#i sketched this out thinking i’d be cleaning it up but i never got around to it

[raddest-laddest]

happy belated pocky day

[beloveds-embrace]

https://www.tumblr.com/beloveds-embrace/769747896273862656/im-sorry-did-you-say-neglected-omega?source=share

You can't just drop that bomb on us. I feels like I should sue u for emotional damage

I very kindly request some fluff with this 🙏🙏

Can i be 🦋 anon? Pretty pretty please

if i got sued for emotional damage each time I fear i’d have to declare bankruptcy 😭 but ne ways, here you go 🦋 anon! <3

The room still smells faintly of a sour, lonely heat, even weeks later. No matter how many times Gaz scrubs the floors or Price washes the sheets (when you are not there yourself, with your own permission because for all that you wanted to just… keep them away, you had no strength or will to clean the room. That was the only inch you were willing to give), the scent lingers- a sharp reminder of everything they let happen.

Everything they let you go through alone.

They’re careful around you now. Slow. Quiet. Desperate not to spook you, not to push you any further away than they already have. But the distance is unbearable. It feels like walking on glass, and no matter how hard they try to reach you, you stay just out of reach.

So they simply try harder.

Price leaves things outside your door- practical, thoughtful things. Your favorite snacks, warm socks, a thermos of tea that stays hot for hours. Quiet gestures that let you know he’s paying attention. Sometimes he sits outside your room, low voice rumbling through the wood as he tells you about his day. Nothing important, just pieces of himself- things he’s never given anyone else.

Soap is softer, but more desperate.

He leaves drawings, slips them under your door like little apologies. Sketches of you smiling, of the pack piled together, happy and whole. There’s always a note attached.

I’m sorry, bonnie.

Please let me fix this.

And then one day, he spots one of them taped to your wall.

It’s small, but it’s something. It’s enough to lighten his heart just a little, giving him a sliver of hope.

Gaz doesn’t say much, but he does.

He cooks for you, warm homemade meals left outside your door. He waits, heart twisting every time the plate is left untouched. But then one morning, the food is gone, and he has to duck into an empty room so no one sees his reaction. He’d been so stressed seeing you thinner than he remembered, not eating as much as you should’ve, but he feels so, so much better when the plates he leaves you are cleared- eaten, and not just picked at.

Ghost doesn’t know how to fix this with words, so he doesn’t try. .

Instead, he sharpens your knives. Fixes the drafty window. Reinforces your bedframe even if all he wants is for you to return to them, to their nest. Leaves a scarf that smells like him. Little things, pieces of himself, pieces of his devotion.

Because even if you never let him close again, he needs you to know

He’s not leaving. He almost doubts himself, lets his fears cloud his judgement, until he sees the scarf around your neck one day.

It’s slow. God, it’s so slow, but they persist and don’t give up. Never even consider it for one precious second, not when it’s you they could lose.

But one night, Price finds you in the kitchen wearing his jacket.

You freeze when you see him, and for a second, he thinks you’ll run.

You stay.

“…It’s late.” You whisper, shuffling your feet. He smells your hesitance, your worries and fears, and hopes the distance he keeps soothes you. The thought of you feeling like that because of him… it leaves the taste of ash coating his throat.

“So it is.”

And yet, you don’t leave. You don’t push him away, or pull back when he slowly walks closer towards you. You just look at him, eyes tired and sad and-

It’s not forgiveness, when you let him gently caress the back of his hand against your cheeks.

But it’s a start.

[creative-crybaby]

Cross-Hatching

PAIRING: timeskip!Akaashi Keiji x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff

TAGS + WARNINGS: none, as far as I'm aware

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

SUMMARY: An eye-catching stranger on the train soon becomes your muse when you take out your sketchbook and pencil.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: omg no smut???? Who is she 😩😩😩

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

Train rides to work would be more tolerable if you weren’t shrinking your entire body to make room for the dozens of people crowding in. 

You’re usually lucky when entering; the transit only carries a few passengers when you first enter, and you find yourself a seat. It isn’t until a few stops in do the train doors open to anyone who needs it, and your eyes glance at the map as if it’ll pass any time. 

You’re ten stops from your destination when he enters your train car. 

A tall figure with a briefcase and a cream coat makes his way through person after person, lucky enough to catch a newly vacant seat near you. Three seats across from yours, to be more precise. After making himself comfortable, he takes a deep breath, running a hand through tufts of onyx hair, trying to clean it up. In a rush, you assume. His attempts do little to fix the mess, but you think the slight wildness suits him—juxtaposing how he carries himself.

You have to draw him.

Practicing anatomy is something you try to do whenever you can, and while drawing strangers isn’t unheard of, you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding. When they’re letting their guard down, someone they don’t know turns that fleeting moment into a memory.

But what they don’t understand is that an artist doesn’t view it like that. And with the stranger sitting only a few seats away, why not take that opportunity?

You’re quick to take out your pencil and mini sketchbook, flipping to a blank page to scratch shapes upon shapes for a human base. You occasionally glance at the map to calculate your remaining time, not wasting a second as every scratch of graphite on paper becomes more and more life-like. 

Seven more stops. Your rough sketch is complete, and you erase excess lines and circles of a skeleton. 

Five more stops. You fill in the darker spots with cross hatches, creating definition to his cream coat while adding to the mesmerizing mess that is his hair.

Three more stops. Barely done with the shading, and now you move on to all the little details, from the light hitting his glasses to the almost unnoticeable downward curl of his lips. Not upset; just pondering. 

One more stop. You rise from your seat, forcing all hesitation out of your system with every step forward.

“Excuse me,” you push the volume into your voice. Blueberry eyes shielded by thick-rimmed glasses peer up at you. 

“Yes?” He hums. You almost forget your reason for approaching him, his gaze and soothing voice tempting you to carve every detail into your memory.

Not knowing how long time has passed since anything has been said, you hastily hold the drawing out before him. “I just wanted to give you this.”

You could have said more; you probably should have. Easier said than done when your words jumble around in your head, away from your planned sentences that never got to leave your brain. 

The organ then shortcircuits when you catch the corners of the stranger’s lips tilt upwards, his sharp eyes softening as he takes your creation. 

“You drew this?” As gentle as his voice may be, you could hear it over the bustling of the crowded train car, your surroundings almost tuned out to give him your devoted attention. You don’t trust yourself to speak properly, so you nod meekly. The ravenette hums again, his focus returning to your portrait of him.

“I’d do a better job if I had more time,” you stammer, suddenly talkative. “I hope I didn’t weird you out or anything—sometimes I like to draw people when I have the chance.”

“No, no,” he insists, peering back at you. “I’m just flattered, is all.” The stranger adjusts his glasses before adding, “Had I known I would be a model, I would have cleaned myself up a bit more.”

You giggle airily: a joke, it must be. “You’re still plenty pretty to draw.”

Your words register with a slap as soon as they leave your lips, and your eyes widen. The man’s expression copies yours, with a soft pink tint caressing his cheeks.

A woman’s voice announces your stop, and you think the gods finally decided to show you some mercy. You barely stutter a goodbye when the train comes to a halt before pushing past whoever stands in your way. 

The exhale that leaves your lungs comes out like a squeak when you find your way out of the metro. The opportunity to breathe presents itself as the crowd disperses, heading to the exit or their next train. You join the former group, your interaction with the stranger playing on a loop as you climb the stairs. 

“Excuse me.” 

A hand lands on your shoulder when you make it to the top. You squeak, whipping your head around to confront the culprit.  

Your muse stands before you, his eyes widening ever so slightly in concern. 

“Oh,” you relax. “It’s just you.”

“I’m sorry for startling you,” he retracts before holding out his other hand. You turn around to face him; in his hold is your sketchbook. You subconsciously clutch your bag, feeling the emptiness those one-hundred-sixty pages filled. “You left this behind.”

You take a moment to process his words before hastily taking your book back, a string of apologies leaving your lips. “Missed your stop to give this back to me, too.”

The man shakes his head reassuringly. “This was also my stop, actually.”

You two are still at the top of the stairs, hoards of people passing by during your pause in time. You don’t hear whatever they’re saying to each other or on the phone, nor do you notice the impatient ones who emphasize their movements when they walk around you.

“That’s good.” You don’t know what else to say. 

“I also thought I should introduce myself,” he continues, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m Akaashi Keiji.” You nod, noticing his fingers fidgeting in their intertwined hold. You almost wonder what they’d feel laced with your own before responding with your name. “I figured I should tell you after you took the time to draw me.”

The man–Akaashi–offers a light smile. Even as stoic as he appeared in the short amount of time you’ve interacted, there’s a soothingness to his voice that has you relaxing your shoulders. 

“Right,” you chuckle in embarrassment. “I meant to just give you the drawing, not the whole sketchbook. My bad.”

The stranger shakes his head reassuringly before taking his first step forward. You subconsciously follow him toward the exit, eyes remaining on his portrait. 

“I figured as much,” he says, stepping away from the door to let the others pass, and you follow him. He looks down at the sketchbook. "I didn't want to take out the drawing, just in case."

A light breeze fans your face as the sun’s glow kisses your skin. If it weren’t for your new acquaintance standing in the way, you’d have to squint just to see ahead. It’s also here that you realize this is most likely where you part ways, and you refrain from frowning. You selfishly wonder if not bringing it up will make him forget and keep him around. Unfortunately for you, your boss won’t care for your pretty-boy-meet-cute excuse. You mask your sigh of disappointment as any other deep exhale.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to take any more of your time,” you tell him, clutching the strap of your bag. “Thanks again for returning my sketchbook to me.”

“It was no problem, really,” Akaashi insists. “If I could bother you a little more, could you hand me your book and pencil, please? I promise I won’t take long.”

You wouldn’t mind even if he did, but you don’t voice that. Instead, you do as he asked, waiting as he flips through the pages until he stops at one and lightly scribbles something down. Your new acquaintance returns the sketchbook to you with that same page open: it’s the one of him you drew not even ten minutes ago, and next to his head is a series of numbers in between dashes. Your head snaps to look at him once more, eyes wide and face warm.

Akaashi smiles gently. “You’re not obligated to agree to anything, but I’d love it if we could meet up for coffee sometime.” When you continue to stare in bewilderment, he quickly glances at his watch. “I’ll have to leave now, but your portrait of me was a nice start to my morning.” His body slowly turns the other way. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“Wait!” you exclaim before you can stop yourself. Akaashi halts his movements. “I usually give my art to the person I drew. I won’t be able to call you if your number’s on your portrait.”

The ravenette turns his head to face you again, a soft smile gracing his lips and a sharp glimmer in his eyes. “If you want, you can give it to me on our next encounter.”

He leaves you standing there with another goodbye, your feet planted on the concrete, face blooming with heat and sketchbook in hand. 

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[eijirousbestie]

I’m not sure if my request have been sent to you or not but here we ge. Bakugou drawing with reader this time just quite and pace a day later he would notice reader putting his drawing in a nice and viable place in her wall like she is proud of him , im craving for some fluff🥹

Yes I got your last request too!! I try to crank these new stories out at least twice a month cuz of daily life but I got around to it today🫵🏽 I’ll combine ur last request with this one since it’s kinda the same premise. As always thank y’all for reading and I hope you enjoy! If y’all have any special requests PLS SHARE THEM WITH ME!! I’d love to write them<33

“Stick to art.”

painting together

peaceful silence

Bakugou is actually good at painting

may or may not have based the painting off of one I actually made…

* * *

“For the love of god will you stop hogging all the white paint?”

“Quit whinin’ will ya? I’ll hand it back just give me a sec here.” You in fact did not get the paint back in a few seconds. With the way he’s got it in a death grip you’re not entirely sure it’ll survive the trip back to you.

“Katsuki, your knuckles are literally turning white from how hard you’re squeezing the tube. You don’t even need that much.”

“You know the more you talk the less “enjoyable” this bright idea of yours is.” He places the tube of paint down on the ground next to your knee.

You both are in your dorm room, your usual tarp covering the flooring under you from any stray paint splatters. It was your grand idea to have the both of you paint together. Actually, it was to prove to Bakugou that painting wasn’t as easy as he chucked it up to be. It started with his comments about your art earlier in the week. You were working on another project for class and spent hours painting and refining the details. The boisterous blonde disrupted your thoughts in place of his own. Why the hell’s this taking so long? It’s just an apple, he’d question. To him, a painting should never take more than at least two hours tops. If anything, watching you paint for hours on end was the coolest thing to him because how could someone have that much patience? He’d never admit it though. And now here you both are, having a painting session in your room to prove to him it’s not as easy as he thinks.

