond couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal, a bitter resentment towards the cruel hand fate had dealt him. He had lost his eye, and now, it seemed, he had lost the one person he had thought he could always count on.

The loss of his eye had left him with more than just physical scars; it had forced him to relearn the most basic of tasks, from walking to reading to training with the sword.

At first, even walking was a struggle. His depth perception had changed, and he found himself stumbling and tripping over his own feet more often than not. But he refused to be defeated. With each faltering step, he pushed himself to keep going, determined to regain his balance and confidence.

Reading was another obstacle he had to overcome. His remaining eye strained to make sense of the words on the page, often leaving him with painful headaches that threatened to overwhelm him. But he persevered, his determination driving him to endure the discomfort in pursuit of knowledge and understanding.

Training with the sword was perhaps the greatest challenge of all. Without depth perception, his strikes were clumsy and uncoordinated, his movements slow and hesitant. But he refused to give up. Day after day, he practiced tirelessly, honing his skills with a fierce determination that bordered on obsession.

It frustrated him to no end, this constant struggle to regain what he had lost. But with each small victory, each incremental improvement, he found renewed hope and determination.

He refused to let his disability define him, to limit him in any way. He would adapt, he would overcome, and he would prove to the world that he was just as capable, just as fierce, as he had ever been.

And as he stood in the training yard, sword in hand, sweat streaming down his brow, Aemond knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he would face them head-on, with courage, determination, and unwavering resolve.

Aemond felt a knot of unease twisting in his stomach as his brother Aegon led him through the dimly lit streets of King's Landing. He knew where they were going, could sense it in the air—the unmistakable scent of sweat and perfume, the raucous laughter and lewd whispers that filled the night.

He didn't want to go, didn't want to set foot in such a place, but Aegon insisted it would make him feel better. "It's time to become a man," his brother had said, his voice filled with an odd mixture of excitement and determination.

Reluctantly, Aemond followed Aegon into the brothel, his heart heavy with guilt and shame. He felt out of place amidst the gaudy decorations and scantily clad women, the raunchy music pounding in his ears like a drumbeat of despair.

As they were led to a private chamber, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling of disgust that gnawed at him from within. This was not who he was, not what he wanted. But he couldn't bring himself to voice his objections, couldn't bear to disappoint his brother.

The night passed in a blur of fleeting pleasures and empty promises, but as Aemond lay alone in his room, the echoes of his brother's laughter still ringing in his ears, he felt a wave of despair wash over him.

He had thought that this would make him feel better, that it would somehow fill the void inside him, but all it had done was leave him feeling hollow and empty.

He thought of Vaelys, and he wondered if she would be disgusted by what he had done, if she knew he had laid with a paid whore, they had promised, they had-

Tears welled up in his eyes as he lay there in the darkness, the weight of his shame and regret pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had betrayed himself, betrayed Vaelys, all for the sake of appeasing his brother's misguided notions of manhood.

But as he cried himself to sleep that night, Aemond vowed that he would never again allow himself to be swayed by the expectations of others.

He was Aemond Targaryen, rider of the mighty Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world and he would not be weak again.

Aemond stood in the middle of the training ground, his sword gripped tightly in his hand as he surveyed the scene before him. The courtyard was alive with activity, knights and soldiers sparring and training under the watchful eye of their commanders.

And then his heart skipped a beat as he saw Vaelys, standing with her brothers, her long silver hair catching the sunlight as it cascaded down her back. Her amethyst eyes sparkled with determination, her gaze unwavering as she surveyed the training ground with interest.

Gods, she was beautiful. Aemond felt like he couldn’t breath as he watched her. He had dreamed of this moment, imagined it a thousand times in his mind, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of seeing her again after so long.

He wanted to go to her, to wrap her in his arms and never let her go. But something held him back—the memory of their last encounter, the pain and heartache that had followed in its wake.

So instead, he stood there, rooted to the spot, his eye locked on hers as he drank in the sight of her.

Six years had passed since Aemond had last seen Vaelys. In that time, he had often found himself sitting alone in his chambers, pen in hand, pouring his heart out onto parchment in letters he never sent.

Fearful of her response, unsure if she would even bother to reply, he had allowed the anger and bitterness of what had transpired on Driftmark to cloud his mind.

There had been no apology, no remorse—only resentment and blame. His father's actions had only served to deepen the divide between them, publicly favouring his older half-sister Rhaenyra and all but disregarding his other children.

Through no fault of her own, Aemond had convinced himself that Vaelys had abandoned him, that she had chosen her family over him.

Aemond angrily around his chambers, the events of the day swirling around in his head like a whirlwind of chaos. The petition for Driftmark, his father's sudden resurgence from his sickbed to defend his favorite child once again, the ploy for power by Vaemond that had been cut short by Daemon's ruthless hand—all of it weighed heavily on his mind, fuelling the flames of his resentment.

And then there was the feast—the gods-damned feast, where he had been forced to break bread with people he despised, to smile and nod and pretend to be civil when all he wanted to do was scream. And through it all, Vaelys had refused to even look at him, her gaze cold and distant as if he were nothing more than a stranger to her.

The injustice of it all was suffocating, crushing him beneath its weight until he felt like he could hardly breathe. He had worked tirelessly, sacrificed everything to prove himself worthy, only to be cast aside time and time again in favour of Rhaenyra and her brood of strong bastards.

But it was Vaelys' indifference that cut him the deepest—the knowledge that she had once been his closest friend, and now she wouldn't even spare him a second glance.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, a reminder of just how far they had drifted apart in the years since she had left the Red Keep and now, she had left him again, back to Dragonstone.

With a frustrated growl, Aemond clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He wanted to lash out, to scream and shout and rage against the injustices of the world. But deep down, he knew that his anger was misplaced, that it was not Vaelys' fault.

His father was dead, and now his wastrel of an older brother was King. Listening to his grandsire droning on about the importance of solidifying Aegon’s rule as King was beginning to grate on him.

He hated it, the word duty, it had become like a noose around his neck, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of it.

But ever the good soldier he did as he was asked and flew to Storms End to secure the support of Borros Baratheon through an offer of marriage.

The daughters of Baratheon were lined up in front of him, and he was supposed to choose which one.

But how could he. Though they had their qualities, none of them were HER.

Vaelys had bored her way into his soul, and she wouldn’t leave. His memories of her as a child, and how unbelievably annoying she was, intertwined with those of them reading together in the gardens, the promise they had made, the sweet first kiss they had shared.

Ignited a fire in him, the night before the petition, he’d stripped his cock raw, he drove himself mad, fucking his fist to the thought of her.

Many times, he brought himself to completion, picturing Vaelys.

He even dreamt of fucking her, every night it was the same, him taking her on every available surface, making her scream his name as he thrust his hard cock into her.

For the briefest of moments, he considered taking a woman. To feel something other than his hand, he could close his eye and imagine that she was Vaelys.

The thought of returning to the Street of Silk had turned his stomach, so that left the maids being the only viable option.

There was one-who seemed adequate, she had a similar build, and had nice features. She must have been new as he’d never seen her before.

Ceci her name was, he wouldn’t take without asking, he wasn’t his brother.

But as soon as the thought had entered his mind, it left. He couldn’t do it. So, he walked away and left her to her work.

But standing here now, the dark haired four storms were staring at him expectantly. He was polite as he made small talk, he didn’t want to be here he didn’t want a Baratheon for a bride.

But he had to choose, and in the end, it was Floris.

But then-

“Princess Vaelys of House Targaryen”

What in the seven hells was she doing here? Soaked to the bone, her silver plastered to her forehead, her normally pale cheeks tinged pink, no doubt from the bite of the cold air as she travelled on the back of her dragon.

Floris noticed the shift in his demeanour as she placed her hand upon his arm in an attempt to draw his attention back to her, but he shrugged her off.

“Lord Borros-I brought you a message from my mother-The Queen”.

“Yet earlier today I received an envoy from the King-which is it. King or Queen. The House of the dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it” laughed Borros.

Aemond smirked slightly when he saw Vaelys clench her jaw, no doubt in attempt to stifle the vitriol she was about to spew forth.

His dragoness had a vicious tongue in her head, she appeared wispy in the wind but by the gods she had a bite to her.

“What’s your mother’s message?” asked Borros impatiently.

Vaelys handed a rolled up scroll to one of the escorting knights who rushed forward and handed it to Borros, who couldn’t read a single word that was written and had to summon a Maester.

Whilst the Maester relayed Rhaenyra’s message, Aemond stared at Vaelys, his hands folded behind his back.

Not one to be cowed, she glared back. Her amethyst eyes narrowed.

“Remind me of my father’s oath. King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids-which one of my daughters will your brother’s wed?”

“My lord-I’m afraid that only two of my brothers are of age and neither are free to marry, they are already betrothed” replied Vaelys.

“-And what of you Princess?” asked Borros stroking his chin.

“Me? My Lord” questioned Vaelys.

“I have no longer have a wife-and you are of age to marry” said Borros.

Aemond was aghast.

That prattling pig actually had the audacity to ask about her hand in marriage.

“You are young and if you are anything like your mother, you would indeed give me many sons”.

“My Lord I-“

“My late wife blessed me only with daughters-I am left without a male heir” replied Borros.

“Under my mother’s rule-the eldest would inherit lands and titles regardless of their gender” said Vaelys.

“But that is not my desire Princess-“ quipped Borros as he leaned forward slightly.

Aemond shuddered at the prospect of Vaelys being wed to that illiterate boar, being reduced to a broodmare, the thought of her being made to birth Baratheon’s sons turned his stomach.

It should be him, it should be his seed that took root, his child that she would grow round with. Him that she grew old with.

But what he wanted didn’t matter, for in that moment both him and Vaelys were nothing but pieces of chess to be moved about the board for the success of others.

It was vile, as was Floris’ repeated attempts to gain his attention, whispering in his ear.

“Shut the fuck up” snarled Aemond quietly as he moved away from Floris.

“Apologise my lord but I am not free to marry either-”

What did she just say? Surely she wasn’t going to mention their promise to one another. A promise made between the two of them when they were naught but children would not be enough to dissuade Lord Borros.

“I am to marry Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell”

Married. To that northern dog? Echoes of the promise they’d made swirled around his mind, like whisps of smoke. Their joined hands, her sweet smile, the leaves of the wierwood rustling in the wind.

“Then you come with empty hands-go home pup and tell your mother that the Lord of Storms End is not some dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes”

“I will take your answer to the Queen” replied Vaelys as she bowed her head politely and left. The clanging of the knights armour echoing around the hall in tandem with the thunder.

Stark, Vaelys was going to marry Stark? She would spend her days in the North, by his side, wrapped in furs, birthing that brutes children.

Dragons don’t like the cold, she would wither away, she would be married-to Stark not him.

Stark-not him.

Stark.

Cregan Fucking Stark.

NO. He wouldn’t have it. She was HIS woman. She belonged to HIM.

Without sparing Lord Borros or what's her face a single glance, Aemond marched out of Storms End.

[wistsandmagic]

Today was A Day. It didn't need to be a day. It didn't need to be the Factorio version of Everything Everywhere All At Once as told by Benoit Blanc. It really didn't.

I wanna work on things but my brain is not full of bees, it is bees. I have art I wanna draw. Sketches, really, but I wanna work on them.

I have one of the many current yarncraft projects in my lap to work on, I want to.

I both need and want to edit both the TF Aeterna AU fic and the TFA Blurred Lines fic.

I have TFA replies I need to get to. I think. I need to check our working rp file.

But my brain is bees. I am sitting here staring at tumblr and not even seeing it while a minecraft video plays in the background and the cats stare hungrily at Glyph making jambalaya in the kitchen.

I am severely tempted to rip this shirt off because the touch of cloth on skin right now is making my skin ache and I know it's just because I am entirely overstimulated but ASSDFHLWEHRLHDLKWHERAAAGH. Too jittery after the hellscape that was work today to go lay down and fix it that way.

I screamed in the car on the way home. Have not done that in a long time. I got so angry I braided my hair which I DO NOT DO because I hate doing it by myself.

I want to settle to enjoy things. I have bee-brain. I cannot work on anything even though I want to.

The bees need to be sleep-smoked. I am not a pot smoker because i can't smoke and I am so anxious anyway that I am afraid of what getting the wrong strain would do to me. I don't need more panic attacks thank you very much.

The bees still need to be sleep-smoked. I'm out of chamomile, dammit.

Going to pop the noise-cancelling headphones on, pretend the touch isn't making me wanna turn inside out, and turn on the first lofi thing I can find on Freetube, so I won't get any ads that'll jumpscare me. See if that works.

[basicallyahedgehog]

As Trees Grow, So Does My Love

Just a bit of fluff that I wrote for the Dumbledore’s Armada Rare Pair Roulette Flash Fest. Prompts: Neville/Hannah, “Neville and Hannah having a picnic under a fruit tree.”

After the war, Neville seeks to bring peace and colour back into the wizarding world. What he didn't expect, however, was that as he tended his plants he would find his own patch of peace with an old schoolmate.

Read on AO3

--------

The war was over, and he knew he should be grateful that he was still alive, that so many of his loved ones were still alive. He knew that, yet all he could see was death and decay. Everywhere he went in the wizarding world felt dead, plants ripped up and walls left crumbling by a devastating mixture of battle and abandonment. 

Hogwarts was the worst of course, and naturally most efforts went there. Fixing up Hogsmede was a natural flow-on effect from the efforts at Hogwarts, and he soon felt an irrational jealousy towards those students who would be returning in the Fall. They would return to new stone, and well-polished desks and freshly-planted gardens full of plants that had been picked for their medicinal and relaxing qualities. Honeydukes was preparing to reopen, as was the Three Broomsticks, and soon all would be normal again in this tiny pocket oasis hidden within the Scottish mountains. For the rest of the wizarding world, however, was still grey with dust and ashes, infused with a chill that even the brightest rays of the summer sun were unable to chase away.

Standing at the top of Diagon Alley, taking in the boarded-up windows and bowed heads of weary shoppers, he decided to do something about it.

-----

Neville marched purposefully down Diagon Alley, pockets laden with shrunken supplies for his latest project. It had taken some persuading, but being a war hero with a personal connection to the Minister had paid dividends, and he had been given his own patch of Diagon to do whatever he wanted with. 

The corner below Gringotts had been grey and cold, home to nothing more than a stone fountain and a vast slab of concrete. It was large enough to house at least two storefronts, and Neville had known that it would only have been a matter of time before the Alley’s last vestige of open space was built on by entrepreneurs wanting to take advantage of the low post-war property prices. He had also heard rumblings of a Chosen One statue to replace the weatherbeaten fountain, and whilst the idea was amusing, he knew that he had to put a stop to it if he wanted to avoid a lifetime of Harry’s whinging on pub night.

Which is why he was walking towards a no-longer concreted patch of dirt, armed with a shovel, some edging and his sketch pad, ready to make a plan for the best park the wizarding world had ever seen. He wanted to create a little patch of happiness in a world that had been so filled with fear and sorrow. After the war, everyone needed some extra fresh air and bright flowers in their lives, or at least that was his theory.

Neville didn’t know how long he had been sitting in the middle of his dirt patch, drawing plans for hedges and sitting areas and play spaces, but he did notice when the heat of the sun was suddenly blocked. He didn’t have time to wonder who it could be before they lowered themselves to the ground, picnic basket in hand.

“Sandwich, Neville?” Hannah pulled a plate piled high with sandwiches out of her basket, as if that was a normal thing to do on a dirt block at the bottom of Diagon Alley. “I recall you enjoying corned beef and cheese, but I have others if I’m wrong.”

Neville looked at her, bemused, before taking a sandwich off the pile. “Thanks, Hannah. That’s really nice of you.”

“It’s nothing. I noticed during the Hogwarts rebuilding that you get lost in your projects and forget to eat. You’re doing such an amazing thing for the Alley, the least I can do is make sure you eat regularly.”

He couldn’t explain the warm feeling currently building in his chest, or the heat in his face, but Neville knew that he had never felt like this about food before. 

He wanted to feel it again.

“Neville, can I make a request for your park?”

Neville looked up, a smile forming on his face without conscious thought as he saw Hannah approaching with her basket. 

“That depends on the contents of that basket,” he called back, smirking when her expression shifted to mock offence. 

“Ah, I see. I had thought you’d been enjoying my company this week, but it is just the food!” 

“The food is just a bonus. The company is my favourite part.” Why was he blushing? Would she notice him blushing?

Neville conjured a picnic blanket, placing it under a half-grown oak tree he had planted in the corner. “Your wish is my command, my lady.”

Oh, she would definitely notice the blush.

“Well, Tom has given me permission to update the menu at the Leaky, and I thought it would be nice to have more fresh ingredients available. Do you think you would have room for a vegetable patch? Maybe some herbs too?” 

Neville couldn’t help but smile at the way Hannah’s eyes had lit up as she spoke, as though this vegetable patch was the most exciting thing that could ever happen. 

“I think that is the best idea I have ever heard. We could have a veggie patch over there, accessed on all sides. Then herbs along that back wall, and would you like some fruit trees in that corner?”

“Oh, Neville, that would be wonderful!”

He looked down at his lap, marvelling at the small, burn-marked hand that had just grabbed his. If it kept her hand in his, he would give her all the fruit and vegetables that she could ever dream of.

------

The bell over the door of the Leaky clanged loudly as he stepped inside, allowing the warmth from the fireplace to ease the chill in his fingertips. As he unwrapped his scarf his eyes raked the room, looking for one person in particular. His first term at Hogwarts had been busier than he expected, and Merlin he had missed her.

He wasn’t even sure if she was his to miss.

“If you’re looking for the young lass, she’s down in the Square.” The old man placed his hand on Neville’s shoulder, subtly turning him in the direction of the Alley. “I heard her say something about checking on the fruit trees on account of the snow.”

Hastily rewrapping his scarf around his neck, Neville threw a breathless “thank you!” over his shoulder, darting out the back door and down through the Alley. No one should be out in this weather, fruit trees or no fruit trees.

