#i go sketch but im in WOE

[qeyond]

me everyday since may: i need to draw. i want to draw! but im scared. what if it doesnt come out good. what if i dont like it. what if it's not as good as all those super dynamic pose drawers can do? what if its just not good enough?

[skcirthinq]

So, I'm trying to organize my files and found a bunch of sketches that I didn't post; a lot of them are like.

I didn't finish drawing for the whole fic, or stuff, but if I don't post them now, I might be never, sooo.

First batch is from two fics by the always amazing @alicat54cwriting and @amevello-blue

Home Running, one of the Different Eldest Brother series entries! Dannie extends his adoption policy to traumatized apocalypse peepaws.

And then Dragon in the Woods, in which a version of Ghost has. A... Time.... And adopts some babies (who are versions of the Empathy is Learned kids) Mystic connections happen, it's very sweet.

And then finally a page from @amevello-blue and @wondrous-art 's TMNT iteration, The Mystic Forest! It's an interesting take on the characters, and I've been really enjoying it. The boys are very silly, and have such fun designs!

Edit: I found! Another set for each! I knew I had Dream Leo somewhere asdfhjnggj

[venomgaia]

Guys that go bump in the night

(minorly inspired by @karniss-bg3 's response to this ask)

[jazzy-art-time]

Mohawk lizard with deadly legs!

Local woman observes her own leg after creator decides to slightly change her design

[kaiya-player2]

What's up, bitches?? I ain't dead, and I'm here to give you this

No, I do not have a post schedule, thank you for asking

[shads-shipposts]

I love how 2025 decided to welcome me by smacking me with the first case of the flu I've ever had. But that ain't gonna stop me (even if it's annoying the piss outta me).

We're back with Allan and co, who are also gifted a headache in the form of Shadow. This will be the last "slow" chapter for a few, as things get very chaotic very quick in chapter 3.

Thanks again for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated. Also, woe to me for forgetting, but a big thanks to @showtimeatfreddys for being the beta reader for this fic. Y'all can thank them for act 1 going from 10 to 20 chapters, as they pointed out problem areas and plot holes so I could fix them before posting <3

Beginning: Here Previous: Here Next: Here Ao3 Version: Here

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Allan groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

He already had enough to deal with that morning, then the boss just had to come by and talk to him as if he were a child. Telling him things he already knew and warning him about the consequences for failure... which he also already knew.

How stupid did he really think Allan to be?

Did he really believe that Allan managed to gain control of the ship and crew by being an idiot?

He knew that damn FBI agent was trouble, and he knew not to give him any reason to come snooping aboard the ship. As for the warnings about keeping an eye on his crew lest one get cold feet, nearly all were too loyal to Allan to betray him and those who weren't as steadfast knew what fate awaited them if they stepped out of line and tried to play hero.

Tom slipped back inside the dayroom, sympathy knitting his brow. "You alright?"

"Don't know who that peacock thinks I am," Allan grumbled.

"What'd he say?"

"Oh, the usual." Allan leaned back on the couch, letting his head rest against the wall as he closed his eyes. "Keep an eye out for the agent, keep an eye on the crew, and don't forget I'm owned body and soul and should I think about double crossin' him he'll see to it I spend the rest of my miserable days rottin' in a cell."

Tom groaned. "Ugh, I really hate that man."

Allan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I really hope he finds that wretched model ship he's goin' on about so we can get the hell out of here tonight."

"What's a model ship got to do with treasure anyway?"

"He thinks it will have a scroll, just like his does, and he can match them together."

"If he's wrong?"

"Either way, we're gettin' paid. One just has a bigger payday at the end." Allan shook his head. "For once, I'd like whoever takes over this rust-bucket to be normal. Is that too much to ask?"

"Might be."

Allan looked at the door as a new voice sounded. John Bailey stood just outside, a weird look on his face.

Allan groaned. "What is it now, Johnny?"

"May want to come see this," Johnny said, gesturing down the hall with a thumb. "We have a visitor. An American."

"Fuck me," Allan snapped, rolling his eyes. "That agent's back?"

"Not... exactly."

Allan exchanged a glance with Tom, curiosity creeping over the anger. "Interpol?"

"I honestly have no idea. He's a pretty lousy undercover agent if so."

Interest piqued, Allan pushed himself to his feet and settled his cap back on his head. "Show me."

The moment he stepped into the doorway of the lower gangplank, the hair caught Allan's eye. A dark reddish-purple, falling just to the top of broad shoulders on an otherwise fairly small frame. At least, small compared to the men moving around on the docks. He, or she, looked so out of place it was almost hilarious, sitting cross legged atop a crate scribbling furiously in a sketchbook.

"That's 'im," Johnny said. "Told 'im to sit there to sketch."

"He's certainly focused on it," Allan replied, keeping his eyes on the kid. He could see them, but they couldn't easily see him unless they looked hard. Considering how fervently they focused on sketching, he doubted they even knew they were being watched.

The odd sight of someone sketching wasn't exactly concerning, but the fact they frequently looked at the Karaboudjan was.

Surely, they couldn't be a reporter or journalist. Even from this distance, Allan wouldn't put them over twenty. Maybe over eighteen. Softer features didn't exactly help discern their age, or even their gender.

Then again, that ginger nuisance Allan and his men ran across near Egypt also didn't look like a journalist but had caused a world of hurt for Allan's operations. Looks could be incredibly deceiving.

"He say why he was around?"

"Apparently likes cargo ships and wanted to sketch one."

"That's it?"

"I came to get you soon as I could, so didn't really chat too long."

Allan grunted in acknowledgment, studying the kid's face as they looked up to get another reference of the ship. Just androgynous enough to fool someone at a first glance, Allan found himself leaning towards a woman. Late teens, not super exposed to hard labor outdoors judging by the lighter skin. But no stranger to physical activity, as while her arms weren't overly muscular they still had a definition to them found not through time in the gym but through a physically demanding sport. Coupled with her brazen trip to the docks by herself, signaling self assurance in her ability to defend herself, Allan would wager she had some form of martial arts under her belt.

Someone not to overestimate...

Wait.

Allan squinted, risking a step closer.