Grabbing the now freed white paint you add a small glob of it to your palette, mixing the specific color you needed. You both have already been painting for almost an hour. It’s Saturday and you didn’t have anything better to do. Before you both started, you’d searched Pinterest for painting ideas. Scrolling through various cartoon characters, Bakugou settles on painting a simple white skull against a black background. The reference is such a him choice. You chose yours a little while after him but refused to tell him your idea. He rolled his eyes and started sketching on the small canvas you’d given him, occasionally asking you if his proportions were accurate.

You both had fallen into a quiet peace. The windows drawn to let the last bits of sun in. The soft sounds of your music thrumming through your small speaker. The slosh of water being dirtied up in solo cups as Bakugou cleans his brush. Just all around good vibes and harmless bickering here and there. You swear you’ve never seen him so relaxed, other than the time he fell asleep while you were drawing him. You look up from your canvas and catch a glimpse of Bakugou’s face. Trimmed eyebrows pinched together in a stare of pure concentration, his lips slightly tucked in as he works on the details of the skull.

His painting technique is quite impressive. Understandably not to your level, but if he took art seriously he could be one hell of an artist. The way he changes the pressure of his grip when outlining the teeth of the skull has you eyeing his piece in astonishment. Where the hell did he learn that from?

“You gonna keep starin’ at my shit or are you actually gonna give your input.” Your gaze lifts from his painting to him. You give a slightly confused look.

“Wait what.”

“Asked if I was doing this line stuff right but you looked lost as hell. Told you to leave that dope alone.” You roll your eyes.

“Ya mama. And yeah you’re doing it right. Just don’t make em too thick.” He side eyes you so hard you’re sure his eyes are about to roll out of his head.

“You’re lucky I’m goin’ to therapy.”

“Aren’t we all.” You give a brief chuckle and continue to work on your painting. The light pink background against the chosen figures ties the whole piece together. A particular song plays from the shuffle queue of your music library. It’s one that you and Bakugou both know. You quietly hum along, bobbing your head. Your ears pick up a rather deep tremor that joins your humming. He’s humming along too, eyes laser focused on his work. In the most non-corny way possible, you try to harmonize with him, doing decent until you miss a note halfway through. He makes sure you’re aware he noticed.

“Stick to art.” He snickers, shoulders softly shaking.

“Mind your business.”

“I’ll do what I wanna do.” He retorts. He’s so sassy and for what.

Another couple hours pass and you’ve both finished your paintings. Katsuki lifts his painted skull with pride, his ego through the roof. It’s actually a pretty solid painting. Albeit, simple, but not bad at all.

“Goddamn Kats, you didn’t do half bad.” You chide with a grin.

“Damn right. Told you this shit’s easy. Just gotta get over gettin stuck in the details.”

“That’s funny because you asked for my help with line work but go off I guess.”

“You’re just a resource. Gotta use what I can to get where I need to be.”

“Damnnn ouch. That’s all I am to you? Katsuki I’m hurt.” You feign heartbreak as you dramatically hold your hand over your heart.

“Idiot. You gonna show me what you ended up paintin’ or not?” You nod, grabbing your canvas and flipping it over to show him your piece.

His eyes are met with an image of two bears, one white, one brown. Their cheeks are smushed together in some sort of side hug. The brown bear does not look amused. He clicks his tongue and tilts his head.

“You really love cutesy shit don’t you?”

You shrug. “Not my fault the Pinterest bears were cute. Stay mad but I’m in my bag.”

“The fuck’s that even mean-”

“Shhh you’re being a hater right now.” He shakes his head as he chuckles deeply, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweats.

“Yeah you’re really lucky I’m in therapy.” You laugh with him and reach for his painting that he left on the ground.

“You gonna leave this behind after you worked so hard on it?” You question. He shrugs.

“Don’t really got a place for it. I ain’t really into displaying things like you. You keep it or something.” You hold onto both paintings as he announces his departure to his room.

The next morning, he wakes up and starts his usual routine. Shower, brushing his teeth and skincare. The shuffle of his house shoes fills the quiet of the halls as he journeys to your room to make sure you’re up to go on your Sunday morning run together. He knocks once, twice and gets no reply. He jiggles the doorknob and he finds it unlocked, meaning you’re probably not inside. He opens your door and looks around to find no you. But what he does find makes his face go warm. There on the wall adjacent to the door, hangs his skull painting right next to yours. A ghost of a smile graces his lips as he shakes his head, closing the door to your room to go and grab you for your run.

bonus: the paintings y’all made

Bakugou’s:

Yours: *optional*

fun fact this is actually a painting I made a few months ago😭

[mollymagician]

New chapter of Translation of the Dream is up.

(Finally 😬)

They walked along the river. The wind was cutting. Hob mourned the fact that he’d launched out the door with a mystical fucking banana peel in his pocket but left his hat and gloves behind. Dream walked silently beside him, looking like he didn’t feel the cold at all and somehow simultaneously like the most resigned of human popsicles, hands jammed into his coat pockets and collar turned up against the wind. Hob wished again for his gloves, at least, for a completely different reason.

They walked in silence another half block farther before Dream blurted out, “I wished to. Apologize.”

Hob looked at him, feeling the confusion plain on his face. “What in the world for?”

“For what happened that day. At the pub.”

“What, for making me think I was having a complete mental break?” Hob asked. Dream made a small distressed noise, drowned out as Hob plowed on. “Forgiven. Or for embarrassing a dickhead who was harassing my staff? No apology necessary for that, mate.”

“Hob.”

“Earned you free drinks for life as far as I’m concerned.”

Dream’s expression was pained. Hob knew he could inspire that look on just about anyone when he really got going with the razzing, but this had an extra edge it it. Dream huffed impatiently and it curled away in the chill like dragon’s breath. “It was wrong of me. To…lose my composure. I promised I’d never again…” He looked away out over the glinting dark water and hunched down further into the shelter of his woefully inadequate coat.

Hob lifted an eyebrow. “If that was you losing your composure, I’d hate to see what happens when you get properly pissed off.”

“Yes,” Dream said quietly. “You would.”

Okay, then. Hob’s mouth clicked shut and he looked straight ahead down the pavement. He was wildly out of his depth, here, and he knew it. But. He’d spent so much of his life already throwing himself into things without knowing if he would ever touch bottom, so why start now?

“Make it up to me,” he said.

Dream’s eyes flew to his face, wide and blank.

“You wanted to apologize? Make it up to me by telling me what it was I saw.”

They’d stopped walking, he realized. Dream turned to face him, gaze locked to his. It was the longest stretch of unbroken eye contact that they’d shared and Hob felt it like a charge up his spine. Whatever it was Dream was looking for, he must have found, because after a moment he tipped his head to the side and said, “This way.” Once again Hob was following.

They crossed into a narrow lane between the nearest two buildings, thankfully out of the wind. The way opened into a small common yard between three blocks of flats, shabby but clean. An elderly fountain stood in the center, looking like it had been dry for a long time. Someone had perched a pair of candles in tall glass holders on the edge, burned down far enough to stay lit in the wind that occasionally still made its way into the sheltered space.

Dream folded his gangly frame to sit on the edge of the fountain and Hob did the same, gazing around them curiously. They were alone. The windows around them were mostly dark, a few reflecting flickering late-night screen glow. He wanted to ask. Which one is yours? You know the way to my door, can I know the way to yours? The curiosity burned like a coal, but he knew better.

Dream puffed out a breath, curling steam, and said, “I can make things. Real. When I draw them with my hands.”

Hob blinked.

Dream reached into his battered satchel and drew out his sketchbook. Flipping it open, he took up the pencil that was jammed in like a bookmark and began to softly sketch. “I discovered that I was had the…ability…when I was young enough to be foolish but old enough to know it was strange. Keeping the knowledge to myself was, perhaps, the least foolish thing I have ever done.”

It was the most that Hob had heard him say at one go, as though the words had been piling up as they walked together in silence, and now he had a queue waiting to work it’s way out. It was easier to mark, now that there was more of it, how oddly formal his speech was. He spoke like he moved, as though every word needed to be set down carefully, or something would break. Hob watched his fingers guiding the pencil in careful strokes over the paper. The streetlights were too far, it was too dark in the faint flickering light of the candles to see what he was drawing. “How…did you figure it out?” he asked, slowly.

“I drew a raven,” Dream said. “And it flew off the page in front of me

“Oh,” Hob said. Of course, I hate it when that happens was right behind it but he beat the words back with a mental stick.

“I saw her…I supposed it to be a her…outside my window. Nearly every day. She must have been nesting nearby. I thought she was interesting. I’d never seen one marked before like she was—“ he gestured with his opposite hand at his own chest, the first nearly casual movement Hob had seen him make—“with white banding her chest. I drew her, one day, as carefully as I could. I wished I could…” He stopped, and the pencil stopped. Hob watched him stare down past the paper, into the dark at his feet.

“I wished I could be with her, somehow. I wished I could be free like she was.”

The way he said it made something curl nervously in Hob’s gut.

The soft scratching of the pencil picked back up again. “I’ve learned how it…works…over the years. It’s easier when the image is. True to life. But.” Hob could see him turning the words over in his mind. Keeping the knowledge to myself whispered back through his mind, and he almost jumped in, almost told him to stop, that he didn’t need to know. But it would have been an enormous lie. He did need to know. He’d never burned to know anything the way he did this. Not knowing would drive him completely mad.

Dream said, “There has to be. A desire. To create or have the thing. I can intend to make a thing I do not want, but it won’t work without the desire to have it. Or. To gift it. To someone.” Now Hob could see what he’d drawn. It was a poppy, he realized, perfectly rendered in spare, clean lines. Dream dropped the pencil and let it roll into the gutter of the book. Long fingers touched the page, were still for a moment, and then there was that strange little gesture. Even this close it was hard to follow.

Dream lifted his hand and held the flower out, offering it to Hob with a look as though he expected to be bit.

Hob took it gingerly in one hand. Scarlet, heavy with pollen. Real. The page was blank.

“Christ,” Hob whispered. “That is…incredible.”

Dream’s expression softened and his gaze dropped his knees. “I suppose you could say so.”

“You suppose?” Hob sputtered. “I just…you…” He blew out a long, long breath, until he was empty, then drew it back in through his nose. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dream replied, softly.

“Yeah.” Hob toyed with the poppy. “So, what, does this run in your family? Your da knew how to talk to animals or…?”

For a long moment the only sound was the distant din of traffic from down the street. “Perhaps. I don’t know,” Dream said, slowly. “I do not know my biological parents.”

Of course, Hob thought. Christ. He wasn’t sure his gob could handle being any more smacked this evening, but he had the sinking feeling that they weren’t done. Bracing himself, he said, “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

Dream opened his mouth, struggling with his words again. Hob just barely caught his lips trembling and almost regretted prodding, but what was done was done.

Dream asked, slowly, “Do you recall the name Roderick Burgess?”

[petiterazu]

Your drawings are so good! Do you have any tips on how to do better? (Also i’ve never shaded before) no pressure to answer :3

Tips?:0 from me? Oh my :>

To be honest the best advice I can give is-

Draw everyday, even if you don’t want to, I used to think I’d never improve no matter what I did- but here I am. 1000+ drawings later.

Now fortunately I am a big fan of you and your work :> so I can give you some proper tips on that.

1. Always start with a sketch

Yes you’re gonna hate, no one really enjoys their first sketch but you gotta trust le process~ and hey now, referencing helps a butt ton! Don’t be afraid to use em.

2. Start refining your sketch

After a few draw overs youre soon gonna get what ya want, start cleaning up the important parts too. Like hands and smaller items- especially da face.

3. Get ya coloring/ lineart together

Now for me I start coloring after my final sketch but most people start line art first. Keep them lines clean and make sure everything you got is easy to make out✨

4. Shading

Shading will always be a difficult challenge, but it doesn’t have to be. You just gotta pick a spot where you want your light to start and go from there, never forget that shading references are all around you- remember that you can use anything from reference. Also when you’re shading using a different brush helps.

��————-

I hope this helps :> and if it does I’ll be keeping an eye on your posts -. ^-. ✨

[talesfromasnarkylisa]

Lacey: Chapter 20

August 22, 2023

I woke up at 8:45 AM. First time I’ve slept this late in over a decade. This meant that I had absolutely no time to eat breakfast - as work would start just 15 minutes later. Fun.

There was a ridiculous number of photos being stacked upon me to edit and send back. Parties, business, social media selfies - you name it. To top it off, I had to clean up and crop a sketch from one of Augusta’s old pals. I’m very careful with keeping my Archer J identity a secret. It’s not like I could have turned down the offer.

Anyways, I somehow managed to find the time to both catch up with my friends (and Lacey the not-friend) and go through the Music Refined submissions I got by the end of the day. To be fair, I didn’t get as much as usual from Music Refined. But I wasn’t living in occupational bliss like Lacey seemed to be either.