“Hannah!” He could barely make her out through the flurries, and didn’t know if she would hear him over the wind. “Hannah, why are you out here?”

“Oh, Neville! You had mentioned that the trees might need protective charms before the snow, and then it started snowing and I couldn’t bear the thought of them out here in the cold all alone, and you’ve been so busy I didn’t expect you to make it back this weekend and-”

Her lips were biting cold and chapped from the wind, but she tasted sweet and her hands around his waist anchored him in a way that nothing ever had before. 

“Come inside, you’ll catch your death of a cold out here.” He was already tugging her towards the Leaky, her small hand tucked protectively in the crook of his elbow. “Thank you, Hannah. You might have just saved those trees.”

The look in her eyes told him that she hadn’t just done it for the trees. 

-------

Neville,

The trees came through the storm ok. Do I need to renew those charms, or will they last until the end of winter?

Hannah,

P.S. I really enjoyed seeing you last night. 

Neville,

The fruit trees have their first leaves back! I feel like a proud Mama. Is this how you feel about all of your plants?

Good luck with your first solo class tomorrow. You’re going to be amazing.

Yours,

Hannah

P.S. Hogsmeade on Saturday?

Neville,

Please find enclosed our first apple blossom. Only two years — I am convinced that you are using some kind of magic to help them grow.

You should see the Square, Nev. It’s even prettier this year than last year. I wish you were here to enjoy it more, it is truly a wonderful thing that you did for our community.

Your Hannah

-------

Neville placed the box on the living room floor, wiping his palms on his jeans. 

“That’s the last one, Han. How does it feel to be the official Landlady of the Leaky Cauldron?”

“It doesn’t feel real.” She bit her lip, fiddling with the hem of her shirt with her fingers. He folded them into his own, turning her face to look her in the eyes.

“Hey, you’re going to be amazing. You’ve been practically running this place for years.” 

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so.”

He kissed her softly, trying to convey how proud he was through the simple gesture. 

Later, as he was unpacking her books into the bookshelf, he heard a small gasp. 

“Nev, look! You can see our trees from here!”

He bought the ring that afternoon.

--------

Han,

I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Meet me under our trees at 3pm.

Your Nev

----

Neville paced back and forth under the apple tree. What had he been thinking? They had barely discussed this, what if she said no? What if- 

His spiralling thoughts were interrupted by the brightest smile and softest eyes that he had ever seen. She spread the picnic rug out under the tree, pulling all of his favourite food out of her basket. He hadn’t even mentioned his idea of a picnic, but somehow she already knew.

Suddenly, the box didn’t feel like it would combust in his pocket, and all of his doubts fell away.

That seemed like a good place to start.

“Han, when I am with you I feel like anything is possible. You believe in me even when I can’t believe in myself, but more than that, you have shown me how to believe in myself even when you aren’t there. You have the biggest heart of any person that I have ever met, and I pinch myself each morning to think that you have entrusted me with it. Five years ago, I just wanted to give the Alley some colour and peace, and instead I found love.”

He took a deep breath, grounding himself in her eyes, before sinking to one knee.

“Han, will you marry me?”

The words had barely left his mouth before Hannah flung herself into his arms, sobbing and pressing kisses all over his face.

“Yes,” she whispered, cradling his face in her hands. “Of course, Nev, yes.” 

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 24: Slip of the Hand

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, blood/gore, stitching/medical instruments, knives, sickness, light body horror

Summary: Juniper picks up an old hobby while Heisenberg makes a big mistake while working on a long-standing one.

Feedback appreciated, 18+. Sorry it’s slower everyone I’ll start posting a bit quicker next month

Juniper sat on the balcony, the sunshine warming her enough to be comfortable. In the recent weeks she and Heisenberg went back to damn near normal, or as normal as their life had ever been given the circumstances. She was fully healed and feeling bright and chipper.

Heisenberg even started to call her newer nicknames more often: like wifey, love and his Mrs.

Juniper got back into making sketches. She was very rusty and most pictures looked little more than doodles but it brought her joy. Heisenberg even found her a whole stack of empty notebooks.

She was using one of them, drawing a sketch of a raven. The bird of interest was sitting on the balcony ledge, watching her with bright eyes.

It cocked its feathered head, making curious gurgles as she looked between it and the paper.

“You are such a pretty bird.” Juniper complimented, earring a throaty little trill in return.

Juniper’s pencil scratched against the paper, “Just like that.” She cooed, “You’re being such a good bird.”

She concentrated on the drawing for a short while longer, looking up at her muse. Eventually she was happy with the finished product, shading in the feathers with the pencil.

She turned the notebook around, showing her work to her subject. “Do you like it?” She asks, holding it before the Raven.

The bird gave a little hop, almost in surprise, leaning in a bit to look over the portrait. It gave a throaty croak of approval, ruffling its feathers.

Juniper giggled, “Thank you!” She turned to look at it again, happy with her work. She closed the sketchbook, standing and stretching a bit.

“You were radiant.” She complimented the bird, reaching out a hand slowly towards it. The raven allowed her to give it a soft stroke down its onyx feathers, closing its eyes in contentment.

Juniper said her goodbyes to the bird, collecting her supplies and heading back into the factory.

The raven sat for a long moment, watching the closed metal door before hoping off into the air. It gave a few strong wing beats before it disintegrated into a moldy cloud, done with its tasks.

Unaware of anything amiss Juniper put everything away, tiring her hair up in preparation to find Heisenberg. She knew he was finishing up a Soldat, so wanted to give a hand if needed.

~

The smell of blood and oil stung Juniper’s nose as she neared the lower workshop. As she opened the door the smell grew so strong it almost fogged her senses for a moment.

Her stomach clenched, taking over the scene.

The most recent soldat was on the floor, head crushed into a bloody pulp. Dark liquid oozed out of it, mixing with the iridescent swirling of oil and the bright crimson of fresh blood.

Fresh blood?

Juniper’s eyes widened, seeing blood drip from one of the creature’s many drills. Her eyes followed the splatters until they found the source.

Heisenberg sat in a chair, eyes dilated and chest heaving in short strained breaths. His arm rested over the nearest desk. A deep gash ran the length of his forearm, alabaster peeked through the flesh of the bone within.

The wound welled blood across the table, staining papers and dripping onto the floor. Juniper saw medical supplies haphazardly around his vicinity, where he attempted to mend himself before the shock set in.

She rushed over to him, touching his face, trying to keep panic from overtaking her.

“Heis..honey can you hear me?” She asked, “You need to breathe.”

His eyes flicked over her face, jaw tight as he huffed out of his nose. She saw blood pulse from the wound as his muscles twitched.

Scrambling to get clean gauze she soaked it in healing fluid before pressing it over the wound.

Heisenberg took a sharp intake of air, pain rippling through him.

“Hold this.” Juniper took his free hand in her own, guiding him to press the gauze over the worst of the wound.

He complied, still looking forward, almost unseeing.

She looked around the mess, not seeing what she needed. Rushing to one of the supply cabinets she found thread and a medical needle. She’d only done things like this on dead bodies, never being taught the intricacies of mending living flesh.

Juniper hoped that her lack of skill would be enough for his healing abilities to take over.

Returning to him, the pressure he’d placed on the wound slowed the bleeding slightly.

“Still with me?” She asked, moving his hand away to clean the wound.

She saw his pale eyes shift to look at her for a brief moment before returning to their ordinal position.

“This is going to hurt.” She warned, threading the needle. She tried to pull the ragged flesh back together the best she could, sinking the needle in to make the first stitch.

He groaned, moving a bit. Juniper angled herself to hold him still as she worked. With shaking hands, she kept stitching up his arm, it becoming more difficult as she neared the worst of the wound.

“B-Butter…cup?” Heisenberg’s voice wavered, shifting a bit.

“Stay still.” Her tone was warning, “I’m trying to fix you up.”

She was able to close the wound, frowning at the divot left in his arm from the loss of muscle in the area.

Juniper cleaned the area more thoroughly, dabbing more healing salve over it.

The stinging sensation sobered Heisenberg’s mind ever so slightly.

“Breathe.” Juniper instructed, finding clean gauze. When she began to wrap his arm he was able to speak a bit to her.

“What happened?” She asked.

“Ba-bastard woke up…” he managed, “…too fast, di-didn’t real-ize…”

“It’s alright.” Juniper soothed, taping down the end of the wrapping, “Can you walk.”

Heisenberg swallowed hard, unable to answer.

Juniper stood, helping him to his feet. He swayed heavily, leaning on her. She grunted, getting his arm around her shoulder for support. It was hard getting to the elevator, his feet like concrete. But she was finally able to get him back to the apartment, sitting him on the bed as she took off his necklaces and boots. His glazed eyes watched her wordlessly.

She helped him lay back, covering him up so he could come down from the shock. His good hand clutched the wrappings of his opposite arm.

Juniper sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to smooth hair from his face.

~

Heisenberg woke up in the bed, it was dark and his arm ached terribly. His memory was hazy at best, the soldat scraping his bone was the last clear thought. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d endured, but he honestly expected to wake up on the shop floor like so many times in the past.

His hand found his injured arm, fingers tracing gauze.

How the fuck had he managed that?

He tried to sit up, a painful spike jolting through his head. His mouth felt dry and a migraine was threatening him.

“Fuck.” He cursed, falling back onto the bed.

Soft hands found his face, and under the blanket of pain he didn’t realize their owner right away.

“Karl?” Came a sweet voice.

“I’m…f-fine.” He answered, blinking up into glowing green eyes. He winced as another ripple of pain wracked his brain.

“You’re a lying bastard.” Juniper’s lips pursed.

He tried to give a tight chuckle, “Tell me something I don’t know sweetheart.”

He felt her leave the bed, his mind clearing slightly.

Her finger lightly tapped him, rousing him to look. She offered him a glass of water.

“You’re dehydrated.” She said matter-of-factly.

He sat up enough to take the glass, downing it thankfully.

The liquid helped, allowing him the small mercy of thought. “Did you?” He gestured to his arm.

“Mhm.”

“Damn…thank you.”

“I cleaned a lot of the blood, but I couldn’t do much about the soldat.”

“That’s fine, I’ll toss him to the Lycans.” He shrugged. He sat up more as she settled on the bed near him. She made a sound as he ripped the gauze away from his arm. He looked over the rough stitching, “Well it’s together.”

He lifted his hand, one of the kitchen knives whizzing through the air, one of the lights flicking on.

“Hey!” Juniper’s stomach clenched when she saw him angle the tip of the knife into the stitching, “What are you doing?!”

“Shut up.” He grumbled, snapping the stitching, pulling them out with small winces. After he was done he showed her his arm. She made a small mummer of surprise.

The gash was now bright pink, in the earliest stages of scaring. It would be a bit more ragged than most of his but it was definitely healing over.

“Already?” She almost gasped, reaching out to delicately touch the new tissue.

“Ain’t my first rodeo, buttercup.” He gave her a toothy smile, “And ain’t my worse fuck up.”

“I didn’t think it would be so fast.” She admitted, meeting his eyes again.

He set the knife on the side table, “It usually is as long as it’s not too extensive. If you help it along with what you did, for example, even bad shit can heal within a day or two.”

“Like can you regrow limbs?”

“I’m not a fucking lizard!”

“If you still had the limb?”

“If you're fast enough, and get it back together right, it would probably heal.” He frowned, “I’d rather not test it….my intestines hitting the floor was the worst I’d like to deal with.”

Juniper’s eyes were the size of saucers, making Heisenberg bark with laughter.

“It was a long time ago, don’t worry about it.” He shrugged again.

“Don’t worry about it??”

“I was younger and thought my cock was big enough that I didn’t need to be careful.” He smiled, “I learned my lesson….mostly.”

“Hmmm.” She frowned.

Heisenberg eased back into the bed, his muscles still aching. He’d lost too much time with the current soldat now being a wash. Juniper watched him, knowing that look of determination that spread across his feathers.

She clung onto him.

“Rest for a bit longer.” She nuzzled into him, “You’re still healing.”

He snorted, “I don’t need rest for healing.”

“Please stay.”

“I’m behind schedule already, kitten…”

“Just a few more hours?” She begged.

He gave a deep sigh, feeling the tug of the warm bed and Juniper’s even warmer snuggles. “Just a few hours.” He pressed.

Juniper wiggled with victory, cuddling deeper into his side. He wrapped an arm around her, smiling when he felt her relax into the contact.

They settled into a much more restful sleep.

Something felt wrong the moment she woke up that morning. Heisenberg had long since gotten to work, he had to trash the old soldat and start prepping the next. But him being gone was not unusual.

Juniper went about the beginning of her day normally, trying to ignore the churning in her gut. The feeling worsened as she descended the elevator, the heat making her head swim.

As she came through the door to the workshop, the smell of organs and old blood hit her nose. It was a smell she was long since accustomed to. At least she thought she was.

Her stomach suddenly clenched and before she could react she curled forward, vomiting onto the shop floor.

Heisenberg looked up with alarm, dropping the liver back into the cadaver’s abdominal cavity.

“Shit, are you ok doll?” He asked suddenly, ripping off his soiled gloves.

Juniper’s head pounded as her body shivered with another round of vomit. Saliva dripped down her chin as she looked shakily up at Heisenberg, tears burning her eyes.

He helped her into a chair, handing her a bucket.

“What’s going on?” He questioned worriedly, putting a hand to her forehead. She wasn’t hot, no fever.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, holding the bucket to her chest, “I felt queasy when I woke up.”

“Hmm.” He frowned, “It’s probably the cadou.”

Juniper remembered the night she stayed by Heisenberg’s side when he was sick.

“What do I do?” She asked, feeling another bout of nausea wash over her.

“Wait it out.” He said frankly.

She gave him a narrow look before retching again.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly until she was able to speak again.

“Let’s get you back upstairs.” He helped her stand.

Once she was back in the apartment, Heisenberg got her a fresh bucket and a glass of water. “You take it easy ok.” He pointed to the bed. Before she could protest he placed a walkie talkie on the bedside table, “If you need anything just call.”

The rest of the day she focused on staying hydrated, the feeling washing back away like the tides of the sea. It never quite left her, however, not being a brief bout like Heisenberg was accustomed too.

It was all very puzzling to Juniper…

[fenheart87]

Tall Cappuccino

Felt good to finish something and it started the ball rolling on other WIPs that I've been neglecting. Enjoy this humorous one shot based off my mom and her best friend creating a "coffee code" to talk to about cute guys and it backfiring. Did not work as well as it does for these two though.

“Girl, you need to get over Greg-” Alya started, opening the door to the coffee shop and holding it for Marinette and a few other customers.

“His name was Fillippe.”

“Or whatever his name was and get back out there! You are so sweet and beautiful and your parents have the best pastries in Paris-”

“Are you proposing marriage to me or my family?” Marinette frowned playfully when Alya reached out to pull her ponytail.

“Hush you, my point is we need to scout for potential dates for you. We can treat it like undercover research, a much better version than those schemes from our lycee days. Oh, we can have a codename for the hot guys we see so we’re not obvious about it. So where do we want to start looking?” The reporter stepped in line, glancing at the menu with half hearted interest.

“My dreams?” Marinette scooted forward so a barista could pass through, the balance of that many drinks was an amazing feat.

“I’m just saying you need to open your horizons and take a chance. You could get any guy’s number you so much as smile at and while I’m glad you don’t use your powers for evil, you need to use them to snag a boyfriend.” “All lies, do you think the caramel mocha will have caramel or just be a poor imitation?” Marinette pondered aloud, scanning the drink specials but not impressed by anything.

“You’re so coffee obsessed… Hold on a minute, what if we made a code using coffee to scope out some guys? Then maybe you obsession for coffee will lead you to true love instead of just a heart attack!” Alya grinned at her suggestion, not in the slightest put off by the dark glare coming from the shorter woman.

“Fine, since you’re so adamant about it, you buy me coffee every time we meet up to find my ‘perfect cup of coffee’ and you have a deal.”

“See, you’re already getting into it!”

The agreement took a couple weeks before they could actually start looking as both women had jobs that kept them busy and spare time didn’t match up often. A couple weeks later saw Marinette walking into the coffee shop named The Brew and savoring the rich smells of freshly crushed coffee beans. Alya had texted her that she made it first and had ordered a large cup of the newest creation for her and to not be late if she didn’t want cold coffee. Spotting her friend’s red hair, Marinette made her way over to the table and dropped herself into her chair.

“You are a zombie before coffee, it’s kind of creepy.” Her best friend pushed forward the cappuccino topped with whipped cream and sprinkles. “Drink up, I need your brain working to remember our code or we’ll never get anywhere.”

“I told you not to over plan it and you did anyways didn’t you?” Alya nudged the drink closer until she had to pick it up to keep it from falling in her lap. “Fine, three minutes.”

“I know girl, now you enjoy that and I’m going to get you a muffin and I want a scone.”

Marinette eyed the drink in suspicion but took a sip anyway, it was mocha with chocolate chips. Sighing in relief that the sprinkles were harmless decoration, until she would get to the part where she risked inhaling them with her coffee, the designer took a few more drinks. Slowly she could feel the warm feeling spread, her mind finally kicking in gear and half of it planning out her work for the day and the other half worrying about what insanity her best friend cooked up.

“Okay, so you like cappuccinos the best and you like chocolate chip muffins. Cappuccino is like an 8-10 and muffin is 5-8, hot chocolate can be a 3-5 and water is anything less. That’s how we can judge the drinks and get a better idea on what your perfect drink is.”

“You are terrible but okay, free coffee is hard to say no to.”

The first day was a total bust, no Alya I’m sure I’m not interested in girls, and they tried two coffee shops before they had to get back to their lives. Meeting up whenever they could was nice because it brought them closer instead of being too busy to talk longer than a few short calls or messages here and there. Although Alya enjoyed sending pictures and asking for a coffee rating of random guys, to which Marinette would reply with the matching emoji and sometimes even send some artfully taken pictures back.

