#if i do ever continue it i already have the third page sketched so yeah

[fuk1ngb1tch]

First two pages of my Rainworld au Comic. I lost motivation, likely won't continue it, but I figured I should share it so yeah

I figured my effort shouldn't go to waste so yeah

Here's my hunter design for the comic if any one is curious

Here's where all my Rainworld art is

[mxchellesworld]

punk rock princess

spencer reid x reader

synopsis; where spencer’s working on the final paper for his third phd meanwhile you take on the task of making sure he takes a break.

warnings; smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, sub!spence if you squint, nipple piercings;),

a/n; i’m not saying this is my fantasy but .. this is my fantasy,, inspired by this song, y’all know the drill. you don't have to listen while reading but i always love to set the vibe. lastly y/n doesn't have any mentioned features or looks besides piercings/tattoos,, the rest is all up to you:)

pls send in feedback!

***

A shiver crawled down your spine from the first squirt of dye hitting your scalp. The bubblegum pink shade being a change from the firey red which inhabited your head a mere 24 hours prior.

The process was muscle memory at this point. Brushing out your hair then parting and sectioning it off. However that was the only methodical part. The fun was in slapping on the dye, not a single worry about staining your hands or neck.

The sounds of heavy drums and bass guitar bounced off the walls in the bathroom of the small apartment. Even though the door was shut it wasn't enough to stop the sound from flowing into the living room where your boyfriend was working.

Spencer sat at the dining table, flipping through copious amounts of folders and books. His third thesis in the process of being written. The computer screen in front of him looking back with a mocking glow. Since apparently things had to be digital now.

Your feet padding on the wooden floor made him look up from the pages. Humming to the music as you walked into your bedroom. Then back out a few seconds later holding a towel and robe.

A small smile tugged across his face. Ever since you had moved in together he loved to watch your day to day actions. The way you played your music concerningly loud, your skincare routine which included cleaning your facial piercings. What fascinated him the most was that in the 13 months you’d been together he’d seen you dye your hair 7 times.

Not including any touch ups.

He stood from his place at the table, making his way to the bathroom. Two quick rasps on the door to check if you were decent. The action made you giggle.

“Come in!” you called, “I don’t know why you knock weirdo you’ve seen me naked plenty of times.”

A blush spread across his cheeks from both your words and your state of undress. His eyes tried to focus on the splotches of color on the counter, keeping the blood flowing to the head on his shoulders.

But it was hard when the sheer bralette you had on did very little to hide the metal bars in each of your breasts.

“Spence?” you said snapping a fingers in front of him.

He cleared his throat, eyes snapping to your face which held a smirk.

“Are uh those n-new?” he questioned, hand going to scratch the nape of his neck.

The usual silver balls at the end of the bars were now tiny jewell hearts. The color was a little hard to tell due to the material of your bra but from the change in your hair he could almost bet money they were also pink.

With swift hands you unclipped your bra and threw it on the closed toilet seat before turning to face him.

“Got them when I bought the dye yesterday,” you said pushing your boobs up with your hands, “You like?”

Spencer’s eyes were as big as saucers, frantically nodding, “Y-yeah they look nice.”

You dropped your hands to your hips, tugging off the shorts you had on. The wide brown eyes before you couldn’t get any bigger, trailing down your frame stopping to admire the bar in your belly button along with the ink which littered your ribs.

He watched as you got to your knees, turning on the bath faucet. You dipped your head under the water, a stream of pink filling the tub.

The slope of your spine bent over was a sight he'd seen more than enough times. He could pinpoint the beauty marks on your left shoulder, the small sun he sketched which ended up permanently on the back of your neck. But if he let his gaze drift a little further south he could see how deliciously the dark lace looked barley covering up your most intimate parts.

A smack to his calf got his attention.

“Earth to Spencer! Can you hand me the shampoo,” you asked which came out sounding a bit muffled.

He quickly scurried to the tub and reached over to grab the bottle, squeezing a bit of gel onto your open palm.

"I'm gonna go work on my thesis some more," Spencer said slowly shutting the door behind him.

Making his way back to the living room, he pulled a few files and sat down on the couch. Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and red pen between his teeth and he stared in concentration.

They were the same words he had read over and over again. The lack of sleep causing a dull ache in his skull.

"You need to take a break love," you said walking over and sitting next to Spencer on the couch.

"I did take one," he argued back flipping through the file.

"Gawking at me before I shower for 2 minutes isn't a break," you said with a giggle, the warmth flooding back to his cheeks, "Cmon 25 minutes at least without a file in your hand. "

When he didn't respond you took matters into your own hands. Ripping the file from his grasp, earning a grumble of disapproval before you straddled his hips. Your arms circled his neck and your hands went straight to the back of his scalp, fingertips running in soothing motions.

"Isn't this so much better baby," you asked whispering in his ear.

He nodded quickly, staying silent as he let his actions speak louder. His large palms went right to your plush hips. Bucking up as he led you to grind yourself on his lap.

Letting his hands explore the material of your satin rope he could feel the lack of undergarments on your frame. Spencer dared to let his hands dip under the black fabric and take each one of your cheeks in the palm of your hand with a gentle squeeze.

You could feel his cock stiffening under you. If you looked down you'd probably be able to see a wet spot on his sweats, most likely a mix of your arousals.

Leaning forward you let your lips attack his neck, placing sloppy kisses sure to leave marks. The process of licking and biting making Spencer hold onto you tighter, almost as if he had his very own vampire to mark him up.

Trailing up to his ear you bit on the lobe before whispering, "Tell me what you need baby."

Lust filled brown orbs met your own as you each continued your steady grind.

"Please fuck me," he pleaded.

If only he knew how wrapped around his finger you were. As pretty as he sounded begging you'd give him anything.

You pulled the metal frames off his face, tossing them to the other side of the couch. He had complained one too many times about foggy glasses during sex. No matter how cute you thought he looked.

Your hands slid down his torso and reached to pull down his sweats. His precum soaked length was heavy in your hands. Pretty pink tip leaky and throbbing already. The first few pumps had whiny moans slipping from his lips, red from biting so hard.

"Unwrap me baby, it's all for you," you said tilting your head down, motioning to the strings holding your robe together.

Quickly he let his slender fingers go to the ends, a swift tug and it was like opening a gift on Christmas. Leaning forward he let his lips wrap around one of your nipples. A strangled moan leaving your mouth from the stimulation.

With a raise of your hips you lined his cock with your opening before sliding down. You both sighed at the same time, the feeling of him stretching you out and your warm walls hugging his length was just too good.

Slowly you rocked your hips testing the waters, soft gasps and curses left your lips. You could feel very vein and inch stuffed inside you.

Spencer on the other hand was having an out of body experience, there wasn't an inch of your skin which was left untouched. Unkissed. After you were settled he raised his hips meeting you halfway with each thrust.

"You're doing so well baby," you cooed down at him, "You love when I ride you hm? Best fucking seat in the house."

His eyes shut closed in pleasure as your pace quickened, "Love it so much. So so pretty," he mumbled out.

His arms pulled you close again. Chest to chest as you continued your movements. Your lips met in a lazy kiss, panting in each others mouths when you ran out of air.

You could feel him pulsating inside you. The iron grip he had on your hips as he helped drive you up and down on his cock was sure to feel sore the next day. His shoulders were sure to have corresponding crescent marks from your nails digging in.

"Touch me Spence m'so close love," you said breathlessly.

One of his hands fell down to the space where you both connected. Skilled fingers rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves in quick circular motions.

Loud moans escaped your lips. Your head fell back to the familiar junction of his neck and shoulder, biting the skin in order to stifle your noises of pleasure.

"Y/n I can't hold it any longer, please cum with me," he whimpered out.

Nodding your head you grabbed onto the back of his neck, "Right behind you baby. Let go for me, I got you."

With a few more upward thrusts you felt him pull you down onto his cock, warmth spreading in your tummy. The feeling of his seed filling you up and his euphoric groans sent you over the edge.

You both rode out your orgasms, swiveling hips and satisfactory sighs of release leaving your lips.

After a few minutes of content silence listening to the music still flowing through the hall you moved to get up, the sticky mess between your thighs less than comfortable.

Warm arms kept you in place, denying your movement.

"Spence I gotta clean up," you said trying to push yourself off his chest.

"If I remember correctly you said at least 25 minutes and from my calculations I have 3 minutes and 38 seconds left of cuddle time," the lanky man under you said matter of factly.

You rolled your eyes, sighing but resting your head back on his shoulder, "If I get a UTI thats 3 minutes and 38 seconds of me playing screamo in your ear at full volume."

With one last squeeze he kissed the side of your head, the scent of ammonia only sightly bothering him, "Worth it."

[damedamedame]

akane aoi + reader | say what ?

| description ! | your current relationship with akane gets a little out of hand (which may or may not be good?) (yes, there’s a question mark).

prev | next

You flip to a page, one to a theory about a mysterious creature who could control the time around the halls of Kamome Gakuen by their own hands and by their own choice. There’s even a sketch of what it could be... and it looked nothing like the boy standing in front of you now. Your finger points to a space, wordlessly wanting him to sign it if your pleading face was anything to go by.

Akane stares at you blankly, then to the picture book in your hands. The expression on his face screams confusion because of your actions but you were insistent.

Being an enthusiast for all sorts of supernaturals and apparitions that had crossed your path (which may or may not have led to various dangerous incidents), you stood your ground as firmly as you possibly could.

Even if you wanted to melt at the sight of this new Akane Aoi.

Fuck it, you probably already melted when he saved you mere minutes ago.

Sucking in a deep breath, you continued to ask another question, briefly ignoring the fact that Akane didn’t bother to sign. Maybe he had no pen?? What kind of apparition has a pen in his pocket?? Wait would they--

“C-Can you help me investigate more s-supernaturals?”

‘OH NO.’ You looked at the ground as if it was the one who was making your cheeks redden to the max. ‘I STUTTERED TOO MUCH DHBFSH--’

“Interesting offer but….” Your head shot up to meet his smile, it didn’t meet his eyes but it made you look like a tomato nonetheless. A shudder goes down your spine at the way he stares right through you. “I don’t think I can handle another second seeing any one of them.”

…?

“W-WHY?? SUPERNATURALS ARE AMAZING CREATURES !!” You cry out, unable to hold back.

“Wha…? What makes you say that?”

There’s a hint of a spark happening between you two, one filled with tension and the start of a very very long argument between the justification of supernaturals.

Not that you intended to speak up and start a fight about it, you had only wanted to bring up a few points. Which he had a rebuttal for every time. Perhaps this is why you liked this smartass, but never did you think that you would be on the opposing side of the debate.

“Aoi-kun, I’m pretty sure not all of them are bad..!”

“You might want to see a certain seventh somewhere--.”

“YOU KNOW THE SEVENTH MYSTERY ???”

Secretly, your foot hurt like actual hell, having been pushed to the ground rather harshly after almost being struck by a truck. But how could you let this chance pass by? You were finally talking to the boy you simped for and you have the chance to meet more supernaturals and apparitions!

Granted, you almost died and you were both arguing about the goodness of supernaturals and apparitions, BUT STILL—!!

“I don’t think he appreciates seeing someone limp into his stall.”

Akane motions over to your foot. The foot that you were trying so desperately to hide but alas, the awkwardness stood out.

“Um… I-I’ll go to the clinic then! After that, you can take me to see Hanako-san…!”

Two steps forward and you were already wobbling. You were determined to get to the clinic without any hesitation if it meant finding out more of these supernaturals that always invaded your mind, if you weren’t already thinking about Akane.

Being the gentleman that he was forced to be by one strict Teru Minamoto, he had, as much as he didn’t want to offer because he was salty, offered you a, “Do you want me to take you to clinic?” which you may have replied with a small nod, the flush on your cheeks rising significantly so.

Significantly so may have been a slight understatement.

Your cheeks—no, your entire face raged with a pink blush once Akane put his hand on yours, telling you to lean on him if your legs hurt too much. The way he held your hand calmly without hesitation made it seem like he experienced this sort of thing before. Or maybe he spent his time eagerly researching this for Aoi’s sake. ‘Okay, yeah, it’s definitely the second one.’ You sink your head low in dismay.

Thankfully, the clinic wasn’t too far off since the incident took place right at the exit of the school. Making quick work into getting to the clinic, also avoiding the people who looked at you two quietly bickering about another something related to your slowly developing debate about supernaturals and all that. Or perhaps they looked at you two and wondered why two simps were spending time with each other. What if they thought you were dating him (finally) and Akane had given up on Aoi--

You scoff, immediately letting the fleeting thought away. Akane raised an eyebrow at your action but you simply looked away, not acknowledging the other thoughts that crowded your mind.

“Can you open the door while—”

“Yeah, I think I can just…”

After a few minutes of trying to open the door leading to the clinic, and failing miserably, your prayers have finally been answered. By a fellow Student Council Member.

“Oh! (L/N)-san!” This girl is… the ‘Secretary’ of the Student Council, if the messy black hair, the dark red ribbon hanging loosely around the back, and the round glasses framing her small face was any indication. “What happened?”

“I tripped and fell on the sidewalk.” You explain, not delving into any of details because even if the guy you just had to like out of everyone else (seriously, why couldn’t you have liked Minamoto-senpai instead? It’d probably be so much easier) had a bunch of hatred for the ones you absolutely adored (and you still didn’t get why he hated all of them instead of merely hating the ones who pushed Aoi), you still didn’t want to cause any trouble for him.

The ‘Secretary’ looks at you two for a bit, a small knowing smirk gracing her lips, which she tried to hide with her hand but failed, and walked away. She also mentioned something about the ‘President’ dropping off some paperwork on his desk. You don’t know why Akane’s expression turned into a disgusted one but you didn’t want to pry on that.

Oh nono, you wanted to pry about something else.

Right after sitting down on the bed after the nurse had told you to do so, you began swinging your legs out of nervousness. And you regretted that a second later because the pain finally settled in. Akane had thrown an ‘are-you-kidding-me?’ look at you and you replied by rolling your eyes into oblivion. Not wanting the silence between you two to thicken (or maybe you should, you were literally on the verge of kicking your crush when he mentioned how annoying your beloved Mokke were), you somehow managed strike up a conversation.

“Say… what happened to that truck a while ago?” Gold star for not stuttering over there, champ.

Akane turns to look at you, lips screwed tight and eyes wide. Had he not noticed it? How his supernatural suit and tie and honestly aesthetically pleasing outfit went away and changed back to his normal uniform? How the truck had crashed into a pole instead of you? Considering the amount of shock graced his features, it’s safe to assume that you were correct. Seriously though, how could he not have noticed?

‘Maybehewasfocusingonyou—SHUT UP’

He’s silent, not willing to admit that he did not, in fact, notice the truck nor his outfit changing. You hear him mumble a few words under his breath, definitely not missing the ‘That bastard might actually kill me this time’ or the ‘If Ao-chan ever finds about this…’ but he stops when the doctor of the school clinic came in.

“So, (L/N)-san, what do we have here this time?” The doctor, Nito-san, asks for the third time this week (or was it the fourth…?). He kind of looked frustrated with you, which you brushed off with an awkward chuckle. You could have sworn you heard Akane stifle a laugh. “Did you fall from the stairs again?”

“Not today, haha…” ‘CNDSJFNDSFOSID’ You fumed, hands clenching into fists. Now you heard Akane actually having to hide his laughter, which resulted in you having to cover your face with your hands.

Oh, why did you have to come in like this Nito-san??? WHY???

As if God Himself heard you, you were blessed when Teru Minamoto poked his head in from outside the room’s door. Funnily enough, he did not have his usual smile and ^^ on his face. He just looked lowkey pissed, which was a first for you and for people inside the clinic.

“Aoi-kun, why don’t we have a chat outside?”

You glanced at Akane in concern, and your choice was right, he should be of concern right now. He looked like a man about to be executed.

“Y-Yeah…”

At this point, you might as well plan his funeral. Yes, Aoi is going to have to give a speech about him or he would haunt the school. ‘Wait isn’t he already haunting the school—’ You thought as Akane was pretty much dragged outside by Teru. ‘Oh, I didn’t get to ask him about Hanako-san!’ You frowned, slapping yourself on the face. Although, you probably shouldn’t be focusing on that as of now, since Nito-san looks... positively furious.

| end notes ! | i’m so sorry for the long wait !! and i’m really sorry if the update wasn’t as good as you’d thought it would be,, not that it was alr good to begin with :’>

taglist: @astrxrism​ @sparkleswritings​ @closetweebsmh​ 

[rosepetalmark]

flowers in your hair

↬ Johnny Suh x Reader ↬1.8k Words ↬Your allergies and creating art are two things Johnny holds dear to his heart

You hated the outdoors. Anything to do with bugs, dirt, and even plants made you itch and sneeze and scared that you’ll get some rare unknown disease and die because the innocent looking flower you picked by the bench turned out to be poisonous. 

Johnny on the other hand, enjoyed nature and embraced it to its fullest. Every day he’d make time to bask in the grass, and soak up all the sun while working on his latest art inspiration. 

Today, he decided that sitting in a field full of sunflowers would be ideal for his newest project, and what would make it more worthwhile and perfect was if you, his girlfriend  were with him to occupy his time and add further enjoyment to his favourite hobby. 

Horrible idea on his part because you’re allergic to flowers, and tall fields of grass would most likely break you out into hives and have you coughing up a lung. Johnny wouldn’t bat an eye though, because despite loving you with all his heart, he had a knack for making fun of you and the simplest inconveniences that occurred within your life. 

He always says you’re over dramatic when it comes to your “spring allergies” and that nothing like some water and the fresh air will clear your mind and nasal passages. 