He couldn't be sure from this distance, but the kid almost looked... familiar? The features, the build, the length of the hair...

Maybe...

No.

Surely not.

His dream that morning was making him paranoid, that was all. It was embarrassing really, that a simple nightmare had him so rattled he saw Scarlett's face everywhere now.

Yet his eyes remained trained on the kid.

Now that he'd realized the similarities, Allan felt like he stared at Scarlett's doppelgänger minus the less than human attributes.

Whoever this kid was, he couldn't let her walk away without a few... harmless questions.

It was because of her clear fascination and focus on the ship, nothing more. He just needed... needed to keep an eye out. The FBI and Interpol could have spies everywhere.

It was purely business.

It wasn't personal.

It wasn't dire.

It wasn't Scarlett.

"Good work, Johnny," Allan murmured. "I'll handle it. As you were."

Johnny dipped his head to Allan and headed back inside, only to be replaced by another member of Allan's crew.

Brawny with broad shoulders and a long torso, Neil Irwin wiped some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Mornin', boss."

Allan didn't look away from the American. "Mornin'."

"See somethin'?"

Allan dipped his head towards the kid. "We got a watcher."

"Yeah, she's been there since I started unloadin'."

Allan glanced at him. "Talk to 'er?"

Neil shook his head. "Didn't see a need to. She's outta the way, and is mindin' 'er business. Ain't botherin' no one."

Allan turned his attention back to the kid. "Right."

"Should I have?" Neil asked.

"Not sure yet," Allan replied slowly.

And he hated that he wasn't. Uncertainty could put you at risk to be blindsided, and blindsides were a death sentence in Allan's line of work. Especially right now.

"Nice hair, though," Neil commented with a small laugh. "Reminds me of my sister, she always liked dyein' 'er hair fancy colors."

Tom tilted his head as he watched her scribble. "Purple, though? Bit anachronistic, don't ya think?"

Neil glanced at Tom and elbowed him with a sly grin. "Didn't think you could manage big words like that, Tommy."

Tom glared at him, clearly fighting down a smile of his own. "Piss off," he growled, shoving Neil.

"Stow it," Allan snapped as the pair started going for headlocks and rib shots.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked, smacking Neil's hat off in one last blow.

Tom, you well-meaning but unobservant idiot.

"Look at 'er face."

Tom gave him an odd look, but peered across the docks. "Is there... somethin' I'm lookin' for?"

Fuck's sake.

"She doesn't remind you of Scarlett?"

Tom's eyes widened. "Oh... shit, yeah. I see it now," he murmured.

"Wait," Neil exclaimed. "Scarlett was real?!"

Allan smacked his arm. "Keep your voice down!"

Neil winced. "Sorry. Just... I thought she was just a drunken ramblin'."

"How'd you hear of her?"

Neil rubbed the back of his neck. "Er, Harry. Got pissed one night and went on and on about this alien sheila with a bloody tail of all things."

"Oh, she had more than a tail," Allan muttered, not at all surprised that Harry Hobbs was the one to tell Neil.

Allan only allowed him to drink on the ship, away from outsiders, because it was a very risky gamble what would come out of his mouth. Could be professions of love to the crew, could be a challenge to the mermaid figurehead in the card room, or it could be details about his rather adventurous port endeavors that no one wanted to hear.

"He mentioned shapeshiftin' and ice powers, too, but I didn't believe 'im since he's said crazier things." Neil shook his head in disbelief. "But you're sayin' she's real? Not some drunken hallucination Harry saw?"

"Either she was real, or the entire ship had mass psychosis."

Neil looked over at the kid again. "Damn... aliens are real," he rasped, then looked up. "She come from space? How the hell she end up on the ship?"

Allan wished he knew the answer to the first question. At one time, he felt like he did. He was fairly certain Alphians weren't on Earth through technological means, what little information he could recall about their history pointing to migration through magical portals.

But at least he could answer the second.

"We were taken over by a group of mercs, who first employed our help to hunt down one of their fugitives. Turns out they didn't play fair, and ordered us to stop at a small-town pier in the middle of nowhere near the coast of Virginia in the states. More and more mercs joined them, and it really looked like they planned to off us."

"Sounds bleak."

"It was. Then Scarlett showed up. She had two allies with 'er, but one joined the mercs and the other was killed by 'em to try and threaten Scarlett. She didn't take kindly to it, and came to me to ask permission to kill the merc who killed her friend."

"An alien with supernatural powers asked permission?"

"She feared me, apparently." Allan then snorted. "Not enough to not knock me out and go after the merc when I said no."

"What happened after that?"

"That's just it," Allan grumbled. "Everything goes fuzzy after that. Only one man has any more memory of Scarlett after me."

"Who?"

"Me," Tom said. "I saw 'er leave the ship and went after 'er, but one of the mercs found me." He ran his fingers over the jagged scar on his cheek. "Almost did me in, but Scarlett saved me. She got 'urt in the process, though. Tried gettin' 'er back to the ship, but... it all goes fuzzy for me too."

"Let me... get this straight," Neil said slowly. "The ship was taken over by mercs, you had the luck of comin' across a supernatural alien who initially helped but turned against you, then the memory of 'er just... ends. No leads, nothin'?"

"She didn't betray us!" Tom protested. "She just... went against Allan's orders. She was pretty bent on revenge for her friend's death."

"But you haven't been able to track 'er down since then?"

"I haven't been able to track down information on her damn species, let alone Scarlett herself," Allan grumbled.

"She kinda just vanished without a trace," Tom added. "We're still not exactly sure what all happened those few days she was 'round 'ere."

"And you think the sketcher is her?"

Allan shook his head. "Not a chance. Scarlett had some... unmistakable traits. But this kid looks very similar otherwise."

"No offense, boss," Neil said slowly. "But is that the only reason you're so fixated on this kid? A similar appearance?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot," Allan growled.

"I'm not," Neil said, unshaken by the anger in Allan's tone. "But it still sounds like some fever dream."

"I'm not the only one who remembers 'er, Neil."

"It's strange, I won't lie," Neil said. "And I'm certainly not sayin' it didn't happen." He looked towards the kid again. "But I draw the line at goin' after people who are mindin' their business."