A random Tuesday found them back at The Brew and for once Marinette beat Alya to the coffee shop. Deciding as it was midday and not early morning, she could wait for her coffee supplier to get there before ordering, Marinette found a table. Pulling out her phone to check for any updates from her best friend, and seeing none, she pulled out her current draft sketches and set to fixing or modifying the parts that didn’t blend with the look she was going for. Every so often the bell would ding and draw her attention, even going so far as to take a picture and send it with an emoji to Alya who was still stuck at work.

“Okay, this isn’t working but why?” The designer mumbled to herself, attention broken easily as she needed a distraction and turned her gaze to the door. A mistake because the man that walked in was stunning in the subtle smokey way, ripped jeans and well loved hoodie complete with steel toed boots. After her designer side was satisfied she skipped to his face and lost her breath. Blue, blue eyes brought out by the blue tipped hair and easy smile as he waved to the baristas in greeting. Quickly she opened her phone and texted Alya a hastily typed CAPPUCCINO. In perfect but dramatic timing her best friend loved so much, Alya walked in right as she sent that text.

“Hey girl, sorry to keep you waiting. There was an issue with the main story and printing and it was a nightmare! You didn’t have to wait to get a coffee, I would’ve paid you back.” She took off her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair along with her reporter messenger bag. “Oh well, I’m here now so what do you want today?”

“That tall cappuccino.”

“You and your obsession girl I swear. Should I surprise you with the flavor?”

“Nope, I want that tall blueberry cappuccino.” Marinette tried to hint towards the cute guy who was giving his order at the counter.

“Tall blueberry cappuccio?” Alya studied her for a moment, following her eyes to the blue haired stranger. “Oh, oh, got it! Good taste girl, you sure want the blueberry cappuccino? Different from your usual tastes.”

“Were you not the one who said I need to broaden my horizons and try new things with an open mind?”

“True, well then I’m hungry so I’ll be back.” Alya joined the line and left Marinette waiting anxiously. To distract herself, she focused on her sketch that was being stubborn. A ding from her phone had her admitting defeat and putting away her sketches in the folder she carried. Turning on her phone, the designer saw a picture message from Alya titled hot cappuccino. Clicking on it, the picture loaded to show a very fine rear encased in well loved black denim which happened to be the exact same pants her tall cappuccino happened to be wearing. She was going to kill her best friend.

"They don't have any muffins but you can share my scone if you want." Alya returned to her seat, offering the scone to Marinette who declined.

“Excuse me, I overheard you mention that you were interested in the tall cappuccino with blueberry so I thought I would bring you one.” Said tall blueberry cappuccino had stopped by Marinette’s side of the table and waited with a smile, with drink in hand. Alya pursed her lips in amusement, hiding her laughter by taking a sip of coffee. The designer’s desperate look of ‘oh god why me, help!’ was missed by the stranger as his name was called for the rest of his order.

“One scone and croissant roll for Luka, who had the order for the blue caps!”

“Ah, that’s me,” He smiled at the dazed woman, setting the drink down. “I hope you enjoy the drink. It’s a favorite of mine and Joel makes it the best if you want to order it again. Have a good day ladies.”

“Alya!”

“Mm, very nice cappuccino.”

“Alya, no! You just can’t leave me like that!”

“Babe,” Alya looked around and lifted her feet to look under them, “where exactly did I go?”

“You know what I mean!” Marinette groaned and hid her face behind her hands. “I totally had no response and I was not expecting that at all. He must think I’m lame.”

“There’s always the next cappuccino or you can always reorder the blueberry.” The reporter relished in the drawn out groan from her best friend, finishing off her scone.

The pair ran into Mr. Blueberry Cappuccino a few more times over their next several outings to scope out possible dates or let Marinette vent about her failed ones. The Brew was becoming a second home and the employees were starting to remember the woman and their orders. Today they even had their favorites prepared only to find out it all had been paid for.

"What?"

"Already paid for honey, someone must think you're cute." Joel winked in a flirty way, making Marinette laugh as his boyfriend smacked his shoulder on the way by.

"Uh-huh, what makes you say that exactly?"

"Well honey, not just any man buys a pretty lady a drink. And not just any man continues to do so when his lady of interest is missing a very big clue." Joel smiled and waved to an elderly couple as they left, turning to grab some muffins for the table of six for the kids. "He's not being very subtle and I feel like you don't know when someone is into you versus just likes what he sees. So, pay attention to your drink this time and please make or break his heart."

"Whatever you say Joel, whatever you say." The designer finally took her drink back to the table where Alya was already working.

"Sorry girl, I have to edit these and figure out the order by tomorrow. Any good drinks lately?"

"Bunch of water, glad to finally get a taste of my cappuccino again. Can you believe they won't let us have anything but water? Like I get it around the fabric and materials but not even in the break room." Marinette ranted waving her hands slightly until she knocked over her cup. "Oh! Geez I am such a klutz."

"Girl, when are you going to find a good luck charm to counter all that bad luck?"

"You know that's not it!" She hurried to clean up her mess, a barista dropped a rag on the table as they passed by with a tray full of muffins. Carefully she cleaned up her minor spill and waited off her cup only to notice there was a blue smudge on the outside. Taking a closer look, it seems like smeared numbers. A ten digit number. "I think it's good luck disguised as bad luck because I need to be more creative and get out of my own head. I'll be right back!"

"What? Marinette, what the heck?" The reporter watched in concern as her best friend went up to the counter and waved Joel down to ask him a question. Said barista laughed loudly and patted a disappointed Marinette on the head and gave her a refill.

"Someone has been trying to get my attention but since you always buy my drink per our agreement, he can't pay for it so he asks Joel to leave his number on the cup. Which I've been throwing away without noticing. And he won't tell me who it is!"

"Oh? Mysterious admirer vying for your attention using the thing you love the most in this world? Well do go on." The tanner of the duo teased, smiling at the half hearted smack to her arm.

"This just means I need to come here as much as I can and catch him. Or make Joel tell me."

"Marinette?" The new voice caused her to turn around to see Juleka whom she was partnering with for her latest project.

"Hey Juleka, did everything fit okay?"

"Yeah, just like always. I thought your coffee addiction was only an early morning thing?"

"Oh no, this girl could drink twice her weight in coffee and still accept another cup." Alya butted in, laughing as Marinette turned a bright shade of red.

"Why don't you go get us refills, you're not working on your project anyway."

"Fine." The reporter sighed playfully before heading to the counter.

"Sorry, best friends are always crazy."

"No worries… So what's your favorite drink so far?"

"Blueberry cappuccino, haven't really given it a fair try though since I only got a couple loo- sips before I had to leave."

"Uh-huh, a tall blueberry cappuccino huh?" Juleka glanced towards the counter where her brother was ordering, his stupid hat covering his signature hair and shot a quick text to change their order. "Ever going to try again?"

"Maybe? I seem to have attached an admirer, Joel has been writing his number on my coffee cups."

"Yeah he likes to play cupid. Kind of like how he helped me find my strawberry frappe." The dawning look of surprise turned to embarrassment very quickly. "Also, if he doesn't man up and give you his number directly, ask me and I'll straighten him out."

"Okay?" Marinette squeaked out but she was very confused as the up and coming model sashayed to the counter. A tall man moved to let her reach for a couple cups and left him with a stern glare.

"So any idea on how you're going to grill Joel as to who your mystery guy is?" Alya inquired, resting her hip against the table.

"I have no idea. I guess il just wait until my tall blueberry cappuccino shows up again." With a sigh, Marinette began packing up her papers only to be stopped by a cup sitting directly in the middle of her papers. A large drink, the blue swirls and aroma of their dark roast cappuccino tickled her senses.

"Hey so Joel told me I should uh man up so to speak and introduce myself." The designer's gaze followed the cup to the hand holding the cup, up an arm and right into the mystery guy's eyes. Who happened to be her tall cappuccino. "I uh must confess I knew about the whole code thing from the first day and I tried to have Joel help me out by putting my number on your cups but since I never got a text or call, I figured either you weren't interested or hadn't realized."

"Do you know how small he writes? It's impossible to read tiny alien chicken scratch."

"Yeah he did that on purpose. Sorry about that but I'd still like to get to know you, if you're still interested in a certain tall blueberry cappuccino?"

"Cappuccino is my favorite."

"Well Luka is your top favorite then."

"Good, Marinette is yours."

[thiswasinevitableid]

11. Centaur Indruck (maybe specifically Duck) rating up to you

Here you go! I went with SFW, and a western theme just for fun.

It’s only May, but the desert air is hot and dry, will only get more so as the summer spreads across the mountains. The sun drives Duck to the stream running down the hill, it’s banks shaded by cottonwoods. Pa Newton sent him in search of flowers for the table; it’s Ma Newton’s birthday, and her husband is determined to make it perfect. 

“I only get so much time away from the mines, best make the most of it.”

Duck knows just what to pick. Lupines and Daisies will make the perfect bouquet. He spies a clump of daisies, lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to crush too many as he sits. There’s a scuff of rock as grey-brown dust lands on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting a jackrabbit or maybe even a deer, and finds a human staring down at him. 

The boy must be about his age, his pale hair falling about a face that’s as skinny as the rest of him. His clothes look fancy, which is at odds with the tear in the knee and smudges on his cheeks. Brown eyes are watery as they stare back at Duck, and he suspects his hands are over his mouth because he was crying and didn’t want Duck to hear him. 

“Uh, howdy.” He waves. Instead of waving back, the boy seems more alarmed. 

Maybe he’s never seen a centaur before?

Duck tries again, “You lost? I’m goin back up to town real soon, and if I can’t help you, my folks can.”

The boy sniffs, “I’m not lost. I’m hiding.”

“From what?” Duck gathers up his daisies, spots lupine near the rock where the boy is perching. 

“Other boys in town. I hate it here, hate how hard it is to breathe, hate the dust, hate how there’s odd things like centaurs and cactus cats out here-”

“Hey!”

The boy winces so intensely Duck regrets yelling, “Apologies. I just, I wish we’d never left the city.”

That explains the clothes. Duck, at eleven years old, knows very little about the town economy. But he knows that while the silver is found in the mines around his home, the money runs down hill to Carson City.

“How come you did?”

“Father got a new job at the bank. Why are you here?” He cocks his head. 

“‘Cause my family’s lived in these parts for six generations.”

“No, I meant by the water.”

“Oh. Uh, pickin flowers for my mama.”

“Don’t let the other boys see you. If they broke my glasses for drawing flowers, I don’t think they’ll be too kind to you.”

Duck shrugs, “I ain’t scared of them. And there ain’t nothin wrong with drawin flowers.” Bouquet finished, he stands, the boy’s eyes widening as he registers the differences in their shapes. 

“You wanna walk up the hill with me?”

“Yes, please.” 

As the trek back to the dusty streets of Virginia City, he learns the human is called Indrid, and that he’s much more talkative than his initial reticence implied. They’re mid discussion of the caterpillars Indrid is raising when they reach a fine, three story house. Indrid bids Duck good afternoon. Duck asks him to wait, takes a lupine from the bouquet, and tucks it safely into the buttonhole on his jacket. 

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

“Want some?” Duck holds out a biscuit from his lunch pail. Indrid takes it, scarfing it down in one go.

“Hungry?” Duck teases, sipping from his canteen. 

“Enough to eat a horse.” Indrid grins as his friend clutches his sides, laughing. He’d used the turn of phrase accidentally two weeks ago, then tried to cover it with a joke about only if the horse was willing, which only made his friend guffaw and wheeze harder. Now, whenever one of them needs to crack the other up, they mention eating horses.

They’re fourteen, and have spent the better part of the summer working on the Newton Ranch. Duck’s father, after a very close call in the silver mines, decided to extend his time above ground by running an egg and dairy supply for the town. Indrid convinced his father that it was good for a young man to earn a living with his hands during his youth, as it would make him strong and healthy. Mr. Cold, with a little assurance from Mrs. Newton that she would make sure the boys didn’t loaf about, agreed.Mrs. Newton is a woman of her word. Here he is wind-burnt and tan, sweat running down his back and callouses forming on his hands. 

He’d do double the work if it meant staying near Duck. Duck’s parents seem to suspect this, and some combination of them wanting their son to be happy and wanting to earn the good graces of a wealthy family leads them to give the boys time to rest or wander about the farm after dinner before sending Indrid on his way. 

It’s during one such evening circuit, on the far edge of the property, that Indrid finds a chipmunk burrow with his foot. The pain in his ankle sends him to the ground. 

“Ow.”

“Shit. Can you stand at all?”

Indrid tries it and sits right back down, “No. I guess we’ll have to go very, very slow on the way back so I can hobble, and pray another hole doesn’t take out my left foot as well.”

Duck flicks his tail, “I mean, if you wanna take all night, sure. But, uh, what if I give you a ride?”

Indrid blinks at him in the twilight. Riding a centaur is Not Done; the centaurs find it insulting, and humans view it as scandalous. 

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise, and I’ll go slow.”

He nods and the centaur kneels, the human clambering awkwardly onto his back. 

“Duck? Where do I put my hands?”

“Huh. Around my shoulders, maybe? Yeah, that don’t mess up my balance none.”

Indrid presses himself to Duck’s back, marveling at the strength in the muscles moving beneath him.

“You know” he murmurs into Duck’s hair, “I’m awfully tempted to say giddyup or some such nonsense.”

“You do and I’ll buck you off and leave you for the coyotes.”

“You can buck me anytime.”

Duck calls his bluff by giving the world’s smallest buck. Indrid yelps, then cackles into his shoulders as Duck trots forward, the two of them laughing into the desert night. 

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

“Blasted mosquitos” Indrid waves his sketchbook in the summer air. At sixteen, he’s taken to wearing red spectacles and black clothing. This style, combined with the sharp angles of his face, leads more than a few people in town to say he looks sinister. 

Duck thinks he’s dashing. Not that he spends much time looking, not at all. Indrid is such a constant in his life that he hardly notices the changes as they age. Except when Indrid smiles at him in a secretive way or when, as he did yesterday, he strips down to nothing for a swim in the river. 

“Maybe they’re mad you ain’t drawin them.” Duck reaches into the cool water, picking up several stones just right for skipping. 

“But I have. I used my magnifying glass to make a detailed sketch of one last week.”

“Jesus, ‘Drid, is there anythin you ain’t drawn at this point?” The stone skips five times

“Well….I haven’t drawn you.”

“You’ve drawn me plenty.” Six skips this time, not bad.

“I mean in the, ah, traditional sense.”

Ker-plunk

The stone sinks in one as Duck looks over at his friend. 

“You already have your shirt off. Even with the wrap gone, I, ah, I couldn’t see, that is, only if you want to.” He sighs, “I’m not expressing this well. What I mean is that you have the finest form of any human or centaur I know. I would like to capture it, try to do it justice. If, if you’ll let me?”

Duck stands, grabs the strap of the wrap covering his lower, “You’re hard to say no to, ‘Drid.”

“You can if you...need...to.” Indrid follows the fabrics path to the ground, then fixes his eyes on Duck as he lowers himself into a comfortable position. 

“This good?”

“Extremely.” The human’s gaze fights to stay clinical as it scans him, rough outlines of his body forming on the paper. Soon, Indrid is engrossed in the illustration, though whenever they lock eyes or he glances at Duck’s chest or hindquarters, he goes pink. 

Duck whistles, tracks the songbirds hopping from tree to tree. His friend doffs his jacket, rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up as sunbeams scatter through the trees.

“You really are handsome.” Indrid murmurs, “you know that, right?”

“Heard as much from folks now and then. But you sayin’ it is a, uh, interestin development. Almost like you’re tryin to tell me somethin.” His voice catches between teasing and earnest, afraid moving too far one way or the other will scare his friend away.

“I...I need to get closer, to capture some details.” He slides off the rock to sit on his knees near Duck’s chest. The half-finished drawing peeks out from the paper, it’s perspective too far away for Indrid’s current examination to be of any use to it. 

“What details are you hopin’ to capture?” Duck pushes pale hair out of Indrid’s eyes.

“I, ah, the dapples just here, and this line, oh to hell with it.” He lunges into a kiss, so eager he nearly knocks Duck sideways. The centaur snickers, cups his face as ink-stained fingers thread into his hair. Indrid licks into his mouth, messy and unpracticed. Duck holds him there tames the frantic exploration down to something more refined but no less hungry. By the time they separate, Indrid’s face is bright red and Duck’s lips are sore. 

“‘Drid?” He brushes their noses together, runs his palms soothingly up and down a rumpled white shirt. 

“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Indrid sighs, curling closer in spite of the heat. Holding him like this, able to inhale his sweat and aftershave and feel his heartbeat, Duck understands there’s no going back. There is no pretending not to know, not to see the way Indrid looks at him. Which is fine by Duck; he loves Indrid Cold, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

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

Duck is twenty years old when he learns that joy and heartbreak can exist in one body without ripping it apart. This is a pity, since he’d prefer bifurcation to the sorrow on Indrid’s face. 

“I’m sorry, Duck. I have to stay here and take over the bank, even though following you west is all I want to do.”

Two months ago, a friendly man stopped while Duck was tending the garden outside city hall and chatted with him for the better part of an hour as the centaur worked. The man turned out to be a millionaire with a massive estate mid-way up the California coast, including parts of a forest he wished to maintain but keep wild. He offered Duck the role of head gardener and arborist, and the contract was signed a week ago. The centaur assumed, from his active encouragement and celebration, that Indrid was coming with him on this once-in-a-lifetime chance. 

“I’ll send a wire, tell ‘em I gotta back out.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Seems to me you don’t get a say in that.” 

“Duck, please” Indrid sets his left hand on his shoulder, right clenched at his side, “please do not cast your future aside on my account. Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean you do.”

“Why do you have to stay at all?”

“I’ve been groomed to take my fathers’ place for years. I’m not sure there’s a way out of that, not one that I can see. Sometimes, fate is not in our favor.”

“Fuck fate.” He stops his front hoof.

“Here, you might need this out in California” Indrid lifts his fist, intending to give what it contains back to Duck, as the centaur placed the item there not even five minutes ago. 

Duck stops his hand, wraps his own around it, “No. I know the man for me is right here.”

“As do I” Indrids voice is tight. When his face drops against Duck’s chest, it’s damp with tears.