He’s a dumbass, and he really will be the reason you die one day. 

But Johnny didn’t care, because as long he had you, a bottle of allergy medicine for your sneezing and itching, and his paintbrushes, he was content, even if you spent a great amount of your time in this damn sunflower field teary eyed and stuffy nosed. 

“Johnny, please tell me we can leave soon, I'm itching way more now than I did when i had the chickenpox as a kid,” you whine, rubbing your hands across your bare arms to provide you with any relief as you watched the bees swarm past you in their search for some nectar in the flowers nearby.  

“Mhm,” he whispers, continuing to stroke the paintbrush across the now detailed page, completely oblivious to the words that just left your mouth. 

This always happened. Whenever he took you somewhere new, he’d completely block out the world, yourself included, in order to capture the essence of life whether it be through his camera or canvas. 

Of course there was silence, why wouldn’t there be. Every time Johnny asks you to accompany him anywhere outdoors, you always think you’re going to explore and embrace nature, and every single time you are wrong, because the second you find something beautiful to look at, he sets his small backpack down and busts out either his camera or painting utensils to capture it. 

You’d say it pissed you off at times, but art is his passion, and you’d never do anything to get in the way he feels so alive and free whenever he consumes himself with something as minuscule and simple as a paperclip. He finds the beauty in anything and everything, never ceasing to amaze you with the wonderful creations he illustrates. 

“Johnny,” you say a little louder, unamused with the silence you receive, and the continuous strokes he continues to make on the page. 

You call his name again, and again, and again, and it’s only the third time when you yell out his full name, that he finally drops the brush on his palette and focuses his attention on you. 

“Were you not listening to me?” You question, seriously surprised that out of all the times you’ve called his name, he either completely ignored you or has gone def within his 25 years of life. 

“Oh, I was listening,” he hums, raising his eyebrows whilst providing you with his staple cheeky grin, one he always does when he wants to get on your nerves. 

Always a cocky one that guy, and how you manage to stay dating him truly blows your mind. 

Sighing, you focus your gaze away from the way he picks up his paintbrush again and gently strokes baby blue across the page, looking towards the tall stocks of sunflowers gently breezing in the wind a few feet away from you.

“You’re such a crappy boyfriend,” you chuckle, picking up one of the untouched pastel crayons and examining its fluorescent blue hue.  “You never pay attention to me.” 

“I never pay attention to you, hm?” He asks, causing you to stare back at his now stoic stature, face still focusing on his notebook and nowhere on you, but more contoured and rigid this time.

“Well, you’re speaking to me now yet your attention is never on me, always on whatever you’re painting or drawing,” your tone slightly angered. 

Obviously you were lying. Johnny was the most attentive boyfriend you could ever ask for, always checking in on you and ensuring your day goes smoothly, always hanging out with you when he’d rather be napping or out painting or doing photography, and almost always is down to make out with you whenever the opportunity arises. 

You just like to pull his leg most of the time because it’s funny seeing how riled up he gets when he believes that you think he’d rather focus on his hobbies over having conversations with you. 

“Here,” he signals, shoving his book in your direction, encouraging you to look through the worn out leather book he kept hidden for months, wanting you to see what he has been working on secretly whenever you were together.

Confused, you run your fingers along the enclosed ribbon on the cover of the sketchbook, hesitant to allow yourself in the work he’s immersed himself in for hours whenever the beauty in nature took over his attention span away from you.

Raising his eyebrows, he nods in a manner that demands you open the book. “If I don’t pay any attention to you, look through the book.”

Untying the string , you decide that whatever is in this book isn’t a secret anymore, because it wouldn’t even be in your hands if Johnny didn’t practically throw it at you to shut you and your curiosity up. 

The first few pages are beautiful, really. He has a way with his sketches, always seeming so simple yet so realistic you’d think they were actual pictures edited just to appear more striking to the eye. 

“Nature really is what inspires you hm?,” you ask, more of a rhetorical question because you already know the answer that’ll come from his mouth.

Chuckling, he brings his body closer to yours so his chin is resting on your shoulder, watching as you delicately turn the pages of his book. “Yeah, but there’s something more encapsulating that ends up being my muse, just keeping looking through.”

Golden sunflowers, vibrant pink sunsets, the giant pumpkin you both visited at the fall fair last year, everything you two experienced together when hanging out was documented in this book and reinvented through his drawings or paintings of them. 

And then you saw a sketch of yourself. At first you thought it was cute, because he’d always draw you and all your other friends whenever he got bored. But four pages later all you found were several pages filled with you, ranging from when when he placed different coloured tulips in your hair that one time you went on a walk in the new community garden not far from your favourite ice cream shop, or when you experimented with makeup and put glitter all over your eyebrows. 

Every moment you deemed minuscule and fun was captured so deeply in Johnny’s eyes, that he decided to relive it all again through the many strokes and colours that seamlessly came together to create something so beautiful. 

Your breath was absolutely taken away.

You always thought nature is what captured Johnny’s attention the most, but turns out it’s always been you. 

“I’m. Wait Johnny this is so-,” you begin to say, but your words become jumbled and your emotions a tangled mess, leaving you with tears in your eyes and so much more love for him in your heart than you’d ever had before, all because he drew some pictures of you. 

“Do you like them?” he questions, raising his eyebrows, awaiting your answer of approval, his question only promoting the waterworks to begin and your head to aggressively nod. 

You place the notebook gently on the blanket you two were sitting on, and crawl into his lap, pressing your body closer to his as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

They were absolutely perfect. He was perfect. 

Everything Johnny Suh says and does is absolutely incredible and you’re so incredibly lucky to be dating the cheesiest, most loving goofball the earth has to offer. Even if he’s a giant pain in your ass 97% of the time. 

Pecking his cheek, you stare into his gleaming brown orbs. “I absolutely love them, Mr. Johnny Suh, and I love you a million times more.”

Tightening your arms around his neck, you couldn’t help but embrace this moment for much longer. You don’t care that you’re five seconds away from bursting into hives and that your throat feels like it’s closing up. Holding on to your very sweet, thoughtful boyfriend for as long as you could right in this moment was all that mattered to you. 

“I was joking by the way, I know you care about me alot and pay more attention than most boyfriends would and I appreciate you tremendously.” You could start to feel the tears well up in the corners of your eyes, because you honestly don’t know what you’d do without Johnny. 

He was your best friend, and has been such an uplifting, inspiring person ever since he entered your life your freshman year of college, the thought of him not being in your life one day was a scary thought you never wanted to come true. 

“I love you always.”

“I know babe”, he whispered, kissing your cheek and running his fingers delicately through your hair, trying to calm you down as he could sense you were feeling rather overwhelmed. 

“I wouldn’t keep dragging you to places you hated if I knew you didn’t love me,” he exclaimed, bursting out into a loud, body shaking laugh that provided you with the comfort to let your tears go, and laugh in unison with him. 

Lifting you off his lap, Johnny grabs his art supplies and gently places them in his bag, grabbing your hand and pulling you up from the dry, matted grass you were both sitting on. 

“Where are you dragging me?” 

“Back to my place.” He winks, quickly pecking your lips before intertwining his fingers with yours, pulling you into the direction of his car. 

“It wouldn’t be romantic to be making out with my girlfriend that I love very much in a sunflower field if she kept sneezing in my face, wouldn’t it?”

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Dobbear! SYAC: The Master Review 6

I am so going to ruin someone’s childhood with that now, but...

guys, it had to be done!

Dashing and daring…

Courageous and caring!

Faithful and friendly…

 With stories to share!

 Doesn’t at all apply to this one artist…

Lesbian obsessed and  each nerddom’s nightmare!

Dobby BEAR!

Whinning here and there and everywhere!

Making claims that are beyond compare…

This is our Dobby-Bear!

Yeah, if you can’t guess, around now is the time I am going to put down the kids gloves and will really dig into why SYAC is garbage. And a huge factor into this, is in part Dobson’s self insert past 2012.

The existence of the blue bear as Dobson officially calls it (or Dobbear as most people call it) is in my opinion rather baffling already in terms of design choices.

I get e.g. that Dobson wanted to distance himself of his past humanoid self inserts as much as possible. But why of all things a bear?

The fact I am focused on that may sound weird, but hear me out for a bit. For starters, I know that Dobson likes western animation. And seeing how western animation has for the longest time been dominated by anthropomorphic animals, I can understand why he would redesign himself as a funny cartoon animal.

But there are at least three things that feel weird about it. First, Dobson had made it clear in the past that he hates furries. So him actually redesigning himself as an anthropomorphic animal is kinda weird

In fact, Dobson himself acknowledges that realization in one of his strips shortly after his fursona took over.

Second, of all the animals to choose from, why a bear? This question is in so far valid, as that bears are not necessarily one of the first to go animals, furries or western animators tend to go for when designing an anthro. And before any furries or anthro enthusiasts are calling me a hater, let me make one thing clear: I like anthropomorphic cartoon and comic characters too, and am okay with most furries. As long as you don’t have a diaper fetish, are a pedophile  or hurt actual animals, you can do and enjoy whatever you like.

But I am also aware enough of furry culture to know, that bear based anthros are most of the time hyper sexualized and muscular, connecting them to how the term “bear” is used in real life gay culture. Which is okay, I think it is just a funny coincidence that Dobson choose an animal, that most furries associate with a life style that Dobson is deeply afraid of, even if he claims to be an LGBT ally.

And as stated earlier, bears are not necessarily the go to animals for animators.

Don’t get me wrong, we all know some cartoon bears like Winnie the Pooh, Yogi Bear, Poh and the main cast of TaleSpin (btw, Kit Cloudkicker fan for life). But lets be honest here; ducks, mice, rabbits, canines, felines, equines and any other “easily to domesticate” animal in the real world tends to make better for easily recognizable cartoon characters than something that can reach a size of 3 meters tops and weigh over 500 pounds.

Truth be told, the pool of cartoon bears is so small, these are the first two things that came to my mind when thinking what may have inspired the Dobbear

And wouldn’t you know? According to Dobson, the Carebears were supposedly the main inspiration for his design.

 Unfortunately, this is also more or less the most I could find of Dobson addressing what went into the creation of the character.

Which kinda brings me also to the third issue as why I think the bear redesign is weird; It is too sudden.

One day Dobson draws himself as a shaved 20 something, the next day he is a fedora wearing Carebear clone, likely created and then rejected by Care Bear villain No Heart, as part of a plot to create a mole when conquering Care-A-Lot.

… and now I need to reevaluate my choices in life, that I was able to make such an elaborate Carebear joke.

It is just a change of design that in my opinion should have been addressed either outside of the comic or in context of it. Which it kinda is, but isn’t.

See, this is the first strip with the blue bear

And then only 13 strips or so later in something called “Continuity” is Dobson more or less willing to address the change…

And he does so in a passive aggressive manner, with Persistent Pam as a stand in for those asking him what is going on, while Dobson just dismissively continues working.

On one hand, you can argue that this is just the joke. The change happened, don’t bother with it, just enjoy what is still to come. And you know, I don’t want to make a rope out of everything Dobson ever posted, including that comic.

But then you have also to account for the fact, that Dobson would eventually associate himself with the blue bear so much, he made him his avatar and icon for his comics and online accounts. In fact, that one comic I posted WAY BACK in the first Master post of Dobson reminiscing how he started SYAC?

For reasons that are a bit confusing to me, he redrew himself (badly I have to add) as the blue bear in one of his earliest strips ever. The one where he belittles the manga fangirl for drawing manga. So I have to ask, what is going on here? Has Dobson increasingly decided to reset his past? Does he want to destroy any traces of his “human” self in his work to create the illusion to any new readers, that he never was as controversial of a person as he was and that there never was a need for him to reimagine and reinvent himself? Is this 1984? And how many of you realize that this paragraph is just me going conspiracy nuts for the sake of entertainment?

But still, it is kinda weird that he went to the bother of redrawing his human self in that one background sketch as a bear. Plus, I honestly think Dobson never even attempting to “explain” the change in the pages of his comics is a wasted opportunity for some decent jokes. Like every time Dobson tries to explain why he is a bear now, something interrupts him or we only get fragments of a story that if we put them together would be as ridiculous as the entirety of “Trapped in the Closet”.

I mean, the dumbest joke idea I have in mind is that Dobson went to build a bear to get a present for a family member. Instead he was build into a bear and later on successfully sued the company, which explains why he can afford to live despite not really working on comics anymore but lecture people badly about the evils of nerd culture.

So yeah, three major things about the design choice that more or less confuse me.

But here is the thing: Confusion is nothing compared to feeling genuine disdain for the design at hand. And compared to Dobson’s earlier human designs, Dobbear is just utterly unlikable.

A lot of that boils down to the following three facts:

1. From a certain point in time on (which I will cover in more detail later on) Dobson uses his bearsona primarily as a soapboxing mouth piece to talk about “politics” in nerd culture. Or at least what Dobson perceives as politics, coming off like a condescending jackass who believes among other things that white people are inherently incapable to identify with black people…

 … or that comic book shops have radicalized nerd culture, essentially calling them terror cells.

Which btw are so inherently offensive to me, I promise I will cover these two separately. One even sooner than the other.

2. If Dobbear is not talking about politics, he will tend to be a smug asshole to other people (most of the time strawmen) or their interests in one way or another. Being e.g. used by Dobson to express his disdain for criticism…

 or to mock legit criticism he had gotten by exaggerating things.

 All while also tending to make his critics look like inherent assholes.

These two facts, combined with Dobson’s average erratic behavior online on platforms such as dA, twitter and tumblr over the years, pretty much assured such a close association between the two, that a separation between artist and creation was not possible anymore, condemning them.

And for the record; Dobson was always a bit of a whinner who liked to act as if he was a better nerd than the average comic book fan. Otherwise, we would have not e.g. gotten Danny and Spot out of it.

But as the years went by in the last decade, Dobson turned from someone in his mid 20s, desperate to be seen as a “quirky” and likable internet persona (like certain internet reviewers), into a virtue signaling, lesbian obsessed asshole who likely regrets his life choices.

… Like certain internet reviewers.

But seriously, Dobson turned into someone who would flip the lid at something as ridiculous as Cheeto flavored chicken fries…

 While also being just the worst type of condescending nerd….

All while losing his mind about politics. Especially after Donald Trump became president

And just as Dobson became a radicalized left winged jackass who saw politics in everything he consumed, so did by default Dobbear, because Dobbear was not a character with his own personality, but a mouth piece.

Something I am about to get into detail in the near future. But till then, I want to cover in the next post the following third and final fact about Dobbear that really makes him unlikable to me: The fact he can’t be happy.

[wreckofawriter]

Pencil Sketches

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader

Warnings: Ummm none fluffy

Word Count: 2,738

Summary: You start receiving sketches of yourself and find out who the artist is in a very surprising way.

A/n: Hi this is my first Cedric fic. I dont exactly love it buuuut whatever.

You remember when it all started. It was four months ago. You had just had a particularly hard day, you were late to Charms and got 5 points taken from your house, you spilled ink all over your positions essay, you got pumpkin juice on your blouse and forgot about a very difficult quiz in DADA. You were heading to the back of the library to choose a book when something fell out of the large amounts of papers you were holding. You groaned bending down to pick it up as you did you glance at the contents of the page and your heart stopped.

It took you only a second to figure out what was on the paper. It was you. You were glaring down at a notebook, your eyes appearing to shine as you clutched a quill in your right hand. Your hair hanging in front of your frustrated face, your lips drawn into a thin line. It was the best drawing you had ever seen, for a second you thought it was a photograph. But it was a drawing, a drawing of you, a drawing of you that looked so realistic it almost scared you. The pencil marks were flowing yet sharp, shading was done in just the right places to give your face depth. It was like looking in a black and white mirror.

    You stood in the middle of the hallway for what must have been a good five minutes just staring at the photo in amazement. You then realized what you were doing and continued to the library.

From there the drawings became a normal part of your life. You would usually receive five to six a week in your bag, waiting at your desk or even in your dorm room. You had no idea how they managed to swing that. Each one was more beautiful than the last and you swear that they made you look much prettier in the drawing than you really were. Most were done in pencil a few in quill and one in charcoal. Each one seemed to be a different mood, sometimes you would be scowling, sometimes smirking, sometimes smiling and one was even of you with your head down on a desk your eyes closed and your hair hanging in your face. The ones you received the most were ones of you laughing. Your lips split open in a smile and your eyes crinkled or just shut altogether.

Many times you had tried to find the artist who had drawn you without luck. They never left any notes or indications and it made it extremely difficult to find the culprit. You wished for nothing more than to meet and thank the person who had brought so much happiness into your life with their artwork. But they never revealed themselves even after four months, nothing. You began to worry, what if they never revealed themselves? It was your last year after all, you would be leaving in a few months. Eventually, you stopped looking and simply hoped they would reveal themselves.

“Ms. Y/l/n,” McGonagall called to you.

“Yes, Professor?” You asked your arms full of books as you made your way back to your common room.

“Could you please follow me? I have something we need to discuss.” She clipped, beckoning for you to follow her.

Your eyebrows scrunched together in momentary confusion before following the orders you had been given.

As you followed McGonagall through the castle you wracked your brain for what you could have possibly done wrong. Did they think you cheated on an exam? Did they find your stash of food in your dorm? Surely that wasn't that big of a deal. Then you remembered the bottle of firewhiskey under your bed and fear rose in your throat. What if they expelled you? What would you do? Your heart pounding you were lead into a room expecting all of hell to rain upon you, but when it opened you were greeted by Dumbledore's warm smile.

“Ahh Y/n, looks as if the last of you have arrived.”

You glanced around the room and easily recognized two-thirds of the famous fourth-year trio and a young girl you didn't recognize.