He had a point, Allan had to admit. While Allan didn't look down on collateral damage for the same reason Neil did, he still didn't care for it. Collateral damage could get the wrong people involved, people who otherwise would have been content to look the other way until they were personally affected.

This kid, whoever she was, most likely wasn't any sort of undercover rat. Undercover agents sought to blend in, lay low, and stay on the outskirts. The big guns would be brazen and demand to inspect the ship, bringing a large force with them. She was... somewhere in the middle. Not challenging anyone, but not hiding either.

She clearly didn't know anything of the illegal dealings carried out on the ship.

Getting this kid involved could horribly backfire on Allan and his men, and the last thing they needed at the moment was more heat.

Maybe it was better to just leave her be. He should be focusing on the current job, not living in the past chasing ghosts.

Making a scene would only land him in hot water with more entities than he cared to take on at once.

"Oh, almost forgot," Johnny said, joining them again. "Got a name from 'im."

"Her," Tom corrected.

"Her?" Johnny echoed. "You sure?"

"No," Allan said before Tom could reply. "What was the name?"

"Shadow."

Allan's heart damn near stopped, his eyes flying wide as he looked at Tom.

No way. There was absolutely no way this was just a coincidence.

The dream, the Alphian on the docks, the kid's appearance, her interest in the Karaboudjan, her fucking name even...

This kid had a connection to Scarlett. Allan wouldn't even entertain the idea she did not any more.

The only question was how.

"What?" Neil said. "Why's that matter?"

"Shadow... was the name Scarlett first used," Tom croaked. "When she was tryin' to conceal 'er identity."

"That does it," Allan said. "I'm havin' a talk with that kid."

Tom looked at him, somewhat alarmed. "What if she bolts?" He gestured to the both of them. "We're not exactly the most friendly lookin'. Al, we can't risk that."

"Good point," Allan muttered, then turned to Neil. "Go try and talk to 'er."

Neil wasn't exactly any less physically imposing than Allan or Tom, but him alone may not be as threatening.

Neil looked less than thrilled with the order. "Just talkin', right?"

"Not gettin' cold feet, are you?" Allan asked, tone low.

Neil stood his ground. "No. I know what I signed up for, though, and one of the rules was no women or kids."

Allan knew damn well what the rules were; he implemented them himself.

"Bloody hell, we're not hurtin' 'er," Allan retorted. "All I need you to do is keep 'er distracted so we can get close. If she likes cargo ships like she said, she shouldn't mind talkin' to a man who works on one. No threats, just talk to 'er."

"And if she runs?"

It pained Allan, but he said, "Let 'er. Do not make a scene."

"Not... gonna do anythin' to 'er, right boss?" Neil asked, a new hardness to his tone.

"No, she's not in any danger. How many times do I need to say that?" Allan demanded, straining to keep his volume low so he didn't alert Shadow. "I just have questions for 'er."

Neil still didn't seem convinced.

"Just go," Allan ordered.

Neil hesitated, then headed for Shadow.

As Neil left, Allan turned to Tom. "Alert the boys. Get 'em to block the exits, but discreetly. Wait for my word, this could be nothin'."

"Thought we weren't makin' a scene?"

"That's why we block the kid's escape. Once she's surrounded, I can control the situation better."

"What if she notices and runs before they can close in?"

"If there's a gap, let 'er through. But once the circle closes, don't let 'er out.

Tom nodded and left to carry out the order.

Allan turned back to watch the kid, eyes narrowed.

Nothing personal.

I need answers.

And you're not goin' anywhere until I get them.

[ohwormwood]

random thoughts i have while playing isat pt. 5

[woe, spoilers be upon ye!]

continued the family loop and died inside the entire time knowing what was going to happen

compilation of odile moments from this loop i treasure in my heart:

IT CHANGES. IN THE MENU. IM SICK

isabeau being the guy ever

this. this scene. rips out my heart and stomps on it. every. single. time. something about the way siffrin just. stares. it's gut-wrenching.

im definitely gonna sketch some screen caps tonight for the sake of making myself cry again and also because as we have established siffrin is so fun to draw its illegal

yeah i was just. sitting with my roommate in our office space for about 3 hours straight. playing this loop. sobbing. wailing. we. both were just. aaaaaAAAAAAAAA--

in other news: a new acheivement was made! lovely!! loop was not happy about it!!!

wow! even better! that's halfway to 100!

i can feel it coming i am not ready for the ghost loop i am NOT ready for that event hooooooo boy

[daftpatience]

GOOD LORT THATS LONG. utc it goes

cream cheese making faces. this one is cute and im glad my silly cat got attention.

- comments about him being purple cus of the green couch: duly noted. 6/10 - comments on his name being cream cheese: yes it is delightful im a genius. 8/10

vancouver miku. im glad people liked her.

- locals recognizing local sentiments: 10/10 - annoying comments about her outfit: less than twitter gave me at least. 2/10

me and my wife experiencing misguided allyship. i liked how i drew myself here - trans folks sharing similar joys and woes: im shaking your hands 9/10 - people picking fights in the notes: i didnt look :) whee/10

this one. i knew it was gonna be something. lots of folks saw it as an attack on them simply using the word soft at all rather than reading through the steps and reflecting. did not consider that sometimes the answer to the ACT suggestion is "nothing" and immediately jumped to their own defence (which is ironically kind of telling!)

- people pissing on the poor: a lot. piss/10 - blocklist in the notes: im not looking/10

my layton/ghosttrick/aceattorney art swap post! yay :)

its just 10/10

hatsune mik tzu! i really like this art and im glad again that it got som notes yay :)

all ive done is low energy sketches this year between scrambley work. ty for the loveee 10/10

my bumper stickers post: im REALLY happy that yall liked these so much!! theyve sold better than i expected. i love the

-folks supporting my store: 100/10

post about going from a miserable frazzled girl to a confident and happy guy. yay yeah

-people in the notes going 'oh no i can relate what does this mean': i love you and im holding your hand while we sit here together. wether youre a girl that feels trapped by societal standards or a boy that doesnt know it yet or somewhere in between, around, outside, etc: it can be better :) 10/10

my ouran host club thoughts as a tboy wehehe

-people that were also shocked at how many characters got straight married: im so sorry. sad/10 -people that were like "i think haruhi is not trans actually 😇" go make your own post. 0/10

my good zoro art!!!! love him yayay yeah 10/10

im gonna do my tumblr top ten and im gonna judge each one

[quirkle2]

miscellaneous stuff i didn't manage to finish before the year ends. maybe next year !