“Then he better write to me to let me know how he’s gettin on. And if he” Duck swallows around the painful possibility in his throat, “if he ever changes his mind, all he’s gotta do is send it back to me in a letter.”

Indrid slips his hand into his pants pocket, “Understood.”

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

“Duck!” Leo, one of Mr. Greenbanks two bodyguards, hails Duck from the mansions’ patio, “come on in a second, someone Mr. G wants you to meet.”

The centaur wipes his hands and trots briskly up the path to the house, droplets of fog strung through his hair. Most days he likes the peace and quiet of his work, but today he’s not in a contemplative mood; Indrid’s last letter was two weeks ago, when they usually come once a week if not more. Illness doesn’t stop him, he simply asks a friend in town to take down and post the letters. 

Once he’s certain he won’t track mud into the house, Duck makes his way towards the voices in the parlor. He must be more heartsick than usual today, because that voice sounds like-

“Ah, Duck, here you are. This is Mr. Indrid Cold, a talented young artist who will be illustrating my various scientific writings. And,” Mr. Greenbank winks, “will have the honor of being in charge of any artistic endeavors at the Academy of Sciences.”

Indrid extends his hand. Duck kisses it out of habit, notes his employers' perplexed expression an instant too late. 

“It’s a, uh, an old, uh, centaur custom--no, fuck, it’s-”

“We are well known to each other.” Indrid smiles his most genteel smile.

“Splendid! I’m hoping to draw up extensive records of my arboretum, so it’s good you two get along.”

“Indeed.” Indrid tips his head, then turns his attention away from Duck, “where would you like me to unpack my things?”

Duck leaves them to their logistics, stunned. Indrid not only being here, but acting distant after six months apart raises so many questions that he wants to lay down in the flowerbeds and holler until someone answers them. 

He busies himself among forest wildflowers instead, wondering why Indrid never mentioned he was applying for that position. 

“I hope this explains the gap in my communication.” Indrid, shivering near a tree-trunk, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his glasses, “I didn’t want to tell you my plans for fear they’d fall through and make you all the more disappointed. Also, the journey here was rather chaotic due to an attempted train robbery. All that is to say I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, you did” Duck sets down his tools, “but it was so fuckin worth it.” He yanks the human into an embrace, kisses him until his glasses are all askew. Indrid moans, slipping his fingers under the hem of his work shirt to stroke the band where skin meets fur. 

“What happened to fate?” Duck nips his jaw.

“As someone I know so eloquently put it: fuck fate.”

“Smart fella.”

“He is.” Indrid pulls back, mapping Ducks’ body with his hands, “And I also have something for him.” The human tucks a sprig of Lupines-- weighed down with a silver engagement ring--into Duck’s shirt pocket.

“You said sending it with a letter meant the end of things. By that same token, delivering it in person signals their beginning, yes?”

“Yeah.” Duck kisses him, soft as the lifting fog, “guess we better tell Mr. Greenbank he can just let you stay in my cottage.”

“Indeed. May I, ah, see this lovely abode?”

“Right this way. You want me to give you a ride.”

Indrid shakes his head, simply takes Duck’s hand and falls into step beside him, “No. I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for, ah, riding later. After all, I’m here to stay.

[spectral-musette]

what materials do you use for your drawings?

Hi anon!  It’s been a while I think since I’ve answered this type of question, but I don’t think much has changed. I’ll ramble about art supplies here under the cut. Disclaimer that these are probably not the absolute best supplies available, but they’re what I’m comfortable with or what I can easily find. Sometimes inexpensive to moderately priced art supplies are better for me mentally because I feel less anxious about using them up. Please don’t let that hold you back from using Nice Things if your brain isn’t Like That.

I like Strathmore Toned Tan paper (but when I started using toned paper in... 2013?ish? I was drawing on pieces of brown paper shopping bags). Brown or grey cardstock can also work, but I don’t think it erases quite as cleanly as the Strathmore paper and can tend to pick up oil from your hands more. I also like the portability of the wire-bound Strathmore sketchbook, and it lays nicely flat in the scanner (most of the time).

I draw with 2HB graphite pencils (Dixon Ticonderoga, but I doubt the specific kind makes that much of a difference). Really nothing fancy, I just find them with office/school supplies in packs of many. I like an electric sharpener to get a nice sharp point. (There are different levels of soft/hard graphite drawing pencils you might prefer though!)

For highlights, I use Prismacolor white pencils (PC938). I use a small manual sharpener for these for a blunter point and to use up less pencil when I sharpen. The one downside of these is that the lead (I know it’s not actually lead, like, Pb, but I can’t think of what else to call the inside of a colored pencil) can tend to break when sharpening, but I don’t think that’s entirely to do with how one sharpens and just relates to how they’ve been handled - being dropped on a hard surface might crack the lead inside?. I have also used General’s white charcoal, which is softer, but the Prismacolor smudges less.

I like high-polymer eraser caps. I’m sure people swear by other erasers (like a kneaded rubber), but I like having something I can shove on the end of my pencil so I don’t lose track of it. I also like the shape and the stiffness of the caps. I’m pretty sure I have an erasing shield somewhere but I literally never use it - lines that get erased as collateral damage evidently just deserved it? Regardless of eraser type, the white pencils do not erase very well.

Spray fixative helps keep your drawings from smudging, especially if you’re using a sketchbook or otherwise storing them in a stack (though I still just use one side of the page, but that’s also so I can remove drawings if I want to). A can of fixative should last you a good while, 2+ years at the rate that I draw. I have a can of Krylon workable fixative at the moment which is working out okay. I like the Prismacolor product but it’s been tough to find lately. I object to the Grumbacher fixative because it smells AWFUL, though it works fine too. Definitely put down scrap paper (newspaper, etc.) before you spray so you can get any edges of the drawing without coating the surrounding surface in fixative (RIP my desk).

It can be helpful to have a ruler and/or a T-square around.

For watercolors, I use a variety of cold-press watercolor paper (the Canson XL pads have a nice texture, and I like the Artist’s Loft Level 2 watercolor pad from Michael’s). I know serious watercolor artists often swear by Arches paper, but I find it intimidating and stick with more inexpensive paper so I don’t get too nervous to use it.

You’ll want a plastic palette for mixing colors, up to you if you prefer the rounded depressions or the shallow rectangular ones, or a combo.

I’m in a watercolor pan phase, rather than tube paints. I have a cheap set (I think also Artist’s Loft brand) that is my current go-to because it has a portrait pink pan (and I can just use the lid as the mixing palette). I do get frustrated with the limits to how saturated I can get certain colors with it, though. I bought a Sakura sketch box which I think is better quality and has more vivid tones, but I have to mix way more colors to get skintones, which I haven’t fully gotten the hang of yet.

I used to use dilute Liquitex acrylics for painting, and they did probably saturate more because of the way the paint binds to the paper, but that’s a mixed blessing -  they’re less forgiving if you make a mistake. With watercolor you can blot and rinse off with a clean wet brush (to a certain extent) if paint gets somewhere that you don’t want it on the paper, but acrylic stains way more. Also, when your watercolor paint dries on your palette, you can just add more water and continue to paint with your customized color. Acrylics dry on your palette as a film which does not redissolve well (thanks to the plastic medium) and is a certified pain in the ass to scrape off the palette. They also stain your clothes, like, forever.  I swear I have a shirt with a spot of blue acrylic paint on it from the 90′s.

My favorite watercolor brush is an angled shader, 1/4″ or 3/8″. In theory I have a liner and a spotter for detail work but in practice I just use the sharp tip of the shader like a goblin. I have experimented a little with water brushes; mostly I like the Pentel Aquash for monochromatic ink washes.

That’s probably already way more words than you wanted to read, so I’m going to stop myself here. Good luck and happy drawing and painting!

[staylavendertea]

ya head canons cause my brain won’t leave me alone

billy is low key a skater boy - he skateboards 🛹🛹 converse high tops, ripped black jeans with bandaids on his knees, and oversized stolen boyfriend jean jackets rolled sleeves god yes he skates 🛹🛹 he and tommy will team up just to be bastards for like ten minutes and do that synchronized talking just to both annoy and creep the hell out of eli and kate

tommy is a rollerskater - and roller blades - the twins are skaters, he totally would have been a roller derby kid i tell you, also quoting everything he hears on the internet “what are you doing out here with all that ass double checked up on a thursday afternoon hella ass” “tommy that’s just a fat pigeon stOP” and even tho he did have a hard time for a while to open up to everyone and be emotional in front of the people he loves, with the help of everyone, he’s slowly learning he can confine in people and have relationships and bonds and that enough is to make me cry at night, i love thomas shepherd and his character so much

kate is always hung over, even when she isn’t - sunglasses on, looking like every day is too much for her head to handle especially with all these dumbass clumsy boys she gotta deal with, just let her chill with cassie at lakes and look at fireflies, but that lake better have good service so she can text billy the first scoop on that celebrity goosip - they’ve been following this shit for weeks, phone service don’t let her down now

teddy is an artist, sketching like always ya know, usually billy ends up unconsciously being most of the drawings, but his favorites to use is watercolor, pretty flat colors and making his friends look all blushy in drawings, the group doesn’t believe him when he says that they’re all cute so he’s made it his life goal to keep complimenting him cause he’s the nicest boy alive - a stranger calls bee cute, teddy will nod and agree because truetrue, but will send a semi threatening death glare

nate is like the teenager that will go on walks by himself and end up stumbling upon abandoned and creepy places and then either like billy/eli/or cassie ends up getting a call at one in the morning because he got either kinda lost or kinda stuck and the gang needs to come get him - he and eli probably have matching jojo clothing merch but eli is a repressed nerd so rip nate who just wants to have matching jojo sweatpants when they go work out together

eli may or may not have done the jojo pose trend of anime characters in the studio he does his boxing and martial arts, katie and cassie may or may not both of saved the video, eli is actually a total repressed nerd but won’t admit it and tommy can totally see it, nate can also see it, why do you think these three argue so much - nate just wants to be anime buddies i tell you - eli is someone who feels very strongly about injustice and gets emotional when all his friends back him up when he speaks out about it - please i need to see eli bradley in more comic books, give him and tommy the fame they deserve

cassie went to the broug and got herself some frogs - not only do i not know if i’m spelling that right or what it is, i just saw the tik tok and the cassie energy was too strong, she likes froggies and makes those tiny moss environments in jars and she likes to chill in nature and steal nate’s flannels and when her, katie, and billy are hanging out, cassie and billy will be gushing about boyfriends ya know with katie making gagging noises in the background

david is that dude that can just read people but is also like really chill about it “like yeah i totally just did a mental psychoanalysis on you just by who your kins are, but i know that you get kinda guarded about it so i won’t say anything because i love and respect you” i love david a lot okay, - he’s also resident technology please make work or i need you to look at this video or photo and prove this shit guy - he’s fixed poor nate has somehow flung this thing across the room like four times now phone on more occasions then he can count but he’s pretty chill about it

noh-varr is a non binary asexual dork that likes aliens and video games, he has a jacket that’s green and has a human getting picked up by a ufo that only says “fuck this. i’m out.” 🛸🛸 and him and katie have given poor mom of the group teddy a heart attack on more than one occasion being deadass serious about storming area 51

america has got her hat on backwards and is ready to fucking party and to mess around with her friends, the best part of her day is to get stuck in abandoned places and flirt with katie, her and noh varr go randonauting like every other day and get so lost, then her and the chaotic twins team up to be mischievous little bastards, her and teddy did pride and racial injustice movement graffiti that one time and she really just here to be the most badass around and protect their group and also like the whole world

(an extra billy one cause i relate to him on an emotional level)

billy is a film kid, like in a non powers au, he’s the dude that literally does all film related classes and is gonna be a film major and the best sfx make up artist, knows all movies/quotes/and endings - he’s the kid that knows the sfx stuff too well, he will liquid latex and cotton ball zombie your ass up if you let him to - you can’t tell me that his favorite genre of movies is horror monster and aliens, but also those pretty aesthetic romance ones that take place in country side france in small towns

these dorks also totally go to abandoned places for adventures (most of them stumbled accidentally upon by nate) and just have fun ya know

these are the most brain forth ones atm, i definitely have more, and will be adding most of these to the young avengers fics i’m working on, but please do add your own !! these dork teens are currently my everything

[phoenotopia]

2020 July Update

Things have gone slowly... again.

The good news is that the game is now submitted to the console "authority" and it's entirely off my hands. Once it gets through the console "checking" process, it can get a release date and we can sprint towards release. Until then, it'd be at least a month's wait or more until I hear anything. Understandably, their checking process is impacted by Corona, so wait times are increased.

On my end, I was also slow to submit the game. I submitted it late late June, since I ended up spending 7 weeks fixing bugs (and not 2-3 weeks like I estimated in the last blog post). There were just SO many bugs - now squished, thankfully. Since this is a blog post, I'll talk about what kind of bugs I've been fixing.

The other thing that slowed down the submission process was simply due to unfamiliarity with how these submissions proceed. There were pages and pages of stuff to read, guidelines to follow, and legalese to wade through. It really made me wish I had a publisher to guide me through the process. But I was able to clear it with a couple days work. I had an impression that the submission process went like A->B->C->D, with no room for concurrency. Turns out I could have done steps B & C at the same time and sped things up by 2 weeks... So that's that. I'm taking that as a lesson for next time.

The Console Revealed

What is this console that I talk about so stealthily? So that this blog update isn't completely unexciting, I'll reveal which console I've been working on until now. Drumroll please!

It's Switch!

We actually got the Switch dev kit in late 2017. From my understanding, around this time in the USA, the Switch kit was quite hard to get for indies as it was just starting out and high in demand. So I was surprised that my application got approved. I didn't know it then, but the game would still need a few more years of development...

Tweaking performance and fixing bugs

Here you can see my "expert" playtest setup. Since the Switch is more powerful while docked, I needed to playtest it in handheld mode, so I could catch and profile any problem areas where the framerate was unsteady. The most common thing that caused framerate drops were areas that went overboard with lighting. For these areas, I'd tweak or swap out the lights with alternatives that looked similar while also being less computationally intensive. Maintaining 60 FPS is a must!

An old camera (Nikon D3100) trained at the screen recorded my playthrough and would let me rewind to any moment a bug occurred. It could only record in 10 minute chunks, so I'd have to repeatedly repress the record button. On the plus side, because it's so old the movie file sizes were small and convenient.

The number one bug that I tracked and fixed in the past two months was what I dub the "Gear Ring De-equip" bug. The Gear Ring functions as customizable shortcut keys for the player to map items and tools (see an old video demonstration HERE). Through regular use of the inventory, somehow the equipped items on the Gear Ring would be de-equipped. It was an elusive bug since the de-equip event would happen very quietly and you would only suspect something had gone wrong much later. By then, the trail had gone cold and you weren't sure if a de-equip had actually occurred or if the player had simply de-equipped the item themselves. Two other playtesters noted that something left the Gear Ring in their playthrough, but I dismissed them. "Are you sure you didn't just de-equip it yourself?" It was a bug that bred mistrust and discord. I didn't truly believe it until it happened to me...

Luckily, with the camera setup, I was finally able to track it. In the literal 67th video, I caught a live instance of the bug occurring. After which, it was all too easy to recreate the exact same inventory and gear ring setup and replicate it.

(With this exact item layout, combine the 2nd item with the 14th item... and viola! Gear Ring de-equip!)

After fixing this bug, I then proceeded to fix it 5 more times. Every time I fixed it, it would later reappear through a different mechanism. 

Why do bugs like this happen? Underneath, there are two lists of items. Tools on the right and items on the left. Items can occur multiple times because they're consumable. Both lists start counting their indexes with the value 0. However, both items and tools co-exist on the gear ring. So to uniquely identify an entry you need both the item ID and the data index. Failure to check both data types resulted in bugs like the Gear Ring de-equip. Now throw in a bunch of item operations that can confuse the system. You can split items, combine items, swap items, or discard items. The more freedom you allow, the more ways there are for the system to trip up.

If you didn't get all that, that's alright. It was needlessly complicated. Imagine doing more and better and with less code and less bugs! Such a thing is possible if you start with the right design. I'm definitely taking notes here on how to design inventory systems for next time. In the meanwhile, I'm very confident I've squished all inventory related bugs.

Other bugs squashed and features implemented in the past 2 months include the end game arts not unlocking properly, collection percentages climbing beyond 100, stray doors floating in the sky, low HP sfx blaring when loading different files, balance tweaks on bosses, a max HP display when the menu is open - too many to count really! It was only after I fixed them all that I was confident enough to move forward with submitting the game. I apologize for the delay this will cause!

PC version back in progress

You may recall in the March 2020 update I talk about how in pursuing the Switch version, I unwittingly ruined the PC version. Well, since the game is "done" now and I'm waiting for it to go through the checking process, I've started working to reclaim the PC version.

And there is some good news to report. The PC version can compile again! Of course, it will need to have some work done, since it was late 2017 when I last had a functioning PC build. 

The opening menu is broken, the underlying save file system needs to be updated, and the controls... oh Lord, the controls. Controls were probably the #1 factor in pushing me to pursue a console version first. There are just so many controller options. Even just the usual suspects are numerous: Xbox, Nintendo, Sony, Logitech, Hori, 8Bitdo, Steam...

One of the number one complaints received regarding the flash game (which was keyboard primarily) was that I didn't allow controller rebinding to start. It was then that I learned of the vast array of different keyboard types.

(Ever heard of an Azerty keyboard?)

I shan't make the same mistake twice! One of the things I'll definitely tackle is the Right/Left face button feud when it comes to which should one should be 'confirm' and which one is 'cancel'. I want to allow the player to choose which is their "YES" and "NO" preference and allow that to overlap other actions like Attack or Jump.

Even after control bindings are taken care of, some things just won't translate well. The right control stick is currently used to access the gear ring and for fishing. Keyboards have no right stick. Aiming the crossbow with a full 360 degrees of range is done with the left control stick - if keyboard only, would the crossbow simply be locked to the 8 cardinal directions? What about those tutorial prompts with button graphics (e.g. "Press 'B' to Jump"). If using the playstation controller, it'd need to be the CROSS symbol. How many button graphics are we gonna load into the text module? What if the player, mid-playthrough, decides to swap out controllers? Indeed, there are many issues to tackle where controls are concerned...