McGonagall went to talk to Dumbledore as you made your way over to Ron and Hermione.

“Umm do you guys know what going on?” You asked as you approached them.

“Not a clue,” Hermione responded with as she glanced around the room as if looking for clues on their current situation.

“Are we in trouble or something?” You inquired.

Ron snorted, “As if Hermione would ever get in trouble.” he jeered earning a glare from the bushy-haired girl.

“I think it has something to do with the next task.” Hermione guessed.

“Then why am I here?” you wondered.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer but she was cut off by Dumbledore.

“I assume all of you are wondering what is happening, well as Mrs. Granger pointed out it does have something to do with the task tomorrow.”

Everyone else seemed very excited you, on the other hand, were very confused, what did the next task have to do with you?

“Tomorrow morning your friends are going to have to rescue something of great importance to them from the bottom of the black lake. You, my friends, are those things.”

Hermione gasped. Ron raised both his eyebrows and the girl seemed a bit frightened.

“You will be put under a spell and not remember a thing until you break the surface again. I promise all of you will be fine. So if you could just take som-”

“Umm excuse me?” You asked cutting off your professor, “Why am I here?” His eyebrows raised in confusion. “I mean I get the whole rescuing someone that is important to them thing, I mean Hermione for Krum.” Hermione flashed red and Ron rolled his eyes. “Ron for Harry and I guessing she's Fleur’s little sister or something?” You said gesturing to the young girl, “I just don't get why I'm here.”

Now Dumbledore's face was filled with amusement, a small smile on his lips. “You don't know?” he asked.

“Know what?”

He started to laugh, “For such a bright girl I expected you had already found out.”

You were beginning to feel stupid, “Found out what?”

“Have you been receiving drawings for the past few months?” He mused glancing at Mcgonagall who also seemed amused.

“Y-yeah, wait how do you know about those?”

“It's impossible to miss,” Mcgonagall said sweetly, “Cedric is constantly pouring over as sketchbook in his classes, particularly the ones you are in, Ms. Y/l/n.”

You heard Hermione let out a giggle as your face flashed a brilliant red. Your head was spinning. Cedric was the one who was giving those to you? The golden boy of Hogwarts was spending his time sketching you?

“Cedric is the one drawing me?” You managed to get from your mouth, the sentence came out squeaker than you would have liked but at least you managed it.

“Yes Y/n, I'm quite surprised you hadn't noticed the boys admiration in you.” Dumbledore smiled as your eyes got impossibly bigger and your stomach began to fill with butterflies. “Now we don't want to waste much more time." He sighed, “Take some of this, it will put you straight to sleep, although I must warn you it tastes terrible.” He passed each of you a bottle full of a deep purple liquid.

You downed it quickly and almost immediately your world grew dark.

Cedric had grown exceedingly nervous as he stood on the docks in the middle of the lake. While the others around him seemed to be scared of what lurked in the dark of the lake he was concerned at where you were. He hadn’t seen you at breakfast, where he was planning to slip his newest drawing into your bag and now he couldn't find you here either. What if you were sick? Where you ok? Had you gotten hurt? He silently shamed himself for caring so much for a person who didn't even know he existed but he couldn't help it. He had tried to stop caring about you, but fate seemed to work against him as all he could do was see you no matter where he looked. It was as if you had been placed behind a glass case in a bakery, with a price tag much too high. So all he could do was look and wonder how your lips would taste against his own.

Finally, he gave up looking for you and looked at the challenge ahead of him. If you weren't here he wanted to make sure you heard from everyone else how he had won. Determination took over his features, he had a plan and he just hoped the others were less prepared than he. Just then the horn was blown and he dove into the water quickly casting a bubble charm around his head and begging to swim into the depths of the lake. He quickly located the singing he remembered form the terrible egg he had gotten and swum toward it. He almost choked when he saw what was waiting for him. You. Your ankles were tied with rope and your beautiful y/e/c eyes resting closed as your y/h/c hair floating in the water. The others tied around you suddenly meant nothing as he stared at you. He thought you resembled an angel floating in the water, all you were missing were wings. He then remembered he was in composition and swam towards you at a quickened rate. He thought for a minute, inspecting the rope holding you before muttering a spell. As the bounds broke he snatched you and began to swim upwards. He then saw Harry come into view, he nodded at him and continued upward.

Your eyes popped open and you found yourself gasping for air as you coughed up water. The first thing you noticed was how cold you were, everything thing was cold except an arm swimming you towards the dock. You looked up to see Cedric dragging you towards the dock his face full of worry. He glanced over at you and smiled and blushed.

“Are you alright?” He asked over the cheering of the crowd. You nodded still coughing.

When you reached the ladder you were helped up and quickly wrapped in a wool blanket as you continued coughing tiring to get the water out of your system, finally you were able to intake air and breathe normally and you saw that you were on a dock in the middle of the lake but you could hardly see anything over the crowd of people swarming you, well more swarming Cedric. You then realized that Cedric had his arm securely wrapped around you as he maneuvered you through the crowds and your face flushed red. Cedric led you to an empty bench overlooking the lake on the platform getting congratulated all the way. When you sat down he pulled you close to him in attempts to warm your shivering your form. You instantly leaned into his warm body, looking up at him to meet his grey eyes. He blushed bright red and looked away from you. Just then the crowd erupted into cheers and you looked up to see Krum emerge, Hermione, gasping for breath as she appeared to shriek a bit at his shark head before he quickly changed back.

    “I hope Harry’s alright.” You murmured as you peered into the water.

    “I'm sure he's fine, I saw him when I was getting you.” Cedric blushed a bit when he mentioned you.

    “Did you see Krum?”

    “Uhh no, I didn't,” Cedric answered.

    “Why is he up here before him?” You questioned worriedly, your eyes scanned for the young boy in the water. You didn't know Harry well but you wished for no harm to come to him.

    “I don't know.” Cedric seemed just as confused as you.

    You both waited for Harry to show up as the minutes ticked down. Then suddenly you gasped. In all the excitement you had completely forgotten that Cedric was revealed as the mysterious artist.

    “What is it?” The grey-eyed boy asked you.

    You turned and looked at him. There was no denying that he was absolutely stunning. He was beyond handsome with his sharp features and kind eyes. You saw him blush a bit as you took in his profile, which only made him more attractive. But not only was he gorgeous he was amazingly kind, talented and smart. You opened your mouth to confess your knowledge on the portraits he had drawn of you. But you were interrupted by shouting and yelling and you both turned away from each other to see Harry emerging from the water, with not only Ron, but the young blonde haired girl as well. You sighed in relief and looked back at Cedric who was already staring at you. He blushed for the 1000th time when you met his grey orbs and looked away again. Then he turned back to look at you with something new in his eyes, determination.

    “Hey Y/n I need to tell you something.” He said his voice a bit louder than it had been before.

    “Sure what's up?” You asked.

    “You probably have already realized this but clearly you mean a lot to me, I mean with the whole rescuing you think that was probably obvious but umm,” He paused then continued, “Imtheonewhosebeengivingyouthedrawings” He said quickly his face burning a deep shade of crimson.

    If you had not already known what he was going to say you would have been thoroughly confused, but because of your recent discoverings, you had managed to gather about what he said.

    “I know.” You answered simply.

    “Oh ok- wait, WHAT?” He said his eyes wide his face getting impossibly redder.

    You giggled rolling your eyes playfully.

“For how long?” he gasped.

“Umm, it's almost noon so about, I'll say 14 hours?” You guessed.

He blinked rapidly then smacked his forehead with his hand. “Of course you know, they probably told you before they put you in the lake.” He said clearly feeling very stupid.

“They're amazing by the way.” You complemented, “Although I'm pretty sure you make me look much better in the drawings than I am in person.” You giggled.

He looked at you and scoffed, “Are you kidding.” He murmured running his thumb along your jawline. “The most talented artist in the world couldn’t do your beauty justice.”

You flashed a deep red as you felt your stomach erupt with butterflies once more. You bit your lip, the exact place his eyes lingered.

He leaned in millimeters from your lips, “May I kiss you?” He asked his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

You simply closed the space between the two of you in an answer. His lips were warm against your cool ones and your hands found your way to his damp hair. The kiss was sweet and passionate, his lips moved slowly against your own making you swoon. As you pulled away you were for the second time in the past hour gasping for air.

“I have something for you.” He whispered turning to grab a bag next to him. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to you.

You couldn't help the small smile on your face as he looked at his newest drawing. You had your head thrown back your eyes closed and a smile wide on your face, it was clear you were laughing.

“I always loved drawing you laughing.” He said shyly.

“I still don't understand how you are so good.” You said in amazement.

“Thanks.” He blushed

“No, thank you. Thank you so much for all of these. They made my day so much better.” You said, “Just looking at them made me happy.”

    Now as you looked at them you felt your world fall apart. Sobs wrecked your body as you stared at the drawings you had saved. You couldn't think, your head throbbed and you felt like you were falling into a deep dark pit but you could never hit the bottom. Your tears soaked the picture of you with your head thrown back in laughter and you were sure you would never laugh again.

Masterlist

[ayoungpadwn]

Ohhhh anakin is so the main pitcher on the high school baseball team. He is very popular and well known around the school. Obi-Wan is like a classic art kid, his only friend is the Ceramics teacher, and he spends his lunches in some hidden spot reading alone. One day Anakins friends find Obi Wan and start to bug him, and while he does nothing, he comes back the next day to apologize and get to know Obi Wan. Over time they become inseparable and every art project Obi makes from then on is for Ani

this has... literally been sitting in my ask box for WEEKS. I’m--so sorry...

but carrying on with the idea because YES

- Anakin is most definitely the star pitcher since the beginning of his sophomore year all the way to his senior year. EVERYONE knows him. He is Coruscant’s poster boy, the golden child. The /Chosen Pitcher/ if you will.

- He became most well known for getting Coruscant to the finals his sophomore year, which hadn’t happened in, like, 20+ years. 

- All this praise obviously boosted his ego, especially his sophomore year when he first became the star pitcher. That made him super arrogant and he got roped into the super popular group, so the not-so-popular crowd tends to steer clear of Anakin, since his arrogance and popularity tends to fall with the stereotype of a bully.

- BUT whenever people do have an interaction with Anakin, they are always surprised to find that he can be strangely down to earth, really chill and kind. This made him even more popular his Junior year, since now he’s known as the super nice, yet arrogant, star pitcher. 

- He can basically be friends with everyone.

- Girls fall for him left and right, and he has a reputation as a player just for that reason.

- Yet, strangely enough, no one has ever actually seen him /with/ anyone. 👀

- Anakin’s whole reputation of being a player, an arrogant pitcher, super popular, and oddly kind is what made Obi-Wan steer clear of Anakin throughout most of their time in high school.

- At least... Obi-Wan steered clear of him when he knew people were watching. His own friends liked to make fun of the baseball team, just as the baseball team tended to like to make fun of his friends: the theatre and art nerds.

- That’s when Obi-Wan started to sneak out to watch the baseball games during Anakin’s sophomore year, just because there was something about the pitcher Obi-Wan couldn’t get out of his head and he needed to know more about.

- He was taking a big risk going to the games, since he ran the chance of being made fun of not just by the baseball players, but his own friends as well. Even if his friends joked about it in a playful way.

- Obi-Wan was definitely a loner in high school. He had a small group of friends, but who he was closest to had to be his arts teacher. He spent most of his lunches with Mr. Qui-Gon Jinn, either to just talk or work on an art piece. 

- For fun, Obi-Wan started to draw and paint some of the baseball games he went to. The pivotal moments of the games, when everything came down to a single pitch, or hit, or run. Soon enough he had an entire collection of baseball works, and Qui-Gon /loved/ them. He insisted that Obi-Wan work on more and submit them to the College Board for AP credit.

- So, that became Obi-Wan’s excuse for going to the games. He had to “work on his art concentration for class.”

- During the baseball games he would hide at the very far point of the field, past the scoreboard. It gave him a terrible view of the pitching mound, but it kept him rather concealed. At least the first year.

- Obi-Wan wasn’t popular in any sense of the word, only known as the quiet liberal arts kid. So he thought that going to the games he wouldn’t even be recognized if he got caught. But how wrong he was...

- It was Anakin’s junior year, Obi-Wan’s own senior year, when he finally got caught by two of Anakin’s teammates.

- “What’chu workin’ on, sweater?” a couple of the Coruscant players had chosen to warm up their arms by tossing to each other at the back of the outfield, which gave them a perfect view of Obi-Wan.

- Obi-Wan had glanced down at his sketchbook before bringing it to his chest, trying to hide the sketch he had made of Anakin practicing. “It doesn’t concern you,” Obi-Wan had said back.

- The situation escalated from there. One of the players hopped the fence to come grab the sketchbook from Obi-Wan, resulting in the coach coming to yell at the player. And of course Anakin, the newly voted-in captain came to investigate as well. Because that is just Obi-Wan’s luck.

- The player finally ripped the sketchbook from Obi-Wan’s grasp and laughed at what he saw, “He’s drawing Anakin! What, you got a crush or something?”

- “It’s for my art class!” Obi-Wan bit back and reached for the sketchbook, only for the player to toss it to Anakin before he could grab it.

- It felt like the breath had stilled in Obi-Wan’s lungs as Anakin looked down at the piece, his face totally unreadable. There was a brief moment that Obi-Wan was terrified that Anakin would flip through the pages, but the star pitcher simply folded the sketchbook up before passing it back to Obi-Wan.

- “Get back to practice, you two,” Anakin had said to the players before walking away.

- Obi-Wan decided he needed to stop going to baseball games after that.

- It was exactly four days after the incident when Obi-Wan was coming back late to school to pick up a ceramics piece he had accidentally left. As he made his way to the art room, he realized he had to pass by the baseball field. Just as practice was getting out. Shit.

- He tried to speed past the players, and it seemed that he was home free as he passed the dugout. Except, “Hey, you!”

- Obi-Wan froze to the spot, turning on his heels to see who had called for him.

- And honestly Obi-Wan could hardly believe that it was /Anakin/ who was jogging after him, face flushed red and sweaty from practice.

- The pitcher panted to catch his breath as he came to a stop in front of him, “Kriff, you walk fast,” Anakin laughed.

- Obi-Wan blinked at him waiting for him to continue.

- Anakin cleared his throat, “Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for the other day. My teammates are--”

- “It’s fine,” Obi-Wan hastily said, ready to bring the conversation to a close. He need nor did he want Anakin’s sympathy. Obi-Wan was just embarrassed, it was best to leave what happened behind him.

- Anakin smacked his lips, “Right, well... I just wanted to say I thought your drawing was really cool. I’d love to see more of them.” Obi-Wan blinked at him, so Anakin hurriedly added, “Only if you want me to, of course! You don’t have to... y’know. Yeah, okay, I think I’m gonna--” Anakin motioned behind him with his thumbs as he started walking backwards, nearly tripping over his own two feet. “I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day,” Anakin laughed awkwardly, “See you around, Obi-Wan!”

- Obi-Wan watched as Anakin turned and rushed away, disappearing around a corner.

- How had he known his name?

- The third time Obi-Wan had an interaction with Anakin was during lunch one day. He was sat outside reading against a tree when Anakin approached him once again. At first Obi-Wan disregarded the other’s presence, but it became harder to do so when the pitcher set his bag down and sat directly in front of him.

- Obi-Wan dropped his book into his lap and pulled out an earphone, looking at Anakin quizzically.

- “Hey!” the pitcher chirped, his face split in a grin.

- “Hello there,” Obi-Wan greeted as he leaned forward and fluffed out his sweater.

- Anakin’s eyes tracked the movement, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a sweater on. It’s like ninety degrees out, how are you not dying?”

- Obi-Wan shrugged, “I run cold. Though I could say the same for you, you have a jacket on in this weather.”

- “I come from Tatooine, that place is literally a desert. I’m used to it being twice as hot as it is now.” Anakin shifted his weight as he leaned back onto his hands, “Anyway, I came to bug you again about the... art pieces?”

- Obi-Wan couldn’t help but laugh, “You are incredibly interested in those.” Anakin smiled proudly and tilted his head. “Well,” Obi-Wan continued, “I don’t have any with me at the moment. I suppose if you would like to stay after school and come with me to the art room, you can look through as many as you would like.”

- Anakin had done just that, much to Obi-Wan’s surprise. The pitcher was already waiting at the art room door by the time Obi-Wan had arrived.

- Obi-Wan was still somewhat hesitant to show Anakin all that he’d done, but his nerves were quickly eased by Anakin’s reactions. You would have thought that the baseball player had never seen art before with how he praised the pieces Obi-Wan showed him.

- Qui-Gon kept flashing Obi-Wan knowing glances from his desk, much to Obi-Wan’s dismay.

- Eventually, though, the art teacher had to kick them out, which meant it was time to go their separate ways.

- “I’d love to hang out again, you’re a super cool guy, Obi-Wan.” Anakin had said as they walked to the student parking lot.

- “Super cool guy,” Obi-Wan repeated and laughed, “I do not think anyone has ever said that about me before.”

- Soon enough, Anakin and Obi-Wan became inseparable. In secret, of course. No one in their own friend groups knew that they were hanging out with each other.

- Obi-Wan quickly came to realize why people always had nice things to say about Anakin. While the pitcher was arrogant, he was accepting and kind and more down to earth than Obi-Wan could have ever anticipated.

- There was one night where they decided to go stargazing in the back of Anakin’s truck, when Obi-Wan finally found the nerves to ask:

- “That day when you came up to me to apologize for your teammates, you knew my name. But I never told you what it was. How did you know it?”

- Anakin had paused, and it was hard to read exactly what the pitcher was thinking in the darkness of night.