Speaking of Lacey, we had a fun conversation around the time I logged off from work. Of course, that didn’t mean I liked her. My main priorities were still to get her out of Music Refined and make that phony of a try-hard out to be a vile human being so I could play hero. But she did have some surprisingly good insights about how to improve someone’s singing - which I needed because Darian sent me a very flat sounding tape previewing a song of his in the show he was working on.

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 5:34 PM): Hey Archer

Archer J (08/22/23, 5:35 PM): Hello, Lace-girl. Can I ask for some advice?

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 5:36 PM): What’s up?

Archer J (08/22/23, 5:38 PM): So…I have a friend who wants to star in a show and has potential when it comes to singing. However, his tone is very flat and only pitch correction can save him. I’m okay at singing - but nowhere as good as your angelic voice. Do you have any advice? He’d rather stay anonymous, by the way.

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 5:40 PM): It’s nice you think of me as a beautiful singer, lol. Without knowing what he sounds like, I can’t help out all too much. I’m a content creator, not a coach. But, does he do any warmups? Know his vocal range?

Archer J (08/22/23, 5:41 PM): Um, he told me he does warm up for five seconds every now and then. He doesn’t know his vocal range, though.

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 5:42 PM): Yeah…he should probably start with that. Anyhow, anything else going on?

Archer J (08/22/23, 5:43 PM): Doing pretty eh right now. Working two jobs hasn’t been too good to me!

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 5:44 PM): Damn, I can relate. I’ve been taking care of children for several weeks now on top of whatever-the-fuck Music Refined’s been throwing at me.

I then realized this was a good chance for me to get info on how Lacey’s been doing in the online writing world.

Archer J (08/22/23, 5:47 PM): Oh yeah, the publication. How’s that going?

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 5:48 PM): It’s going as fine as it can go.

Archer J (08/22/23, 5:50 PM): Care to elaborate?

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 5:51 PM): Nah XD

God damn it, I thought. I really need to get her to open up more.

Archer J (08/22/23, 5:53 PM): Look, you can always trust me if you want to talk about something. I’m here for you.

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 5:54 PM): I’m gonna be honest with you for a second. After what went down with Micah last week, I don’t feel 100% comfortable talking about personal shit with you, y’know? I still really like talking to you. It’s just…

Archer J (08/22/23, 5:56 PM): Just what?

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 5:58 PM): Never mind. Don’t worry about it.

Archer J (08/22/23, 5:59 PM): Well, I kinda am.

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 6:00 PM): Nothing, okay? Anyways, I’ve met Artsy and Lovergirl. You’re pretty good at making friends.

Sure I am, I cringed. Sure. Not like I didn’t let some tan blonde vixen fool me into outing my crush so I’d be able to stay friends with the former.

I logged out and had dinner. I had tried to make beef brisket for dinner earlier based on my grandma’s old recipe, but I eventually resorted to Internet instructions because I didn’t have the right ingredients at home for the former. Once I finished my nightly routine, I logged back into my accounts to deal with my socials.

I talked to Oscar today in a call for the first time. It was also the first time we had a private two-way conversation since the draft tampering shit happened a few days back. He told me he wanted to apply to Folkin and asked for advice as to what Corianna would reject beyond just what the submission guidelines said. I promised him that he’d be fine as long as his article met the criteria and he didn’t do something stupid. He hesitated to believe me at first, but he eventually felt more confident once I told him about how she had accepted an article critical of a Boygenius song after an initial inaccurate draft.

After talking to Oscar, I checked in with Corianna and Darian. Cori had gotten a large raise at work. It didn’t matter much since she’d be back in college soon like the rest of us, but she was happy with the little extra pocket money. In the meantime, Darian went to a family gathering on Sunday. His parents were there, and so were his cousins and older sister and grandparents. Lucky.

Just as I was about to text Inez, Lacey sent me this.

Lacey Hannah (08/22/23, 7:47 PM): I made this lil’ draft to send to the Writer’s Delight editors, any thoughts?

https://docs.google.com/aiqiiqiqiwjjajajaa

She didn’t even trust me enough to send the actual Medium draft link allowing me to leave notes on. Not that I would have, of course, but still. Just a document which I could only view. 

I clicked the link to open up the draft. After Discord begged me to consider reconsidering out of some strange phobia Google Docs would contain malware, the draft revealed itself to me in all its unfiltered glory.

As I scrolled through it, I hatched up a quick plan. I would give Lacey all the right advice for appealing to the tastes of the Writer’s Delight editors. Especially Vivian, the one who would be the most likely to side with Lacey if she fucked up. But I’d word it in all of the wrong ways so Lacey wouldn’t do what I asked of her. 

Instead, she’d do something either crazy or stupid or both. Once one of the biggest free publications on Medium resented her, she would be screwed big time in the online writing world. 

She’d be exactly where she should be for my goals.

(Wattpad version: https://www.wattpad.com/1509691431-lacey-chapter-20)

[truckreincarnation]

To Quote Wendy Williams, "THE KILLER IS ESCAPING!" | Bian Le | Trial 3.1 | ATTN: Shin | RE: Esmee, Manami

"I... I think I know who the third person is. Well, not exactly who. But I can narrow it down and put some label on it...?"

Bian speaks up suddenly. Her voice is still small, and it wavers silently, but she seems to be stable enough to keep going. After her outbursts in the past trial, she's doing everything she can to stay calm and not fall back into panic.

"It mostly hinges on what I saw, and what others have claimed to see. I'd have to hear from Shin to confirm a few things, but for now... I should start with my own testimony.

...I was in the storage room alone from 7 to 8:15PM. There were so few memories left, and I was worried that mine would be next. Mine is... it's very graphic, is all I feel comfortable sharing. I wanted to be alone if it hit, so I chose a place I didn't think anyone would go. This means that whoever took the lance Manami, Esmee and I found broken in the storage room had to come after that point.

After that, I left for the fountain area. Nao was there, so I said hi. I also saw Avery and Theophania, but they were having a conversation, so I didn't want to interrupt. I was only there for about two minutes.

After, I left for the smithy, and I stayed there until the body was found. I got there at about 8:18PM. I talked with the Smith for some time. I saw a few people come and go, interestingly. Vee got there at around 8:40PM, and joined our chat. It was a very tame conversation, all things considered. Vee then left at 9:20PM. I decided to just draw in silence while the Smith worked,,, parallel play does wonders...

I was alone again until 10:02, when Nao came by. I showed them my drawing, and then looked around at the Smith's items for a bit. They didn't buy anything, though. They were gone 10:15. Only ten minutes later, at 10:25, Shin showed up for a moment. I assume he could sense Frank was in danger since they were bond mates. He ran off, and only three minutes later was the body found.

The only question I have is how long was Shin searching? This might narrow things down, but... we'll have to see."

With her testimony out of the way, Bian starts to sketch something out in her journal, nodding to herself.

"I'll be blunt. The killer had to be the "third unknown person."  Esmee and Manami are completely correct. There's many reasons for this... but I can explain it.

For one, Meili died at 10:23, and Shin found the body only five minutes later. Frank was never killed, too. This seems... off to me. It's a fortunate coincidence that Frank can't remember anything, yes? You would think the killer would make sure to take Frank out too. They could've falsely assumed he died already, but still... that's a giant risk to take... unless the killer somehow knew Frank wouldn't remember this, leaving him alive was extremely risky.

And with how narrow the timeframe was, I don't know if the killer could've left the scene before Shin arrived. That's a five minute time frame, which may be doable, but I can't imagine the killer immediately taking off. They likely would've been trying to clean up, dispose evidence- anything else. They also could've been waiting to see if Frank passed naturally- means less of a headache or evidence against them....

We tested this, and the killer could've been caught with the fountain's secret entrance open. They likely had to be careful. Which leads me to my next point... the killer had to use hide in plain sight. They could've also used it during the murder or right after to be safe, too. This way, if the body was found, they could easily run out and come in while pretending to have an alibi.

Not only that- the murder itself started in the fountain room, up the stairs. We all saw the damage there... the killer could've hid in plain sight there with how visible the room is. Just in case somebody went in, right? They also could've been trying to sneak up on Frank and Meili. There's many possibilities, but... they all suggest hiding in plain sight.

If that isn't enough... why else would someone hide in plain sight at the scene of the crime right after it took place? If someone came so close to the time of the murder to hide in plain sight, then they had to have seen the killer. An accomplice is pointless, because it's all risk and no reward, especially when getting the killer wrong still puts the accomplice at risk. If someone stayed behind for other reasons, that'd only cast false suspicion on them... the killer has to be the third person."

Bian stares back down at her journal, frowning, before suddenly turning the pages to the end- opening up the magic journal.

"I almost forgot... this isn't relevant to my point, but Frank and Meili made plans in the journal after Frank's memory was shared. They were going to play music together. It's right in there if you look..."

[definitionsfading]

okay now that I've calmed down and finished the episode I will say they aren't EXACT matches, but the details are eerily similar with how they come to light lol. but we're told by a character named Rose (btw: I wrote a character named Primrose into the Alaska chapter of my fic lmao) that [S4 spoilers and post S1 fic excerpt below]

when Travis knew he was dying of leukemia he went out and slipped under the ice to drown himself, therefore committing suicide by drowning in a body of water.

here's what I wrote back in 2016: <<< Rust looks back out across the lake. He’d spent countless hours here in the spare moments of his youth, sketching and reading and throwing stones out across the dark water and his mind alike. If he closed his eyes anywhere else in the world he could envision this place—the smell of clean water, heady spruce and birch and pine needles, the cold rocks under his hands and feet. A serenity and quietness so real that you could almost step into it through memory alone.

It’s why he’d come here alone, the last time. He twists the band around the third finger on his left hand and knows it’s the same reason he needed to bring Marty this time around.

“It’s not such a bad sight,” Rust says. The line of his throat works for a moment, skin prickling with something that isn’t cold under his coat. He doesn’t know if he can talk but he knows he needs to. “I thought it would be a fitting place, once—something to see one last time.”

Marty turns to look at him, blinking like he’d been shaken out of a daydream. “What was that?”

“I know my Pop came here,” Rust says, wetting his bottom lip before he keeps on. “When he decided he had to end things. I figure I always knew it’d be out here somewhere, peaceful-like. Where he wasn’t under anybody else’s time or obligation.”

Marty leans back where he sits to process that. His head is slightly cocked to one side, like an old dog trying to pick up something it’d heard in the distance. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Rust,” he says, and Rust thinks he means it. “Your—your dad? You said he killed himself.”

“He always said he’d get his gun and his knife and take the long walk out into the woods,” Rust says, faintly rasping around the words. “Ever since I was old enough to know what the fuck he was talking about. And I never really gave it too much thought, you know, because he’d get too far down the bottle and just talk. It didn’t mean anything real.”

“Shit, man,” Marty says, shaking his head. The line of his mouth pinches up for a moment while he contemplates the reality of all that. “That’s rough. It’s just—it’s a fucking shame, you know.”

Rust isn’t thinking about Travis anymore, though. He’s balancing on the brink of somebody else’s story, and while they might’ve crisscrossed once upon a time he knows they won’t ever end the same.

“But there came a time later—a time when I thought about what he’d always said,” Rust says. “And I knew it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go out. Out in nature, where you could see a little bit of beauty in the fucking world. Where you wouldn’t have to worry about nothing anymore.”

“Rust,” is all Marty says. He’s gone pale, jaw set into a hard line. His eyes aren’t even really looking at Rust now, almost like he can’t stand to bear it. “What are you saying?”

Rust lets out a shaky breath into the cold air, trying to ignore the aching tightness in his chest. “I’m telling you I came up here, Marty, couple months before I realized I needed to go back down to Louisiana,” he says. “I’d sold most everything off but there were some boxes in storage, all the things I’d kept and gathered on the Lange case up ‘til ‘09—wrapped them up, left your work address on them. I figured at least that much would get into good hands.”

Marty’s looking at him now, hurt starting to pull tight around his eyes. Like he already knows the answers but he’s still got to find it in himself to ask. “Why’d you do it?”

“I got here and I was trying to find a good reason not to,” Rust says, feeling the resolve in his voice begin to come apart. “But by that time I didn’t have anything left, Marty. My daughter had been dead for twenty years and I—I wasn’t ever gonna see her grown. My Pop was gone, and I’d spent eight years between fishing boats and bars after I left Louisiana, trying to drink myself to fucking death. But it wasn’t working fast enough.”