Perhaps I'm overthinking it because even some AAA games get this wrong (Dark Souls has 'B' as 'Yes' on Switch, and it's not remappable, which I find quite annoying). I've seen games on consoles where the controls wouldn't mention the console's controller at all but instead mention a mouse and keyboard. Or, if you remapped the controls, the tutorial prompts still showed the old control bindings, making for a confusing experience. I definitely want to do the controls justice, so this will take some time.

Phoenotopia DISCORD Channels

Ryan and Firana have been running a Phoenotopia discord since late 2017, which I promoted on this blog once. It's been a couple years and it turns out that the old discord link I promoted expired. It's long overdue, but their channel could use another shoutout. Here's their channel : https://discord.gg/cnjrYST

Also, Khalid recently reached out to me about creating a Phoenotopia discord as well. I see no reason why we can't have 2 or more discords, so he has created that one with my blessing as well. You can find his discord here : https://discord.gg/cfnsCwy

I personally don't use Discords, since I'm very busy and there's too much new tech to keep up with. I hear there's a Tik Tok now? Should I create a Tik Tok for Phoenotopia? Hmmm...

Anyway, if you'd like to chat with other people who are similarly enthused for Phoenotopia, do check them out!

Fan Arts

We have five new fanart submissions this time around from regulars and new alike.

Cody G. returns with this pair of sketches of Gail. One seeks to answer the question, "how is Gail so strong?" Cody's answer is that under her sleeves she's actually really buff! This might be the most ripped rendition of Gail yet. Also, in the right drawing, the letter 'E' kinda melds with her bat, making it look like a keyblade!

What if Gale was a Shrek character? A new artist, Samu Kajin, from tumblr answers that question with a rendition of Gail sporting ogre style antennae. Samu Kajin says she can be called "Gaek" or "Shrale". I like the poncho!

Shafiyahh returns with a pretty portrait of Gail. Unlike their previous digital pieces, this one was made with color pencils! I like how her hair blends pink and purple colors together, and this pattern is also present in the eyes. Reminds me of a certain character. And the eyes are so sparkly despite using color pencils! Major props!

Negativus Core also returns with this relevant image of Gail, masked and running, presumably from Corona. It gave me quite a chuckle! I like the angle and tilt of this run pose because you can see the sole of her foot - that's how you know she's at full sprint! A skillful blur localized to her left foot show's just the right amount of motion. Gotta love the robot's expression too!

A rare 3D art has emerged. Dany Q crafted this adorable figure of Gail that is as cute as a button! I like how well it translates the pixel character over to 3D, capturing the 3 stitches on her shirt and even catching her stray strand of hair. It kinda reminds me of a Wallace and Gromit character, so I can picture it moving and animating in that unique claymation style.

Next Time

I'm ~80% confident we can clear the Switch console checking process and drop the trailer with a release date before the next blog post. But once again, if things go slowly, you'll hear from us in 2 months...

[dakotacrisis]

Deal’s End

Marinette is working on an occult design for Juleka when a stray dodgeball hits her in the face. She bleeds all over her design and through this accidentally summons the demon whose sigil she had been sketching. The demon now cannot leave until a deal has been struck. Unfortunately for both of them Marinette isn’t ready to give up her soul that easily.

I have no self control! Got this idea after seeing a one-time-i-dreamt post about accidentally summoning a demon by drawing pentagrams. There are going to be more chapters of this. Nothing too long, right now I have it plotted out at about twelve so it should go by pretty quickly. Also there are no kwamis or powers in this Felinette AU. Happy reading!

(Read on AO3)

---

There are some deals that should never be struck. No matter how tempting they sound. It can only end up hurting you. There was a saying, if it sounds too good to be true then it is. It was this frame of mind that Marinette held. She would admit she was an optimist but she never once pretended that her dreams could come true with a single wish. Anything in this life, she would have to work for and earn.

Marinette’s dream was to one day grow up to be a famous fashion designer. At fifteen though it was still only a dream but she worked to build her skills and name as much as she could. Taking on commissions and such were just one way hone her abilities. And hopefully one day she would see the fruits of her labor.

At the moment Marinette sat off to the side of the open courtyard where her classmates were playing dodgeball. She was sitting out due to a twisted ankle she incurred running to get to class on time after sleeping in. While she did like a good game she was more than content to sit off to the side and work on a commission for her friend Juleka.

Juleka had always been a more gothic personality and Marinette had known it was only a matter of time until she came to her for something occult-ish. The design was nothing major. A couple patches that Juleka could put on her bag with satanic looking sigils and pentagrams and stuff on them. Personally Marinette steered clear of occult stuff. She liked the aesthetic but the actual practice gave her the heebie jeebies. Oh you’re going to this abandoned asylum and where a bunch of people died and playing with a ouija board? Hard pass!

Right now Marinette was trying to sketch the sigil Juleka gave her in her notebook. Different demons had different sigils and Juleka wanted one that wasn’t hugely known like Lucifer or Leviathan. It was either smart thinking or ‘I liked this demon before you’ flexing.

And done! The sigil kinda looked like an abstract butterfly now that Marinette finalized it. Now she just had to work this design onto a patch and--

“Marinette!” Someone shouted.

Marinette looked up just in time to see that bright red rubber ball flying straight at her. She can only blink before it smacks her right in the face with a resounding P’TANG! Or maybe that’s what the noise was. All Marinette could hear was the ringing in her ears as her brain tried to catch up with the hit it just took.

“Holy crap! Marinette, are you alright?” Her friend Alya ran over to check on her. “Kim! What the hell was that?”

“Sorry! I was aiming at Alix but it missed and...oh shit, your nose is bleeding.”

“It is?” Marinette touched her nose and winced. A little smear of blood rubbed off on her hand. She stared down at her notebook and groaned when she saw the splattering of blood on the page. “Perfect.” She ripped the ruined page out and used it stunt the flow of blood.

“Do you need to go to the nurse?” Alya asked, helping Marinette to her feet.

“No, I think I just need to clean up.” Marinette started limping towards the bathroom. “If I see it bruising I’ll head to the nurse.”

The bell for the next class rung and Marinette told Alya to let Ms. Bustier know she was going to be late.

With that Marinette walked into the bathroom and dropped the paper in the trash. She grabbed a couple paper towels to wipe the blood off. The bleeding had been short lived but god did her face hurt. She would probably end up down at the nurse for an ice pack if nothing else. First her ankle now her nose, what else could she hurt before fourth period?

She bent closer to the sink to wash the last of the blood away. When she came back up to dry her face she noticed someone in the mirror behind her. She gave a started yelp and turned around to see who was there.

At first her brain tried to say it was Adrien but the boy standing behind her but the sharp red suit told her different. “Uh hi?” Marinette grabbed a paper towel to wipe her face, “You’re in the girl’s restroom.”

“So it seems.” the boy nodded. The guy was the definition of well-groomed. Perfectly styled blonde hair, not a crease in his clothes, clear skin, and polished shoes. He looked around her age, maybe a little older it was hard to tell. He had one of those faces. And currently is was fixed in a bored expression as he calmly regarded the alarmed girl in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” Marinette asked.

“You summoned me.” Red suit boy replied.

“No. I didn’t ask for anyone.” Marinette started to inch towards the door. “And if I was going to ask for help I would have gotten one of my friends, not...whoever you are.”

“Let me be more clear.” Red suit boy pulled out a wad of paper that Marinette hadn’t seen him holding before. He unfurled it to show the paper Marinette had ripped out of her sketch book and now covered in her blood. “You see this mark you drew here? That’s my mark. See the blood washed all over it? That’s your blood. Ergo, you summoned me.”

The pieces started to fit together but Marinette wasn’t liking the picture. “Are you trying to tell me that you are some kind of demon that I summoned by having a nosebleed on my sketch book?”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

“Nope.” She shook her head, “I think I have a concussion. Yes. That blow to the head created you and I should be getting to the nurse.”

Marinette quickly rushed out of the restroom and started making her way to the nurse. She was down the hall towards the nurse’s station when she saw red suit demon boy in front of her again. “But--” she pointed back towards the restroom, “But you were--how did--?”

“I would really like if you would stop trying to rationalize me away and accept what you have done.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Obviously,” he gestured to himself, “you did. Or else I wouldn’t be here.”

“I am in too much pain to be dealing with this.” Marinette turned to go back to class. She needed an ice pack but she didn’t want to get closer to the literal demon at the other end of the hall. “Go away and leave me alone!”

He spawned right in front of her again causing her to quickly back up to avoid running into him. That same bored expression lingered on his face. “I’m not leaving.”

“Why not? I didn’t mean to summon you. I cannot believe that something like this is even happening. So please, go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of and leave me alone.”

“Would if I could but I unfortunately cannot.” Demon boy started walking next to her as she ascended the stairs back to class. “You summoned me and so I am bound to you until I have fulfilled my duty.”

“And what duty is that?”

“To strike a deal.”

“Too bad I’m not in the habit of making deals with demons.”

“Not many people are. You’d be surprised how little demons are called upon nowadays. Back in the olden times there wasn’t a single weekend where I could--”

“That all sounds like a lovely history lesson but I have literature class to get back to. Bye.” Marinette strolled into the classroom and firmly closed the door behind her. She sat down at her desk and let out a sigh of relief.

“You alright? Did you go to the nurse?” Alya whispered.

“I’m fine.” Marinette pulled out her notes. “I’m having a long day is all.”

She looked up to see where they were in the lesson and nearly fell out of her chair when she saw demon boy sitting on the teacher’s desk. He was staring directly at her. Marinette gazed around the room but no one else seemed to notice he was there.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go home early? You seem really spaced.” Alya asked, worried.

“It’s going to be a long day.” Marinette muttered, glaring at the unbothered demon.

Marinette’s gaze never left the demon during the entire class. She tried to focus on Ms. Bustier but her attention kept being drawn back to him. He would walk around the room peering at the other students and messing with the lights so they flickered incessantly. She shot him a dirty look which made him stop and he instead started pestering her by talking over Ms. Bustier’s lesson. When class was finally over Marinette told her friends to head on to lunch without her. She needed to have a word with her unwanted guest.

“That was so boring.” The demon boy sighed, “How can you cope with that every day?”

“Why won’t you leave?” Marinette snapped.

“I told you before. I can’t leave until we make a deal. All of which I would have explained from the beginning if you hadn’t insisted on trying to get away from me.”

“You’re a demon! Of course I was trying to get away from you!” Marinette seethed, “Also, am I correct in assuming that no one else can see you but me?”

“Yes. Why? Didn’t like me attending class with you?”

“No. Oddly enough I didn’t.” Marinette sat back down at her desk. It was a good thing no one was here or else she would look insane talking to thin air. “Okay, you’re a demon and you’re bound to me to make a deal. What exactly does that mean?”

“Oh, you’re actually going to let me explain are you?”

“Talk now or else I’ll get a spray bottle full of holy water to spritz you with.”

“Someone’s touchy.” The demon boy shrugged. “I’ll forego all the theatrics and pretty words since I would like to get out of here myself. I am bound to strike a deal with you and I cannot leave until one has been made. Think of it as a wish. Whatever your heart desires I will provide in return for a certain price.”

“Am I right in assuming this price is my eternal soul?”

“I mean depending on what you ask for, yes. Not all deals are equivalent to your soul. Most are but those are usually just the popular ones. Fame, wealth, revenge, etcetera. So tell me, what is it you want most...Magdalene?”

“Marinette.”

“Right. What would you like?”

“I’m not going to make a deal with you.”

“Yes you are. Or else I’ll never leave. So tell me, what do you want?”

“I told you I am not going to make a deal with you! I am not giving up my soul or anything else for what you’re offering.”

“Can we please skip this bit?” He rolled his eyes, “I’ve seen enough people try to hold out from making deals to know that you’re going to end up caving anyway. Now tell me what it is your selfish little heart desires.”

“No!”

“Come on!” he groaned, “I said please. Stop trying to think you can wiggle your way out of this by being stubborn.”

“I’m not making a deal!” Marinette huffed and strode out of the room. “And you can go back to hell!”

He fell into step beside her as she limped her way up to the cafeteria. “How many times do I have to say that I’m not leaving until you get it?”

“I really don’t like you.” She grumbled.

“And here I thought we were getting along so well.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear, “Come on love, there has to be something you want. An impossible dream you want to achieve? Revenge on someone who did you wrong? The love of someone far from your reach? Do you not have any goals in life?”

“I have dreams and goals and people I like that don’t like me back but I am not about to cheat to get any of them.” she pushed his arm off of her. “Whatever I get in this life I will earn honestly in my own way in my own time.”

“Satan give me strength, you’re one of those people?” The demon sighed loudly. “You know that all this hard work you’re putting in will most likely go nowhere right? Those dreams that you think are so easy to achieve if you just put in enough elbow grease and strive forward with a can do attitude will crash and burn. Then you end up in the position you are right now. Looking for an easy route to everything you want.”

He stopped her, tickling a finger under her chin. She hadn’t noticed it before but his eyes were grey. Unnaturally so. They almost looked like sparkling silver in the fluorescent light. He grinned with teeth that seemed a tad too sharp to be human. “All you have to do is ask for it and I can make it so.”

“Not today.” she spat, “Not ever.” She walked around him and continued on with her head held high.

The rest of the day her demon lurked in the corner. He wasn’t causing mischief but his eyes never left her the entire time. She could feel them on her and it sent a shiver up her spine to think about.

When the day finally ended she booked it back to her house and locked herself in her room. Her gaze swept the room but he was nowhere to be seen. Hours passed and still she had seen neither hide nor hair of the demon that had been plaguing her. Perhaps it was all just a stress induced hallucination. It seemed that the second she got home and took some medicine for her aching face he ceased to be. It felt safe to deem this whole thing a weird experience and lay it to rest.

Relieved that the ordeal was over she started getting ready for bed. After today she felt like she deserved a little pampering and ran a hot bubble bath complete with some scented candles and her favorite face mask.

She sunk down into the water with a happy sigh. Her eyes sliding closed as she relished in the warmth. Yeah, she needed this.

Then she felt it. A shiver down her spine. She opened her eyes and had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. Her demon was sitting on her toilet staring at her with that same bored expression. “What the hell--!”

“Thought you got rid of me?” he smirked, “I wanted to see how you acted when you thought I wasn’t here. It’s a nice set up you got here, what are the candles? Honey blossom?”

“Get out!”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m in the bath!” she curled into herself thankful that the bubbles held cover her modesty.

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? I’m naked!”

“And what? You think it is anything special? Do you have any idea how old I am? You are certainly not the first naked body I’ve seen and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

“I don’t care! Get out!”

That little grin on his face grew wider and he slid off the toilet to sit at the edge of the tub. “You know, if you really want me to leave you could always make a deal with me. Then I would have to go.”

“I already told you my answer. I will not make a deal with a perverted demon like you!”

“Oh please, I’ve met Asmodeus. Trust me when I say I am nowhere near the most perverted demon out there. That being said,” He stared more closely at the bubbles around her and with a snap of his fingers they all popped, “Doesn’t mean I can’t still watch you squirm.”

Marinette quickly reached for her towel and wrapped it around herself. She didn’t care if she was sitting buck naked in tepid water with a glob of pink clay on her face. She was not going to give him the satisfaction. She’d wait until the water turned ice cold if that’s what it took.

She can only wait as the minutes tick by and the demon plays his jokes to try and annoy her into making a deal with him. Still she remains steadfast until he eventually gets bored and leaves. Quickly she rinses the mask off and crawls out of the bath and throws on her robe.

She peers around her room to make sure he isn’t lurking in the shadows before getting dressed. Even then she did as much as she could with her robe still on so he couldn’t pop in while she was putting on her panties.

The thought that the demon is still nearby waiting and possibly watching her kept her up late into the night until her eyes couldn’t stay open anymore and she drifted off to sleep. Whoever this demon was he did not have a single idea who he was dealing with. If he thought some juvenile pranks and an invasion of her privacy was enough to get her to bend then he was sorely mistaken. Marinette was nothing if not stubborn and this demon was about to learn exactly that.

---

(2)

[fabrowrites]

The Ninja Create Fursonas

Despite the title, no furries were harmed in the making of this fic

----------

When the announcement first comes through, Jay's thrilled. He can't believe it's real. It's like something out of a dream. When the day finally comes and they're on their way to the studio, he sits in the back seat and practically vibrates in place for the entire trip.

A hand settles on his thigh. "Settle down, Jay!" Cole says, laughing. "You're charging up enough energy to give us all static shocks for a week. Is your brain exploding? You're so jittery today."

"Of course I'm jittery," Jay snaps. "How are you not? This is like, the greatest thing that's ever happened to me."

This thing being- wanting to ride their latest wave of popularity after defeating the Preeminent (and Nadakhan, but apparently he didn't count- yes, Jay was salty), a toy-making company had approached the group and asked if perhaps they'd be interested in a line of stuffed toy creatures made after them? As if they'd say no. And if that wasn't enough, they also wanted the ninja to be the ones to design them.

Jay just might pass out in the back of this van.

They'd been escorted into a cozy-looking room with long tables and chairs and given giant pads of paper and black markers. The head artist gave them a rundown of guidelines- nothing scandalous, certainly; they should try to make each character cute, relatable, and most of all marketable- and oh, wouldn't it be neat if they each had something to do with their element?

Jay had agreed readily. He sized up the sketch pad in front of him and cracked his knuckles. Okay, brain. Let's do this.

Except that was forty-five minutes ago and Jay's no closer to an idea than when he began. He bangs his head against the table with a long, drawn-out groan. His sketch pad drops uselessly from his hands.

"It's no use," he whines. "I don't have a creative bone in my body. I'm gonna have to pack my bags and move to the south and become a repressed goat farmer."

Kai mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "not a creative bone in my body my butt." But when Jay looks over at him, the fire ninja's attention is fixed firmly to his own board.