- “Don’t be... weirded out, okay?” Anakin began.

- Obi-Wan had taken pause but said, “I won’t be,” nonetheless.

- “I was sorta watching you for a while before that day at the game. Not in, like, a stalking way!” Anakin was hurried to say, “But you just struck my interest. You were alone most of the time yet you always looked so peaceful and there was something in your eyes that I couldn’t get out of my mind.”

- Obi-Wan swallowed and opted to not reply.

- “I noticed you at nearly every game, ever since last year. And I wanted to go up and talk to you, but I didn’t necessarily know how to go about it. That’s why I’m sort of glad my teammates tried to bully you. It gave me an excuse to actually /talk/ with you, the person who I was too scared to approach since last year.”

- Obi-Wan paused and turned his head to watch Anakin, “Anakin... do you like me?”

- The pitcher flinched away quickly, as if burned, and whipped his head around to look at Obi-Wan. “What--I’ve never... I’m not... I don’t like guys.”

- Obi-Wan blinked at him before pushing himself to sit up, Anakin following suit. “Dear one,” Obi-Wan began, and even in the pale light he saw Anakin’s face turn a shade of pink, “Have you ever kissed a guy?”

- “I’ve... kissed girls.” Anakin provided.

- “Okay, and how did it feel?”

- Anakin fell silent.

- “Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured and lifted a hand to run his fingers along Anakin’s jaw. The younger’s eyes were trained to his lips, as if an animal preparing to pounce.

- Obi-Wan inched forward, their lips a hair widths apart. He had to know if Anakin was going to...

- Anakin crushed their lips together, their teeth clattering together with the force of the kiss. Anakin quickly swiped his tongue along Obi-Wan’s bottom lip, asking for entrance.

- Soon enough, Anakin had lowered them to the back of the truck, laying together lazily as Obi-Wan let Anakin map out his mouth and body. The pitcher was moving with a burning hunger, as if he were a man starved of the touch he had so longed for.

- Neither of them truly knew what the kiss meant in that moment, but neither of them truly cared.

<3

[savethelastdan]

Kagura Week 2020 Day 2: Envy

Concept by @dearestpartnerofgreatness​

“Why so mopey?” Leaning her chin on one hand, Kagura rolled her eyes in the grumpy kitsune’s direction. “Normally I wouldn’t care, but you’ve been glaring at me for the past ten minutes, even though I haven’t even done anything.” 

It was true--now that Naraku was dead, she had no reason to try and cause problems for the kitsune or his little group of friends. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much reason to do anything at all. Other than pop up wherever Kohaku or Sesshomaru happened to be, which depressingly often turned out to be the human village. 

From where he sat in a sea of coloring pages, Shippo flinched under her gaze. His eyes flicked this way and that, though his frown remained sour. “I’m not moping!” 

“Are so.” 

“Uh-uh!” His tail bent sharply--a sure sign of a lying little rat. 

Tapping her fan against the palm of her hand, Kagura warned, “Fine, have it your way. But scoff at me one more time and a little tornado might just pass through town, taking you with it.”

Gripping a crayon so hard in his paw, Shippo muttered something under his breath. In a flash, Kagura was kneeling beside him, tapping him hard on the head with the fan. 

“What was that?” 

“Ow! Stop it!” Tiny paws kicked out, knocking her off balance. She couldn’t help but yelp a little as his grip found one ear, yanking with surprising strength and sending a jolt of pain through her skull. “Just because you get away with everything doesn’t mean you can just--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Shoving him away, she clapped one hand over her smarting ear. I should be glad he didn’t go for the earring… “Get away with what?” 

Jumping to his feet, Shippo shoved a ream of paper in her face. “Exhibit A -- last week, you blew over the tent that Miroku spent all day setting up so he could take his kids camping!” 

Kagura raised an eyebrow at the surprisingly intricate illustration of the story. The kitsune had even taken the time to sketch out the patterns on her kimono, as well as the throbbing vein in Miroku’s head. “How was I supposed to--”

Shippo stuffed another drawing into her grip with such vigor that several of the thickest lines smudged. “And the week before that, you drank all the sake that Kaede was saving to toast the harvest! She’d been fermenting it for weeks, and Lord Sesshomaru had to carry you home!” He tapped the paper with an audible twick, twick. “See how grouchy Inuyasha looks?” 

Kagura winced, though more at the memory of how strong the sake had been than out of any real sympathy. Jaken had made more than a few accusations about her behavior on the flight back. “What’s your--”

“And worst of all!” Teeth bared, Shippo flung a third drawing on top of the stack. “You. Stole. My. Prank!” 

Kagura looked down at the drawing, then Shippo’s fuming expression, and back at the drawing. “Okay, that one I don’t remember. Wait--” Holding it up closer, she tapped a nail on a dark green shape. “Is that supposed to be Jaken after I kicked that random firebomb at him?” 

“It wasn’t random, it was mine!” Fists settling on his hips, Shippo shouted, “You go around messing everything up, and no one’s allowed to get mad at you because of Lord Sesshomaru!” 

Kagura reared back in surprise. Why would Sesshomaru care if someone snapped at her? He complained about her exploits all the time. Though, now that she thought about it, he did seem quite uninterested in addressing how any of the trouble that she seemed to cause affected everyone else outside of himself, directly. Plus it would explain why he always happened to be glowering over her shoulder whenever there was some kind of mishap... 

“So, what? You’re jealous?” 

“Duh!” Shippo gestured dramatically to the top of his head. “I have a permanent bump from all the times I’ve pranked Inuyasha, and now not only do you get away with worse stuff than I’ve ever pulled, you’re making everybody so on edge that I barely get to play tricks at all anymore!” 

Though she hardly considered blowing an already-wobbly tent over to be as bad as ‘gluing a huge boulder to my comrade’s hand so he remained continuously squished’, Kagura supposed that her current status as “former enemy whose death happened to not be as permanent as we thought” gave her less leeway from the get-go. Still, the resolution to this non-problem seemed obvious enough. 

Shaking the pages in her hands, she scoffed, “Well, maybe I should play all the tricks, then.”

Shippo gasped audibly. Had he ever been more offended in his life? 

“Oh, for goodness sake.” Kagura drew a shaky circle around her face with one hand. “I said that “I” should play all the tricks.” 

It was bad enough she had to say it once, but twice? Shippo clapped both hands over his mouth in horror. 

Both arms dropped to her sides. “Idiotic little--you can shapeshift, right?” 

“Huh? Yeah, I-ohhhhhhh!” Shippo’s eyes widened; his tail stretched sharply towards the ceiling. “You mean, you’d let me pretend to be you? Just so I can do a bunch of annoying stuff?” 

“Sure, why not?” Her shrug was an exercise in carelessness. “I’ve never had someone envy me before. Seems kind of sad, but that’s your prerogative.” She held up the drawings with a sharp smile. “So long as I get to keep these, you can knock yourself out with the impressions.” 

In the end, the outcome became new wall art for Sesshomaru’s war room and a month-long ban from visitation at Kaede’s village. Despite the poisonous attitude that both inspired in her paramour, Kagura took it in stride

[starryviolentine]

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

Part three of the “Pre-Apocalypse Adventures” Series

Chapter 1 (here)     Chapter 2 (here)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The rock climbing wall looked pretty cool.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she does, for a while. 

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

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

Violet isn’t her only friend, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sophie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wanna help me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brody slowly nods her head.

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

“Well… yeah, I suppose.”

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

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

[freebooter4ever]

Eugene's Second Date

AU where Sledge and Snafu meet before the war in 1940 Mobile, Alabama. Eugene and Merriell already had their first date where Merriell surprised him with Eugene's first kiss at the end, and now Eugene is dogging Merriell's steps like a lovesick puppy.

--------

That night Eugene floats home in a weird euphoria. It's not even necessarily happy, because he's half confused over his own emotions, but he's very joyful about it. He's so out of it he runs the car over his parent's mailbox.

He tells Shelton about this when they meet up for lunch at the lumberyard the next day. Shelton laughs.

"It was dark, I couldn't see a thing," Eugene protests in his defense.

"You're lucky it wasn't a tree," Shelton says. Still grinning. Eugene wonders if Shelton ever stopped grinning since last night.

"I would have seen a tree," Eugene argues.

"You said it was dark…"

"Not dark enough I couldn't see a tree, for goodness sake. I'm not blind."

"You couldn't see a mailbox."

"The height of my family's mailbox lines up almost exactly with the bottom of the car's windshield giving me at most an inch of warning that the damn thing is there."

"Should've let me drive...."

"I'm not a bad driver."

"Never said you weren't but you better let me drive next time just in case. Don't want to go hurting no more innocent mailboxes."

"There's gonna be a next time?" Eugene raises an eyebrow.

Shelton smiles and pauses the conversation to light his cigarette. Eugene turns back to his sketch of the dry docks.

"I'll fix it for you," Shelton drawls.

"Fix what?" Eugene asks distractedly, having already forgotten their conversation in his concentration over his drawing.

"You said it's one of those fancy mailboxes...shaped like a tiny house, yeah?" Shelton asks, "The boss saves the scrap lumber for us temp workers to take home. It'd be easy to get my hands on some small pieces. Make your little house good as new."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure," Shelton looks away from him, out to sea.

Eugene seizes the chance to draw his profile. It doesn't turn out well. He rips the page out of his notebook, crumples it, and tosses it down to the floor of the dock for the gulls to pick apart.

"I've got to go," Eugene says, "Need to get back before I'm missed." He doesn't mention that his class after lunch is woodshop, and how ironic it feels that he's building crooked decorative clocks while Shelton builds the infrastructure needed for warship production. Eugene stands and shoves his journal into his bookstrap.

Shelton hastily gets up to stand beside him, "Missed where?"

"School," Eugene admits. He feels like a child and he knows his embarrassment shows on his face. He can't look at Shelton as he packs up his lunch box and starts to climb down off the dock.

"Eugene," Shelton calls, following him down.

Eugene starts picking his way across the rickety wood. Their lunch spot is one of the ancient docks, probably from the 1800's. It's slowly being stripped away - any useful materials being put to work in the new, bigger, more robust docks.

"You mean to tell me you drove all the way downtown on your lunch break?" Shelton calls out to Eugene's back.

"No," Eugene replies over his shoulder, "I skipped third period so I could bicycle all the way downtown, for my health."

"Gene," Shelton finally catches up to him and grabs his hand, pulling him back.

Eugene gives in. He stops and turns around. Sometimes he wishes Shelton would just quit smiling for once.

Shelton bites his bottom lip, looking at Eugene. "You skipped class for me," he says.

"I did not say that," Eugene protests.

"Sure, Gene," Shelton says, tipping forward into Eugene's space.

Eugene fidgets, slinging his books over his shoulder, "It feels...useless; sitting in class, waiting to be able to do something meaningful. At least here I can see what's happening."

Shelton's expression goes serious then. He licks his lips and tightens his hold on Eugene's hand. "C'mon," he says.

"What?"

"I know what you need," is Shelton's only answer.

Eugene follows his lead. They climb around the docks and duck into the alley between the old waterfront dancehall and a warehouse. And much to Eugene's surprise - although it answers all of Eugene's unspoken wishes - Shelton pushes him up against the brick and kisses him. For a seemingly aloof, sometimes awkward guy, Shelton can be very demanding when he wants to be. And this kiss demands everything. They break apart whenever a car drives by on the busy city street a block away, but otherwise their necking goes uninterrupted.

Eugene's going to miss his fourth period class, for sure.

"I don't see how this is supporting the war effort either," Eugene teases during one break when a car actually parks in front of the alley opening and makes things difficult for them to kiss without being seen.

Shelton laughs. He is leaning languidly on the alley wall across from Eugene, his legs stretched out in front of him. He slides a little farther down the brick and lazily extends one leg until his foot is flat against the opposite wall.

"You're boosting worker morale," Shelton drawls.

"Oh god, don't say it like that," Eugene rolls his eyes and shoves Shelton's foot off the wall with his hip.

"I'm severely lacking in patriotism," Shelton continues, lifting his chin and putting on a fake serious air, "Multiple sessions may be needed to boost..." he flexes his hips and grabs at the baggy crotch of his work overalls in a rude gesture, "...my sagging morale."

"Shut up, Shelton," Eugene grins. He glances down the alley to make sure the car finally left. And then shoves off his side to close the distance between them and flatten Merriell's body against the opposite wall. Pressed against him like this, Eugene can feel Merriell's 'morale' and it is in no danger of sagging. Eugene kisses his neck just to be sure.

"If I boost it too much, we might end up with the opposite effect," Eugene whispers in his ear.

Merriell groans and latches his hands into Eugene's hair. "Oh, aren't you clever," he says glibly. He sounds sarcastic.

Though when Eugene moves to look Merriell in the eye again before locking lips with him once more, Merriell appears to be completely and totally in bliss.

This time if another car stops neither of them notice. Eugene doesn't think he could notice anything except Merriel, as long as Merriel keeps his hands around the back of Eugene's neck, and his knee wedged between Eugene's legs. Luckily they aren't seen. Cause, god, Eugene could kiss Merriell all day and forget about the time.

Fortunately as it turns out, there's plenty of warning when they eventually hear Merriell's name being called.

"Shelton?" a man's voice yells, husky from years of cigarettes, "Get your sorry ass out here, I saw you having a smoke. I need a hand with this."

"Fuck," Shelton breaks their kiss but doesn't push Eugene off.

Eugene groans quietly and presses his nose in the crook of Merriell's neck. He smells like the ocean and sawdust. Eugene wonders what he himself smells like. Probably musty old books.

"Gonna get me in trouble," Shelton smirks and disentangles himself from Eugene's arms. He backs off down the alley and gives Eugene a salute, "Uncle Sam thanks you for your service." And with a parting wink, Shelton jogs around the corner to meet his boss.

Eugene slides down the wall, breathing hard, and sits in the alley to give himself a moment before he goes back to school. It's only been a minute of separation from Merriell's body, and already Eugene's chest is aching terribly with need. Probably not a good sign for the days to come. He predicts a lot of his other responsibilities will fall by the wayside in favor of this. 

He returns to the docks for lunch every single day after that. And with lunch always comes kisses that turn out to be addictive.

On the weekend Shelton comes over to Eugene's house. He drives the ugliest old Ford truck with rusted, chipped paint that might have been green at one point. But the engine purrs like a kitten.

Shelton notices Eugene's interest in his truck. He slaps the hood and announces, "I pour all my poker winnings into her."

"You must be shit at poker," Eugene replies.

Shelton laughs and maneuvers around the cab to pop the hood. He proudly displays the gleaming, beautiful engine and shiny parts to Eugene. Eugene makes appropriate admiring noises. He's never seen a car engine so clean that isn't fresh off the line - there's not a single speck of dust in sight.

"All new parts. Machined most of em custom myself," Shelton brags as he runs his hands through his hair and gazes at his vehicle proudly, "Impossible to get anything manufactured nowadays with rationing and shortages."

"How...?" Eugene asks.

"Just good with my hands," Shelton says, turning his face up to Eugene with a shit eating grin.

Eugene pinches Merriell's thigh through the hole in his jeans.

Shelton throws an arm over Eugene's shoulder and traps Eugene's hand between their bodies to deter anymore pinching. He bites his lip and grins with his nose close enough to almost touch Eugene's cheek.

Eugene doesn't dare turn his head. The temptation to kiss Shelton is too great, and his parents are a few short yards away in the house at the top of their driveway. His mom could be watching out the window right now. Eugene's hands tighten his grip on the truck's frame as he leans over the engine, pretending to take a closer look.

"Before he died my dad would collect old junkers and give 'em to me," Shelton explains, "I'd fix em up, get em working, even make em look pretty. Then he'd go and sell em. I never even got a chance to drive any. Only driving practice I ever got was on tractors."

Eugene looks up at him. "Well," he says, "It was worthwhile practice. This truck's beautiful."

Shelton laughs, "Yeah. Her shell may not look pretty, but she'll get me anywhere, guaranteed. And ain't nobody gonna steal her, cause who'd want a rust bucket?"

"If anybody turns their nose up at this truck, they're fools," Eugene tells him.

Shelton grins and squeezes Eugene's hip fondly, "C'mon. Help me unload."

Shelton grabs his toolbox and settles on the ground next to Eugene's knocked over mailbox. He arrays his tools around himself in organized chaos and picks up the mailbox to examine it. Next to him Eugene stacks neat piles of scrap wood from the bed of Shelton's truck.

As Shelton diligently works, Eugene lays down, props his sketchbook up in the grass and sketches.

Occasionally Shelton pauses to lean over and tickle Eugene's ear to get his attention.

"My buddy got his hands on this new synthetic adhesive," Shelton explains as he works, "They're testing it down at the lumberyard. They say it's completely waterproof. But look…" he runs a line of glue along the edge of a block of wood, and another line of glue on the edge of a second block of identical length and width. He clamps the two together, and holds it up in front of Eugene's face, "Give it a few hours and this scrap will be the perfect size for the wall of your splintered mailbox."

"Impressive," Eugene says blandly.

Shelton reaches over to ruffle Eugene's hair, but Eugene blocks him. "Hey, not with glue on your fingers," Eugene protests.

"You don't know enough about woodworking to appreciate my genius," Shelton taunts.

"I do appreciate your genius," Eugene insists as he continues to deflect all of Shelton's attempts to get glue in his hair.

And he shows that appreciation, later, after the mailbox is finished good as new - better than new. Shelton carved a beautiful gingerbread trim and added it to the eaves using his magical blackmarket adhesive. Eugene's mother thanks Shelton by gifting him a basket full of food and fresh baked cornbread. "I still can't believe our boy ran over a mailbox. Sometimes I worry Eugene would lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders," she says to Shelton right in front of Eugene before he leaves, "He spends so much of his time in the clouds."