[haeroniel-doliet]

You ever just like.... Make something?? And love it?? (for now at least) Like who took over these hands and made this thing exactly how i wanted it p much???? Mmm miracles in this chilis tonight babes

[pterodactylartistry-moved]

i may bitch about the attention or lack thereof my art gets but i still like share it cuz i know that theres a few o you guys who do like to see my art

[mail-me-a-snail]

🌌, 🎁, 🙈, 🌺 :) for calvin ofc

MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

it's funny but originally calvin was supposed to be just another version of my snailsona before he became something on his own entirely. usually i use my persona as a self insert and i don't really flesh them out according to what universe they're in currently?

but calvin is one of the ones that actually has a backstory and his own name !! (i wasn't even going to name him in the first place! it's wild!!)

the first age of rapture from the bioshock novel is my main inspiration for him :] i really loved how rapture was going to be everyone's city, but it already felt like it was haunted

i knew from the first sketch i did of him that he'd be working in the fisheries because <3 im very normal about fish and fish symbolism

PRESENT - what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving?

OOOO this is interesting.....i think he'd want a little portable tool kit!! or books. he read anything he could get his hands on--even manuals. like if you gave him a car manual i think he'd be really happy

since he is partly me, ill say it: he gives gifts based on how much they remind him of the receiver ! he'd do it often, too, occasions be damned. he's going to go get you a pretty seashell :3

SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don’t want to show other people?

i've been rotating this one in my mind for a while and it's weird, but calvin is actually pretty vain--not because he's going oh woe is me, im a slug, it's because he doesn't remember what he used to look like and he's a little obsessed with trying to

he would've gone insane if he hadn't found things to occupy his mind, like the amateur engineering

HIBISCUS - do they have any allergies?

i'm genuinely not sure! i think as a human he would've had a pollen allergy but living under the ocean for 10+ years as a sea slug could change a feller. (that and he's been spliced to hell and back--he probably doesnt even have those allergy genes anymore).

[lucky-draws]

have some assorted notes and sentences of varying quality pertaining to a certain o/celhira fic im cautiously confident i might actually write...

(meows through keyhole. has acquired sniper rifle. is a rather fearsome phrase out of context i now realise)

i won't release this fic chapter by chapter though i think ill post it all at once... so in several months hence you may or may not suddenly find me going woe! o/celhira be upon ye

also i kind of abandoned the o/tasune fic i was writing for now (may the lord strike me down if i don't write this she says and proceeds to get blasted by lightning.) but uhhh. maybe i will come back to it later, and if not im thinking i will at least post what i did write, kind of like posting discarded drawings/rough sketches i guess..

[impossible-rat-babies]

sunday snippet/sketch sunday

ty for the tag @coldshrugs and @whowhatifs <3 <3

i dunno where this little line of writing is going, but I had an idea of pollux fixing up a motorcycle and it’s spiraled from there.

It’s a hot one today, the heat shimmering off the alleyway asphalt; despite the fans blowing in the makeshift garage and the door cocked open, it’s still hot.

Pollux grabs a handful of wires and braces a foot against the bike. He pulls hard, his shoulders straining—bicep pulling taught. It’s highlighted so wonderfully by the slight shine of sweat that keeps the wife beater clinging to his skin, hugging his curves. It paints a lovely picture down his spine, a few stray hairs from a messy bun stuck to his neck.

His Adam’s apple bobbing and Pollux grunts, adjusting his grip to keep yanking on the wires again.

“Son of a motherfucking bitch and a half..!” Pollux curses loudly, the wires finally breaking. He grumbles, discarding them before he sticks his arm back in.

It most definitely shouldn’t be this amusing and delightful to watch Pollux tear apart a motorcycle, but watching his hands clench and his forearm draw tight, the pinched look to his face and…Ortega isn’t going to argue.

Pollux turns to dig through the tool box, his silver necklace dipping low between the curves of his breast and of course he isn’t wearing a bra. Of all the things. Pollux looks at him out of the corner of his eye, raising a brow.

“You’re making eyes at me, asshole.”

“You’re not wearing a bra.”

Pollux snickers.

“Woe is you, huh?” He lifts the hem of the tank top to wipe the sweat from off his hairline.

“And that’s one of my tank tops.” Fixed gaze, Ortega leaning over, elbows on his knees.

Pollux hums in affirmation, a grin on his lips.

im gonna tag: @attraeus, @wayhavn, @starrypawz (i know i forgot wip wednesday this is payback), @possumsunshine, @mournholdmushroom, @bitchesofostwick, @merry-harlowe, @griever-reciever, and whomever else!

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 12

First

Previous

Next

Carapace stared at the two different files on his computer, his mouse hovering between them.

What should he do? Should he force himself to finish his schoolwork tonight so he could have the next day off once class was over? Or should he work on a video for TikTok while he had motivation?

Or he could do both…?

He made a brief trip down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and his eyes narrowed when he saw that the coffee machine had mysteriously disappeared, as had all the coffee pods.

Chat hated coffee, but Rena and Chloe both accepted some when offered --.

Oh, who was he kidding? He knew the culprit.

He made his way up to the attic and he found Chloe and Ladybug cuddling under some blankets (or, rather, Chloe was cuddling Ladybug, Ladybug was sketching something and listening to music). It wasn’t even a particularly cold day, but he had long-since lost the need to question most of the weird things that miraculous holders did. It was probably a miraculous thing, it was whatever.

His nose picked up the distinct smell of coffee and he caught sight of the mug Chloe was using to warm her hands. Or maybe she was holding it for Ladybug. Or both. Whatever.

Ladybug didn’t even look up from her sketchbook.

Chloe did, though, barely lifting her head off of Ladybug’s shoulder to meet his eyes.

“Bonjour,” she said. Detached and formal, but it was better than her usual habit of just… rudely jumping into conversation without saying hi. He would take it.