Blearily, Jay raises his head. Everything he's drawn looks like trash. There's a weird leopard creature scribbled out in the corner. Next to it is a lizard that looks like a cross between Rango and that purple thing from Monsters Inc except with none of their good qualities and all of their bad. A sad bird-thing sits in the center. It looks disappointed in him despite its lack of face. Maybe the blankness enhances it.

He drops his marker on the table and leans back with a long groan.

"It can't be all that bad," Nya says. She's bent over beside him, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she fills something in. Jay sighs without moving.

"I couldn't think of anything to draw so I started drawing Kai as a porcupine."

Nya whistles lowly. "That is bad," she says. Both of them ignore Kai's outraged shout of: "Hey! My face is the best inspiration you'll ever get!" She sets down her own pad, closing the cover. "Maybe if we show you what we've done, it'll inspire you."

"Or it'll just make me feel worse about myself," Jay grumbles, but he sits up in his seat properly. "Okay. Let's try that. Do you have anything?"

Nya shrugs the way she does when she's proud of something she did but doesn't want to call attention to it. "There was something I was working on." She flips open her sketchbook. Jay scoots his chair closer to hers. His eyes widen.

"Woah, Nya! That's actually really cool!"

"Actually?" Nya asks, raising her eyebrow, but she laughs when Jay pouts at her. "Oh, fine. Thanks. It's not much yet, but-"

The character on her paper is a seal, small and round, with dark eyes and a happy puppy face. At the edges of the sheet are more drawings- one has the seal in a wetsuit; another puts it in diver fins and a snorkel.

"I wanted to experiment around," Nya says. "I think I like the wetsuit one the best."

"That one's cute," Jay agrees.

From Nya's right side comes a groan. "Will you two keep it down?" Kai complains. "Some of us are trying to work here."

"Some of us are trying to work here too, but we can't," Jay sends back. Not one of his best comebacks, but it's to Kai. "I've got brain blockage and Nya's helping me out."

Kai glances over and sees what they're doing. He perks up. "Oh, are we sharing?" He sits up straighter and drums his fingers on the table. "Hey, guys! We're sharing!"

"Oh, good!" says Cole. "I wanted your feedback on something."

"Me too," says Zane.

Jay narrows his eyes at both of them. "This right now?" he says. "This is about me. Not you."

Cole waves his hand. "Of course, of course."

The way he says it has Jay hhmphing, but they both turn their focus to Kai as the fire ninja loudly demands their attention.

Kai has created what appears to be a horse, except that it has a few too many legs, a creepy tongue drooling out of its face, and horns. So it's actually not like a horse at all. Somehow it's both angular and blobby at the same time. Ah, the dualities of Art.

"I thought we were supposed to be making these marketable," Zane says with a tilt of his head.

"This is marketable!" Kai protests. "Kids are like, bonkers for dragons."

Ah, so that's what the blob is, Jay thinks. "Bonkers?" he snickers aloud. "What are you, seventy? Did you try cuckoo too? What about nutty?"

"Bananas," Lloyd pipes up. "Gaga. Buggy."

"Okay, okay, we get it," Kai grumbles. "You like to talk."

"That wasn't my point at all," Jay says, but he concedes it. He does like to talk, after all.

"Why does it have six legs?" asks Nya.

"Those are its wings," Kai sniffs.

Nya bursts out laughing, slapping her hand on her knee, eyes closed into crescents. "Hey!" Kai shouts, shoving her from her chair. "You know that drawing's not my real talent."

"Oh, we know," Cole says under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Nothing!" Cole grins. "I'll go next." He flicks back a page or two. "So I originally wanted to do a bear, because bears are cool and they're the deadliest animal on the planet."

"I'm pretty sure you meant to say 'shark'," Nya says.

"I'm pretty sure I said what I meant to say," Cole snips back. He returns his attention to his drawing board. "But bears are too overdone in this day and age."

Jay can't even make fun of him for saying 'this day and age' like some grandma because he's too busy currently gaping at the art on Cole's board.

The character on Cole's paper is definitely not a bear.

"Bears are overdone," Cole says. "So I thought, why not make a narwhal?"

"How on earth," Jay asks faintly, "did you make the jump from bear to narwhal?"

Cole shrugs. "It made sense at the time."

"What's a narwhal?" Lloyd asks. His marker is flying a mile a minute across his sketch pad and his eyes never leave the page.

"It's a unicorn fish," Jay says, turning a disbelieving eye back to the earth ninja. Cole just grins. "A unicorn fish that no one cares about. What happened to giving me inspiration?" he demands. "You've just killed any ideas I might have had!"

Cole pouts.

"I, for one, think it's adorable!" Nya's come up behind Cole now and is peering at his sketch pad. Hearing her words, Cole brightens. "Does it have a name?"

"I was thinking Gnarly."

Nya nods sagely. "That's uber-rad, bro."

Bring Me to Life is playing on a psychedelic loop inside Jay's head. Wake me up inside, wails the lead vocalist, but Jay can't wake up (save me).

"Am I the only one taking this seriously?" he whines. "Guys. This is like, our legacy."

"I'm pretty sure our legacy is saving the city," Kai drawls, "not whatever these characters will be."

"Our legacy," Jay emphasizes. "Don't you realize how cool this is? How many people get to say they have their own cartoon character?"

Cole shrugs. "Exactly. That's why I'm having fun with it. Hey, do you think that Gnarly would look good with a monocle?"

"I'm taking it seriously," Lloyd says. "Look at mine."

"Gnarly would look absolutely dapper in a monocle, how could you even ask that."

"How big is he?" asks Zane. "That would have to be one big piece of glass."

"Hey, guys."

"Ooh, you should give him a mohawk."

"A mohawk? He's a fish! Fish don't have hair!"

"I'm pretty sure it's a mammal, actually."

An explosion rockets the left side of the room. Jay startles so badly he almost falls out of his chair. His eyes dart around for the threat, only to lock eyes with a smirking Lloyd. A smirking Lloyd who still has his fist raised, faint wisps of smoke rising from his fingers.

Jay lets out an inhuman shriek. It's a wonder that no one's come in to check on them, honestly. "Lloyd!"

"What?" Lloyd grins. "You weren't paying attention to me."

"We've raised a brat," Cole says. "An absolute menace."

Lloyd's grin intensifies. "As I was saying…"

He spins his board around with all the pomp and circumstance of a ten-year-old who learned how to act through daytime television. Somehow, despite them only having been given black sharpie markers to draw with, Lloyd has colored his character in with crayon. It's a shockingly detailed goat-creature. Its fur has been colored a mint green, and it's wearing a golden sweater with dragons crossing the sides.

It looks like it was ripped from the pages of an actual comic book.

"Woah!" Kai says, launching himself across the table and sending no less than three markers flying as he goes in for a closer look. "That's awesome, Lloyd!" He beams at the younger ninja. "What is it?"

Nya scoffs. "Obviously it's an alpaca, you dolt."

"It's a yak," Cole says.

Jay makes a disagreeing noise. "No, I'm pretty sure it's a goat."

"Guys," Lloyd says, looking extremely disappointed in all of them, "it's a llama."

They sit in silence for a moment.

"Ooh," Jay says. "Alright. That makes a bit more sense."

"Is it my turn?" Zane asks. Unlike some other members whose names shall not be mentioned, he waits until their attention is on him before starting. "I put a lot of thought into this character."

He turns around his paper. Jay chokes on his water. Tears stream from his eyes and he's coughing, but when he wipes them away the picture stays the same.

In the middle of the page, in the glorious high definition only a nindroid could hope to achieve, is a shark that looks like it came right out of some Super Bowl halftime slot. Its eyes are vacant. Its mouth is open in an agonized scream. It's standing in a starfish pose, legs in lieu of a tail.

"My character is a shark," Zane says, as if it needed any explanation.

Everyone stops and looks at him. Zane's the picture of earnestness, eyes wide and unguarded. At this exact moment, he looks like a five-year-old presenting some horrific drawing to its mother. As the silence stretches on, his face falls. "Is it not on target enough? I know we were supposed to be making something related to our element, but there are not that many snow creatures."

The group glances at each other, expressions veering towards the panicked side. By some unspoken agreement, they all reach the same conclusion.

"Oh, no!" says Nya. "We were all just surprised by how good you draw."

"It's a great shark, Zane," Cole says, tone a bit forced. The expression in his eyes doesn't match the grin on his face.

"Yeah," Jay says lamely. "I like how- how blue it is."

Zane beams.

"It looks like you're well on your way!" says a new voice. It's the head artist, coming back into the room. She looks around approvingly at the studio of chaos. "Well done. I knew I heard the sounds of productivity in here."

Apparently productivity sounds like random explosions and screaming now. That's- honestly not that far off the mark, considering that Jay's a literal ninja for his job.

"The next step, if you haven't already," says the artist, "will be coming up with names." Cole high-fives Nya. "I'll be back in a bit to check on you again!"

The room descends into voices once again as she leaves.

"I need a cool name for my dragon," Kai says immediately. "There's got to be a way to combine my name with it, right?"

"Kragon," Cole suggests. "Drakai."

Kai wrinkles his nose. "Kragon? Like that weirdo from the LEGO line?"

"No, you're thinking of Cragger," Lloyd says. "Kragon is that magical crystal thing Jedi use."

Jay rolls his eyes. "No, that's a kyber. Didn't I raise you better than this? Kragon is that website that people sell stuff on."

"No, that's Craigslist."

"Whatever it is," Kai interrupts, "I don't like it. So you nerds can all drop it now."

"I think I'll call mine Neela," Nya says.

Cole glances at her sketchpad and makes a noise of approval. "Neela and Gnarly," he says. "Hey! Ours could be best friends!"

"You're already coming up with backstory?" Jay protests. "I haven't even started my character!"

"Well stop whining and just make one!" Cole says, exasperated.

Jay pouts. At the other end of the table, Lloyd's cackling up a storm as he writes name after name down the side of his paper. Jay leans over to see: his favorites seem to be Llod, Llyod, and Floyd judging on the circles he's made around them.

Jay sighs and leans back in his seat. Nya's abandoned her spot beside him to go brainstorm with Cole, and Kai's still tossing ideas out to the group even though no one's listening to him.

"Ooh, what about Kaitron?"

"That just sounds like a robot," Jay complains. Inspiration cuts through the cloud of his mind like a knife. "That's it!"

The entire room stops and stares at him. Seeing that he's just stood abruptly and slammed his sketch pad against the table, Jay can't blame them. "Kai," he says, "you're a genius." As quickly as he stood he's seated again, turning over a new page and beginning to sketch.

"I'm a what?" Kai asks, somewhere in the background.

Jay outlines a triangular shape. Then a body with one big wheel instead of legs. He fills up his page with sketches, mind vomiting up ideas faster than he can put them on paper. Yes. Yes! This was exactly what he wanted!

"Everyone!" he says- practically demands their attention. He rips the top sheet off his sketchpad with a flourish. "Meet NJ, your friendly little shapeshifting robot friend! The double emphasis on friendliness means that it's full of love."

"Shapeshifting?" Lloyd asks. "Woah, that's neat!"

Jay nods, grinning. "He can turn into anything, as long as it's non-organic." He points out some sketches of NJ as a toaster, as a spy drone, as an umbrella.

"That's- actually a cool idea, Jay," Cole says. "I like it!"

"Hey!" Jay protests. "Are you telling me that all my other ideas aren't cool?"

Cole grins. "You said it first," he points out.

"Kriff!" shouts Kai. For a second Jay thinks the fire ninja is swearing, but it turns out he's talking to his dragon. "Perfect name. Done."

The head artist chooses this moment to re-enter the room. She beams when she sees all their sketchpads laid out. "Looking good, everyone! Do you all have designs now?" They nod. "Great. Well, our next step will be for each of you working with our on-location artists to better flesh out your concepts. Oh, and then backstories!" She grins. "I'll go call them in."

She leaves. Kai stares at his paper. "I hope my artist likes challenges," he finally says.

[skamandallthat]

Less Than Five Minutes (Part 11/?)

Wazzzzzupppp!!!!! I'm on a road trip currently. Feels like we've been driving for days....

I wrote whenever I could because as soon as I figured out what I wanted to do with this chapter, I had to get it out!

Y'all are the sweetest, always. I feel as deeply for you as Matteo does David (and vice versa).

Comments and feedback make me write faster ;) ;)

(This is on Ao3, if you'd prefer to read it there.)

Hope you enjoy.

--

The logistics were lost on him.

David considered visiting his godmother.

Maybe she could tell him what to do. What he needed to work on. She was honest and gentle and could tell him what’s wrong with him without breaking him.

No, though.

She could but she wouldn't.

She'd never do that and David could never ask her to.

The main problem right now was that he didn't have any idea where to start. He didn't know which broken parts of himself to fix first.

How do you rank things like that? How do you rank the most wrecked and damaged parts of yourself?

Where do you even begin?

Weren't they all equally destestable?

How does one even begin to make that list?

And even if you could, how do you go about breaking them down, mending them?

How does one remodel themself from the inside out?

The most aching and time sensitive one was his inability to trust, though. He knew that.

He had no idea how to trust.

Matteo has given him absolutely no reason to believe that he would ever hurt him.

He had actually given him many reasons to believe he never would.

And yet, he couldn't. He just couldn't. There was so much fear in the idea of presenting himself to Matteo as rawly as Matteo did to him.

David felt frantic.

There was no time left.

The night of Matteo’s panic attack, David had wanted to scream.

Scream out to the heavens, the universe, beg literally anyone who was listening to help him, help him heal the wounds in his heart that his parents left.

Because Matteo was breaking and it was David’s fault and he was being so selfish, ruining this perfect boy just because he couldn't bear the thought of giving him up entirely.

David had considered giving up Matteo.

He knew it’d be better for him.

For both of them.

But no.

No, no, no, no, no!

He's perfect, you idiot!

He's so perfect.

This boy with a heart so overflowing with pain and puzzles and breathtaking delicacy. Tender. Glorious. His head so full, so sullen and astonishing. Stunning. Always surprising him.

He's perfect.

Matteo was so ready and willing to give himself up, be raw and bare for David-

He loves you!

He's perfect!

Just give in!

Just let him love you! Damnit!

No, no, no, no.

He's perfect, and he deserves more.

David considers therapy.

He’s so absolutely lost that he actually considers opening up his wounds to a stranger. Get some help. Heal.

No.

There was one more thing he could try.

He could tell Matteo… all of it.

The why.

All of the why’s. The ones he had answers for.

He knew that's what broke Matteo the most. Matteo was completely and entirely ready, at all times, to give him everything and as soon as David thought he might be too, he evacuated. Ran. Escaped. Shut down.

Every time.

Matteo knew David didn't trust him and he didn't know why and he thought it was his fault.

It's not your fault, Teo, please, how could anything ever be your fault?

He could try.

He had wanted to once before. Been given the opportunity…

////

Arms brushing, David sketching, Matteo soaking it all in.

They were laying on Matteo’s bed, both on their stomachs, David’s journal was open.

“Can you show me how you draw?” Matteo had asked. Sudden. Unprompted.

“What?”

“I wanna watch you do it.” Matteo said, eyes blinking. He was sleepy. David could tell.

“You should sleep.”

“You're not going to.” Matteo yawned. “You never do.” He ran his hands through his hair and then down the sides of his face. Cupping it. “Please?” He pouted. Lips pulled down. Mouthwatering, agonizing.

That mouth, fuck.

How could David resist?

He couldn't.

“Okay.”

David grabbed a lone pencil off Matteo’s nightstand and turned the pages to the back of his book. Matteo scootched closer. His hip brushed against David’s. They both took in a shallow breath.

“So I um…” He started. “I don't start with a plan… I…” He started putting lines on paper. Straight, then curved. Matteo just watched. “I just move.”

More lines.

Shading, erasing, brushing off the particles left behind. Another line, curving, curving…

The drawing started showing him a face.

Oh.

It started becoming Matteo.

Oh, fuck. He considered trying to morph the face into someone different. Add a weird mole? Draw the wrong mouth…

His hand hovered, shaking.

Matteo’s breath nearly stops, David’s blood is roaring so loud in his ears that he can barely hear anything. But Matteo is so close. He could feel his breath on his neck and then… suddenly couldn't.

David’s pause hangs in the air. Neither of them want to puncture the bubble, but Matteo must have decided to anyway.

Had he needed to?

“Is that me?” Matteo asks, breathlessly. David turns his head. Matteo’s much too close. His lips part. David looks away.

“Apparently.” He sees Matteo smile out of the corner of his eye. David keeps drawing, smirks. “Don't get too cocky.”

Matteo rolls his eyes. Yawns again.

“Shut up.”

Matteo just watches from then on. He feels Matteo’s eyes shift from him to the paper. Over and over again. Paper, eyes, mouth… linger. Repeat.

By the time David finishes the sketch, he's breathless. His whole body is on fire. He looks down at what he's created, mind new.

This was always his favorite part. Taking a step back, feeling the pride. Realizing what he was capable of. It was one of the only times he felt truly complete, after letting his mind wander and make art, be art…

But this time it hurt.

Matteo was so beautiful it hurt.

He marks it at the bottom.

Teo, today.

He rips out the page, hands it to Matteo.

“Here.”

He can't bear to watch Matteo as he takes in the final product.

So he stares ahead. He suddenly feels tired. So, so tired.

“You make me look so sad.”

You are. I make you sad, Matteo.

Let go.

I'm not strong enough. You have to do it for us.

No, no, no, no, no.

“I don't mean to.”

Matteo smiled, a I know, it's okay, and then something buzzed. He set down the paper next to him and reached for his phone. His mom was calling. He frowned. Didn't answer, just stared. As the call dropped out, Matteo sighed.

“Do you ever miss her?” David asked.

Matteo looked up. His brow furrowed.

“Of course.” He said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And then, David watched him as the gears shifted in his head. After a few moments, long moments, drawn out... he speaks again. “Do you ever miss your mom?”

David's so taken aback by the question he nearly collapses. It strikes him like a lightning bolt. Feels it in every part of his body. It shoots out of his fingers like electric poison. His eyes stay locked with Matteo’s, who’s looking regretful, panicked. His eyes search in uncertainty and fear and David has to look away.