"It was one accident, mother," Eugene sighs.

Eugene thanks Shelton by riding back with him in the truck, his bicycle waiting for him secure in the bed. He instructs Shelton to pull over after they cross the bridge and he leads him down to the creek. They sit on the wooden trestle underneath the road and kiss until long after the cornbread goes cold. Shelton doesn't seem to mind. Eugene even boosts Merriell's morale to completion crudely with his hand until Merriell is sagging against Eugene's shoulder, murmuring his pleasure.

Eventually they have to return to the park where Shelton lives and pick up Mairzy from the old neighbor lady who watches Merriell's little sister most evenings. Shelton picks flowers from the side of the road and presents them to the old woman as a bouquet. He smiles at her and asks after her own grandkids living two towns over, and Eugene can tell by her response that the old woman cares about both Shelton and Mairzy dearly.

"Let's go into town," Eugene suggests before the three of them walk over to Shelton's house.

"What for?" Shelton asks.

"I was thinking maybe ice cream," Eugene shrugs, "My treat."

Mairzy's eyes bug out of her head. She grabs onto Merriell's arm and swings on his elbow, "Ice cream! For dinner?!" Her imagination explodes and it's written all over the awe in her face.

"You are going to regret ever saying those words," Merriell informs Eugene gravely.

"Consider it a thank you for fixing my mailbox," Eugene replies.

"Thought it was my fault you ran over the damn thing in the first place," Shelton says.

"Ice cream!" Mairzy exclaims desperately, shaking Merriell's arm.

He gives in, feigning reluctance, but he smiles at Eugene over Mairzy's head. "I know just the place," Shelton says.

They don't go into town, they drive across the tracks, metaphorically speaking. Eugene receives odd looks when he climbs out of the truck behind Mairzy. But he schools his nerves and tries to be gracious as he holds the door open for Shelton to go into the ice cream parlor. The parlor is far from new, there's no jukebox, the overhead fans don't function, and as he and Shelton lean up against the clean but cracked tile counter, Eugene knows that he is getting away with this, in a place he doesn't fit in, but if Shelton tried this across town, in a place where any level of brown is too brown, Shelton might not be served.

They buy the largest banana split sundae Eugene can afford and Mairzy carries it proudly, worshipfully with both hands to a booth by the front windows. The window is wide open, with a brand new screen to keep out the bugs. But the music from the ragtag band playing outside on the porch filters through. Shelton slides into the booth next to Mairzy, and Eugene sits across from them. He passes out spoons, and Mairzy dips hers in eagerly to take the first bite. Merriell twirls his spoon in his hand, relaxes in his seat with his arm protectively thrown over the back of the booth, and he grins daringly at Eugene. Eugene digs his spoon into one of the chocolate brownies mixed into the sundae, takes a bite, and grins back.

Mairzy finishes the majority of the sundae. Shelton eats very little, he claims to not have much of a sweet tooth. Though Eugene notes for later reference that when Shelton does take bites he favors the vanilla and the apple crumble and whipped cream on one side of the dish.

When they're done, Mairzy pulls the gigantic bowl closer to her so she can scoop out the melted soupy leftovers with her spoon. Shelton reaches over her head and taps on the window during a break in the music. He asks the band if they know a specific song. The answer is yes, and Merriell slides open the window screen to pass some change through and the band strikes up again. Underneath the table Merriell starts tapping his foot to the beat against Eugene's own. Eugene laughs and jiggles his leg along with the music though he knows he can't hold a rhythm to save his life.

After Mairzy licks the last drop of ice cream off her spoon, she starts talking - mostly pestering her older brother with questions. In response Merriell starts telling stories, and Eugene settles in comfortably, happy to listen.

Eugene can't remember the last time he's spent a more pleasant evening.

When he announces this to Merriell, the other boy gets a highly suspect gleam in his eye, "Who says the night is over?"

Eugene raises his eyebrows in question.

Turns out the carnival is in town. 

They park at the edge of the fairgrounds. People swarm in and out of the brightly lit fence. Eugene has to laugh because this vibrant, tacky, loud place is the last place he'd expect Merriell to go willingly. Sure enough, before they climb out of the truck Merriell leans in close over Mairzy's head and quietly explains, "the things I put up with for her." He grins and squeezes Eugene's hand tight, including Eugene in the conspiracy to make Mairzy happy. Merriell opens the door, Mairzy hops out, and he follows, giving Eugene a quick peck on the lips first.

As the three of them approach the gate, Mairzy starts skipping with extra sugar-induced energy, forcing Shelton to keep a tight grip on her hand for fear of losing her in the crowd. Eugene is running low on cash, so they don't have much money to spend at the ticket booth, but together they have enough to buy Mairzy a handful of rides.

Her favorite is the swings, with the whip-it a close second. Eugene and Merriell are left to lean up against the ride railings and wave and yell everytime she goes around. They use the tight press of the crowd to stand closer together than they might otherwise get away with. Merriell is pressed against Eugene's side, smiling and glowing and looking more handsome than Eugene's seen him before.

As luck would have it, the two of them come upon another couple with a child at the line for the ferris wheel. The four of them put Mairzy and the other little girl safely in a seat, which leaves Eugene and Merriell able to share one themselves. Shelton throws an arm tight over Eugene's shoulder, and traces patterns into Eugene's arm with his finger. He sneaks a quick kiss to the side of Eugene's head before anyone can notice.

Merriell spends his last coins at one of the midway games. Being preternaturally gifted at aim, Merriel wins handily and points to one of the stuffed bears hanging on the wall. The bear is wearing a miniature Marines campaign hat with a kerchief tied around its neck.

"No, this is for Eugene," Merriell announces as he hands the teddy bear to the boy beside him, "Something to hold onto at night." Merriell winks.

Eugene can feel himself turning bright red with embarrassment. To cover it, he steps up to the plate, pays the man behind the counter, and beats Merriell's score by more than a few points. Merriel laughs, and licks his lips while staring at Eugene in a way that tells Eugene he will be in trouble next time Merriell gets him alone. Eugene gifts the slightly bigger bear he wins to Mairzy, who is delighted and proclaims Eugene her new favorite person.

With their wallets thoroughly depleted the three walk back towards the carnival gate. Mairzy's sugar high finally crashes - whether by choice or not, hard to tell, but she convinces Merriell to carry her piggyback the rest of the way.

Eugene is happy to leave. Shelton has been riling him up for fun all night, and Eugene is desperate to get him back for it.

Until they pass a final booth just outside the gate erected on the side of the gravel path.

The military recruitment posters are impossible to miss. The lights trained on the booth are brighter than the entire carnival and there's a small cadre of beautiful girls in sequined costumes handing out flyers. A couple men in service uniforms stand behind the table answering questions posed by curious onlookers. Eugene can't help but stare.

A hand on the small of his back jolts Eugene out of his thoughts. Merriell leans in close and whispers, "Do I need to be jealous of the women...or the men?" He looks into Eugene's eyes and Eugene is surprised by the honest vulnerability reflected back at him.

Shelton isn't exaggerating or teasing, he is self-conscious. And making his jealousy plain.

"Neither," Eugene responds firmly, risking a quick squeeze of Merriell's hand.

"You want to go talk to them?" Merriell asks. He coaxes Mairzy off his back and guides her to sit down on a nearby park bench.

"No," Eugene shakes his head, "No, I'd be...shamed."

Merriell's expression turns cold and haughty, "Ain't got nothing to be ashamed of," and he marches confidently over to the table on his own.

Eugene hesitates. He hangs back to watch as Shelton turns on his smile, strides straight up to the men in uniform, and shakes their hands. Eugene can't hear what they're saying, but the military men are all smiles too, and everyone is clearly getting along well.

Eugene burns with jealousy.

He's about to shyly sneak away, not too far that Shelton couldn't find him after, but far enough he can't be seen. Then a third man joins the table. This man is older, and in the Marine Corps - there's no mistaking that distinctive hat. He's tall, and broad shouldered with a little bit of a barrel chest - enough to cut an imposing figure and not enough to distract from the silhouette of the uniform. He's clean shaven, and regimented, and he greets Shelton warmly but without a smile. This man takes his job seriously.

If Eugene could be anything, he'd be a Marine. He wants that pride - to know he is making a decisive choice about which side of history he'll be on.

"Gene?" Shelton's voice asks carefully.

Eugene looks to his right and discovers at some point while Eugene was daydreaming Shelton returned and ended up directly beside his elbow. "I'm fine," Eugene says, "Let's go."

"Don't you want to...I could introduce you…?" Shelton gestures to the table.

"I said, let's go," Eugene repeats. He picks up Mairzy this time and carries her back to the parking lot.

Shelton nods once, "Okay, Eugene," and follows.

The car ride home is silent. Mairzy falls asleep between them, completely oblivious to the tension. Her head is propped against Shelton's leg and her feet are on top of Eugene's lap.

Shelton's truck rolls a few feet into Eugene's driveway and Eugene signals for him to stop.

"Do you mind getting out for a minute?" Eugene asks softly.

"Sure thing," Shelton says without emotion in his voice.

They both slide out of the cab and leave Mairzy sleeping soundly on the seat. Shelton lingers on his side of the truck, forcing Eugene to come to him. Eugene takes Merriell's face in his hands and tilts his head back for a kiss. At first Merriell responds, grabbing Gene's wrists and pulling him closer. But then he shoves away.

It hurts. Not physically, but Eugene can feel it like an ache - even worse than the ache days ago when he wanted Merriell but didn't know how to act on it.

"Gene, I can't," Shelton whispers harshly.

"What, because I was admiring the uniform of some Marine I don't even know? Are you really that jealous?" Eugene demands an answer.

"What?" Shelton asks, "No!"

"Then why not?" Eugene exclaims.

"Because I'm not gonna be someone's shame," Shelton says in a rush, "Not again."

"Why would I be ashamed of you?" Eugene is confused.

"You said…" Shelton's nerves get the better of him and he can barely talk straight with his accent, "You said you wouldn't talk to the recruiting officers because you were ashamed."

"Yeah, ashamed of myself, knowing that they'd never take some skinny kid with a heart defect who gets winded climbing stairs," Eugene says irritably.

"You weren't...thinking of us…?" Shelton is skeptical, "Us, being together?"

"Didn't even cross my mind," Eugene says, "Though now that I do think about it, probably a good idea not to bring it up at recruitment."

Shelton laughs.

Eugene takes a step closer, takes Merriell's big hands in his. "Can't think of any reason why I'd ever be ashamed of you."

Merriell laughs again, "More fool on you."

"If anything, I'm the shameful one," Eugene argues.

Merriell grins and scoffs, "You? The son of the doctor?"

"Yeah, the one who, if we get into this war, is going to be stuck back here, looking on from afar, waiting. In agony of not knowing what's happening, no doubt," Eugene says, mostly serious though he likes that Merriell is smiling again, "I'll be left with nothing to do except track battle movements like I'm a kid playing soldier again."

"You won't be alone," Merriell says meaningfully and takes a step forward.

Eugene isn't really registering what Merriell is saying. He's too focused on the fact that finally, finally Merriell is kissing him again, passionately. He slips his fingers through Merriell's belt loops and tugs him close. Sometimes while they're kissing Eugene thinks about bringing Merriell home for reasons beyond fixing mailboxes. A stuffed teddy bear is nice and soft, but he thinks Merriell would be a better fit in his bed. He can imagine holding Merriell all night long, and it's still not enough. His imagination doesn't go much further than that, but he knows if he lets his thoughts run wild they would. Easily. 

Just one slip over the edge and…

"Wait," Eugene pulls away, "Why won't I be alone?"

Merriell looks wry, "Well, I'm not planning on enlisting anytime soon."

"You're not?" Eugene extends his arms to put distance between them.

"No," Merriell laughs.

"I don't see how that's funny," Eugene says defensively. 

Merriell shrugs, looking confused.

Eugene lets go of him and opens the truck door to pull his bear out of the cab. He clutches the teddy tight to his chest and asks, "You're not going to enlist?"

"No!" Shelton confirms, more certain and stubborn this time. He's not laughing anymore.

Eugene turns around and starts walking up the hill, "Good night, Shelton."

"Gene," Merriell grabs his hand and pulls him back.

Eugene twists out of his grip, "I can't believe you're not planning on enlisting. They predict the United States will enter war soon - and not just as an arsenal for the Allies this time. The question is no longer if, but when. We're going to need every able man." He gets right up into Shelton's face and glares, "Have you even seen the latest news reels from Europe?"

"Don't watch 'em," Shelton says. He's gone emotionless again, and that irritates Eugene more than anything.

"You don't care?" Eugene scoffs, "You don't care, you're going to let other men die for you while you stay here and, what...build tiny houses? Kiss me in back alleys for the war effort?"

"Eugene…"

"I can't enlist. Even if I was of age I'd be declined because of my health. Do you know what it's like to be so goddamned useless? And you...you…" Eugene loses control of his own thoughts.

"I'm not dying for nobody but myself," Shelton says.

Eugene stares at him with stunned shock. "You're fucked up, Shelton," Eugene says. He turns his back on the other boy and walks away.

"You ashamed of me, then?" Shelton calls to him in a mocking voice.

Eugene lets himself into the house, but he lingers at the front window. He pushes himself into the curtains and presses his ear to the cold glass. The truck engine starts, nearly silent even in the quiet night. Eugene buries his face in the top of the teddy bear's head and tries not to cry. He sits there till he hears the tires rumble across the bridge. And then he goes to his room, kicks off his shoes, and falls into bed.

He does cry then. But it's not for Shelton. It's for himself, and his own failings. And it feels almost guilty.

tag list @xmxisxforxmaybe

[arthurhwalker]

reMarkable 2 Review

I had some requests for a review of this device, and I am glad to oblige in this case. I've been closely following digital pen stylus tech for about eight years. I'm just old enough that I still need to handwrite a lot of things to tap into my creativity, but greatly dislike clutter in my life.

The reMarkable is for the person that writes enough by hand to fill several notebooks a year. For someone that wants the tactile and somatic component of writing on paper to associate with their process. The new reMarkable 2 does basically what the reMarkable 1 did; faster, better, and with a much improved piece of hardware.

If you've read my previous review from May 2018, you know I basically raved about the first generation reMarkable. I had a few criticisms of the Gen 1, and a lot of that has been addressed with the Gen 2.

Support & User Experience

I've used a reMarkable tablet continuously for almost three years. I've never had a support issue with one. The software is updated regularly, features added, and user experience improved with each iteration.

There is really no comparisons to be made with that kind of uninterrupted usage. No smartphone, tablet, or computer you ever own will be that reliable. A 3-4 year old Thinkpad, running Linux, is about as close as it gets to that level of, switch-on-and-use, every day, without fail feeling.  

The reason is that the reMarkable 2 is leveraging the most reliable hardware, user input methods, stylus technology, and operating system basis available. My fear has always been that my reMarkable wouldn't be as reliable as a regular piece of paper, and a good pen. So far, that fear has never been realized with the reMarkable 1, or 2.

Pen Stylus Input

The majority of what one picks up and uses will be Microsoft Pen Protocol (MPP) stylus tech, with Microsoft Surface Products, or Wacom AES (Active Electrostatic) like that found in a lot of Asus, Dell, Lenovo, and so forth. The older Wacom EMR (Electromagnetic Resonance) is used less frequently, and usually only with their own products, or a version thereof with Samsung Phones and Tablets.

Of the three options, Wacom's EMR is still the best.

That's what you'll find on the reMarkable Tablet, and if you get their Marker Plus (it's the black one) it has the magical EMR eraser tip opposite the drawing point. There is no better pen stylus experience, for general use, sketching, handwriting capture, tilt sensitivity, and so forth.

The Marker Plus is $50 more than the regular Marker. It is worth it.

What if you're like me, and you have a drawer full of pen stylus products? Products that include the legendary Excalibur stylus pen that came with the Thinkpad Tablet 10 Gen 1, and worked with the EMR capable Thinkpad Yoga S1 from 2013? The one with the eraser tip, and sweet felt tip point? Will that stylus work?

Yes. Yes, yes it will.

However, the reMarkable Marker Plus just feels better. It's heft (19g) is perfect, eraser tip rounded to feel like the real thing, and tips that degrade gracefully without marking up the screen. Buy. The. Marker. Plus.

The Hardware

The manufacturer says that the reMarkable 2 gets 3 times the battery life of the 1, is 2 times as responsive (relative to rendering digital ink), and is the world's thinnest tablet at 0.19". Mostly, this is all of this seems to be true. Also, as mentioned before all the new Marker Plus has a built in eraser, all the new accessories snap together with magnets, and it charges with USB-c.

The screen is capacitive touch capable now. No more page turning buttons, and you can swipe down from the top to back out of a document or folder. You can turn pages with the swipe of a finger now. It takes a second to get the gestures down, but they're crisp and reliable once you do.

The tablet runs off of a dual core ARM process (a good thing, in my opinion).

My only quibble is that it is supposed to be able to connect to both 2.4GHz and 5.0GHz WiFi, but so far I've only gotten it to connect to 2.4. It might be something with my specific router, and I'm not sure if my experience is typical.

On the lower left hand side of the tablet there are 5 connection points. This suggests that the tablet may have the ability to connect to other accessories in the future. If reMarkable added a Plain Text Editor, and a keyboard cover to the reMarkable, I would be over the moon.

There is no evidence that they will do this, but a guy can dream. Having what's basically an e Ink Typewriter this thin and light would be the ultimate for this writer.