“It would’ve been easy, then,” Rust says, wiping a hand across his eyes. “I thought I’d finally worked up the fuckin’ nerve to go through with it. I had my gun, but there was thin ice on the lake at the time. All I really had to do was walk out—and not fight it anymore.” >>>

not only did I imply Travis died on the water, I had Rust imply he was going to do the same thing at some point before he came back to Louisiana in 2010. are you fucking joking mate. anyway. great value brand prophecy

true detective girlies no spoilers but I am shaking and sweating and shaking and sweating and screaming. I predicted something about a canonical character from true detective S1 in a fic I finished eight years ago and it came true tonight in S4. if you've read "what we've got" you have to dm me because I'm in borderline shock lmao

[weatheredleatherhat]

Inked (Karl Heisenberg x gender neutral reader)

Alright, so basically I should be asleep, but I’m too excited about the fact that I’m FINALLY getting my half sleeve tomorrow. Like I’ve got like eleven tattoos now (I constantly forget some because I can’t see them daily like the ones behind my ears and the one on my lower back), but I still get that little thrill whenever my appointment date comes around. I already know it’s gonna be fuckin’ spicy, I can practically feel it already.

But then I got to thinking about Heisenberg (as you do), and how I’d want nothing more than for him to gimme some ink 👀 Remember kids, do your research, think your designs through and go to someone reputable! Not gonna lie I’m real tempted to get the tattoo described in this fic lmao. Or I was thinking about getting his key on my arm to keep filling in the slowly growing lower sleeve? Anyway, if I do it, I’ll be sharing it on here. 

Sorry, enough rambling on. Enjoy!! 

“You sure about this?”

His eyebrow raised as he looked up towards your face, searching for any clue that you wanted to back out. You huffed a little, impatient to get started as you repositioned on the metal table to get yourself as comfortable as you could be. “I’m sure,” you promised. “Just get started when you’re ready, and don’t worry about me. I can handle it.”

Karl had always been fascinated with your tattoos. Considering he’d never left the village, the act of pushing ink into skin was pretty much unheard of, and he’d only ever seen a couple in pictures. But when you’d showed up, when you started to become closer and platonic had become romantic, you could feel his fingertips brush over them occasionally during an intimate moment. He’d asked about them; what they were or what they meant to you, and you answered with a smile on your face. Your tattoos meant a lot to you; you had suffered hours of pain to get them, had babied them as they healed and put up with the itchiness that drove you up the wall a couple of days into the healing.

You knew that he was good with machines, and that he knew how to keep things sterile and clean. Plus, he had this knack for art that not many knew about. Soldat designs, schematics, even a couple of portraits, you’d seen dextrous fingers sketch things out with a look of concentration plain on his face. It was your favourite thing; sitting on his lap as he worked and watching plain paper turn into a work of art over the passage of time. You’d lamented wanting another tattoo occasionally, and finally asked directly if he wanted to try it out some time. He’d told you that he would do some research and come back to you.

Duke had been happy to get some books on the subject for the right price, and you’d seen him reading them in his spare time. He’d also been slightly amused at Karl’s order for body safe inks, but like the brilliant merchant he was, sure enough they were in the crate with your next supply drop. Karl had designed his own tattoo machine from what he’d seen in the books, making sure that it worked like a charm before starting to practice on his creations. After that, a handful of soldats could be seen roaming the factory halls with his first designs covering their arms and legs. Finally, he’d asked what you wanted to have on your skin forever. And you didn’t give it much time before answering.

You were aware that getting tattoos of a partner’s name was usually the kiss of death in a relationship, but the concept was flimsy around symbolism. You’d come to this backwards village not expecting to find love, but here you were. And you wanted to have that forever written onto your skin. So, your mind had been made up. You were sure.

The design had gone through a couple of changes until you were both satisfied with it, but you’d fallen in love with the one that was now stencilled on you. Heisenberg’s crest, horse head looking to the left and framed with an upturned horseshoe, with delicate buttercup flowers adorning the crest. You’d decided to have it on your upper thigh, near to the hip. “So it can be for our eyes only,” you had told Karl, making his eyes light up with happiness.

Karl gently rubbed your waist with a latex gloved hand, offering a small smile as he stretched his back before he started. “Alright, darlin’. Lemme know if we need a break, and we’ll stop. You ready?”

You nodded, and you bit the inside of your cheek as the familiar sting was dragged across your sting. Just because you liked tattoos didn’t mean that they were exactly a pleasant feeling. A couple of parts on the more sensitive areas made you suck in a breath, and Karl’s eyes quickly darted to your face as he paused to make sure you were okay. But once in the swing of things, you could see that he was pretty into the process. The way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the small bite of his lower lip as he focused on getting every part perfect. For someone who’d never done this on a live person, you were pretty impressed on how it was looking so far. The fact that you were safe in the knowledge that he’d made sure everything was satanised and as clean as humanly possible aided your relaxation about the whole thing.

With a final wipe down of the design, he sat up with a large grin on his face as he put the machine down on the table beside him. “We’re all finished,” he announced with a flourish, picking up a hand mirror and handing it to you so you could view his handiwork. “How’d you like it?”

Your smile matched his in it’s intensity as you stared at the newest addition to your body art. It was everything you wanted; clean lines, well shaded and coloured, and more importantly it would be a permanent reminder of Karl. “I love it,” you enthused, enraptured in looking at it from different angles. “Thank you.”

“Glad to be of service, Buttercup,” he chuckled, grabbing the small roll of cling film from the table. “We’ll get it wrapped up, and Duke promised to send over some cocoa butter with our delivery later today.”

You practically flew off the table as he finished wrapping up your thigh, pressing a loving kiss onto his lips as your arms looped around his neck. He made a hum of approval at your action, kissing you back with fervour as his arms coiled around your waist. “Is that my reward for a job well done?”

“I’ve got other things in mind for that,” you smirked, his brow arching at the implication.

In truth, there wasn’t really a way to make it up to him. He’d done something for you, something to make you happy, having to learn a whole new skill to do so. And now, you’d always have him nearby, whenever you brushed your hand against your leg in the future. And the thought made your heart fill until it threatened to spill over with adoration.

[duckbeater]

Story Assignment / Did You Prevail?

Peter Handke’s memoir A Sorrow Beyond Dreams is notable for its brevity and also the brevity of its composition. In less than 90 pages he examines his mother’s suicide, sketches something of her backwoods youth in interwar Germany, sympathetically evokes her enervating middle years (child-rearing, poverty, spirit-killing monotony), then analyzes her life’s coda—a time of curiosity, social reinvention and zest. By elevating her consciousness, she apparently collapsed all that’d come before, made it ugly and non-negotiable. To quit the past required a whole bottle of sleeping pills.  

Handke’s analyses is forensic, delicate and rational. You believe he loves his mother not from sentimental asides or fantasies of saving, but by his devotion to the truth, which, given his mother’s unhappiness and pettiness and lack of education, has a nearly universal meaningless. What did her death mean? Who could it possibly affect?

Anyway, he finished the book in two months, and included the odd occasional all-caps abstraction. When I’m walking around at night I sometimes think, “NEAT, CLEAN and JOLLY,” or “WEAK-KNEED,” or “GREAT FALL,” or “MEANWHILE HAD GONE OUT OF EXISTENCE,” and know I’m occupied once more with my little sorrow beyond dreams.

—

“Man,” I texted Mackie, “I’ve been awake since 3AM. It’s 5 now. Jerked off 2x. No sleep.” I hit send before deciding my intentions. I don’t think we know what to say to each other, but we’re always saying things to each other, and it’s never, “Was thinking about you, how great it’d be to be turn over and just talk to you in the dark.” I don’t know if he’d actually ever say that to me—seems wishful. Mackie is not very nice and he lives very far away. 

—

Went to a party on Wednesday. I wore dark blues down to my briefs, and navy small shoes with no arches. I got off the train hobbling and talked myself up in the alleys on the way to the two-story condo where we’d celebrate night 4 of Hanukkah. I’d slept with the host, obviously, and one or two friends in attendance. I’m not really a part of this group, I’ve just—I guess I’ve penetrated it, as they say. 

I had rehearsed convos in my head. I had slammed a blue-bottled beer before getting on the train and felt woozy but competent, just a little in pain. Everyone there seemed leagues more jovial and put together and interesting and adult than me, I felt, immediately on opening the door. I had forced an earring in a closed hole and my left ear was berry red and throbbing—a part of why I felt so juvenile. Grown men don’t just press past the barrier of healed skin. It made a small gratifying popping sound as it cleared the other side and felt hot-hot, and it’s a sensation I’ll repeat (it’s a sensation writing repeats). 

For a while, to get out of the heat and press of my successful and attached gay cohort, I hung out with the only female in attendance, Bernice, a noted fag hag (I believe she condones this use), and stroked a paw of the small dog seeking refuge in a pillow-pile beside me on the over-plush couch. Because I felt lonely, I wanted to ask, “Bernice, why do you exclusively attend these kinds of events? Why do you exclusively attend events where you’re shunted to an oversized couch with a social incompetent? What’s the deal with you and gays?” Instead we talked about our jobs. This inadvertently dimensionalized Bernice for me. 

“I’ve done so much bullshit work for the last decade,” she snorted, “and in 2022 I got hired as a special projects consultant for an absolutely broken renewable energies firm.” She explained the firm’s stultifying snags on ESG semantics, its optical insecurities, how it quavered on progressive politics, waffling on bygone  talking points. “I was loaned out,” said Bernice. “Um, so my firm actually salaried me. I could say whatever I wanted in the vaunted halls of the executive suites and the buffet boxes of free sports tickets and the Connecticut mansion parties. And I called them cowards. I really busted their balls for weeks and weeks—on op-eds, white papers, social media posts, ‘the state security alignment’—I’m sorry, I mean the police—and also, who are those tadpoles in DC—”—“Lobbyists,” I breathed—“Lobbyists,” she breathed back, “I called them out on how based and cucked and knob-choked they all were on the teeny fucking penises of the DC lobbyists. I wanted them to feel so small and stupid and dry and bad, for what they were making, which was millions every day, millions on millions, while I—finally—afforded a Kia. I hate feeling poor. At our age? Don’t you?” “Yes. I hate it.” “Right. So I made them feel poor, a little bit.”

During this peroration I got trembly and blank, excited and critical. I let this leave me. I said, “Did you prevail?” and Bernice said, “The fuck no. But god damn! I made sixteen-kay in November. You ever make that much in a month?” “No, never, and I never,” I said. I told her how had I finally afforded a new car by taking a job at a bank. Bernice has also studied literature. (I don’t think she keeps a blog.) We cheersed saying, “Eat the rich,” [clink], “Eat the rich,” and that felt very correct. The dog licked my palm, perhaps mistaking our intent. “We’re not gonna eat you,” I said, and the dog chittered his teeth at me.

Later that night I made out with a guy name Andrew (such an indelible millennial name), and then never talked to him again though we’ve texted somewhat since.

Mackie asked what I was up to that night and I sent him a couple photo and video updates that were greeted by silence. The next AM he was sending obscure memes again. Out of jealousy, I told myself.

—

It’s odd—I didn’t really solve why Bernice exclusively hangs out with thirty-something gays who ignore her. (My last theory is that she enjoys recreational drugs: her gay friend group is really into those.) Past the obscure memes, I solicited Mackie for some explanation. He unimaginatively offered misogynistic trash, with the line, “Can’t pull but likes to watch.” Typing that up makes me feel very late and very closed-minded to the asexual community, although assuming Bernice is asexual feels as offensive as assuming she hangs out with queers for ketamine. Sometimes our friends, our networks, our densest and most particular milieus spring upon us by accident. And yet—she’s consulted for a living. She made $16K in November. She’s canny. Also clearly she hates straight rich white men. What gives?

I texted the host, thanking him for his hospitality; I texted Andrew, thanking him for his wonderful plump kisses; I texted other men who’d breeched my IG stronghold with accolades and complaints about my attention and comportment. A guy I’d “met” on Grindr and spoken to in the kitchen let me know I’d “rejected him” after he’d shared his album; that’d I stopped talking to him after seeing him naked. But—he was glad we’d met in real life, because he’d had the opportunity to confirm I did read books. He’d written: “When you talk, you use big words.” Embarrassed, I messaged him back saying, “I didn’t reject you. I’m just bad at Grindr. And yeah, I read books.” (Guys: the fact remains, I read books.)

I did reject him. His body repulsed me. He’d been overweight for years and undertaken marathon training, so all the skin on him was oozing and angry and stretched like taffy. Also I wasn’t that into his penis. Judging his fitness—his ripeness—his fuckability—based on something as arbitrary as cock-hardness and a sculpted torso—is the remit of the sexually unenlightened. I know! Not wanting to bang Stu because his body gave me the squick (and his body giving me the squick because of socially inherited standards of gay male beauty) drove me slightly batshit. I’d gone to Hanukkah Night 4 hoping for no part of that—hoping, indeed, for enlightenment. And still, I was confronted in the corner of the kitchen with a man who I had no intention of sleeping with, with him later asking me, “Why?” Also, I think that’s a party foul. If I’d been hideous on Grindr that’d be one thing, but I’d only been silent. 