He looks up, tries to blink away the tears.

The breath he lets out sounds like sob. His shoulders shake with it.

“It's okay.” Matteo whispers. “Don't answer now. You're not ready. That's okay.” David finally looks back down, Matteo’s eyes bore holes into his. He feels bare. “I can wait. I'll be here.”

\\\\

David was beginning to understand that his time was running out. Matteo couldn't wait any longer.

He knew Matteo probably wanted to.

Out of everything he knew about Matteo, that much was clear. He’d push himself to the very, very edge before really noticing how bad he was doing.

Matteo was spinning out and it was David's fault.

But Matteo didn't have the same understanding of his breaking points that David did. Matteo wasn't going to step back, ever. He'd push further into David until there was nothing left of either of them.

It was clear as day, then.

Time had passed.

He didn't know if enough time had passed but some had and that would have to be enough.

Matteo couldn't take this anymore.

The perfect boy couldn't take this anymore.

David couldn't take hurting him anymore.

There was no time left. Absolutely no time left.

It has to be done now.

He would try.

He'd tell him.

I miss my mom.

[benhaardy]

constellation || b.m.

(what a man ^)

REQUEST: Hello! Could u do a college!bri with reader in which she’s like majoring in something completely different than Bri but they have a mutual friend (could be Roger) and Bri is so infatuated with her because her major is more like arts and stuff and idk lots of fluff?

A/N: eeeeee i loved writing this smmmmm i really hope yall like it even though it’s prettttttyyy specific tbh lol but if you don’t like arts or whatever bri is still a cute lil loverboy in this just imagine him but with your own work? writing or music wise or anything else really. i hope you enjoy cause i lovvvveed writing this. absolutely loved it. i use that phrase too much. anyway, i just really really liked this one it took me like two whole days to do it lol sorry that took awhile and to people w other requests i got u im still workingg on yalls.

requests are clooooseeed at the moment and i am currently working on the ones i have. you can still send them in but they will not be done/started until i am finished with this batch.

the “rings” / “halos” mentioned aren’t like an angel halo w the circle floating above. its like the paintings that depict the virgin mary? i’ll link a pic right here.

as always, tried to make this as neutral as possible for the reader, but it is fem!reader. there might be something pertaining to height…? but i doubt its anything substantial lol shoutout to y’all tall peeps.

this can be read as normal queen or borhap!queen.

happy new years folks! hope y’all enjoyed yours as i have enjoyed mine. hope you enjoy this fic like i did too lol :p thanks for sending this request in!

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: one fuck word. fem!reader. p fluffy. was beta’d halfway, but proofread. APOLOGIES i don’t know much about space or the sky or stars… all info i got about constellations were from this website (lifesaver lol i really hope its accurate). i’m writing this at 4 am, all worth it lol i looooved this story. anywhere here’s constellation *pulls out guitar*

You stepped back to observe the basic outline that you drew on the canvas. It was a shell of what you wanted to actually paint, currently, but in a few hours, it would be quite the opposite. You moved the easel and canvas around so it wouldn’t be against the light of the large panels of glass surrounding you in what was supposed to be a breakfast nook which you had converted into your art “room”.

You were ready.

You took a deep breath and went to grab an old shirt that you could put on before painting. Going through the kitchen, then the foyer, then the stairs, you went straight to Roger’s room, a place where you could find a crappy ripped, and possibly faintly sweat-scented top to throw on. Your favourite flatmate wouldn’t mind, now would he?

You rummaged through his drawers, careful not to make a mess of his nice shirts or the ones he wore to gigs. Finally, you found an old Hendrix t-shirt that was already splattered with paint. Perfect. You took off your shirt, threw on the new one and put the old top in the laundry.

As you went down the stairs, you heard a noise that sounded like it came from the kitchen. It was probably one of the dogs messing around with your canvases. Quickly, you jogged towards your art room, where a familiar blonde boy was crouching down, viewing the propped up half-finished painting that was drying. There was a tall, curly-maned man shuffling through your masonites.

“Uhh…hello?” You said, confused. Who was this? Obviously, there was Roger, but he hadn’t brought anybody home except for the occasional girl. Rog stood up from his place and the other man had turned around to look at you, sheepish.

Your best friend came around the easel to hug you around your neck, a cigarette in his fingers and your arms around his waist. “Hello, love,” he said. He let go and moved to face the new guy watching both of you. “Y/N, Brian. Brian, Y/N. Brian, this is my closest friend and she loves painting. Y/N, I’m in his band now! Smile!”

You exclaimed, “Oh my god, Rog! That’s amazing!” You were glad his endless practice and jam sessions were working out. Roger was back to looking at your other paintings. Now, you faced Brian. “Hey, Brian. What do you play?” you noticed his hand still on the hardboards. “What were you looking for?” you questioned.

“Oh, sorry.” Brian took his hand off the boards. “I play the guitar.” You made a mental note of that. “I just noticed this one up on the front here… Is this Rog?” He pointed to the first board, which was a painting of Roger from the shoulders up. He had a halo of fire surrounding his head in a circle and he was looking up above. The background was of the night sky, the constellations Leo, Phoenix, Lynx, Hercules, Draco, Vulpecula, and Auriga around him, multitudes of small stars smattered in the blank spaces.

“Yeah, it is. It’s part of a new series I’m doing. It’s my friends and constellations that relate to them. I saw the stars in a book and I thought it looked great so, yeah. It’s fine if you want to take a look.”

Roger was shuffling through who-knows-what when he added, ”Bri majors in physics and all that—the stars.”

“That’s so cool! I’ve always been interested in space and such but my passion has always been in the arts. I major in fine arts.”

Bri smiled and nodded, still examining the painting of Rog and tracing the constellations. “This is gorgeous,” he whispered to himself as you were distracted by Rog giving his input on one of your other paintings.

--

You positioned yourself in front of your easel once more, the boys off to the living room to practice with each other. You primed your canvas, mixed your colours, and set out your brushes. A picture of your subject was taped up on the canvas holder of your easel and the book of constellations was set up on the table next to you. Roger and Brian’s session was great background music for your painting time. You found yourself tapping your foot to the beat.

A few hours later, your painting was done. It was modelled after one of your classmates in your European History class. You stood back and put your hands on your hips. You painted her from the side, sitting on her calves. She wasn’t wearing anything, her chest only covered by a wave of water that led up to another halo surrounding her head. She was looking down at her hands, clasped in her lap with the constellations and stars above her. Her curly, caramel brown hair was splayed out behind her and upon her shoulders, droplets of water among them. You were quite pleased with your first (somewhat) nude where you captured the curves of her body true to what she looked like.

You heard Roger and Brian finish up their set and go into the kitchen. The fridge door and cupboard opened and closed. They walked into your space, Roger with a towel around his neck and Brian a little more disheveled than before. Brian’s top buttons were undone, exposing two necklaces. “Hm,” you thought as you watched him drink from his glass of water standing in the doorway, “Hmmmmmmmmmm.”

Your best friend went around and looked at your artwork. “Damn, who is that?” Roger asked, clearly interested in who your painting was of. He took a sip of water.

You took the picture off the easel and replied, ”None of your concern, Rog.” You shook your head, snickering along with Brian.

Brian walked to your other side and viewed your painting himself. You looked for his opinion on his face. “Wow, Y/N,” he mumbled, “Aquarius, Cassiopeia, and Eridanus are they?

“Correct.”

“This is beautiful, absolutely beautiful. The way she looks, so sensual yet innocent. Wow, Y/N. This is great,” he said quietly.

“Thank you, Brian. That means everything.” Brian smiled at you, bashful.

A new friend (and basically, new flatmate) was made that day.

--

A few months had passed. Smile had been doing great. Roger, Brian, and you were close as ever. Often, you went to their practices and sketched your surroundings, often Roger drumming or Tim singing. You loved seeing Brian’s vibrant smiles but him still paying careful attention to his playing. You would sit at the bar and sketch, or do homework, or just drink. Roger’s cheeky grin and Brian’s reserved but bright twinkle were always there for you up on that stage.

You were at the park with Bri at his invitation while Rog was off with his girl and Tim was somewhere doing something else. He met you with a blanket, his physics textbook, and a few writing utensils and you met him armed with a sketchbook and a bunch of pencils. It was a sunny, British summer day. You greeted each other and found a tree to sit under. Brian spread out the blanket for both of you and you sat down.

Much of your days with him weren’t always so silent. You had helped each other study often. He was often at your side when he was done practicing with Rog, the adrenaline that coursed through him making him seem like a child, a contrast to the calmness of your art process. After shows, he would be so talkative, willing to speak for a long time about anything and everything. You two would frequently be the only two left at the bar after a gig, Roger giving you his customary sly smile behind Bri’s shoulder as you conversed into the late hours.

He loved hearing of your endeavours in art and your classes and never failed to ask to see the new drawings of the new. Usually, you were shy to show other people what you had made but you just had this openness around him. You knew if he had any judgments he would say them in a constructive manner but he never seemed to put too much attention on your mistakes, rather being a “fix it and move on” type of person.

You liked him a lot, really. It didn’t help at all that he was intelligent and attractive and helpful and just a great guy all aro— never mind. Check off all of the boxes for “things you want in a man”. You tried not to pay attention to it too much.

Both of you were off to your own devices, buried in your work. A slight breeze came about, feeling wonderful against your skin. You looked back at Bri sitting against the tree, the wind shifting his hair and his book in his lap. You went back to your own thing.

“Y/N?” Brian spoke up after a while.

“Yeah?” You replied back, still focused on your drawing.

“Could I watch you draw? If that’s alright with you. You pick out the perfect colours and compositions and everything. It’s fascinating. Everything just comes together exemplary.” He spread his hands out at “exemplary.”

“Of course, Bri,” you said, flattered. “Of course.”

Bri moved closer to you, pretty much right behind your shoulder. You flipped to a new page in your book and set to work. He watched your pencil as it flew across the paper, depicting a sleeping dog with a couple that was sitting the next tree over. You could feel his eyes settle upon your face momentarily, heat rising up to your cheeks.

“You know, Y/N. You make a pretty funny face when you’re drawing,” he laughed. Brian played with a piece of grass absentmindedly but still paid attention to your drawings and now your eyes.

“Oh yeah, Bri? What’s that face you’re speaking of?” You took a look at him. He pursed his lips and pushed them out to the left; he drew his eyebrows together and pretended to draw in thin air. You giggled together at his silly (albeit, quite realistic) impression of you.

“To be fair, you have one too, when you’re playing,” you teased.

“How so?” Bri acted like he was offended.

“Well, I can’t really do it and nor is it as severe as mine… but when you play, it’s as if nothing else in the world matters to you but in a good way. It’s like, ‘Who cares about uni? Who cares about anything else?’ You kind of just look like it’s you and your guitar against the world, right? It’s quite nice, watching you play,” you said, voice getting quieter as you continued.

“It is true. Us against the world.”

--

Two weeks had passed. Rog went out with his girlfriend after a session with Bri so you were left alone with the guitarist. He was in the living room making up his own compositions and writing songs like he normally does while you stayed in your little studio. A little lamp was clamped to the table next to your easel so you could have a soft light on your canvas. You painted until Brian came in, standing at the threshold.

“Hello, love,” you said gently. You set down your brush and stretched.

“Hi, babe,” he replied back, advancing forward.

You remembered what you were going to show him and in a split second, you practically screamed, “No, Bri, wait!” He put his hands up and froze in his spot. “Just stay there, okay? Close your eyes.” The guitarist lowered his hands and obeyed.

You quickly moved to take the painting on your easel and prop it against the wall alongside the other drying ones. You looked through the finished paintings and came across the one you were looking for. After grabbing it, you set it up once more. The finished product after hours of work was finally on display. You came back around Brian and guided his towering self to your normal space in front of your painting spot. “Open your eyes.” He did.

You both looked at the piece of artwork in front of you. There was a large smile on his painting self’s face and his eyes were closed. His head was tilted back, up at the stars surrounding him. Bri’s curls were framing his face, small stars speckled throughout them. A ring of water was around his head. “Cancer, Circinus, Leo Minor, Lyra. Pyxis, Telescopium, Camelopardalis,” he said, so quiet you could barely hear it. You watched as he admired the painting of himself, one that you put so much work into to make special.

You nodded. “It’s you, Bri. That’s what I was drawing in the park. I was just doodling but I looked at you and you just looked so—pretty?” You both laughed at your words, but you continued on. “That’s the word. Pretty. With the sunlight and everything, the grass was so vibrant… you were glowing! I couldn’t help it, so I drew you for reference. And then I painted you,” you said, calm and shrugging your shoulders. “I thought it was fitting, you in space, looking like you were at home. I wanted to incorporate something music and the closest thing I could do was Lyr-“

“Oh my goodness, Y/N. This much thought? You didn’t have to do any of this, I’m so grateful, I love it so much! But I’m just Brian, I don’t deser—”

“I wanted to do this, Bri. Trust me. You listened to me rant on and on and on about how my what I was doing didn’t look good, or what I was drawing, or how I was drawing something. You are so encouraging and attentive and just amazing, Bri, I couldn’t help it. It was really no problem. You deserve it. And there’s-there’s one more thing.” This was it! You weren’t really planning on telling him your feelings after showing him your piece but now here you were.

He asked, oblivious, “What thing?” Bri was beaming at his portrait and now beaming at you.

“I really like you, Bri. A lot. You’ve been there for a lot and we’ve supported each other and I just-” He hadn’t said anything. The same surprised look was still on his face. Fuck. “And I mean, like, you know, I j-“

He seemed extremely taken aback at your declaration but his face melted into tenderness. “I like you too, Y/N.”

You exhaled, “Thank god!” Both of you laughed, the shared relief between the both of you evident.

Brian leaned in and you closed the gap. His lips felt amazing against yours after all this time waiting and the moon shone softly upon you both as you shared this moment.

--

Brian :

Cancer: The Crab ~ his astrological sun sign

Circinus: The Compass ~ helps people find their way, ever helpful

Pyxis: The Compass ~ mariner’s compass, i feel like he j knows himself really well and he’s a water sign so lol

Telescopium: The Telescope ~ self-explanatory lol

Leo Minor: The Little Lion ~ his hair. roger got the “big” lion by default so i gave bri the little lion!

Lyra: The Harp ~ closest thing to music

Camelopardalis: The Giraffe ~ :pppp

Roger :

Leo: The Lion ~ his astrological sun sign

Phoenix: The Firebird ~ he fiery

Hercules: The Strong Man ~ i’d like to think he would request this himself once he saw the series of pieces you were doing.

Draco: The Dragon ~ why not, plus i feel like he’d like it

Vulpecula: The Little Fox ~ he got the foxy moxy.

Auriga: The Charioteer ~ apollo and his chariot, rog is the sun <3

Lynx: The Lynx ~ not a very easily seen constellation, so you need good eyesight to see it. i thought it was ironic because of rog’s bad eyes LOL

The girl in the painting (you know who you are :)):

Aquarius: The Water Bearer ~ her sun sign

Cassiopeia: The Queen ~ self-explanatory hah

Eridanus: The Celestial River ~ water, relates to sun sign

[harryanddracoarehusbands-blog]

Hi :) I'd love to see a happy Deamus with the prompt 26. Hope you have a good day

Seamus turned the page of the sketchbook, studying the next of many drawings. Some of Dean’s drawings were colored, but most were in different shades of black and white. With the artistic ability of a ten-year old, Seamus was always amazed by the skill and patience shown in the numerous amounts of drawings, paintings and, rarely, sculptures Dean created. 

The sketchbook Seamus was currently flipping through contained drawings Dean did over the winter holidays. In just those few weeks, Dean had filled a quarter of the book with drawings of his family, his house, the buildings in his neighborhood, and the woods surrounding the area. So far, Seamus’ favorite was a portrait of Dean’s mother. She was laughing in the drawing at something you couldn’t see. Seamus wondered at Dean’s ability to capture such happiness in the black and grey lines. 

Going onto the next page, Seamus noticed snippets of paper in the crevice, as if someone had ripped out a page. “What’s this?” Dean looked up from the book he was reading. They were alone in the dorms, sitting on their beds while Seamus went through the sketches and Dean read his latest novel. 

“What?” Dean stood, taking the few steps between their beds and joining Seamus. “Oh, that,” he said, noticing what Seamus was pointing at. “I messed up a sketch and couldn’t fix it, so I tossed it.” 

“You never throw your sketches away, no matter how bad they turn out,” Seamus said. Dean shrugged, not quite meeting Seamus’ eye. “What are you not telling me? You’re holding back.” Dean fidgeted with his shirt buttons, studying his lap. 

A few moments passed in which no one said anything. Then Dean stood to rummage through the top drawer of his nightstand. Seamus watched, perplexed, as Dean seemed to find what he was looking for. Holding the paper he found to his chest, he returned to the four poster. Without a word, he handed the paper to Seamus, who took it with little hesitation. 

His breath caught when he saw what was on the paper. It was a drawing of him. Seamus had never seen anything like it. It was full of detail, accurate down to the individual smile lines around his eyes. Dean had colored it, somehow making it seem like the actual sun was shining in Seamus’ eyes. 

“It’s beautiful,” Seamus said, his eyes catching on new details that are even better than the last. 

Dean scratched the back of his neck. “It’s okay. The angle of the neck is off and so is the shoulder. And the eyes are wrong. I couldn’t…” He trails off, not meeting Seamus’ gaze and instead focusing on the wall behind him. 

“It’s beautiful,” Seamus repeated. Reaching up, he wrapped his hands around Dean’s neck and pulled him closer. 

“Not as beautiful as the real thing,” Dean said before their lips met. Dean moved closer, towering over Seamus. 

The drawing fell to the ground, unnoticed by the two boys. 

[real-life-pine-tree]

Into the Arcverse: My Name is Yuan (1/?)

Yuan Amaya just wanted to hide away from public eye, but fate had other plans. Based on Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse.