The Software

It is much the same experience as the reMarkable 1 with a few new additions.

You can convert your handwritten notes into text, cursive or block letters, and share by email. There is support for 33 languages.

With a Google Chrome plug-in, you can read web articles and pages on your reMarkable. If you're already battling with eye strain from looking at glowing screens all day, this is a nice feature.

Reading large PDFs and eBooks is still not crisp and snappy, but it is a vastly improved experience when compared to the reMarkable 1. Large graphically intense documents can be navigated without it taxing your patience. What I store on my reMarkable is vastly different now because of how much improved document handling has become.

I find the small sacrifice in speed rendering pages worth it, compared to the eye strain I get reading on other screens.

More pens, features, page templates, and ease of organizing have been added incrementally over time. With regard to the core functioning (Linux Based Codex OS) of the device, the manufacturer has only ever improved and supported the reMarkable.

Aesthetics

The reMarkable 1 was good for what it could do. It wasn't a bad looking product, but compared to the reMarkable 2, it was a rough prototype. Most tablets do not feel as nice in the hand as the reMarkable 2.

Rubber no-slip nubs on the back, rounded edges, satin finished glass and aluminum, make the tablet itself feel like it's from the future. I bought the Polymer Weave Book Folio, a step up from the regular Folio. A close friend got the same device and marker options as I did, but opted for the Premium Leather Folio.

Definitely, get the Book Folio, and if you can scrabble together the extra money, get the premium leather. That's my only regret is that I didn't spring for the best accessory offered. Is the Polymer Weave good? Absolutely, worth the $99. It is rigid, will protect your investment, and it's very classy looking.

My friend who picked up the Leather Folio is a graphic designer, and has greatly informed my sense of aesthetics over the years. She says the Leather Book Folio is well worth the extra. She is, most certainly, correct.

So, yeah, if you're going to get a reMarkable 2 and want a slightly used Polymer Weave Book Folio (mine), I'll let it go for cheap (so I can atone, and get the leather version, ha ha).

Value

The reMarkable 2 doesn't have a web browser, app store, Merge Dragons, audio player, or other third party applications. It won't replace your iPad, or Android Tablet. It will replace all the paper, notebooks, and pens in your life. This is especially true if you have a small scanner (like a Doxie), and leverage reMarkable's Smartphone app and cloud sync feature.

This tablet is for people that like paper, a lot, but don't want to carry it around or keep track of it. It is for people that fill 8-12 Moleskines a year, and mark up hundreds of pages of documents, for themselves, and others. It is for people that tap into their creativity by writing things down, sketching diagrams, and making lists.

The act of holding a pen or pencil against paper is a cognitive trigger, built into their implicit memory, every day, for years, that allows them to do their things.

$399 will buy a decent Samsung or Apple branded tablet, but neither of those is designed to emulate the experience of writing on paper like the reMarkable 2 tablet is. The reMarkable 2 will run you $399, a Marker Plus $99, and a Polymer Weave Folio $99, bringing it all to almost $600.

Unless you lurk reMarkable's website, and wait for a promotion. They did run a promotion for their pre-order, and will likely do something similar within a year of release. It is my recollection that the manufacturer ran at least two promotions for the Remarkable 1, and the savings were significant.

If you don't need one right this minute, check the website every week or so, their Amazon Store edifice, and whatever other options they have for your region.

Competitors

In the last few years, reMarkable has only acquired more competition in the e ink Tablet market. That competition varies depending on where you live in the world. In the US, no one makes a thing that directly competes. I looked at other products, didn't see anything that made me pull out my reMarkable 1 and make a list of pros and cons for comparison.

That isn't to say there isn't a better thing for your use case, but there wasn't for mine.

Final Thoughts

If I didn't drive this point home earlier, I'm going to make it now. The reMarkable 2 will not replace your laptop, mobile OS (iOS/Android) Tablet Device (meant to replace your laptop), or Smartphone. There isn't even a calculator app on the reMarkable 2.

The Remarkable 2 will replace the pens, pencils, highlighters, notebooks, and print outs cluttering up your daily carry bag, desk, and life. It's a digital paper option, not a personal computing option. When used for that purpose, it is exceptional, and well worth the investment.

[the-gunslock]

Amanda 3 - Hammer

Third canon-deviant fic about Amanda Holliday and her journey to being greater, from a mini-series of four.

"This one would be pret-tyyy cool…"

The burnt-blonde Shipwright scrolls through the 'Collections' of Exotics Guardians found in their journeys, analyzing their perks as she patiently waits to be called inside the most envied library in the City.

For some seconds, her emerald eyes fall on a pair of knightly silver Gauntlets that could be what she looks for. She ‘hmm’s to herself for a second, trying on some shaders, and nods in approval.

"Amanda, let's go."

Her head moves to pay attention to the Warlock that has just arrived at her usual spot at the Bazaar, greeting her with a nod as she stows her tablet away and is transmatted into the library. She makes a mental note of the name ‘Stronghold’. Shaxx would probably appreciate her dedication to swordplay.

Other pieces like Fr0st-EE5 and Transversive Steps, which do not require Light usage, would also benefit her while she fought. Good to know, good to know. So many loopholes to be exploited.

Ikora Rey had devoted the day to silent studying and rewriting of her books, still not completely updated after the Traveler’s awakening in recent times. In order to focus better, she does most of it quietly and alone in the library, save for the Hidden that appear to report to her on occasion. Today was an exception, for she allowed the Tower’s Shipwright to keep her company under the pretension that she wanted to learn, and there was no better teacher for that than Ikora.

Ikora’s library has dim, yellow lighting and a rustic aesthetic, with bookshelves and flooring made of dark wood covered with blue and white tapestry. The overall layout of the place was circular, the center having her desk and simple chairs and couches disposed about.

"So, Amanda." Ikora begins, making herself comfortable at the table and suggesting Amanda to do the same, across from her. "What do you seek?"

Amanda quietly taps her fingertips at the table, fidgeting as she tries to formulate a good reason.

"I wanna learn how to… to fight. Like y'all Guardians do."

Ikora doesn’t turn her head, but smiles.

“Is that so?”

“Uh… yeah?”

Ikora gives a chuckle as she finishes rewriting a page.

“I think not.”

“...Why not?”

Not faltering, Ikora turns her head to face her friend as she hovers her hand above the book. “Because if you wanted to learn how to fight, you would have asked Zavala. And, if the words I received are true... you already did.”

Amanda doesn’t have an answer to that, only looking at the desk and pressing her lips together, the inquietude only building up. She observes Ikora using an emanation of Solar heat to dry the ink on the pages.

“Ikora, I… want to be a Guardian. I thought I could ask you to teach me how to think like one.”

As the Warlock turns to the book again, she turns a page and looks at a previous version of the book, also spread open on another part of the table, for reference. “Okay. And why aren’t you?”

She is caught off-guard by this question. She struggles to let out her answer, and the next sentence comes out a bit more condescending than she’d hoped.

“Because I’m not a Lightbearer?” Amanda replies as if it was something obvious.

“During the Red War, we weren’t either.” Ikora says as she starts writing once more. “And I went through the same dilemma. I was lost. I looked to the ashes emanating from the City, and vowed… never again. And since I had nowhere left to go, I found myself on Io, in search for answers. As time passes me by, I realized I was left without answers, without Light, without my team... without anything to hold on to.”

“And then?”

“A Guardian found me. One of those who had made the pilgrimage to the Shard of the Traveler and recovered their Light. They could have refused, but they didn’t. They could have quit the fight, but even if they knew they were going to die, they didn’t. And their very presence reminded me that, while the terms are, indeed, very associable to the outside observer, they are not the same.”

The Shipwright listens intently as Ikora recounts her tale. There were many angles to this. Most, she didn’t consider. Multiple viewpoints are a virtue Guardians must possess.

“It took me some introspection and some... unprecedented incidents, for me to believe that I am more than just my Light, and in being greater than the Light, protecting it and the people who live through its influence is what made me who I am. So, as long as you strive to perfect yourself, you’ll always be one."

Ikora eyes her friend without turning her head this time. Her eyes are amiable, as fierce as they looked.

"A Guardian, Lightbearer or not... is always a Guardian.”

The Warlock delivered each part of that sentence in a very light, but thorough manner, a way that Amanda didn’t even think was possible. It was a nail she still had to hammer, that Guardians are more than just their Light.

During the Red War, Amanda had argued with Zavala after the Traveler was imprisoned and the Light lost. “There are thousands of people like me stranded down there in the City", she had said; “We're all the same now, Holliday. The Light is gone.” She was too angry to realize at the time, but looking back, she realizes she had taken the Guardianship for granted.

While she still didn’t like having to obey Zavala and leave citizens to die, it was paying off, in a way. Everything they did, they did for mankind. And it was beginning to thrive again, the best they could. She could feel it, even if her mission was far from over and new threats were still bound to come.

With a deep breath, she promises to face them gladly.

"Thank you, Ikora." The Shipwright says, eliciting a smile and a deep nod from the Vanguard that was still focused on writing the page.

Amanda pulls out her sketchbook and starts drawing over a sketch of herself. But before she continues, she has an idea for the final part of the 'secret-unnamed-project'.

"Can I, ah, look around for a book?”

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Yeah, actually. Wanna know where the name ‘Leviathan’ comes from.”

Ikora pulls up her own tablet, doing a query search for the word on the archive. It narrows down to multiple editions of a religious book from the old world, called ‘Bible’. Taking a break from writing, she hovers over to a particular section of the library, taking an intricate, gold-foil crafted book, meticulously turning its pages to where the query told her. “Job 41:1–34”, it said. She floats back to Amanda, laying the open book in front of her, before going back to her own seat.

She devours the verses, at first barely making heads or tails of what was on the pages. 'Why'd people back in the day write so weird?' She thought to herself. But eventually she managed to understand what it was about, and suddenly the name of Calus' ship made much more sense.

"Did you gather something new, my friend?"

Amanda recaps in her mind, making sure to try not to miss anything.

"Right, so- uh...” Amanda begins to explain her thoughts, trying not to let anything pass her by. “There was this man named Job, whose faith in this god couldn't be waived. In this part, the god is tryna teach Job how questioning a powerful being is futile by presenting him beasts so powerful that only he can control, one a them being a sea monster called, you guessed it, the Leviathan."

"How awfully appropriate."

"Yep. Apparently there were two beasts, a sea one, and a... land one."

Realization came into Amanda's mind as a name for her project finally snuck through her hands and into the paper.

"Reminds me of the World Serpent..." She adds nonchalantly, having doing some reading on the Edda in her free time back at Hiver’s place.

Ikora finally perks up from her book, stretching her writing hand. "You've been doing some homework."

"Hard not to, when you date a Warlock."

"And you are going to tell them about this… when?"

The one question Amanda dreaded, and it shows. Her 'Lightless Guardian' idea was nothing short of life-threatening, it's amazing she's got this far without being stopped.

Amanda had survived her whole life on the road, fighting off Fallen and hiding with hers and other families, but she would never, ever get rid of the pain of losing them. She survived and is happier than she's ever been, even if it's not a perfect life. Now, she was Hiver's family, and cannot bear the image of her lover having to go through the same — because of her own incompetence, nonetheless.

There was no telling how Hiver would react, the woman is already being a pile of anxieties, but of one thing she was sure.

It wouldn't be pretty.

“I don’t... know.“

"I can help if you'd like. But remember that this is your responsibility — and your burden."

She nods with a nervous face and gives a deep sigh.

“I’ll think of something. Can you take me back to the Tower?”

“Yes. And Amanda?”

“Yes?”

“Congratulations on finding love. Hold on to it. It is powerful.”

As nervous as she is, she nods smiling.

“Ophiuchus?” Ikora says to no one. Her Ghost, white and red and with spiking protrusions on the back of his shell, appears in the air next to her shoulder.

“One second.” He replies, spinning.

With a flash, Amanda is back at the Tower’s bazaar. Eyeing the drawing she has just finished, she runs to the Courtyard, in search of a person who could help her make it look much better.

Trying to ignore the built-up tension, she runs.

The Awoken woman stationed at the Tower Courtyard is, as usual, cleaning up dust and reorganizing her inventory, because it’s not home yet, but it would be. Then she hears a familiar voice calling to her.

“Tess!”

“Oh! Hello, Amanda. What can I do for you today?” Tess greets the Shipwright, assuming her usual hands-behind-back posture and giving her usual, welcoming smile.

“See, I got a lil’ project o’ my own, and wanted an expert’s opinion on how ta make it look the sharpest it can.”

Amanda presents the sketchbook with her sketch to Tess, who analyzes it meticulously.

It’s a suit of armor. Titan armor, to be more precise.

“Gothic knight inspiration… baroque decor… exquisite. Practical, but carries a lot of elegance. This looks incredible. Also, you draw extraordinarily well.”

“Thank you,” The Shipwright says, blushing. “But it lacks color. What would ya say works?”

“Excuse me.“

Tess takes the notebook into what appears to be a scanner, converting Amanda’s drawing into a digital projection that can easily be colored, and bringing it to the desk where they both could see it.

“Right, in my opinion the ornaments and trim should definitely be gold.” She says, quickly selecting the decorative parts of the plates and changing their colors to a light golden color. “The style reminds me of Gjallarhorn and the old Iron Lords’ armor. Maybe we can make it a bit more orange…”

“Would black fit with it, maybe?”

She changes the main plate colors to black. Tess and Amanda look at each other in disapproval.

“How about…” Tess changes the color to a deep blue.

“Can you try dark gray?” Amanda asks, and Tess obeys. However, it still seems to not fit, and they experiment with a midpoint between blue and gray.

“What do you think?”

“I like it.”

“Me too.”

Amanda scratches her nose, taking some time to think. The girls mix and match palettes for a while until finding one that fits the armor well.

Dark gray plates with crimson details, gold ornaments, and a white, gold-trimmed mark.

“Whew… Thank you, Tess. Anything I can do to repay ya?”

“The pleasure is mine. Although if you have some Silver on you…” Tess says, smiling smugly. “Just kidding.”

“My girlfriend does. She’ll probably come by again, she wants that duster you’re selling. Says she wants to look like a cowgirl.”

Tess laughs at this, eliciting a grin from Amanda, who picks her sketchbook and transfers the colored illustration file from the Awoken vendor to her own tablet, almost walking off and ready to send it to Crux/Lomar for forging.

“Oh, Amanda.”

“Yeah?” She turns back to face Tess.

“Does it have a name?” She asks in genuine curiosity.

Amanda smiles contagiously in pride, remembering what she read from the Bible in Ikora’s library. She had the perfect name for her project, given what was going down on the System — and how she’d fight it, if need be.

“The Behemoth.”

[cheswirls]

it’s your extension (let me extend) 6/6

sabo climbs into the backseat, and shanks squints at him from the rearview mirror.

“isn’t that ace’s?” he asks, gesturing to the cord wrapped around sabo’s wrist.

he looks down at it, humming. “i’m just holding onto it.”

-

sabo can’t sleep that night.

he feels like he’s missing something, and it keeps him up.

he wanders into the kitchen the next morning, eyes dry and red, and makino looks at him with concern. she gets up from her place at the table for two, letting sabo sit across from shanks.

“you look terrible,” he notes.

sabo hums, not enough energy mustered to form a snarky comeback.

“you . . are going to do great today!” shanks says next, switching tactics when he notices makino’s stare from the sink. “fuck those people from yesterday. today you’ve got this!”

he heads off before too long, leaving sabo at the table alone. makino heads out too, leaving sabo to watch micah while she worked her day shift. not that he minded. he was there for the week, and this was the least he could do.

he switches with shanks around midday, and comes back to the redhead in the exact spot he’d left him.

“how’d it go?” shanks asks, and sabo’s lips quirk down.

“i picked a more competitive career than i thought,” he mutters.

he crashes for a few hours and wakes up as the sun is setting, mind still set on something he can’t seem to remember.

he doesn’t sleep again.

early, the next morning, sabo decides he’s had enough. he gets out of bed, giving up on sleep, and turns on his desk lamp.

makino is in the kitchen. she looks tired. she doesn’t look surprised to find sabo there, messing with the old coffeemaker. instead of questioning, she pulls out two mugs and a carton of eggs. 

sabo fills up both and takes one back to his room, closing the door softly. he sets it at his desk, and a minute later he’s hefting all twenty of his notebooks right next to it.

sabo’s never really read through his logs. there’s never been a need. he’s never forgotten.

but there’s a gap. one he hadn’t noticed until now.

and he hates forgetting.

so he steels himself, divides the stack in two to see the light, and begins flipping through the first notebook before the sun has thought to rise for the day.

he’s a third of the way through notebook nine when he pauses, hand going through the motions to flip the page and freezing, and he peels it back to still find something unusual written, uncertain now that it wasn’t his tired mind trying to pull a trick on him.

he marks the page and rises from his seat, digging around until he finds an old sketchbook, all but one of the pages ripped from the spiral, stacked loosely inside.

it’s the one attached that he’s interested in.

“who are you,” he mumbles, reading the sprawling script, near covering the entire page, aloud. 

“quit writing in my sketchbook.”

“surely one page is fine.”

he pauses, continues, voice picking up, heart rate steadily increasing.