“Salut,” he said. “Where’s the coffee?”

Chloe hesitated, then nudged Ladybug. She blinked behind her mask and pulled an earbud out of her ear.

“Mmm?”

“Carapace wants coffee.”

Ladybug looked a little put out but pointed her pencil at the desk, where the stolen coffee machine now resided.

He nodded and made his way over. He reached into the jar of coffee pods and then paused.

“I went shopping yesterday. How many has she had?”

Ladybug, who hadn’t yet put her earbud back in, flushed red. “An amount. Who are you, my dad? Leave it alone.”

“You’re going to die --.”

“No, I won’t. I’m monitoring my dosage.”

He opened his mouth to argue, and then decided it wasn’t worth it. “Whatever. I’m taking the machine back downstairs.”

This got a pout.

The blanket moved. He heard Chloe gasp a little as if she’d been jabbed in the side. She gave Ladybug a slight glare before rolling her eyes and sticking her lower lip out as well.

Now he was getting two pouts.

“Don’t give me that. Just be glad I’m not cutting you off entirely.”

This got Ladybug to shape up. She quickly put her earbud back in and went back to sketching.

Chloe looked between them and gave an exasperated huff, then went back to attempting to steal her friend’s(? Carapace was kind of confused about their relationship, if he was honest) body heat.

He took the machine down and poured himself a cup, then went back to his computer.

… damn. He’d taken too long and now his motivation to edit footage for TikTok was gone.

Whatever, he thought as he took a sip of his coffee, at least he could get his schoolwork done.

~

Okay, so, mistakes were made.

He groaned and rubbed his face sleepily as he detached his face from his desktop the next morning, his phone alarm blaring that it was time to wake up. The caffeine had kept him up until five in the morning. He’d forgotten that Ladybug had gotten the highest dosage she could last time. Damn it.

He slowly reached for his phone and pulled up the screen to turn off the alarm.

His eyes landed on the time.

He had fifteen minutes to get across Paris for class.

Not possible for him as a civilian, but Carapace…

Wayzz gave him a tired look, as he usually did when he was about to use his miraculous for personal gain, but he ignored it as he scooped everything on his desk into his bag.

He sniffed his hoodie and decided it was fine.

He did apply some extra deodorant, though. Just in case.

“Shell on,” he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulders just before he transformed and jumping out of his window.

Being the ‘nice hero’ was a bit inconvenient when he needed to get places quickly.

He had to stop every few rooftops to wave and smile at people lest he run into a chimney or walk right over the side of the building in his distraction. Beyond just his image, people are getting akumatized over anything these days, so it was necessary that he be nice to them. He was just grateful no one thought to ask for a picture or something.

But he managed to be on time. Barely. He detransformed in an alley near the school and sprinted the rest of the way to class. The door was pushed open a minute before it was due to start. However, in his haste, he tripped over the sill. He faceplanted.

Great, he thought bitterly as he rubbed his sore cheek. At least no one would suspect him to be a hero after that.

He walked over to an empty seat and plopped himself down, fighting the urge to sink into his hoodie as eyes followed him.

Thankfully, class was starting, so everyone was quickly distracted by the lecture.

It was about theater in the east for once! Cool!

A mere twenty minutes into class, the TV flickered to life and there was a collective groan as a few people leaned forward in their seats to see if the akuma was even worth heading to the nearest shelter for.

He barely even looked over. The people that had leaned forward had settled back into their seats pretty quickly, so it probably wasn’t anything major.

He smiled a little to himself. The best part of the new arrangement of everyone living together was that they all knew each other’s schedules. This meant he didn’t have to worry about being called upon during class --.

His phone vibrated in his bag.

Nope, he decided. He had just imagined that. Surely, they knew that he wasn’t able to do anything --.

His phone vibrated again. And again. And again.

The people around him were sending him annoyed looks.

He cursed in Arabic and pulled it from his bag.

Kittychat: It’s a water one and no one has any powerups. :(

Queenie: Carapace.

Foxyou: Spam him lol

Queenie: You’re right.

He scowled as his phone started blowing up thanks to the three of them.

Capot: im in class

Kittychat: Oh. Sorry. :(

Queenie: Don’t be sorry! We need him!

Foxyou: If we spam him enough he might get kicked out

Great. Now his phone was blowing up again, courtesy of only Rena and Chloe this time.

“Monsieur…” The professor began, looking through his attendance sheet momentarily before apparently decided it wasn’t worth the effort to find his name. “Would you like to share with the rest of the class?”

He sighed a little. Fine. Guess he’d do his stupid job or whatever.

���Sorry, my friend is new to Paris and she’s freaking out about the akuma. It’s her first one. Can I go check on her?”

“Sure. Just remember to do the homework. It’s due tonight at midnight.”

He nodded that he understood and reluctantly gathered his things. Within a few minutes he was out of class and transformed and on his way towards the body of water the akuma had claimed.

It just HAD to be a water one.

Hawkmoth probably did it on purpose, too. He loved being an inconvenience, Carapace wouldn’t put it past him to have figured out he was in a rush thanks to his running around that morning and deciding it was time to make a water akuma.

He sighed for what must have been the millionth time that day as he spotted the giant tentacle monster in the river.

Sure. Why not?

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write

[sunsoothed]

muse

Jugyeong needs to amend her understanding of best friends.

han seojun\kang sujin | rated t | 3.3k words | college au, pining, jealousy | outsider pov

read on ao3

enjoy!

~

Im Jugyeong, frankly, has never seen someone quite like Han Seojun. He’s a muted, ephemeral kind of beauty, someone you get caught staring at in class, or someone you get caught staring at while eating, or someone you get caught staring at, period.

He’s also someone you stare at when they’re not around, which is why Jugyeong is only shocked out of her daze when from beside her, Sua says his name.

“Wasn’t Han Seojun supposed to be here?”

They’re sitting around a large table for lunch, with people Jugyeong only half-knows, because she’d been a fool to transfer colleges in her second year.

“Was he?” Someone opposite her pipes up. “I’ll call him.”

That makes Jugyeong raise her eyes. Someone so close to Han Seojun that they can just call him? When she looks up, it’s the one other female student in her statistics class.