(I’d gone to Hanukkah Night 4, actually, fully with the intention of some very beautiful, intelligent man courting me, seducing me, sweetly asking if he might take me home. Mackie reminded me: “You went to a gay party hoping to get laid.” When I revisit our texts, I see that on Wednesday night, I did jokingly say, “Wearing blue briefs tonight in case I get laid.”)

—

Prevail in the sense of what. 

I keep telling myself, if you just write in the style (or concern) of Grace Paley, you’ll manage your output better. You’ll actually write, rather than not write, which—bizarre to point out—a lot of egregiously more talented writers simply don’t do. They either don’t read Grace Paley or they don’t take her example seriously. Can’t drop the kids off at the sitter? Disappointing a union rep? Grocery store reverie? Class action lawsuit? Neighborhood defense? Teaching Zoomers dialogue? Furious about parking? Guys being complete pricks? What’s for breakfast? (“Our shrinking family requires more coffee, more eggs, more cheese, less butter, less meat, less orange juice, more grapefruit.”) Seasons shift their responsibilities [planting, watering, raking, shoveling] and finally the apartment, the car, the stoop, and [even] the park demand a graceless apology and accounting for. How do you come by these treasures? 

Paley gives you freedom to remark on the banal frustrations and the relentless petty drama of existing while renting. So too of dating while maybe dating others (a grace for the gays), and of wanting to attend an alderman’s fundraiser but maybe sliding one or more of your dates there, too—a Jane Jacobs by way of Nora Ephron. Maybe I only read her young writing. Perhaps I only read her young concerns. (No: She was 63 when she published the breakfast items above.) But everything feels fresh and hilarious and condoned. “You will sorely fuck this up, surely, but the lesson of living in the city will stick.” (I wrote that last quote, not Grace Paley.)

—

Later, Mackie texted, “Stop being annoying and text me back.”

I sent him maybe the 81st photo of me in my underwear, haggard, glasses, brushing my teeth, and the caption, “All clear.”

[ladydimitrescuspet]

Picture Perfect

ao3 link! donna beneviento x reader!  I tried to make reader as gender neutral as possible so I hope I succeed! tell me what you think and sorry for any grammatical errors! also inspired by this ask that @milfcoven got but I decided to make the painter reader instead of alcina, hope that’s okay, I just thought this was really cute!

***

You'd only been in the village for six months, but you were friends with most of the villagers. Surprisingly, you hadn't been sent to Castle Dimitrescu upon your arrival. The Lady of the Castle had tried to get you to accompany her back to her home, but you declined the offer and she allowed it. You were shocked, to say the least, that the Lady had let you go back to your home unharmed, but she vowed that you'd be under her protection and that nothing would happen to you as long as you stayed here in the village.

Now, here you were watching another woman who was the Head of House Beneviento. She didn't come into the village often and when she did, she never spoke herself, she used her doll, you didn't know her name. You never questioned it because why would you? So when the woman walked up to you, you were surprised by the visit.

"Oh, good afternoon, Lady Beneviento." You greeted, your hand over your face so you could block out the sunlight a bit.

She nodded her head before the doll spoke. "What's your name?" She asked.

"Um, it's Y/N, My Lady. What's yours?" You replied.

The doll pointed to the Lady in black. "That's Donna, and I'm Angie." Angie said.

"Oh, those are beautiful names. If I'm right, Donna means world ruler and Angie means angel, messenger of God." You said. "Both meanings are very fitting."

Angie walked closer to you. "How so?" Angie asked.

"Well, Gods and Goddesses can be viewed as world rulers and if you're Lady Beneviento's messenger, so to speak, then we must be in the presence of a Goddess, little angel." You responded with a small smile to the doll. You glanced up at Lady Beneviento before looking back at Angie. "But, um, is there anything I can do for the two of you?" You asked.

Angie made the motion of wanting to be picked up, you looked up at Lady Beneviento for approval before doing so. "Mistress Donna would like to know if you would paint us." Angie said. "She said she'd pay you for it."

"Oh, I, well, I would love to paint the both of you." You replied. "I could, well, I guess I could come by House Beneviento whenever it's good for you two."

Angie shook her head. "Mistress Donna says it wouldn't be safe for you to come to the House." Angie said.

You furrowed your brows a bit. "Well, I could do it at my house instead. I'd have to clean it, but we can definitely get it done there if that's okay." Angie nodded her head. "Good. I guess just let me know what day would be a good day to get the painting done."

Angie hopped off your lap and went to be held by Lady Beneviento. She whispered something into Lady Beneviento's ear before looking back at you. "Mistress Donna says Wednesday would be a most pleasant day for the painting."

You smiled up at them. "Wednesday, it is then. I'll be expecting you." You replied. Angie said bye to you from her and Mistress Donna before they walked away from you. You quickly made your way back to your home, avoiding eye contact and conversation with anybody who witnessed your encounter with Lady Beneviento. You let out a small sigh before you began cleaning.

Wednesday came before you knew it, but at least you had most of your place cleaned and organised for your guests. As you finished setting up where you would do the painting there was a faint knock on the door. You let out a shaky breath before opening the door.

"Lady Beneviento, Angie, hi." You greeted as you let them into your home.

"Hi, Y/N. Mistress Donna and I are very excited about the painting today. I was so excited about it last night that I couldn't even sleep!" Angie exclaimed as Lady Beneviento carried her.

You flushed at her excitement. "Well, I'm glad you were excited, but I do hope you got some sleep. You know sleep is very important." You replied. "So this is where I'm going to do the painting. I'll start by sketching the two of you first and then I'll paint it. It'll take a few hours at least, but I should have the two of you home before dark." You explained.

"Y/N?" Angie called out.

You turned around. "Yes?"

"Mistress Donna would like to know if it's okay if she takes off her veil for the painting." Angie said. You nodded your head. "You won't be scared of her scar, will you?" Angie asked.

"Oh, precious angel, no. Lady Beneviento is still a Goddess, with or without her scar." You said with a smile. Angie hugged your leg as Lady Beneviento slowly undid her veil. You let out a small gasp. "See? Your Lady's a Goddess, Angie." You said to the doll and you could see a small blush colour Lady Beneviento's cheeks.

"You- you really think?" Lady Beneviento asked softly. It was the first time you had ever heard her speak, her voice sounded like honey. You nodded your head. "Thank you, um, Y/N."

"You're welcome, Lady Beneviento." You replied.

"Donna." You raised your eyebrow slightly. "In your lovely home, Donna will do just fine." She said with a soft smile.

You nodded you head slightly. "Alright then, Donna." You said. "How about we get started?" You suggested. Donna bit her lip before hesitantly moving over to the chair you set out for her. "Is something wrong? We don't have to do the painting if you don't want to."

Donna shook her head. "N-no, I want to. I just, can you, never mind." She waved the thought off.

You moved closer to her, taking her hand in yours. "Hey, listen, I'll do whatever you want me to do." You said.

"Mistress Donna is a bit self-conscious about her scar, Y/N." You looked at Angie. "Mistress Donna was wondering if you'd paint her an eye instead of painting her scar."

You nodded your head before looking back at Donna. "Is that what you would like, Donna?" You asked. She nodded her head. "I can do that. If that's what you want then I can do that." You replied.

"Mistress Donna says thank you." Angie said motioning for you to pick her up.

You have a small smile. You placed Angie on Donna's lap before asking a question. "Are you two... connected?"

"In a way, yes." Donna replied.

You hummed. You sketched her and Angie mostly in silence, occasionally asking her to turn a certain way. It took you a few hours to sketch them out like you had that it would, but you wouldn't have enough time to get it fully done to give it to her before dark.

"I didn't realise how late it was getting." You said when you looked at the clock. "I apologise for keeping you in town for so long." You stood up from your seat and looked at Angie. "You should probably get this little angel to bed soon, My Lady."

Donna frowned a bit. "Donna, please. I'd like for you to call me Donna." She replied. You simply nodded your head at her request. "I suppose we should get going. Could you hold her while I do this?" She asked, gesturing towards the black veil on your couch.

"Of course." You said as you took the doll from her lap and held her.

"Y/N, can I tell you something?" Angie asked. You smiled at her and leaned your ear down to her. You let out a soft gasp at what she told you. "Is that so? I'll be sure to make it extra special then, just for Donna... and you too, angel." You replied to the doll softly.

It wasn't long before you waving goodbye to the two of them as they headed back to their home. You had agreed on Sunday for Donna and Angie to come back for the painting, and they did. You'd just woken up when you heard the knock on your door. Smiling to yourself you made your way over to let them in.

"Donna, Angie, you're here early!" Nonetheless, you allowed them into your home. "I need a shower, but make yourselves comfortable. I made some tea if you'd like to have some, Donna, cups are in the cabinet on the right." You called over your shoulder as you made your way into the bathroom. When you came out, you found Angie asleep on your couch with Donna's veil over her while Donna was sat in a chair sipping on a cup of tea. "Angie must be really tired if she's sleeping right now." You said, looking at the sleeping doll fondly, a small smile on your face.

Donna let out a small laugh. "She, um, didn't get much sleep last night. And when Angie is restless then so am I." Donna replied. Looking her over, you did notice that she looked a bit tired. "It's no bother to me, I enjoy keeping her company." She quickly added upon seeing the concerned look on your face.

"I don't doubt that one bit." You said. "How have you been?" You asked.

"Same old, same old. Mother Miranda called a meeting for the Lords and warned us of some outsider coming to the village soon, to make sure we're prepared for his arrival." Donna explained. "I have no doubt that Alcina or Heisenberg will get their hands on him before me and Moreau get a chance at him and I wouldn't mind it one bit, to be honest."

"Speaking of Lady Dimitrescu, she tried to pursue me once, but I turned her down. Quite frightening that I lived through it." You said as you sighed into your cup of tea. Donna arched her eyebrow. "She said something about how I reminded her of someone she once knew a long time ago. It was very flattering, I guess, but I had no idea what she was going on about." You explained.

Donna looked at her cup, tapping her fingers on it. "A past lover, I assume." She said softly. You couldn't help the laugh you let out in disbelief. "I'm serious. Alcina has had some lovers come back to her, reincarnated and all that, it never slips past her when a past lover returns to the village." Donna said. "But never have I heard of one passing her up."

You shrugged a bit. "She's a beautiful woman, of course, but nothing compared to you, Donna." You replied and you could see her blush at the compliment as she waved it off. You put your cup down to take her hand in yours as you had done the last time she was here. "I, um, I mean it. You're a Goddess, Donna, you're picture perfect." You said as you leaned closer to her, staring into her eyes, your lips only a few inches from her.

Donna let out a shaky breath. "Speaking of picture perfect, the portrait?" She said before clearing her throat, breaking you out of the trance the two of you seemed to be in.

You jumped up, scratching the back of your head. "Yes, the portrait." You smiled as you went over to get it. You spoke to her as you walked back over to where she was sitting. "A little angel, not naming any names, told me that today was a very special day so I tried to make it extra special for you, Donna." You took the sheet you had over the painting off and waited for her reaction.

You stared at the lady in black sitting in one of your chairs with curious eyes as she stared at the portrait, observing it before she looked up at you with tears in her eyes. Donna stood up from her chair and pulled you into a hug. "It's perfect. So, so perfect. Thank you." Donna said into your ear softly sending a small shiver down your spine as she pulled away. You expected her to sit back down, but instead she studied your face before she leaned in to kiss you. It took you a second to register what was happening before you reciprocated the kiss, pushing your lips into hers a bit before she pulled away. "Was that, did I overstep?" She asked.

You shook your head. "No. Not at all." You said before you kissed her again, a small smile on your face. You reluctantly pulled away. "I'm glad you liked the portrait. Happy Birthday, Donna."

Donna gave you a small smile in return as she returned to her seat, stealing a glance over at the still sleeping doll. "Angie's not going to be pleased that I saw it without her. Or about the fact that we..." Her voice trailed off as she touched her lips before looking up at you. "Put the sheet back on it?" She asked.

"Of course. Wouldn't want the little angel to miss out on such a special moment, would we?" Donna let out a laugh as she shook her head at your question. In all honesty, you hadn't expected to fall for Donna Beneviento, but you were glad you turned down Lady Dimitrescu if it meant you got to make this Goddess of a woman smile and laugh any chance you could.