“this isn’t a dream, y’know.”

his coffee has gone cold, so he sets it on the corner of the old wood, not willing to get up and leave his reading to warm it.

he’s missing days in the notebook. well, he is. they’re there, after a spell. just in a different handwriting, a different format. 

he has trouble reading them, at first, because it’s very hard to process. but the more he does, the more dread and wonder pool in his stomach, as he realizes the impossibilities of him doing this to himself, playing some sort of trick years in the making. this person, this ace, was undeniably different, and was taking control of sabo’s life every other day.

sabo’s notes weren’t very interesting, usually. it was either long, unending paragraphs ranting or rambling about the day, or neat, precise notes for more uneventful times. but, after ace started leaving entries, sabo’s changed.

he still wrote for the sake of logging, yes, but now the margins were filled. certain things, reminders for tests or important events, were more bolded and circled, easy to catch. like that was the point, to get someone to notice. he finds himself reading the notes more closely than his own entries.

please set my alarm from now on. at least three of them. preferably all five.

quit writing all over my face!! i get it!

i finished that report. just print it out and bring it, please.

sorry if you wake up tired. had a long night.

yeah, sorry. here’s the password.

if i have to scrub ink from my face one more time i swear ace portgas i will take permanent marker to your eyebrows.

let’s make this easier for ourselves. if we write about what we did when we switch, it won’t matter that we weren’t there. we’ll be all caught up for the next day.

we didn’t switch again.

sabo blinks. he turns to the next page, again met by his own handwriting.

we still haven’t switched. i’ve been drawing, what i could remember. it’s funny, i just realized today that i don’t even know where he lives. somewhere in japan, in the corvo mountains. but it’s a big mountain range. there are a lot of settlements. i draw everything i can remember. the old vending machine out near the high school. the view of the mountains from the lake’s shore. the inside of garp’s craft room. my calls still aren’t going through. i try and convince myself that the number’s not wrong, but every time i try again, it ends the same. i tried texting, but it didn’t send. 

it’s weird. after that night, after i finally convinced myself how i felt, that i really    well.

and then it all stopped. like it really was a dream. except, i still have his cord. i wear it all the time, like i’m afraid it’ll disappear too, if i leave it alone for too long. i can’t lose it. i can’t lose anything else.

i don’t want to believe i’ve lost him, either.

the next entry he finds worth to note is only a sentence long. it’s the shortest one he’s ever seen. 

i’m going to find him tomorrow.

he turns the page. the next entry is marked a few days after that, after he’d come home, apparently. if he ever left at all.

he bites on his lip, moving the page corner between his fingers, flipping back and forth as if the missing entries would magically appear.

he sighs after they don’t, leaning back in his chair and throwing his head back.

out his window, through the blinds, it’s lighter. he blinks tiredly at it, trying to process this fact.

muffled crying from further in the apartment breaks his train of thought. sabo sits up, leans over the desk, and grabs the coffee cup, intent on refilling it before he read through the other half of the stack.

as he’s standing, though, his gaze falls to his wrist, and his feet fall still. he stares.

the red cord from the other night is still wrapped around his arm.

-

sabo meets robin one day for coffee, because she’s in the city by chance, and he’s looking for something to do.

he’d already had coffee that morning, but he definitely wasn’t passing up the chance for more.

makino had turned the machine off on him after his fourth cup, and even as she left to take micah on a walk, he hadn’t the courage to turn it back on.

shanks had woken up and walked in on him still mulling over his notebooks, this time with the added bonus of all his sketches laid out across his desk. he’d quietly closed the door after seeing sabo had spend yet another night without any sleep, and left for work soon after.

sabo slips into a loose jacket, attempts to flatten his hair that had been ruffled through in his earlier musing, and drains half a bottle of water in hopes of clearing the more gaunt part of his expression.

he thinks it maybe does. somewhat. robin doesn’t bother to mention it, so he doesn’t think about it anymore.

instead, halfway through their light conversation about life as they trekked through the city, he thinks about something else. he casts glances down to his wrist, where the cord was tied, leaning against his coffee cup. robin stops talking and he finally looks up to her questioning gaze. he feels like he’s missed a cue to respond, but instead of trying to figure it out, he throws one back at her.

“hey. when we worked together, did i ever . . . mention an ace portgas?”

robin’s eyes narrow, and she hums, still walking forward. “wasn’t that who you went to go find, that one summer?”

he turns his eyes back to their path, thinking it over. it synced up. so she knew about his trip, the one missing from notebook number nine. entirely.

“did i find him?” he asks, almost scared of his own voice.

“you found fuusha,” robin answers, not the one he wanted, but an answer nonetheless.

sabo gets home and rips his desk drawer open, taking out all the articles on fuusha and lying them across his desk.

they don’t all fit, so he lies them across the floor instead, taking time to examine each of them.

he reads them all carefully, about the comet, about the crash, about the evacuation. fuusha was nestled in the corvo mountains, so it matched up. 

wait.

he purses his lips, stands so fast he trips and nearly tumbles over, gripping the back of his desk chair. he swipes notebook nine from the desk, moves to sit back on the floor, and rifles through the pages. there.

by the time your date is over, you’ll be able to see the comet.

the date was the same as miran comet, though the years were different. his eyebrows slant. that was odd. something still wasn’t adding up.

he stands again, another fleeting thought passing through.

“makino,” he mumbles just inside the kitchen doorway.

she looks up, turning away from micah in the highchair.

“can i get luffy monkey’s address?”

this was crazy.

sabo sighs, dropping his hand away from the door for the fourth time. he couldn’t knock. what was he even thinking, coming here? sure, these were the only people from fuusha he knew, but he didn’t really even known them. he’d greeted garp in passing, he’d seen his son once, and he hadn’t even met luffy, that night.

but. he did know the other brother. sort of. at least, he had some connection with him, now.

he drops his raised arm again. but! there were over one thousand people living in fuusha, back before the comet hit! even if they could help him, would they even know the person sabo had been switching bodies with?

he raises his arm before he can think of another excuse to walk off the porch.

the door opens as he’s reaching to knock.

sabo startles back, the door swinging open all the way. a scruffy head of black hair greets him, the boy nearly a whole head shorter than him still bent over to stuff on a pair of shoes. his head raises as he attempts to step forward, finding sabo in his way. he’s met with a wide pair of eyes.

sabo tries to smile, but he’s nervous now, and he doesn’t think he does a very good job. “uh, hi,” he begins. “luffy, right?”

“luffy” picks his hand out of the back of his shoe, letting the leg fall to the ground as he straightens to full height. “yeah. who’re you, though?”

sabo nearly slaps himself. of course. he didn’t even- “i’m sabo.” he offers his hand. “i was here the other night, for your graduation party.”

luffy doesn’t take sabo’s hand, but he stares at it for a long time. he realizes it’s the hand he has the braided cord wrapped around. “oh, that’s-”

“my brother’s,” luffy finishes, looking back up. there’s a new light in his eyes. “you said your name was sabo, right?”

“yeah.” he nods. “is, um. is your brother here?”

a wide smile slowly begins to form on luffy’s face. “no. but i can tell you where he will be.”

-

[ 6:23 ] ill b home late

[ 6:24 ] you have your key?

[ 6:24 ] yeah

[ 6:27 ] Then i won’t wait up

[ 6:28 ] Take care of yourself

sabo sets his phone facedown, his lips quirking up. he feels around his pockets to make sure he has his key, not wanting to give makino anymore worry. he settles down again when he finds it, fingers pressing into the cool metal.

outside, it starts snowing.

sabo watches it, gaze fixed on the large windows he’s sat in front of. there’s a drink in front of him, steam wafting up. his phone vibrates again.

he picks it up as the tingling bell signals the door opening. the passing conversation catches his attention, though.

“lighten up, kidd. this will be the last one, i swear!”

“you said that the last time.”

sabo sets his phone back down. he tries not to stare, but as they order at the counter, then turn to find a table, he can’t help but watch the pair. he’s certain he’s never seen them before. at least, he doesn’t recognize them. but that name . .

“i just want this wedding to be perfect,” the girl mutters, sat close enough to where sabo can hear. 

“i know, lami,” kidd says, ducking forward. the name strikes sabo, again. lami. and kidd. 

his eyes narrow. he turns back to the window.

it’s still snowing.

he hikes up his scarf at the thought of venturing out into it, phantom goosebumps rising on his covered skin. his eyes watch as people walk by, the streets still relatively crowded for the hour, considering it was a weekday.

he takes a sip from his drink, content on people-watching.

“-like from fuusha?”

his ears prick as they catch on to the word, and he inclines his head slightly to hear the conversation behind him.

“no. maybe? i . . i don’t know.” a sigh. “i think i just miss it, y’know? it’s that time of year and all.”

sabo blinks, and then his eyes catch on a figure coming across the street. he bends forward, catches sight of dark, mused hair beneath a hood, freckles lined on tanned skin-

the door opens and he reaches out, having chosen the seat nearest to it for a reason. his hand snags in black fabric, right at the elbow, and he holds tight. 

the door closes again and sabo looks up, seeing the surprised look just moving off of luffy’s brother’s face, replaced by something more knowing, like he knew exactly who sabo was.

or, his mind supplies, luffy just told him.

he turns to face sabo and the blond releases his sleeve, confident that he’s gained the attention he’d been seeking. carefully, not looking away from the other’s face, he undoes the knot tying the braided cord to his wrist, and holds it out in the space between them.

“you should have this back,” he mumbles. “it’s important to you.”

you’re important to me.

sabo blinks.

freckles reaches out, carefully, and after a moment cups sabo’s hand in both of his own. he’s smiling, now, faint and soft, but definitely still there. his hands are cold around sabo’s.

“thank you,” he says, removing his hands, dragging the cord with them. sabo resists the urge to frown as they leave, suddenly missing their presence. they’re back soon enough, though, as ace holds the cord out length-wise, presents it to sabo. “then, will you tie it for me?”

sabo takes the cord back. his eyes widen. wait-

he looks up. “you never told me your name,” he whispers.

“you already know it.”

“ace?”

“hey, sabo.”

[alkhale]

modern au ace modeling???? PLEASE????

you caught me in an ace kinda mood, anon, u sneaky u

“You know it’s four hours, right?”

Ace’s cocky little satisfied grin settled over his lips. Hoku snorted in amusement, setting up her work station.

The art room toward the west wing of the high school building was fairly spacious enough. Windows lined the outer wall of the room, curtains pulled up for privacy in particular to today’s focus of study. Her fellow classmates and club members were somewhat acting in usual fashion, the few unaffected by the new presence helping to hand out easels and boards, sharpening their pencils and getting ready for the four hour anatomy study.

The rest however, were lost.

Majority of the girls in Hoku’s art club–majority of which had been the ones always eager to rifle through her sketchbooks and swoon and sigh over her choices of drawings–she did join in when it was the occasional Shanks though–were gathered in clusters around the room. They watched with adoring eyes, fixing their skirts and their hair, whispering and chirping back and forth to each other as they watched today’s focus of study.

Who, clad only in a red satin silk robe that actually complimented the sun kissed tan of his body ridiculously well and also revealed the muscular ridges of his chest and the toned muscle of his arms and calves and that he was naked as the day as he was born under there–

Portgas D. Ace.

Her–metaphorical brother? Friend? Housemate? Kin? Very important person. One of the very important people in her life she happened to somehow manage the hassle of living with.

Ace scratched his neck. The robe shifted, revealing torso and abs and more Ace.

A few of her classmates swooned, cheeks flushing and one flustered boy rushed from the room.

“Your teacher’s paying me twenty bucks an hour for this,” Ace said, lips curling as he crowded her station and Hoku continued setting up all her stuff and getting comfortable. “With a break and food–this is the easiest job ever!”

“And you’re fine with the fact that you’re only getting a sheet up there, right?” Hoku added, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Ace’s hands instantly went up in grabby motions. She sighed through her nose, relenting and handing him her hairtie. Ace shuffled behind her, gathering up her hair with long, larger fingers carding through bright white locks.

“I always wear the same at home–”

“That’s right, dumb question, you’re an exhibitionist at heart.”

Hoku squawked when he pulled back on her ponytail a little harder. She reached to smack his arm, but Ace simply grinned, the constellation dusting of freckles along his cheeks and nose more prominent. “Come on, you love having me here! Isn’t it a nice change of pace? You’re always drawing us at home anyway, now you get the real deal.”

“I’m foaming at the mouth,” Hoku said. Ace pulled at her cheeks. She swatted his hands away. “I only told you about the request cause they kept asking and you could make some cash, try not to fall asleep, yeah?”

“Sure, sure,” Ace drawled. He finally relented with one last tug to her ponytail–Hoku hissed at him and he grinned, crossing his arms behind his head as he sauntered off to the platform like one big cat. “Get my good side, shooting star.”

Hoku mimicked him behind his back. Her teacher came up, explaining to him the different types of poses he could consider. One of her classmates took a seat down beside her, finally in place.

“He’s so hot,” she whispered, face flushed.

Try not to get mauled by the high school girls. Hoku considered mouthing to him. Instead she laughed, shaking her head at her classmate.

“He’s the biggest, narcoleptic dork you could ever meet.”

“But he’s so hot.”

Hoku shrugged.

She tried.

Ace was an absolute bastard.

And she was absolutely going to get back at him when this was all over.

It had all started the way it normally should. Ace took position on the platform. Their teacher explained today’s assignment, four hours, four different poses meant to be captured, an hour for each. Hoku settled that she could probably finish them sooner or try something new while she was at it since she’d drawn Ace plenty of times as it was.

Their teacher gave him free reign of his choice of poses, saying to do whatever made him the most comfortable.

Ace had scratched the back of his head, looking around curiously while the entire class watched with avid, waiting eyes. He finally shrugged, grabbing the folded bedsheet and holding it up to his waist.

Ace let the satin red robe fall to his feet with a flourish, pooling around him like a ring of fire.

People swooned.

Hoku adjusted her easel, waiting for him to pick a pose. There was a bit of shuffling on the platform until Ace finally settled down. Hoku looked up.

Charcoal black irises smoldered right back at her. Straight at her.

Hoku blinked once. Twice.

Ace had one hand tangled in the thick mess of ink black locks, fingers propping up his head. He’d stretched out along the platform like a large jungle cat soaking up sun, bed sheet pooling dangerously over the sharp dips of his his, following a defined ridge line and teasing anything else. People positioned behind him were furiously working at the line of back muscles presented before them and Hoku stared back in disbelief.

Ace continued to stare.

Right fucking at her with that ridiculous face and those stupid hooded eyes while he was butt ass naked because he knew she’d get pissed off and–

You’re so stupid. She mouthed at him.

Ace merely winked, keeping still, looking absolutely content with himself.

An hour had passed since then–Ace had switched positions as asked, seating himself on a chair and turning it around so his legs hung on either side of the back, the chair’s back the only thing shielding his very naked front while he propped his arms on the top of the chair, leaning his head on them and dogging her down. His eyes smoldered mischievously, watching her intently and refusing to look anywhere else.

Hoku was almost certain the girl beside her was about to pass out. Or lose blood. Or both.

Stupid Ace with his stupid jokes and his stupid fucking staring. Hoku grumbled.  Knows I hate being stared at for no good reason, asshole. Hoku glanced back to where chips of coal kept watching her and she almost groaned something ugly aloud, turning a page.

She’d drawn four of the ugliest figures she could possibly manage at first out of sheer pettiness. She contemplated drawing a ridiculous, gross caricature of Ace to top it off, but she had to turn something in and…

Hoku frowned at the blank paper in front of her. She glanced back to Ace.

He waggled his brows briefly, obvious grin hidden behind his arms before he returned to his intense, stoic staring.

Her eyes flickered to the potted flowers in the corner of the room. Hoku sat there for a moment, playing with the worn down pencil in her hand before she sighed through her nose, setting to work.

She might as well try something new out then.

She’d just tell Sabo on him later.

“C’mon, lemme see, how’d they turn out?”

Hoku ignored Ace, shoving her supplies back into her backpack.  

A break–where many of her classmates rushed to Ace offering to bring him food and water and he promptly fell asleep three times before responding (he fell asleep four times during the modeling)–and two more hours later, they’d finally finished.

Ace had promptly chosen a cross-arms-behind-the-back look as his third pose, flexing a line of muscles and ridged abs from all the hard work he poured outside into all his jobs. The sheet had almost come undone until the teacher hastily rushed to reknot it (to some of her peers’ disappointment and her uncontrollable laughter). His final pose had been a simple one, sitting down with his legs spread–and the sheet over his hips to cover–and his arms resting on his knees. A comfortable position he fell asleep in until someone managed to wake him up.

And he’d never stopped staring at her.

Fucking once.

“Come ooooonnnnn,” Ace wheedled, crowding in her space. Hoku searched the room for a moment before crossing past him to her designated spot. Ace trailed behind her, sheet trailing behind him like a long train. “What’s it look like? Did ya like the angle I gave ya? What’d you draw–”

Hoku shoved his discarded clothes at him. Majority of the class had already dispersed, eagerly thanking Ace and graciously declaring that he had to come back and model for them. 

“Put some clothes on, you dork,” Hoku said. “I’m hungry, so let’s get going.”

“Hoooookkkkuuuu,” Ace whined. “I wanna seeeeeee.”

Hoku reached for her sketchbook. Her stomach demanded retribution, reminding her that Sabo was making hamburger steak tonight and Luffy would be home before them.

Ace’s eyes lit up like an excited puppy, crowding even closer. She shoved at his chest, rolling her eyes and flipping the page he could see.

A stick figure with a triangle as the bedsheet and a stupid smile stared back.

Ace stared at it for a minute before tipping it down so he could peer at her over the top. Puppy eyes flashed at her as his lip wobbled, a pout on his face.

“You’re stupid,” Hoku said mercilessly. “I can’t believe you got paid just to be a naked idiot.”

“All bark no bite,” Ace teased. He played with the edge of her sketchbook, peeling back the next page. Hoku didn’t fight him, humoring him this time as she leaned back onto a desk and Ace turned it fully so he could see.

Ace stopped. 

The other paper hovered in the air, blocking his face from her view.