Kang Sujin, was it?

Kang Sujin brings her phone to her ear, and a response seems to come within a moment, for she asks, “Did you just wake up?”

To which she must get a denial, because she then says, “You had lunch plans.”

Everyone’s peering suspiciously into Sujin’s space, so Jugyeong supposes it isn’t odd for her to do so, too.

Sudden concern fills Sujin’s voice. “What, did you have a late night?”

And then she’s back to plain informative. “Mmh. Not too far. I think we all have a good half an hour or so to spare.”

And Seojun must say something funny, because Sujin laughs, hums, and hangs up with a See you.

“He should be here soon. He decided to work late on a project last night because he didn’t have any classes this morning.”

There’s a collective ahh, we understand, before everyone gets back to their food and conversation. Sua places a slice of meat in her bowl, Sujin unearths a bottle of banana milk from somewhere, and on her other side, Taehoon slurps his ramyeon loudly. Under the table, Jugyeong’s heels click with the floor in anticipation.

When he does arrive, some ten-twelve minutes later, He’s beyond words. Hair slightly unkempt, wearing a beige coat and carrying another in the crook of his arm. He has a pink sweater on underneath, as much as Jugyeong can make out, and his white shoes radiate a slight dichotomy from his usual vibe.

“Shift,” He says, opposite Jugyeong, as he approaches them. Kang Sujin, who’d been close enough to call him, tilts her head back to catch sight of him.

She blinks, then juts her jaw to the space beside Taehoon.“There’s space there —”

“Just shift.” Seojun insists, an utterly adorable whine to his voice. Gosh, Jugyeong feels her cheeks reddening.

But Sujin only sighs and makes reluctant way for him. “Come, sit.”

Seojun gives a sort-of grimace, sort-of smile. They seem close. He hands her the coat he was carrying, too. “You left this behind.”

“Ah, right,” Sujin says, taking the coat from him. “No wonder I’ve been feeling chilly all day.”

He seems to have some quippy response prepared, but Sujin beats him to it.

“Your hair’s still wet,” She says. She holds a hand to his forehead, fingers brushing against the strands.

Seojun hums. “I was in the shower when you called.” He does nothing to remove her hand. They must be very close.

“Did I disturb you?”

He clicks his tongue, waving her worry away. He’s so attractive.

Sujin picks up her half-drunk banana milk. She hands it to him. “Here, by the way.”

She could’ve just bought him a new one. What was the point of this?

But Han Seojun takes a sip like it’s nothing, mouth on the straw that Sujin had drunk from. He swallows and pulls a face. “Tastes like your chapstick. I don't want it.”

Best friends, Jugyeong thinks. They must be best friends.

Unfazed, Sujin grins. “Lucky for you…” And she unearths another bottle of banana milk.“I have another one.”

Han Seojun smiles, half his mouth quirked up and a fond exasperation in his eyes. He easily accepts the bottle, pierces the straw through, and holds it up. “Cheers.”

-

“Change your position now!”

The party’s in full-swing. As full-swingy as it can get in Jugyeong’s cramped apartment, at least. It’s been a day since Jugyeong managed to meet Han Seojun. And now he’s here, in her apartment, and they’re playing Spin the Bottle, and there are very, very less people.

Taehoon groans, the bottle having landed on him and empty air for the second time. “This game is stupid —”

“Shut up,” Sua implores. “We’re all having fun. Who’s next?”

“Spin it!”

So Sua spins the bottle, and they wait in anticipation for it to land on someone. It’s Kang Sujin.

“How lucky…” Jugyeong hears Taehoon say under his breath. Then she looks up. It’s Kang Sujin and her.

“If you’re uncomfortable,” Sujin starts, hand already on her shot glass to allow Jugyeong to skip the turn. But Jugyeong shakes her head.

“I’ve just… never kissed a girl before.” The confession is sudden, but no one is perturbed.

“It’s the same as kissing a boy,” Sujin supplies oh-so-helpfully. She leans in, and Jugyeong, heart hammering, leans in too, and it’s over in a second.

“You don’t take this stuff seriously, do you?” Jugyeong asks, a sudden energy in her. She meets Sujin’s eyes.

“Not at all.” Sujin smiles.

The game continues. “Your turn to spin.”

Jugyeong gulps, suddenly in need of a sobering smack to the head because what the fuck —

“Sujin again!” Some errant voice declares. Sujin and Seojun.

They seemed pretty close that morning, so maybe this isn’t a big deal? But Sujin takes a shot, and Jugyeong’s confused now. They shared that banana milk this morning, didn’t they? Possibly tipsy, Jugyeong asks, “Hey, why’re you drinking —”

It takes Han Seojun a second, but then he says, “Ah, that,” like this is all making sense to him, and he, too, takes a shot.

And then they kiss — no, maul each other’s faces, and it’s the most erotic and the most disgusting thing Jugyeong’s seen in her life. When they pull apart, completely cool, Seojun wipes a trail of spit and alcohol from his chin and licks his fingers. Oh god. Jugyeong’s abdomen hollows.

There is an understandably long silence.

Eventually, Taehoon swallows, and says, weakly, “You two…”

“It’s a thing we do,” Sujin informs, nonchalant.

“I thought you said you weren’t together.”

“We aren’t.”

-

“Home, now?”

Slurred, Sujin replies, “Mmm.”

Jugyeong catches the conversation on the periphery, pulling her own shoes on in the outroom of the restaurant. It was a good choice these people had made; the food was good, the wine was mild, and the effects were a pleasant buzz.

“Come,” Seojun’s even more pleasant enters her earshot. “Let’s put on our shoes…”

Jugyeong likes to think he’s talking to her. But leaning against the wall, she can see, with clarity, that he’s addressing only Sujin. Oh, woe, Jugyeong sighs. She watches Sujin’s attempt at balance while drunk, watches her try and slip on her shoes, try, so considerately, because Seojun’s watching over her. She sees him, fond, as he slips his fingers beside Sujin’s and helps her slide her feet in. She gulps.

“Are you taking Sujin home?” Alas, there must always be an unwelcome distraction. Jugyeong can’t remember this guy’s name, but it must be as irritating as his face.

Seojun must feel the same, for he replies with a much-too-cordial, much-too-gruff yes.