[thefuchsianeko]

never posted these here i guess. well

a while ago something compelled me to do edits with my redesign of Alastor (I WOULD link back to my original post with the redesigns, but it’s old and ugly so...)

got really into it I think

too lazy to write it all out again so I’m just gonna copy-paste what I wrote about them from Instagram... so under the cut will be the original screenshots, as well as some design notes and stuff

I sketched a couple of other characters but I mostly did Alastor... also those are the only ones I actually finished lol. I'm most interested in his redesign than the others.

tl;dr -- I tried simplifying his design while also making it more period-accurate (he died in the '20s apparently), as well as giving him details and a colour design that I think would help him stand out amongst the other characters (tho I did nothing else to edit these but if I was in charge of design a lot of colours in the environment would be changed to help characters stand out from the bg). I also kept some of his deer-traits (the ear-tufts and antlers specifically) bc idk i like deer whatever. (also if these edits are inconsistent idc if the pilot won't be consistent then neither will i)

I don't think it's a secret that I kinda don't like Hazbin Hotel that much... I mean I'm interested in seeing where it goes but the pilot itself very flawed. ANYWAY hehehh... I fucking hate Alastor's design but at this point I kinda love hating him (for reasons unintended by the creators). His design is ANNOYING AS SHIT and he comes off as try-hard so I can't take him seriously. Some design notes... So he supposedly died in the '20s but like, his outfit looks like it'd be from a lot earlier? Annoys the shit outta me but anyway I just gave him a simple suit (after skimming one of my books about '20s and '30s fashion I saw a lot of that) along with some coattails for a cooler silhouette. Almost gave him a regular tie too but I kinda like the upside-down cross thing he has goin' on (a symbol often mistakenly attributed to satanism but whatever looks neat). Cleaned up his hair, kept the ear-tuft-things for the deer-look but also I kinda like how the ears blend into the hair (here it should be assumed they're ears at least). Made his antlers bigger so you can uh ACTUALLY SEE THEM. Muted his colour scheme to help go with the '20s theme and make him stand out against allllll the fkin red, and gave him flat teeth instead of sharp teeth. I think it’d be cool if everyone else in Hell had sharp teeth except this fuckin’ guy… it’d stand out. Didn’t change his radio-staff much but I’d probably make it look more like a mic from the ‘20s. Also I changed his nose bc I want more variety and I hate his goddamn button-nose like wtf.

Oh also, his story's kinda different; in my rewrite Alastor has become a kind of a recluse for years after finishing his last big radio-show (the one that Vaggie exposition-dumps to Angel Dust in the pilot) because he’s having trouble trying to figure out what his next show will be (basically he has art-block lol). He wants it to top (or at least equal) the quality of his last show. When he hears about Charlie’s project from her news interview, her passion and belief in the hotel ignites new inspiration in him (plus the idea of the hotel is insane to him and whether it succeeds or not it’d make a great show). He goes to the hotel in the hope to make a deal so he can cover the story as it unravels. Also he doesn't show off his power that much, if anything it's all only sprinkled in and/or hinted to. He can be pretty friendly but people feel uneasy around him bc 1) he just has that kind of aura and 2) people try not to make him upset in fear of being ripped apart.

Idk if any of this doesn't make sense you can ask about it and I'll try to explain better.... maybe idk i hate words

btw don't be surprised if I make more stuff for this later on bc I kinda love him and have been thinking about a rewrite of the pilot (this is all for fun, of course. If you like the show that's great and I can see how others would like it, there's just details about it that bug me specifically).

[monsterenergysimp]

Permanence

corpse husband x fem!reader 

summary: you meet corpse on a stream and you’re surprised when he reaches out to you 

warnings: cursing, mentions of tattooing

word count: 1.9k

notes: This is proof read but could have missed some stuff. This is my first corpse fic and my first time writing fanfic since I posted that super cringey book on wattpad when I was like 12 or something. I’d appreciate feed back so please reach out to me :)

main blog @itsmysleepover

read part 2 here!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You were cleaning up your station so you can get home and stream. You loved your day job as a tattoo artist but you also really enjoyed streaming. It started as a way to promote yourself as an artist and the shop you worked at but it eventually became a really fun way to destress at the end of the week (or day if you were really itching to stream). “Hey Y/N was that your last client?” your boss, KC, asked as she walked to the front of the shop and put new flash drawings on the walls.

“Yes ma’am!” You said back excitedly. You finished cleaning your station and tossed your black gloves in the trash. “And you can’t trick me into staying and taking walk-ins,” you joked with her. She rolled her eyes and walked back into her office “It was one time,” she said as you slid on your jacket. As you walked out your phone buzzed in your pocket and you checked to see who had texted you. It was a message from Sean asking if you were free to play Among Us with him and some other streamers. You replied that you were on your way home right now and totally down. You were excited to see who was playing this time around since their Among Us streams are super entertaining and have gotten really popular.

On your way back you tweeted and posted to your Instagram story that you’d be streaming soon and set up all your stuff once you made it home. After a few minutes, you had a couple of thousand people watching. You entered the discord chat and Sean spoke up. “Everyone this is Y/N she’s sensitive so be gentle.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you guys and I’m not gentle, I'm ruthless,” You say into your mic and notice the chat calling you a liar. Everyone was in the lobby waiting for the game to start. “You sound way too sweet to be ruthless,” Corpse said. The countdown started and you were imposter with Charlie.

“This should be fun,” you told the stream. Yout tried playing strategically but after such a long shift your brain was mush. You saw Poki in nav and killed her then vented into shields. Not long after the body was reported and you were sure you were going to get voted out or at least sussed.

“Where was the body?” Felix asked. “Nav and I didn’t see anyone near there so whoever is imposter must have vented,” Corpse responded. Felix spoke up again. “I think I saw Y/N walk that way and I haven’t seen her since.”

Shit, shit, shit shit. “I’m in shield right now so-” you said trying to defend yourself but Charlie spoke up. “I was doing tasks with her earlier and I saw her walk into shields so she’s safe but I’m still not sure about Rae.” Everyone discussed a bit more and some people, including Corpse, voted for you but Rae got the majority vote and was ejected. You released your breath and kept playing being extra careful.  

“Okay, guys that was super close. Corpse knows and is out to get me,” you said to the chat. You were eventually voted off but one round later victory was written across your screen with your ghost and Charlie’s avatar. “Good game guys,” Corpse said.

“I told you guys I was ruthless!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You sat at your station doing nothing because a client had canceled a four-hour session. You were listening to music and sketching some stuff but you were bored out of your mind and you didn’t want to leave in case you got a walk-in. The music got quiet as you received a twitter notification saying someone had messaged you. You reached for your phone and saw you had gotten a dm from Corpse.

C: hey :)

You didn’t know what to respond. You were mostly confused as to why he decided to message you out of the blue. Did he want something? But what would he want?

Y: Hii! This is sudden

C: was i bothering you?

    shit sorry!

Y: Youre fine I wasn’t doing anything rn

C: how has your day been

    i dont usually do stuff like this

Y: Im glad you did im doing better now I was so bored

C: what were you doing that was so terrible

Y: NOTHING! thats the problem :(

C: im sure youll find something to do

You stared at his message. Unsure what to respond.

Y: Im gonna give myself a tattoo

C: what?

    NO!

You tossed the needles you used for your tattoo into the sharps box. “Oh my god you didn’t,” KC said. She noticed the wrap on your calve from the tattoo you just gave yourself out of boredom. “It’s not my fault I didn’t have anything else to do!” You said trying to defend yourself. She sighed and just shook her head. “Just go home business is slow today.” It was raining so the shop probably wasn’t going to get a walk-in anyway and you didn’t have any more clients for the day. It was only 2 pm but you drove home and after making lunch for yourself decided to stream. You weren’t expecting too many people so it was bound to be super chill. Your leg felt sore reminding you of the tattoo. You snapped a quick pic of the fresh jack-o-lantern on the side of your calve and messaged it to Corpse.

Y: [image] it came out nice!

C: thats  super cool actually

    i was concerned why you would just give yourself a tattoo but i found your instagram and       youre super talented

Y: Thank you!

For some reason, it felt strange to just have that be the end of your response.

Y: Im about to start streaming if you wanted to watch

    [link]

C: ill be watching ;)

What’s that supposed to mean?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You sat in your apartment watching tv, hand lost in a bag of Doritos, and scrolling through twitter. You had stopped paying attention to the anime playing on the screen since you’ve watched it a hundred times and knew you wouldn’t miss anything. It was Saturday and you usually take those days off. Take the time to do chores or meet up with some friends but today you felt like not doing any of those things. As you continue your endless scroll (not helping the twitter addiction you told yourself you’d try to get a handle on) you got a message from Corpse.

C: wanna talk?

You looked down at the message unsure of how to answer. It was a simple yes or no and the obvious answer was yes. You and Corpse had started talking more regularly. You still didn’t have each other’s phone numbers but it was fine. Your conversations weren’t too big-- just you sending him memes, tiktoks, and telling him how much you liked the songs he would drop. Or him complimenting a tattoo you did. Sometimes he’d message you during streams telling you funny stuff his fans would say in the chat and you’d do the same. You learned a bit about each other but nothing too deep or serious. Like how you two lived a few cities away and you both really liked Donnie Darko. When Sean first invited you to that game out of everyone else there you were most excited to meet Corpse. He’s just so sweet and funny. Of course, you’d love to talk to him but you were also itching to talk to him and the last thing you’d ever want to do was make him uncomfortable.

Y: Yeah id love to talk

Here goes nothing.

Y: Wanna facetime or something?

     No pressure or anything it could even be a regular call

     I think facetime is just my default lol

You sent those last two messages quickly after you had sent the first. You wished you could know what he was thinking. It was killing you to think you had turned him off from talking to you completely. You put your phone down on the couch and went to wash your hand of Dorito dust. When you got back from the kitchen you turned off the tv and tossed yourself onto the couch.

Still no message.

Why am I so fucking stupid?  

Just as you were standing up to stretch from sitting on the couch all day your phone buzzed. You reached for it fast and looked to see that it was him. You became super excited still not even knowing what the message said. It could have told you to never talk to him again for all you knew.

C: sure lets facetime

    xxx-xxx-xxxx

You had his phone number. You added him to your small but growing contact list and called. You sat on your couch waiting for a response when he finally picked up the screen was black. It didn’t upset you; you kind of expected it and didn’t care what he had to do to make himself more comfortable during this call.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was raspier than usual.

“Did you just wake up?” You asked and looked at the time. It was about a little past noon and you had only eaten Doritos all day. Shit, you should probably make a decent meal.

“Not that long ago but yeah,” he responded and giggled. That giggle.

“Well, I’ve eaten nothing but Doritos all day while rewatching Ouran High School Host Club, so you’re welcome to join me as I make myself something to eat.”

“Sounds like fun; what are we eating?”

“I don’t know yet,” You said as you stood up and made your way to the kitchen. You opened the pantry and looked. You noticed a can of diced tomatoes and reached for it then checked the expiration date. It was still good. On your counter were some onions and garlic. “How about some tomato soup?”

“Sounds delicious.” you smiled at Corpse and your phone screen not knowing if he was also looking at his screen or not. “You’re really pretty-- you know that?”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to--”

“I’ve already told you what an incredible artist you are so many times I bet you’re tired of hearing it, but you already know what a talented artist you are.”

“That is very kind of you Corpse,” you said to him bashfully as you chopped the onion and opened the can of tomatoes. “But once again you don’t have to reach so far to compliment me.”

“I’m not reaching you are talented and beautiful and--”

“I thought I was pretty.” You could hear him chuckle with a smile on his face. “You’re both,” he said. You could feel your face getting warm from blushing.

“Fuck you you’re making me blush. My face is all hot and stuff.”

He laughed at how flustered you got. “That’s the cutest thing ever.”

You didn’t know how to respond so you just put some olive oil in a pot and tossed in your onions. It became silent but it was a comfortable silence. You turned the stove on and watched the flame for a few seconds. “If it was dark we could pretend we were together and having a bonfire or something,” you said to the phone as you turned the camera to show him the flame (still not 100 percent sure if he was looking at you or not).

“I’ll put it on the list of things to do when you visit me someday.”

[meruz]

once again i am answering asks in a big compilation post. included is... gotham, patrick stump, tips about drawing backgrounds, tips about drawing in general, links to my faq, and infinity train

like.... the tv series? No... I’ve drawn dc comics fanart before, though. But it’s been years since I’ve been really into it. I like jumped ship like 10 years ago when the New 52 happened LOL.

AFJHDSLKGH I’m sorry I (probably) won’t do it again??