Celebrity Duelists: the biggest trend in the entire dueling community. Originating in Den City, these Duelists use flashy avatars in Link V.R.A.I.N.S. (short for Virtual Reality Artificial Intelligence Network System) to take part in special duels that are broadcasted for everyone to see. Like regular celebrities, they also take part in sponsorships and charity events, with some of them opening their own business lines, like The Gore's comic series and Blue Angel's Christmas album.

But not anyone can become Celebrity Duelists. In order to reach that status, Duelists need money and/or good connections. Obtaining that worldwide recognition was key, as not every Duelist can become a celebrity. You couldn't just whip up a dueling video and wish for a sponsor to see it. You needed hard work to establish a name in the network system. But who knows? Maybe there's someone out there just waiting to be recognized...

It seemed like any other morning in Den City. The sun rising over the horizon to shine its rays all over town and through the white, cumulus clouds scattered across the sky, the birds chirping their harmonic melodies wherever they go, the citizens getting ready for work, heading to school, or preparing for a fun event in Link V.R.A.I.N.S. Whatever it may be, there was always something for everyone to do, especially for a particular someone.

As the sun’s rays penetrated through a glass window of an apartment, a teenage boy was sitting on his chair, already busy with a personal project of his… Well, “project” is an overstatement. A pencil was held firmly in his right hand as he made swift movements with it over a sheet of paper. Vibrant strokes conjugated with one another, the gripped pencil danced in specific motions to create more light strokes on the paper. Sometimes, his fingers would flick his utensil around to use a slightly worn-down eraser to fix any minor mistakes. The more lines, curves, and shapes produced from the graphite, the closer the boy gets to completing an image he has in his head…and it always brings a warm, soft smile to his face.

His dark blue eyes usually stayed glued to the paper on his desk, but they would occasionally wander around his bedroom whenever he is seeking any inspiration or finding himself a little lost in the music he is listening to for some motivation. For this morning, a pair of earbuds rested on his ears—which were tucking strands of his spiky, black-dyed hair—as he hummed softly to a recently new song performed by BAND-MAID. So far, he has been getting a hang of the choruses and a bit of the bridges, but the rest of the lyrics were more challenging. Even so, he still enjoyed the catchy rhythm it carries and knew this song was a great addition to his playlist.

A sigh slid out from his mouth as he stared in the vicinity of his workspace, but the sound of the tone was far from disappointment. He took great enjoyment in this hobby, specifically the infinite possibilities of drawing. No matter what time of day it is, it was like heaven for him. A nice, relaxing haven where he could find the space he needs to create whatever is on his mind. A well-deserved break he always takes from the world to express himself. To Yuan Amaya, this was his happiness.

"The whole wide world," Yuan quietly sung. "Will voice their true feelings."

"Yuan!"

"How many times have you repainted your life's story with 'only glory'?"

"Yuan!"

"The whole wide world defy the deepest deep."

"Yuan!"

"Enjoy all unexpected things over and ov-"

"Yuan!"

Realizing his parents were calling out to him, Yuan ripped out an earbud. "What is it?" he called back.

"Did you remember to pack for school?" Mr. Amaya asked.

But one glance at an empty suitcase said it all. "Crap..." Yuan sighed.

He quickly got up from his chair and started putting everything away. He put his pencil back into his silver-white pencil bag and slid his unfinished sketch into his folder of some of his other drawings, which lied on top of his sketchpad. He then packed his art materials into his suitcase before rushing to get dressed. Tossing his navy blue shirt with golden yellow lines near the end of each sleeve and light gray pants on his bed, Yuan grabbed his school uniform out of his closet and rushed to get changed into them. It consisted of a slate-colored jacket with a light blue trim, a white, button-up shirt, a blue tie, black pants, and a pair of grayish-blue and dark gray sneakers with white trims near the bottom.

Grabbing his suitcase, Yuan left his room. "Where's my deck?" he asked his parents.

"Still in the living room," Mrs. Amaya answered. "But wouldn't it be easier to get the newer Duel Disk model?"

"I would rather not," Yuan admitted as he walked to the living room. "Everyone's going digital. I feel more comfortable using physical cards." He picked up his Weather Painter deck and put it in his Duel Disk. "No matter what the others say..."

Mr. Amaya noticed his son's nervous expression. "I get that you're at the age of walking to school by yourself, but would it be alright if I drive you-"

"Thanks dad," Yuan quickly replied. "I would appreciate it."

His father was rather surprised at the quick response, but he still gave a warm smile to his son nonetheless. Without a second to waste, the family departed from their apartment room and made their way out of the building, where Yuan said his goodbyes for the day to his mother on the staircase before meeting up with his dad in his car. The current model they own is controlled by an A.I. much like the taxis of Den City; lately, there have been updates getting installed in their programing to help decrease the risk of the A.I.s malfunctioning and causing any accidents, a move that Yuan admittedly thought was smart.

Once the duo got into the front seats of automobile, Mr. Amaya activated the A.I. through voice command and instructed it to had it go to Den City High School. The vehicle then pulled out of its parking space and made its way onto the road to embark on its voyage. While driving through the suburbs, Yuan asked if there was anything interesting he could listen to on the radio, but before his dad could answer, the A.I. picked up his question and responded by tuning to a radio station that was currently doing brief news reports, with one of them being about recent activity going on in Link V.R.A.I.N.S. They have heard rumors starting to go around regarding this, and right as the car went by the downtown area, those rumors were proven true. From the windows and windshield, they could see a lot of the skyscrapers’ TV screens were plastered with live coverage on this developing story, including one from Good Morning Link V.R.A.I.N.S.

"Welcome to another installment of Link Facts," a familiar talking frog announced. "I'm your host, J.W. Frog. As you're all aware of, there's been talk about this mysterious Celebrity Duelist known as 'Striker' goin' around. From what my rookie reporters gathered, he claims to be some new-fangled reporter who claims Sol Technologies is covering an incident that took place ten years ago. But can we really trust this guy? No one's got a glimpse of him, not even the kind of deck he uses. So how can we believe him when he's got no proof?"

A nearby phone rang. "And it looks like we have our first caller," Frog noticed. He pressed a button on his desk. "Hello, you have reached Link Facts. How may I help you?"

"This is Ghost Gal of CyberTech Sector," a young woman spoke up.

That surprised Frog. "M-My goodness, it's an honor to have you on my show," he replied. "What brings you here?"

"I noticed you've been saying things about Striker," Ghost Gal answered. "What makes you think you know everything about him? You ever thought he could be doing us a favor?"

"I'm sorry, m'am, but without definitive proof, we can't really tell what he’s like,” Frog explained.

"So your first thought is to say he's not trustworthy?" Ghost Gal assumed. "What if something did happen ten years ago and the folks at Sol Technologies are the ones acting shady?"

"That is a possibility," Frog admitted.

"Then I would appreciate it if you say that instead of making one-way accusations," Ghost Gal suggested, then she hung up.

"Well that was a sure-fire way to start things off," Frog remarked. "But that's why I need you viewers. If anyone has proof of who Striker is, whether it's pictures or videos, send them to me at jwfrog@linkfacts.com. Now in other news, The Gore has recently announced an upcoming charity duel..."

"J.W. Frog might be right," Mr. Amaya pointed out. "We really don't know much about Striker. He could be making up this 'Sol Technologies coverup' for attention."

"Maybe..." Yuan muttered, still thinking about that news report.

The traffic light changed from red to green, and while the car picked up some speed to continue driving, Yuan dove into some important aspects of what they witnessed. J.W. Frog brought up a valid point regarding these stories; unless it is for attention, it is always important to find definitive proof of the claim someone is trying to make. But maybe there could be another factor at play. What if Striker has been gathering proof and he’s just waiting for the right time to share it to the public? It could be a possibility.

Yuan knew he shouldn’t second guess himself like that yet he couldn’t help it because he just so happens to be a fan of Striker himself. He has heard about how this mysterious Duelist became a celebrity due to his nightly mission to expose Sol Technologies. Speaking of which, it was astonishing to have someone like Ghost Gal from CyberTech Sector call during a news report to give her input. She has also got a reputation herself for being a co-founder of this organization with well-renounced hacking abilities and shares a common goal with the other members: protecting Link V.R.A.I.N.S. from criminal hackers. As astounding as it is by itself, why would Ghost Gal suddenly chime in like that to have J.W. Frog say proof is needed? Is this so-called “Sol Technologies coverup” really that important?

"You're a fan of Striker, aren't you?" Mr. Amaya asked. "What do you think about this news about him?"

Yuan remained silent. "Not really in a talking mood?" Mr. Amaya guessed.

"Eh..." Yuan muttered with a shrug. "I'd rather keep an open mind. I've been following fansites for a while, but they all say the same thing. Everyone's obsessed with figuring out Striker's identity. Wouldn't it be easier to leave him alone? And what's going to happen when we finally figure out who he is? It sounds like he mostly became famous because of his unknown status."

"It wouldn't hurt to ask," Mr. Amaya pointed out. "Your mother and I know you made an account, but did you even try to log in? It wouldn't hurt to give it a try."

"No thanks," Yuan replied. "You know how hard it is for me to make friends-"

"Hey, Yuan!"

Outside the window, the two could see a teenager running towards their car. He had a chubby figure with dark green, shoulder-length hair that’s pushed back and left a small cowlick on the front, olive green eyes, and thick, hooked eyebrows of the same dark green color. For his attire, he wore the standard Den City High School male uniform except the jacket sleeves are rolled up to his upper arms and he wore scarlet sneakers with a light yellow coloring on the tongue of the sneakers and a thick, gray strap on each shoe. They both recognized him as Naoki Shima and Yuan was glad to see him; after all, they have been best friends ever since they were both children.

"Hey, uh...can you drop me off here?" Yuan asked his dad.

Mr. Amaya sighed. "Alright," he answered. He spoke into the steering wheel. "Stop driving."

At that moment, the car steered towards a crosswalk and stopped, allowing Yuan to get his suitcase. "Have a good day at school," Mr. Amaya said. "Love you."

"Thanks," Yuan replied as he got out of the car. "And I know."

He shut the door behind him and began to run up to Naoki. Just then, a honk briefly blared from the car horn, startling Yuan and stopping him in his tracks. He turned around to see his father rolling down the car window to say something to his son. "You have to say 'I love you' back," he explained.

"What?!" Yuan asked.

"I'm not leaving until you say it," Mr. Amaya insisted.

Yuan groaned as he face-palmed. "Fine..." he said. "I love you, dad."

Mr. Amaya chuckled slightly. "See?" he asked. "That wasn't hard."

As Mr. Amaya started the car up and it drove off, Naoki muffled a laugh. "What, doesn't your grandmother embarrass you in public?" Yuan asked.

"Pfft... Nah," Naoki answered. "Though I don't get why the other students tease me when she drops off my boxed lunches."

Yuan rolled his eyes as he sighed. He should’ve expected something like that from Naoki by now given how long they’ve known each other. For instance, one of the best memories they shared was back when they were children and they had gotten into Duel Monsters; unfortunately, uncertainty would always surface regarding what the actual rules were, so they decided to make up their own rules. They even recorded those rules into their own notebook copies and entitled them “The Official Dueling Guidebook”. Even after all these years, they still have their guidebooks in their bedrooms although they have been showing some signs of wear and tear. Even so, past and present moments with his best friend was another common occurrence that meant a whole lot for Yuan.

"So Yuan, have you thought about joining a club?" Naoki asked as the two walked to school.

"I have," Yuan answered. "Do you think the art club is still accepting members?"

"Probably," Naoki answered with a shrug. "But have you thought about joining the dueling club? I'm practically one of the club's best Duelist."

"Best Duelist, huh?" Yuan repeated. "What, did you bribe a bunch of newbies with the promise of free cookies?"

"Haha, very funny," Naoki dully said.

"I'm serious," Yuan clarified. "Den City High School mostly focuses on academics. We're the only Duelists who attend."

"Yeah, well turns out you're wrong," Naoki clarified. "I hung a flyer on the bulletin board and I got a bunch of people interested. Not sure if they played the game before, but it's still something. So whaddya say? You interested in stopping by after school?"

Yuan smiled. "How can I say no to my best friend?" he asked in response. "But I hope you didn't tell these supposed newbies Link monsters are invulnerable to everything."

Later that afternoon, once classes were finished, Yuan met up with Naoki in the hallway where the latter’s last class was. He followed him out of the building and through the school grounds, weaving through a few groups of students as they were all heading to their clubs or extracurricular activities. In only about a minute or two, they reached the front doors of another facility on the campus, where Naoki explained the Duel Club is located on the first floor. He led Yuan through the doors until they were both in the main entrance. He then bolted through a hallway on his left, leaving his friend to run after him; to this day, he hasn’t been able to deduce how someone like him can run so fast, so he would assume it probably has to do with his eccentric, passionate personality.

Fortunately, he managed to catch up to Naoki, and after turning a couple corners, they both reached a doorway in an empty hall. Outside the door, there was a sign that says “Duel Club” on it, marking the intended destination of Yuan and the other newcomers’ first day there.

"So this is the place?" Yuan asked.

Naoki nodded in response. "And don't worry, everyone's nice. You'll get along just fine."

"Right..." Yuan muttered. He slowly reached for the doorknob. "So I have to...just go in, right?" He took a deep breath. "That's all I have to do..."

"Geez, it's not that hard!" Naoki exclaimed. "But if you're too chicken, allow me to give you a push."

With a single yet strong push, Yuan found himself opening the door and stumbling into the Duel Club. He tried to maintain his composure after his not-so graceful entrance, but he was too distracted by the sight of the other club members, which contained a healthy gender ratio. Among the females were a young teenage girl with a brunette, bobcut hairstyle and hazel eyes, a blonde-haired woman with magenta-red eyes and glasses, and a purple-eyed girl who had her wavy, ginger hair in a headband and left two, light orange side tails on the front. As for the males, there were a gray-haired boy who wore chartreuse glasses over his black eyes, a spectacled young man with his eyes shut, his teal hair kept in a single spike, and considerably chubbier than Naoki, a straight, brown-haired man with a lean figure, and a short, teenage boy with gray eyes and kept his dark burgundy hair in a ponytail.

Realizing everyone was staring at him, Yuan stumbled over his words. "H-Hi..." he stammered, averting his eyes towards the ground. "Does anyone like bowling...?"

The blonde woman snickered. "Wow Shima, where'd you get this noob?"

"I'll have you know Yuan Amaya's been my best bud for years!" Naoki defended.

"Yeah right," the blonde woman scoffed with an eye-roll. She glared daggers at Yuan. "Did your so-called buddy pay you to be his friend?"

Yuan swallowed hard. "Uh... Well..."

"Quit mocking the newcomer," the ginger-haired girl defended. She smiled at Yuan. "Sorry about June. She always acts like that with everyone."

"Only because someone acted like a huge show-off and turned out to be a dueling fraud," the blonde woman, apparently June, snapped. "Good thing I'm the vice president or our club would go nowhere thanks to our president's cruddy leadership."

She was referring to the gray-haired boy, who was somewhat annoyed by her insulting him like that, but it was the least of his concerns at this point. What matters right now was to introduce themselves to Yuan because a lot of the members were always keen on getting to know the newcomers. He introduced him as Hosoda and confirmed that he was indeed the president of the Duel Club. The young, teal-haired man was known as Sato and the ponytailed boy was known as Tanaka, who were both second-year students. The brown-haired boy chimed in to acquaint Yuan that he is a freshman named Suzuki. The ginger-haired girl identified herself as Hannah while the brunette woman politely addressed herself as Skye. Though Yuan had an idea on who June is, the latter reluctantly gave her introductions.

"I'm June Mori," the blonde woman sighed. "And like I said before, I'm the club's vice president." She held out her hand. "Now fork over your deck for inspection."

"W-What...?" Yuan stammered.

"Don't mind June," Naoki explained. "She does this to all new club members."

"Only to see if you're worthy of being in the club," June coldly added. "Now hand it over."

"Uh...o-okay..." Yuan muttered, slowly taking out his Weather Painter deck.

Taking his deck from his hand, June expanded it out to examine the cards he has. So far, everything seemed pretty normal, much to her disappointment; it’s not because his deck was useless. It was far from it. She could tell the Weather Painter archetype all contained some beneficial effects of every card type. After all, a core belief that Hosoda made an official rule for the club was how there is no such thing as a useless card, only useless Duelists who don’t see their worth. As she was wrapping up her deck inspection, she spotted a card coated in a hexagonal pattern of dark and light blues. Her mouth barely moved, but it left an opening between her jaws big enough for it to be noticeable, prompting a nearly audible gasp to escape. On top of that, her eyebrows slightly rose at what she manage to catch a glance of.

Was it a dream? No, it couldn’t be. The image, the stats, the direction of where the arrows were pointing, the monster’s name. She recognized it all. Had she finally found it? The card she has been looking for?

"What's wrong, June?" Hosoda asked. "Did you see something?"

June responded by shoving the deck back into Yuan's hand. "Everyone, start rearranging the tables," she ordered. "We're dueling right here, right now."

"Now hold on!" Naoki defended. "You can't ask Yuan to duel!"

"But I just did," June bluntly pointed out. "His deck intrigues me. I want to see it in action."

Yuan wasn't sure how to respond. "Uh..."

Seeing his friend in distress, Naoki leaned close to him. "You okay, buddy?" he asked.

"H-How did you drag me into this..." Yuan muttered. "You know neither one of us can actually duel..."

"Relax, you got this," Naoki encouraged. "June uses a cheap starter deck. Your Weather Painters can easily defeat her."

"You sure you're not saying this to cheer me up?" Yuan guessed.

"Of course not," Naoki answered. He gave Yuan a pat on the back. "Now go on, you've got this."

Taking a deep breath, Yuan stepped forward. "I-I-I..." he stammered.

"Yes?" June asked.

"I accept your challenge!" Yuan nervously blurted out.

June smirked. "Glad to see you're not chicken," she said, strapping on her Duel Disk. "So listen up: if you can defeat me, I'll let you join. No second chances. Got it, noob?"

"Y-Yes!" Yuan exclaimed.

"Good," June said. "I'd wish you luck, but I doubt you'll need it."