“You’re familiar with where she lives?” The guy questions, throwing his weight around. He leans obstructively over the wall against which Sujin stands. “She’s drunk, would she trust you enough?”

It’s an awkward situation. Seojun is grimacing, and Jugyeong, considerably removed by context but very much involved by space, grimaces as well. Seojun seems to have a non-threatening reply prepared, but Sujin beats him to it, aggression and distraught where she stands, now, shaky.

“Yah, Park - Park whatever your name is, how dare you say that to Seojun?”

And this Park whatever-your-name is opens his mouth in affront, drunk breath diffusing around the room. “I —”

“Sujin-ah —”

Sujin continues. “This bastard. You don’t know anything about us.”

She looks like a kitten whose fur is standing on edge, anger in the face of fear.

“He doesn’t,” Seojun coaxes, still-rational. Jugyeong has the sudden urge to laugh.

He tries again, hand firm on Sujin’s shoulder.“Let’s just go —”

But Sujin doesn’t budge. She holds an accusatory finger to the guy’s face, which has, somehow, turned a nauseated shade, and declares, “We’re best friends, okay?”

-

Best friends, Jugyeong continues to ruminate, some mornings later as they meet up to study. She watches Seojun with his messy hair tapping the end of his pencil against the sheet he’s working on. He looks distracted. There’s also something very distracting about him, and Jugyeong’s sure it’s caught more than her eye. Seojun’s eye, that it. He’s wearing kajal, and he’s sporting some… averagely-done smokey-eye look, which she’s just itching to correct.

Seojun plants the pencil behind his ear and picks up his phone, oblivious to Jugyeong’s inner turmoil, though she sits opposite him and very much in his view. He’s typing something, a light furrow between his brows. Then he puts down his phone, and looks at the sheet he’d been sketching on for the better part of the hour, and sighs with great displeasure.

Jugyeong sets her own eyes to her work, a little guiltily. She shouldn’t be watching him like this.

Eyes on the table, she sees Seojun pull out a different pencil from his pencil case and get to work. Hands deft, hands smooth, he’s drawing arching strokes when the quiet of the studio is interrupted by the door opening. Almost everyone turns at the sound on instinct, then drop their attention once they notice another student. Jugyeong registers that it’s Sujin. She also registers that Seojun hasn’t glanced up from his work.

He does, then, when Sujin first plucks the pencil he’d tucked behind his ear, second deposits a thermos upon the desk.

“For your throat,” she greets. She waves to Jugyeong. Jugyeong waves back.

Seojun nods. He applies his finishing touches to the sketch, then looks up. “Thanks, Sujin-ah.”

“No need,” Sujin hums. She places the displaced pencil on the table, ruffles Seojun’s already unkempt hair, and waves goodbye to Jugyeong.

Jugyeong waves back.

-

Shoes, again, Jugyeong’s place, again. It’s a pattern, she thinks. Or wishes to think, with finality, but unfortunately things involving Han Seojun are always demanding to be overthought. He had shown up in some flowy palazzo pants and a crop-top that Sua swore she had seen Sujin wear once. He had looked good.

Some considerable amount of shots later, however, his hair had been styled out f its artful mess to a regular mess, and his lipstick had smudged from the amount of people he had kissed. And Jugyeong had stood, watching, as her turn never came. And as, customarily, Seojun and Sujin drank out of each other’s mouths.

And here, again, she watches, as Sujin helps Seojun put his shoes on.

“You sure you can walk in that?” She’s asking, kneeling on the floor, very much proposal-like. In one hand she holds the heels Seojun had sauntered in wearing.

Seojun hiccups. “Probably… not.”

Sujin smiles up at him, fond, shakes her head. She turns to the side, glances somewhat into the apartment. Catches Jugyeong’s eye. “Hey, Jugyeong, do you have any flats?”

Jugyeong snaps out of her reverie. Her mouth hangs open for a moment, uncomprehending, before she processes the words. “I do, just a moment.”

Han Seojun is borrowing her shoes. Jugyeong fishes out her best pair of flats, a sleek black pair that hasn’t seen the light of day for a good few months. She tucks her hair behind her ears before walking out of her room; for what, she doesn’t know.

Gulping, heart racing, Jugyeong hands the shoes to Sujin. “Here.”

Sujin takes them with a somewhat distracted smile, one hand reaching for the shoes, one hand keeping Seojun upright. “Thanks, Jugyeong.”

Jugyeong finds herself gulping once again, watching Sujin crouch down and slip the flats onto Seojun’s feet, familiarity evident in her actions. She doesn’t entertain that line of thought any further.

And then Han Seojun speaks, voice off in the most adorable way, a little high, well past tipsy. “What, what — are you going propose to me?”

Sujin finds amusement in that. She smiles, laughs, stands up to clap a hand on Seojun’s shoulder. “Not yet.”

Seojun nods. He leans against Sujin, expectant of her support, Jugyeong looks away as Sujin wraps a hand around his waist.

“You can —” she clears her throat and tries again, “You can leave his shoes here,” Jugyeong suggests, holding out an awkward hand.

Sujin brushes her off, not rudely, more preoccupied with the very drunk Seojun-like mass on her shoulder. “It’s fine, I’ll carry them back,” she says. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime,” Jugyeong whispers, long after they’ve left her house.

-

“Would you like some breakfast?”

That has to be a pickup line. Jugyeong blushes terribly.

“Ah- ah, that would be really nice, actually.”

Seojun’s ever-polite, guiding her into the house and pulling a chair at the kitchen island out for her. It’s not a big space, but it’s well-maintained. Either he’s well-off or he’s taken a loan he’ll need to spend a good half of his life paying back.

“Come, sit at the table.”

Jugyeong nods and takes a grateful seat. Seojun busies himself with something steaming on the gas, his well-dressed back facing her. He’s worn those skimpy white blouses before, and they really complement his frame.

“We don’t eat with too much spice,” He calls over, stirring the... stew? Jugyeong isn’t sure. “I hope that’s fine.”

“That’s okay,” She immediately reassures. “I don’t mind.” We…?