Actually full disclosure I have a truly cringe amount of p stump drawings/photo studies in my sketchbook right now LOL. He’s just fun to draw... hats, glasses, guitar, a good shape... but I don’t think I’ll rly post those until I can hide them in another big sketchbook pdf.. probably Jan 2022. Stay tuned........ (ominous) 

(ominous preview)

These are all sort of related to backgrounds/painting so I grouped them together even though they’re pretty much entirely separate questions.... ANYWAYS

a) How is it working as a BG artist? Is it hard? What show are you drawing for?

I think you’re the first person to ever ask me about my job! Being a background artist is great. It’s definitely labor intensive but I think that could describe pretty much any art job (If something were rote or easy to automate, you wouldn’t hire an artist to do it) and I hesitate to say whether its harder or easier than any other role in the animation pipeline. Plus, so much of what truly makes a job difficult varies from one production to the next, schedule, working environment, co-workers etc. But I will say that I think while BGs are generally a lot of work on the upfront, I think they’re subject to less scrutiny/revisions than something like character/props/effects design and you don’t have to pitch them to a room like boards. So I guess it’s good if you don’t like to talk to people? LOL

A lot of my previous projects + the show I’ve worked on the longest aren’t public yet so I can’t talk about em (but I assure you if/when the news does break I won’t shut up about it). But I’m currently working on Archer Season 12 LOL. I’m like 90% sure I’m allowed to say that.

b) ~~~THANK YOU!! ~~~

c) What exactly do you like to draw most [in a background]?

@kaitomiury​ Lots of stuff! I really like to draw clutter! Because it’s a great opportunity for environmental storytelling and also you can be kind of messy with it because the sheer mass will supersede any details LOL. 

I like to draw clouds... I like to draw grass but not trees lol,,, I like to draw anything that sells perspective really easily like tiled floors and ceilings, shelves, lamp posts on a street etc.

d) Do you have any tips on how to paint (observational)?

god there’s so much to say. painting is really a whole ass discipline like someone can paint their whole life and still discover new things about it. I guess if you’re really just starting out my best advice is that habit is more important than product. especially with traditional plein air painting, I find that the procedure of going outside and setting up your paints is almost harder than the actual painting. There’s a lot of artists who say “I want to do plein air sometime!!” and then never actually get around to doing it. A lot of people just end up working from google streetview or photos on their computer.

But going outside to paint is a really good challenge because it forces you to make and commit to lighting and composition decisions really quickly. And to work through your mistakes instead of against them via undo button.

My last tip is to check out James Gurney’s youtube channel because hes probably the best and most consistent resource on observational painting out there rn. There’s lots other artists doing the same thing (off the top of my head I know a lot of the Warrior Painters group has people regularly posting plein air stuff and lightbox expo had a Jesse Schmidt lecture abt it last year) but Gurney’s probably the most prolific poster and one of the best at explaining the more technical stuff - his books are great too.

e) Do you have tips for drawing cleanly on heavypaint?

@marigoldfool​ UMM LOL I LIKE ONLY USE THE FILL TOOL so maybe use the fill tool? Fill and rectangle are good for edge control as opposed to the rest of the heavy paint tools which can get sort of muddles. And also I use a stylus so maybe if you’re using your finger, find a stylus that works with your device instead. That’s all I’ve got, frankly I don’t think my drawings are particularly clean lol.

f) Tips on improving backgrounds/scenes making them more dynamic practicing etc?

Ive given some tips about backgrounds/scenes before so I’m not gonna re-tread those but here’s another thing that might be helpful...

I think a good way to approach backgrounds is to think of the specific story or even mood you want to convey with the background first. Thinking “I just need to put something behind this character” is going to lead you to drawing like... a green screen tourist photo backdrop. But if you think “I need this bg to make the characters feel small” or “I need this bg to make the world feel colorful” then it gives you requirements and cues to work off of.

If I know a character needs to feel overwhelmed and small, then I know I need to create environment elements that will cage them in and corner them. If a character needs to feel triumphant/on top of the world then I know I need to let the environment open up around them. etc. If I know my focal point/ where I want to draw attention, I can build the background around that.

Also, backgrounds like figure compositions will have focal points of their own and you can draw attention to it/ the relationship the characters have with the bg element via scale or directionality or color, any number of cues. I think of it almost as a second/third character in a scene.

Not every composition is gonna have something so obvious like this but it helps me to think about these because then the characters feel connected and integrated with the environment.

Some more general art questions

a) Do you have any process/tips to start drawing character/bodies/heads?

I tried to kind of draw something to answer this but honestly this is difficult for me to answer because I don’t think I’m that great at drawing characters LOL. Ok, I think I have two tips.

1) flip your canvas often. A lot about what makes human bodies look correct and believable is symmetry and balance. Even if someone has asymmetrical features, the body will often pull and push in a way to counterbalance it. we often have inherent biases to one side or another like dominant hands dominant eyes etc. you know how right-handed artists will often favor drawing characters facing 45 degrees facing (the artist’s) left? that’s part of it. so viewing your drawing flipped even just to evaluate it helps compensate for that bias and makes you more aware of balance.

2) draw the whole figure often. I feel like a lot of beginner artists (myself included for a long time) defer to just drawing headshots or busts because it’s easier, you dont have to think about posing limbs etc. But drawing a full body allows you to better gauge proportion, perspective, body language, everything that makes a character look believable and grounded.

Like if you (me) have that issue where you draw the head too big and then have to resize it to fit the proportions of the rest of the body, it’s probably because you (I) drew the head first and are treating the body as an afterthought/attachment. Sketching out the whole figure first or even just quick drawing guides for it will help you think of it more holistically. I learned this figure drawing in charcoal at art school LOL.

oh. third mini tip - try to draw people from life often! its the best study. if you can get into a figure drawing/nude drawing class EVEN BETTER and if you have a local college/art space/museum that hosts those for free TREASURE IT AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT, that’s a huge boon that a lot of artists (me again) wish they had. though if youre not so lucky and youre sitting in a park trying to creeper draw people and they keep moving.. don’t let that stop you! that’s good practice because it’s forcing you to work fast to get the important stuff down LOL. its a challenge!

b) I’ve been pretty out of energy and have had no inspiration to draw but I have the desire to. Any advice?

Dude, take a walk or something.... Or a nap? Low energy is going to effect everything else so you gotta hit that problem at its source.

If you’re looking for inspiration though, I’d recommend stuff like watching a movie, reading a book, playing video games etc. Fill up your idea bank with content and then give yourself time/space to gestate it into new concepts. Sometimes looking at other art works but sometimes it can work against you because it’s too close. 

Also something that helps me is remembering that art doesn’t always have to be groundbreaking... like it’s okay to make something shitty and stupid that you don’t post online and only show to your friend. That’s all part of the process imo. If you want to hit a home run you gotta warm up first, right? Sports.

I should probably compile everytime i give tips on stuff like this but that’s getting dangerously close to being a social media artist who makes stupid boiled down art tutorials for clout which is the last thing i want to be... the thing I want to stress is that art is a whole visual language and there are widely agreed upon rules and customs but they exist in large part to be broken. Like there's an infinite number of ways to reach an infinite number of solutions and that’s actually what makes it really cool and personal for both the artist and the viewer. So when you make work you like or you find someone else’s work you like, take a step back and ask yourself what about it speaks for you, what about it works for you, what makes it effective, how to recreate that effect and how to break that effect completely, etc. And have a good time with it or else what’s the point.

for the first 2, I direct you to my FAQ

For the last one, I don’t actually believe I’ve ever addressed artwork as insp for stories/rp but I’ll say here and now yeah go ahead! As long as you’re not making profit or taking credit for my work then I’m normally ok with it. Especially anything thats private and purely recreational, that’s generally 100% green light go. I only ask that if you post it anywhere public that you please credit me.

(and I reserve the right to ask you to take it down if I see it and don’t approve of it’s use but I think that case is pretty rare.)

a) @lemuelzero101 Thank you!!! I haven’t played Life is Strange but actually  that series’ vis dev artist Edouard Caplain is one of my bigger art inspirations lately so that’s a really high compliment lol. And yeah I hope we get 5-8 too...!

b) Thank you for sticking around! I’ve been thinking about Digimon and Infinity Train in tandem lately, actually. They’re a little similar? Enter a dangerous alternate world and have wacky adventures with monsters/inanimate objects that have weird powers... there’s like weird engineers and mechanisms behind the scenes... also frontier literally starts with them getting on a train. Anyways if anyone else followed me for digimon... maybe you’d like Infinity Train? LOL

c) @king-wens-king I’M GLAD MY ART JUST HAS PINOY VIBES LOL I hope you are having a good day too :^)

a, b, c, d) yessss my Watch Infinity Train agenda is working....

e) aw thank you!! i think you should watch infinity train :)

[mochegato]

Jasonette Protection Program

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Marinette pulled her coat closer around her as she made her way from the bus stop to her apartment.  She had made the brilliant decision when she moved here not to get a car because… Gotham.  The likelihood that it would get damaged or destroyed in some kind of attack was ridiculously high.  The likelihood the bus would get blown up or taken over, while definitely still present, was significantly lower.

But today she was regretting that decision.  It meant she couldn’t isolate herself like she wanted to.  It meant she was exposed to anybody and everybody at the bus stop and on the bus and on the sidewalk and any one of them could have been the one to drug her.  She eyed the people around her as she walked.  Okay, maybe not the woman who looked like she was in her 90’s and could barely walk… and dropped her knitting out of her bag.

Marinette rushed over to her and paused right before reaching her. She twirled around and scanned the faces around her.  She could feel somebody watching her.  She could feel their eyes scrutinizing her every move.  She studied the shadows and the windows, but couldn’t find anyone watching her.  She frowned slightly and shook her head.  She was getting paranoid.  She was seeing and feeling things that weren’t there.  

She sighed and turned back to the woman, crouching down to help her put her knitting back in her bag.  The woman smiled in appreciation, which Marinette returned with a shaky one of her own.  She walked the remaining few feet to her apartment building and took a cautious look up and down the dark street before turning into it.  She made sure she heard the click of the door latching before continuing up the stairs, not that it would do anything.  Logically she knew that, but her anxiety still demanded it.

She kept her eyes on the stairwell as she made her way up to her apartment on the top floor, eyes hyper vigilant for any movement, her ears hyper sensitive to any sounds from the stairs.  She got to her floor and paused for a few moments waiting to see if any sounds or movement indicated someone behind her.  She let out a relieved sigh when there was no noise and turned to her apartment before letting out a muffled screech.

Jason jumped, dropping his phone he had been scrolling on, in his rush to hold up his hands in a placating motion.  “Just me.  It’s okay. It’s just me.”  He watched her for a few seconds.  She was starting to breathe hard, her eyes were boring into him. “Although I just realized you may not remember me.  So this was actually an incredibly stupid plan.”  He took a few steps away from her door, his hands still held up to let her know he wasn’t a threat.

Marinette continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, forcing her breathing to slow.  “You… you’re Tim’s brother, right?  You… you were…” she squinted at him, “you were in my bedroom?”

Jason grimaced and looked down to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck.  “Yeah… that doesn’t make me sound too good, does it?”

She eyed him suspiciously.  “What are you doing here?”  

He perked up slightly and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing today.  It can hit a day or a few days later sometimes.  And I’m a security expert.  I consult on it for people and companies.  I wanted to offer to check your security for you so you’d feel safe, at least when you’re at home.”  He turned to her door and knocked on the doorframe.  “I can already tell that you need better locks.  I could have broken in easily, but I didn’t think you would appreciate finding me in your apartment.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but let out a quiet chuckle and looked away after a few seconds.  “You would be right.”  She looked back up at him and tentatively walked over closer to her door.  “But, I don’t think I can afford to hire you.”

Jason waved off her concern.  “I wouldn’t let you.  I’d charge Tim for it.  He can afford it and he’s worried enough that I’m actually kind of surprised he hasn’t contacted me already, but I suppose that has something to do with him not wanting you to meet me in the first place.”

Marinette quirked her lips to the side and studied him.  The longer she watched and talked to him the more memories came back and the clearer they became.  She was slowly starting to get bits and pieces of the night before, not enough to create a coherent picture, just incredibly short scenes, a word here, a smile there.  Regardless of what she could remember though, this was Tim’s brother and although Tim didn’t want them to meet, he trusted him, not that she would ever be allowed to say that out loud to either of them.  

She finally nodded and pulled out her keys.  “Well, I can at least offer you dinner while you’re here. If you’d like.”  She gave him a small smile as she passed him into the apartment taking off her coat and dropping her bag on the small dining room table.

Jason raised his eyebrows in surprise.  After the way she had reacted when she saw him, he honestly didn’t think she would talk to him let alone let him into her apartment.  He was starting to understand how she could have gotten drugged so easily if she was that trusting.  But then again, Tim had said they all were being careful. Her even more so than the others. So why was she so trusting now?  “I would never turn down free food,” he said slowly.

He closed the door behind him with a quick glance at the inside part of the lock, confirming his original suspicions.  Standard issue, not particularly secure.  He could have picked it in all of three minutes when he was only eight.  He didn’t have to lean down to study the doorknob to know it was in worse condition. One good kick and the door would be wide open.  He sighed. If anyone wanted to get into her apartment, it wouldn’t take them very much effort.

He turned back to the apartment, letting his frown morph into a smile.  Her apartment was cozy and lived in and very much her.  There were touches of her everywhere along with some touches that he wouldn’t have expected.  He shook his head at the condition of the apartment.  It wasn’t terribly messy but it also wouldn’t count as anything close to clean.  He could see why she and Tim got along so well.  Neither could clean up after themselves to save their lives.  

There were bits of fabric and half completed sewing projects scattered around along with random pages of scientific reports.  He raised an eyebrow at that.  Odd combination.  His eyes caught on men’s shoes by the door.  He scrunched his forehead in confusion.  If she lived with someone, where were they?  Where were they last night?  Why hadn’t Tim mentioned him?  “You live with someone?  A boyfriend?”

Marinette looked up from the refrigerator.  “No.  Well, yes, but no.  I live with my best friend,” she explained quickly, “but he’s visiting friends this week.”

Jason nodded.  That was good at least.  She wasn’t living alone.  There was someone else with her usually.  That makes it less likely someone could just break in and attack her.  He moved over to the window and sighed again, more deeply this time.  It was worse than the door.  “No curtains. You should probably get some, preferably lined ones.  This lock is ancient too.  It wouldn’t take much to jimmy it.  We’ll get you new locks for your windows and your door.”

Marinette looked at him wide eyed as she set a bunch of grapes and a jug of filtered water from the refrigerator on the counter.  She hadn’t been expecting the locks to be that bad.  She knew it wasn’t amazing, but then again, she hadn’t really been too concerned about being specifically targeted here.  Nobody really knew who she was, or rather used to be.  She was just an average citizen here.  

She stared at the window for a few seconds, her head cocking to the side and her eyes unfocusing as her mind wandered through the possibilities of what could have happened and what still could.  She was no longer safe, not even in her own home.  But then again, she never really had been had she?  She had just thought she was.  She thought she was safer after they’d defeated Hawkmoth, but she’d just traded one danger for another.

Jason watched as her face morphed from one expression to another, her eyes distant.  Her face clearly displaying each and every emotion she was going through, no matter how flitting.  Jason could guess where her head went.  When her eyes started shimmering, he opened his mouth to bring her out of it when her phone rang.  She jerked back violently, knocking over the jug of water.  

She cursed as she tried to stop the jug’s descent only to knock it further away, further spreading the water.  She gave a defeated groan and grabbed a towel from a nearby drawer to start sopping up the water.  Jason jumped to grab a few more towels to help.  It took a few minutes, but they were finally able to clean up the water with a minimum of damage to papers left on the counter.  Luckily, none of Marinette’s sketches were on the island anymore but Adrien was definitely going to have to reprint some of his papers for research.

Marinette gave Jason an appreciative smile and threw the papers in recycling and the towels in the sink.  She let out a deep frustrated sigh as she leaned against the counter.  After a few seconds, she ran her hands through her hair and laughed.  Jason frowned at the sound.  It was short and mirthless and sounded utterly wrong coming from her.  He could see her starting to spin but didn’t know her well enough to know how to help.  God, he really hadn’t thought this through.

Jason very slowly started reaching for her so she could see his hands coming.  Shen she didn’t shy away, he set a hand on her arm to ground her.  She looked up into his eyes, panicked eyes meeting concerned eyes. They both jumped when her phone started ringing again.  They both chuckled quietly at their reactions.  

“Sorry…” she started but was cut off by another ring.  She shook her head at herself.  She hadn’t even noticed the original call had dropped.  She checked the caller id and smiled at the phone. “Hey Tim.”  She paused to listen to him.  “No, I’m fine.  I just… I knocked something over and was cleaning it.  Sorry for scaring you.”

She gave Jason an apologetic smile as she listened to Tim.  “I’m doing okay, I guess.  I think I’m just jumpy… and getting paranoid.  I could have sworn someone was watching me walk home, but when I looked nobody was around or rather nobody was paying attention to me.” She missed the slight grimace Jason shot toward the floor.  “No, thank you though.  Actually, your brother is here already.”  She smiled at Jason again and put Tim on speaker.  

“…that so.  That’s very thoughtful of him,” Tim quipped in a clipped tone.

“Yeah, he’s checking my locks,” Marinette continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in his voice, or attributing it to his concern.  “Apparently my door and window locks are pretty bad,” Marinette frowned at the thought.

“Uh huh.  Well it’s just so great that he came over then,” Tim gritted out.

Marinette did a double take when Jason’s phone dinged repeatedly with an extended series of text notifications.  She blinked at it a few times before looking questioningly at Jason. He rolled his eyes and turned his phone off.  He met her eyes with a shrug and a wink as he sat at her island.

“Tell him I say hi and remind him he has plans with Bruce soon,” Tim continued tightly.

Jason huffed.  “Tell him to tell B, I'm not going on patrol until Demon Spawn calms down.  And tell him I’m sending him the bill for this.”  He motioned vaguely around them.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tim conceded easily before his voice turned harsh again, “And tell him…”

“You two do realize you can hear each other and you two both know you can hear each other and I know you can hear each other and I’m not an owl!” Marinette admonished them sharply.

The room was silent for a few seconds before Tim started chuckling.  “Sorry, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Harry.”  She nodded at the phone even though he couldn’t see her.

“Hey!  That makes me Ron?  What the fuck?” Jason objected raising up from his seat in offense.

“Oh come on, you’d look good with red hair,” Marinette teased him lightly.

“You better fucking not be Ron,” Tim growled.   “You’re more like Draco anyway,” he continued flippantly.

“Fuck you, Pretender,” Jason growled.

“Yeah, this is making me feel better,” Marinette sighed, leaning against the counter.

There was a guilty pause as the men took in her words.  “Sorry,” Jason finally spoke up after a while.

“What?”  Marinette gave him a curious look until realization set in.  “Oh!  No, I was serious.  You two remind me of my friends.  It feels comforting, normal.”

Tim waited a second before speaking up cautiously. “So… you’re okay for tonight?  You feel safe?”

Marinette smiled at the phone again.  “Yeah, Tim.  I’m okay.  Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course.  Let me know if that changes.  I’ll be over in three minutes flat,” he promised.

Marinette grinned mischievously.  “Do I get a free pizza if you take longer?”

Tim huffed out a laugh.  “Absolutely.”

“Sweet.  I might test it just for that,” she teased him.  “Night, Tim.”

“Night.  And tell Jason to turn his phone back on before I do it for him.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Still not an owl,” she singsonged before she hung up.  She looked over to Jason with a concerned smile. “Do you have to go?  It sounded like you already had plans?”

Jason waved her off and took the battery out of his phone before leaning against the counter near her.  “I have plenty of time.  Like I said, if I show up now De… Damian is going to attack me.” Marinette’s eyes widened in concern but Jason waved her off again.  “It’s fine. He isn’t as tough as he thinks he is. He wouldn’t be able to hurt me, but Bruce would yell at me for it and Dick would give me his disappointed in you lecture.  It’s better for everyone if I stay away for a few days.”  

He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tim just doesn’t want me stealing his friend away with my superior looks and charm.”

Marinette scowled lightly at him.  “Tim is very handsome and charming,” she insisted defensively.

Jason shot her a devilish smile.  “But not as much as me, right?”

Marinette scoffed at him and rolled her eyes.  “You certainly seem to think so.”  She rinsed some grapes and set them in a bowl between the two of them. “But he’s the only reason you’re here right now.  If you weren’t Tim’s brother and we hadn’t met last night when you were fairly respectful of me in my… state…”

“Fairly!?” Jason squawked.

“I’d have called, well, not the cops, but Tim, to take care of you,” she continued over him.  She grabbed a grape and chewed on it while she watched him appraisingly as she leaned back against the counter opposite him.  “Do you make a habit of stealing his friends?”

Jason shrugged and grabbed a few grapes.  “No, we generally move in different…” he searched for a nice way to phrase it, “circles.”

She hummed in response.  “And yet here you are, willingly entering in a circle with one of his friends.” She eyed him pointedly.  She quickly broke their eye contact to look down and cross her arms over her chest protectively.  “Thank you for breaking into this particular circle to help me out. Last night spooked me more than I want to admit.”

“Did you want to talk about it?  Or pretend like it never happened.  I can help with either,” Jason offered.

Marinette stared at the grapes for a while without talking. Jason was certain she was about to start spiraling again when she spoke up quietly.  “I was keeping an eye on my drinks.  I only took my eyes off of them when I was around people I trusted and we weren’t exactly close to other people for someone to just slip something in.”  She frowned and looked at nothing in particular. She poured herself a glass of water and held the rim of the glass against her lips without drinking it as she remembered the night before.  “I don’t know which scares me more, that someone was that good to get it in with all of us there or…”

“That one of the people you trust might be responsible,” Jason finished for her after a few seconds of silence.  When she looked up to meet her eyes, she looked so shaken and uncertain, he wanted to pull her into a tight, reassuring hug, but after the night before, he wasn’t sure a virtual stranger’s embrace would be the most reassuring.  He settled for moving to lean against the counter next to her so their arms were almost touching, but she still had her personal space.

“Yeah,” she said wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her arms.  

“You think you were the intended victim?” he asked curiously.  He and Tim had already discussed the night and decided that she had to be, but he was curious what her thoughts were.  “You don’t think it was just opportunistic.  You think whoever was with targeting you.”

She shook her head and looked down, frowning at the floor.  She gripped her arms tighter.  “I don’t know.  I was never alone and I only drank with my friends at our own table away from other people.  I mean someone at the bar could have drugged it before it was brought over when the waitress brought drinks but…”

“How would they know who it would go to,” Jason finished again.  “Seems unlikely they’d risk the drug like that if they didn’t know who it would go to. If they didn’t have a plan to get the person out.”

Marinette looked up at him anxiously and nodded.  She studied him for a few more seconds before she shook herself out of her daze.  She looked up at him with a fake smile.  “So what are you feeling for dinner?  I can make some pasta.  I can do stir fry.  I can whip up a casserole.  What do you want?”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you feel like having tonight,” he assured her with a smile.

“I don’t… really… feel like eating,” she mumbled, looking away again. “This is more something for me to focus on instead of last night.”

Jason gave her a gentle smile and lowered himself to her level, trying to gain her attention.  “Look, I know you don’t know me but why don’t we order take out and we can watch a movie, or if you want to be alone, I can leave.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she answered quickly, instantly looking over to him with a desperate look in her eyes.

Jason nodded slowly and gave her a gentle smile.  He rested his hands lightly on her arms to reassure her he was there and not going anywhere unless she wanted him to.  “That’s understandable.  I wouldn’t want to be either.  Do you want me to call Tim over?  I know you probably feel safer with him and when he can’t be here in three minutes, you get a pizza.”

She gave him a wan smile.  “No, I trust you.  And I’m not really feeling pizza right now.”

Jason smiled back.  “I want to joke and say that’s a terrible decision, but now doesn’t seem like the best time.” She gave him a deadpan look that made his grin widen.  “I’ll save that for later,” he finished with a wink. His expression quickly turned serious as he watched her.  “You should eat though.  What kind of food do you want to try?  There’s a good Indian restaurant around the corner.”

She looked away.  “I don’t want to order out.  I don’t want food that I…”

Jason nodded and moved closer again.  “Yeah, that’s reasonable.  Let’s make something together, yeah?  I saw some eggs and milk in your refrigerator and there’s bread on the counter.  How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?  French toast sound good?  I think you call it Lost Bread?  And how do you feel about Clueless?”

“The movie?” she asked confused.

“Yeah, adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma.”

“Fan of Alicia Silverstone or Jane Austen?” she teased weakly.

“Both,” Jason answered with a wink.

Marinette snickered and nodded.  “That all sounds amazing.”  She moved away to start getting the pan and bowls out, watching him while he got the ingredients prepared.  “Thank you, Jason.  You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“No problem.  We’ll get things figured out so you can feel safe, or at least as safe as you can feel in Gotham,” he assured her, and himself.  They were going to find who drugged her and make her feel safe again.  Whoever it was messed with one of Tim’s friends, one of the few he really trusted, that means whoever it was messed with his family and nobody messed with their family.

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @aespades @demonicbusiness @read-fantasy-to-escape-reality @jayjayspixiepop