The we comes in the form of one Kang Sujin, trudging to the kitchen in an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, immediately locating Seojun and holding him in a death grip from behind. Jugyeong wonders how he’s moving with Sujin clinging to him like that.

Finally, the koala speaks, voice grogging. “Jun-ah….”

“You’re up?” Seojun hums, unperturbed. Must be a common occurrence, Jugyeong thinks, with her already stilted hopes. How wonderful.

“Barely.” Sujin exhales, arms loosening their hold slightly. She rests the side of her head against Seojun’s back, eyes blinking open to Jugyeong.

“Hello, Jugyeong.” She says. “Good morning?”

Taken aback, Jugyeong just about manages to reply, “Good - Good morning.”

“Mm.” Sujin nods back, solemn. “If you say so.”

Seojun huffs out a laugh at that. “You nutcase,” He says affectionately. “Go sit at the table. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

Sujin nods again, dragging herself to the kitchen island, sitting beside Jugyeong. “You guys have that project thing, don’t you?”

Jugyeong hums, now in safer waters. “It’s an installation piece.”

“What are you…” Sujin leans on her arms, “What are you installing?”

Seojun laughs, again, affectionate, again.

“It’s not exactly that,” Jugyeong tries to explain. “It’s an artwork. Seojun is doing the woodwork and I’m painting.”

“So you’re not installing it anywhere?”

“I suppose we are,” Jugyeong supposes. “It’ll need to find a place in the studio and then, hopefully, the exhibition.”

Sujin nods along, having understood it in her own way. Seojun sets two bowls of noodles and stew in front of them by then.

Jugyeong intends to thank him, but she’s cut-off by Sujin gasping, “Is that mine?”

She clutches the sleeve of Seojun’s white blouse. Seojun, in turn, grabs a fistful of her t-shirt. “Is that mine?”

“Fair,” Sujin acquiesces, letting go first. “Fair enough.”

Seojun smiles a cordial smile, then sits opposite Sujin.

“Do you have less crockery?” Jugyeong finds herself asking instead, for Seojun’s eating right out of Sujin’s bowl.

He shakes his head with his mouth full, then swallows and answers, “This one’s just a bitch about doing the dishes. Less dishes used, less dishes to wash.”

“That’s not it,” Sujin weakly protests, picking up the chopsticks beside her, finally gaining some life. “It’s saving water.”

“You shouldn’t make fun of such a serious thing —”

“I’m not making fun of anything —”

These two, Jugyeong marvels. They really are something, aren’t they?

-

It’s a considerably slow day. Jugyeong’s managed to get her upcoming deadlines pushed back, so she can procrastinate her work some more, and maybe accompany Sua when she’s out for a smoke. That is, of course, what Jugyeong assumes she does.

Sua is standing with the others on the terrace, a semi circle formed between them.

“I heard about that Min Jongho, but you’re saying Oh Namsung was also involved? Isn’t that going to blow up in his father’s face?”

Jugyeong takes a step closer. She can recognise those names, that’s those two irritating guys who usually sit at the far end of the workshop.

“Possession of drugs is too serious of a thing for his father to escape from,” Taehoon chimes in. He looks up, sighing, when he catches sight of Jugyeong.

“Oh, Jugyeong!”

She meets his eyes, innocent. “Hm?”

“Come join us,” Sua beckons, already trying to reach for her arm. Jugyeong takes a step forward, absorbed into their circle.

“Did you hear about what Min Jongho did?”

She sakes her head. “No clue.”

“He was caught with marijuana,” Sujin explains, and oof, Jugyeong can’t avoid her now, can she?

“That’s… pretty serious,” she says. “How did people find out?”

“Someone snitched,” one of the others hisses. “He had a party the other night — remember the one where that fucker got that cheap alcohol? Like ten people got the worst hangovers — wait, that’s not the point — they were smoking up, someone found them and secretly reported it.”

“I think there’s more to it than we’re seeing,” Sujin diffuses. “It’s not possible that that was it. No one has those kind of morals around us.”

“What do you know,” Taehoon refutes. “You’re not an art student, Sujin.”

“My apologies for not having such an outlook on the world, your lordship,” she mocks, face intentionally one of surface politeness. “What do you mean you’re not an art student? Seojunnie’s always dragging me into his work.”

“That’s because you’re his muse —”

“Convenient human subject, you mean,” Sujin cuts off, still good-natured.

Jugyeong gets it, that kind of attention she must receive from Seojun may have the potential to be exhausting. Of course Jugyeong gets it. Of course she does. There’s no reason that she needs to stop looking at Sujin’s face —

And arrives the subject of their bootlegged discussion. Han Seojun, a trudging beauty, a tragic beauty, skirt stained and hands freshly-washed. He zeros in on his muse — sorry, convenient human subject — falling without grace against her back, his arms encircling her from behind.

Jugyeong gulps.

“You okay?” Sujin asks, concerned, the kind that only fills her words when Seojun’s around. She turns, letting him breathe out against her neck, lightly ruffles his hair as she hugs him back.

Seojun exhales again. “Mmm.”

“Not sounding like it,” she prompts. Her voice is so soft, now. No brashness that had lain aflame when she argued earlier, nor the stunted amusement when she judged her surroundings. Does one always change so, Jugyeong wonders, when one loves?

“Just give me a minute,” Seojun says, hugging Sujin tighter. The little semi circle of theirs breaks apart, leaving the two to themselves, and Jugyeong reluctantly takes her eyes off Sujin rubbing Seojun’s back.

When she walks, half a beat behind everyone else, she can somewhat hear Sujin’s home voice. She can hear Seojun-ah? and she can hear Hey, hey, Jun-ah. Let’s go somewhere quiet, hm? and she can hear them go somewhere quiet.

And when she skips back, citing her forgetfulness and her phone, which she knows she left behind in the studio, she catches the dregs of a conversation that must be second nature.

“What’s wrong?” from Sujin.

“It’s stupid, I just… I’m so overwhelmed.” from Seojun.

“Ah, Junjun, seriously, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Come here.” from some half-way point that’s worn and torn.

Jugyeong holds her bitter smile all the way back to the studio, and realises, only belatedly as she watches Seojun walk back in, that she hadn’t considered him in this equation at all.

She had just been looking at Sujin.