“I draw you guys a lot,” Hoku said, only a bit sheepish. “I figured I might as well try exploring with something new with it. Your poses were pretty unoriginal.”

Hoku had sketched out with soft shading, Ace’s grinning, laughing face. The rounded curve of the wrinkles around his eyes when he laughed because he could only laugh fully and heartedly–just his kind of laugh. His head was half turned, eyes half peering back as though to talk to someone who’d just said something to make him that happy.

Ace turned the page.

His lips pursed into a sort of pout, head tipping to the side as though in deep thought. He looked dumb. Stupid. Arms crossed over his chest and–

Ace turned.

Several sketches of his face–different versions of himself perhaps from her imagination of what he might look like older. Different angles and grins and his older visage laughing about something and the future and the last one–

Ace stared at the drawing. A heartbeat. Two. He quietly lowered the paper.

Hoku was already turned around, shoving the rest of her supplies in. Her shoulders were relaxed, face content.

“C’mon,” she said. “I’m starving–”

“Hoku, c’mere.”

“I’m going to get–huh? Why?”

Ace set her sketchbook down. He stretched his hands out, fingers curling in grabbing motions. His face was set in utter determination, facing her down.

“C’mere.”

“No,” Hoku said suspiciously. “What the hell do ya want–I swear if you–”

“I really need to freaking touch you right now or I’m going to explode.”

“No! You’re making a gross face–no! Ace–no! Put some fucking clothes on first, I swear to god–ACE IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER I’M CALLING SABO!”

“JUST LEMME–”

“ACE–”

Ace laughing, in the last drawing, lips pulled wide, eyes shut from the force of it. His head was tipping forward a bit, hair curling all around him, hugging his chin and brushing wild and wavy like it always did. He looked alive and bright and full, full, full of life and–

Hoku had sketched a flower to tuck itself behind his ear. She’d started inking it in with red and pink ink, not quite finishing.

Bonus:

“Sabo, I have to thank you again for getting your friend to come in last minute for this shoot–it’ll only take a second! It’s for the midnight summer line and her tan is just like Ace’s, so she’ll compliment the color really nice with her eyes and–”

“It’s no problem,” Sabo laughed, walking into the shooting floor with his clipboard in hand. A pencil was tucked behind his ear–one of Hoku’s left lying around and she’d found it recently and thrown it at him to hold on so she wouldn’t lose it again but forgot to get back from him, so it was his now–white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a dark, navy blue tie knotted impeccably around his neck. “She said she could use the spare cash anyway.”

Hoku had also come rushing to him from the dressing room–wearing a bunch of clothes with curlers still in her hair where hair dressers rushed out after her, frantic about how to make her white hair look right–freaking out and gushing about the free cakes on the table outside and ah, Hoku.

“When you smile like that, it worries me,” Koala said absently, checking her own clipboard before glancing to the photo shoot set up. “Alright, let’s get started everyone! Is Hoku ready?”

“All dressed!” a worker shouted.

“Good to go,” the photographer for today said, fixing his lens.

Sabo heard Hoku’s muffled voice, asking something about a to-go box. He chuckled, turning on his heel as the door opened and she stepped out and–

Sabo blinked.

Satin white silk draped around Hoku’s bare arms. A few thin scars peeked through. Soft, thin straps of fabric looped around her neck like a halter, cropping short dangerously and loosely below the curve of her chest. Bare, smooth stomach showed for what seemed to be miles on end. Finally a pair of silk shorts hugged her hips, riding dangerously low and stopping just a short–thin straps started where the shorts ended, tight to her thighs before they stopped above her knees in thinly laced–wasn’t that basically a garter belt? Wasn’t that a–

The entire outfit, little that was there, was colored entirely in dark, satiny navy blue and–didn’t he love that color? 

Sabo stared.

Hoku turned. She met his gaze and offered a lazy wave. Her eyes brightened and she pointed to the snack table in the back.

“Try raising your arms over your head,” the photographer suggested.

Hoku promptly raised her hands up as though she’d been ordered by a cop to do so.

Her top inched up.

“No, no, like behind your head, cross ‘em, hun.”

Crack!

The clipboard in Sabo’s hands snapped in half.

“Sabo? Oh my gosh, Sabo! What the heck–” Koala started, turning wildly. “Someone get some water and a tissue–Sabo’s finally cracked!”

- :)

[emybain]

Renegades Titanic AU: Part 2

I have a lot of random enthusiasm for this okay? just let me write it out for my own sanity. these are pretty short so far, so I can write them pretty quickly. anyway, enjoy!

side note: as someone who has many health problems and a mother with asthma and grandparents and family members who smoke(d) and some died from cancer, I do not condone smoking. bUt I had to think about the time the movie takes place/when the actual ship sailed, as well as the characters:)

part 1

part 2: At First Sight

Nova

It was stuffy inside the third class general room. It was currently just before lunchtime, and Nova was certain that the entire third class was crowded inside the room. It was too small for seven hundred people all to share. She grabbed one of the papers that was on the table in front of her and folded it up to fan her face. For once, she was jealous of Honey’s handheld fan that she carried with her everywhere. 

She looked at their four person table. It was small. They were small. Once upon a time Ace had supporters around the country and at his feet, kissing his shoes. And now here they were, the four of them. Just Nova, Ingrid, Honey, and Leroy. Before they left America, Winston had been placed in an insane asylum, and Ace’s closest ally, a man nicknamed Phobia, was arrested. The four of them were all that was left. 

“Little Nightmare, are you paying attention?” Ingrid snapped her fingers in front of Nova’s face. Nova blinked and sat up. 

“What? Yeah, yeah, I’m paying attention.”

Ingrid raised her eyebrows. “Sure you were.”

Nova rolled her eyes and scanned their plans laid out before her. There was a sketch of Ace’s prison, a map of the city where the prison was located, and a handful of notes. 

It had been decided weeks ago that Nova had to be the one to physically free her uncle. As her alter ego, Nightmare, she was unrecognizable and had yet to be caught, at least in Europe. She was currently one of the most wanted criminals in London, Paris, and a dozen other cities. The others were already being watched with every move they made due to their own criminal pasts, so they used her as a loophole to continue their crimes. 

“Remind me again how all of this ties into us murdering the Council.” Nova flipped through the papers. The ‘Council’ was their nickname for the five people who were in charge of all the Renegades; they were the power hungry and stuck up asses who betrayed Ace years before and had him imprisoned. 

“We free Ace, his old allies return, and our power is restored,” Honey drawled. Her eyes wandered the room, most likely for someone who was attractive. But it third class, it was hard to come by. Most of the third class guests were immigrants or homeless or both, but they all had poverty in common, and poverty was not a handsome trait.

Sweat trickled down the back of Nova’s neck. Her fingers were itching for a cigarette, but Honey had confiscated the pack she snuck onboard with them. 

“It’s unladylike,” she had said before hiding them from Nova. 

Nova didn’t even like smoking. She found it rather disgusting, in all honesty, but it gave her something to do; it was something to distract her mind. 

The heat of the room was growing more and more unbearable. Suddenly, Nova stood from her chair. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I need a minute.” Leroy began to stand, but Nova had already started out the door when he called her name. 

_________

Adrian

The bell for lunch would be ringing soon, but Adrian and his friends were outside on the deck, looking at the ocean before them. The others chatted with one another while Adrian was bent over his sketchbook that was perched over the fine wood railing. He looked up every few seconds, eyes pointed down toward the third class deck. There was a grandfather holding a little girl up on the railing, probably explaining the mechanisms of the ship, from the way he was pointing down below at the water. 

“Do you ever sell your work, Adrian?” He turned his head up to find Danna looking at him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. 

He shook his head. “I have no need. If anyone ever wants a piece of mine, I give it to them for free.”

Ruby snorted. “How charitable. Could you draw me something, Adrian?”

“You could draw me,” Oscar offered, “but I’d like a nude portrait.”

Adrian pushed him jokingly, laughing out loud. “That would cost you.”

“Well, I am worth a lot,” Oscar said, to which both Ruby and Danna laughed at. Adrian opened his mouth to respond, but it closed when his eyes found someone new on the third class deck. At first, he thought it might be a young man, because of the shorter hair and suspenders and trousers, but upon closer inspection, he saw it was a young lady, probably around his age. She made her way to the railing overlooking the ocean, resting her arms on the rail, crossed at the wrist. He could only see half of her face, for she was facing away from him, but even from his spot on the first class deck, higher up than her, he could point out her sharp features. 

He could also tell, from the way she was standing and the way she had walked, that she was thoroughly pissed. 

Adrian flipped to a new page in his sketchbook quickly, pencil hovering over the blank paper to begin a new piece. But he froze as pencil hit paper. Something in his head told him to not draw her, that even he, who had been into art since he was young and was skilled at drawing, could not catch her person properly. 

“It seems like our sweet, kind, quiet Adrian has a crush.” Adrian tore his eyes from the girl to look at Oscar, whose lips were curled up teasingly. 

Adrian felt his cheeks heat up. “What? No. She just looks interesting is all.” He turned back to her, pursing his lips. “Different.”

Danna and Ruby moved closer to take a look, Ruby leaning over the rail, as she was the furthest away. “She’s very pretty,” Danna observed. “But seriously, Adrian, she’s third class. We know your dads expect you to get married soon, but be a little more realistic. It could never happen.” Her tone was light, teasing, but it still hit Adrian with reality. At least it wasn’t like he was actually attracted to her or wanted to meet her.

She turned her head then, and her eyes met Adrian’s. His breath caught in his throat. He was wrong. He was definitely attracted to her and a sudden longing to learn her name and her life story filled his body. She turned away again, but after a few seconds, looked back up. Adrian was still staring. Feeling awkward, he raised a hand and waved weakly. She scowled at him and whipped her head to face the ocean once again.

Another woman, this one dressed rather elaborately for someone in third class strolled up beside the girl, reaching for her arm. The girl turned and yanked her arm back, as if repulsed. The woman was much older, and at first, Adrian suspected she was the girl’s mother. However, something told him he knew the woman, and so that meant he must know the girl too, but he didn’t, so he ruled out the familial relation. Also, they looked nothing like one another. She could be adopted, he supposed, like him, but he highly doubted it by the look she was giving the woman. 

The woman said something to her, which deepened the annoyed look on her face. She scoffed and brushed past the woman, stalking off and out of Adrian’s view. His heart sank.

“Honey Harper,” said Danna, her voice now cold. She pulled at Adrian’s arm as the lunch bell rang. “See, Adrian? She’s one of them. You don’t want to get mixed up with her, even if it’s just a fling. She’s no good.”

Adrian allowed himself to be pulled away by his friends, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the girl for all of lunch and the rest of the day. 

[krumbine]

Videorama: Revenge of the Nooooo!

The year is 2005.

George W. Bush is just starting his second term in the White House.

The hottest game in cell phone technology is the Motorola Razr V3 and the PalmOne Treo 650.

The iPhone is still a few years away.

The Rise of Skywalker isn’t even a twinkle in Disney’s eye––an eye that’s currently preoccupied with an overly optimistic Narnia Franchise Wet Dream.

In fact, Disney wouldn’t even buy Star Wars for another seven years.

It’s summer in 2005 and millions of marketing dollars can still pull the wool over the eyes of a naive movie-going public, dictating box office success regardless of audience consensus or even general quality of filmmaking.

All hail the grand illusion of capitalism.

It’s a warm evening in the summer of 2005 and video rental stores are still a thing.

One particular, independently-run store––freestanding, double glass doors on the left side of the brick facade, small parking lot––was just turning its sign on as dusk settled.

Videorama was open for business.

*

Tobey blinked incredulously at the three teenagers standing on the other side of the counter. His brain hurt as he attempted to summon the endurance needed to fathom the sheer stupidity of their question.

To buy himself some time, Tobey blinked again.

“… well?” asked the one with the long greasy hair. “Do you have it?”

There was no way these kids were serious.

Tobey shook his head in disbelief. “You’re not serious.”

The one with a bad case of acne threw his hands up in exasperation. “Dude, for fuck’s sake!”

Tobey looked over at the other man behind the video store counter, feet up, sketch pad in lap. “I think these guys are serious.”

The third teenager was pale and wore a lot of heavy black eyeliner. He spoke in a flat monotone: “Catwoman. Do you have it or not?”

Tobey broke into a lopsided grin. “Oh, I get it. This is like a prank, right? Where’s the hidden camera?” Tobey propped his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “Am I gonna be on the internet?!”

Long Hair was reaching his limit. “C’mon, man, we just wanna rent the movie.”

Tobey’s grin dropped. “No joke?”

“Dude.”

“Catwoman?”

They were practically pleading. “Do you have it or not?”

Tobey stood back, somber. This was worse than he thought. “Holy fucking shit.” He turned again to the other guy behind the counter. “Kurt, these guys are actually serious.”

Kurt didn’t look up from his sketch pad. “Hm.”

Zits backhanded Long Hair’s chest. “This is ridiculous, man.  Let’s get outta here.”

Almost through this, Tobe.

Eyeliner started for the exit. “Fuck these asswipes.”

Fuck me.

“Alright, you fucking hormone-addled, gene-pool rejects. Listen.” Tobey leaned forward. “I can appreciate the fact that the three of you otherwise fine young gentlemen are undoubtedly blinded by your adolescent throes of puberty––to saying nothing of the ungodly amount of jizz sprayed in your eyes from the nonstop circle jerk that is your formative years––so it stands to reason that the mere notion of Halle Berry sporting a whip and a leather catsuit is enough to make you pop your collective nut––which, again, I do understand. Halle Berry is a fine specimen of the female gender and I myself have spent many a lonely night pondering Ms. Berry’s lithe and supple … skills.”

Tobey lost himself for a moment and the three teenagers stared at him in confusion. Tobey nodded absently and then returned to the conversation.

“Fellas,” he implored. “All that being said, you cannot tell me that simple, unabashed horniness is just cause for what will amount to the severe rapage of your individual minds––a tragic and unavoidable fate that you will all most assuredly fall victim to should you proceed to rent the motion picture that is Catwoman.”

To buy themselves a moment to process Tobey’s rant, the three teenagers blinked at him.

“… yes?” Zits said, lacking any sense of surety of himself.

Tobey sighed. Definitely worse than he thought. With a sad shake of his head: “Look, let me make a suggestion. Go with Monster’s Ball instead. It’s got our girl in it, bare titties and all. Lots of sex plus it’s a flick that won’t rot your brain. It’s a goddamned win-win for everybody. Especially you.”

Tobey pointed at Eyeliner before changing his mind. “Well, maybe not everybody.”

Eyeliner’s face was as a neutral as his voice. “Isn’t she fucking Billy Bob Thornton in that one?”

“So?”

Zits scowled. “Dude, that is so fucking nasty! He’s all old and wrinkly and shit.”

Tobey wanted to ram an ice pick in his own ear. “What the actual fuck, my man? We've already established that you're watching the flick for Halle Berry's tits, not Billy Bob's ball sack! What the fuck do you care what he looks like?!”

“We don’t!” Long Hair cried. “We just care about Catwoman!”

Tobey threw his hands in the air. There was no reasoning with these kids. “Okay, fine. I see how it is. Get out.”

Incredulous offense from Zits. “What?!”

Ineffable deadpan from Eyeliner. “You’re throwing us out?”

“No. Right now I’m asking you to leave in a gentle yet firm manner, as to assert a polite yet authoritative dominance over this conversation,” Tobey said. “In about twenty seconds I’ll be throwing you out.”

“We just want to rent a movie!” Zits said through gritted teeth and mounting frustration.

“Incorrect,” Tobey responded, raising an index finger. “You want to rent shit. There is a difference, although I can see that the lack of immediate release has caused the cum to bubble up and disorient your brain cells, inhibiting logical cognition. Regardless, I don’t even carry Catwoman since I have a very strict policy on stocking crappy movies.”

Long Hair tilted his head, waiting. “What’s your policy on stocking crappy movies?”

Eyeliner with the deadpan punchline: “He doesn’t.”

“––I don’t,” Tobey said at the same time. He shot Eyeliner an exasperated glare. “C’mon, dude!”

Eyeliner shrugged a shoulder.

Tobey leaned forward. “Now why don’t you three numb-nuts find yourselves a tittie mag, have a circle jerk, and just be done with it already, okay?”

Eyeliner scoffed indifferently. “This is bullshit. Let’s bounce, boys.”

Tobey nodded. “That’s right. But be sure to use plenty of lube. Too much bouncing chafes the shaft.”

Zits lunged across the counter but Long Hair pulled him back. “Fuck you, asshole.���

Tobey glanced down and flipped a page in his Indie Film magazine. “Mm. Clever.”

Zits straightened. He had one card left to play and he was entirely too confident in the move. “Hey. I wanna speak to the manager. Dick.”

Tobey looked up from his magazine. “I am the manager, you dipshit. Now get the hell out of my store before I call the fucking cops and have them throw you out.”

The three teenagers exchanged looks before stumbling to the exit, muttering various expletives under their breaths as they went.

“Yeah, I heard all of that!” Tobey called after them as the bell on the door jingled.

“You handled that well,” Kurt said from behind Tobey.

“You could have jumped in at any time there, buddy.”

“Seemed like you had it handled,” Kurt shrugged.

A young woman stepped up to the counter. Straight blonde hair to her shoulders and curves that Tobey drank in an instant glance, imperceptible the casual observer.

She perceived it. She always did.

“He didn’t have it handled,” the young woman said flatly, placing three DVDs and a member card on the counter.

“I had it handled,” Tobey insisted while he scanned her card. “Sure, I could have used some backup from behind the counter but that’s not to dismiss the overall nature of the situation behind, generally, handled.”

Kurt set his sketch pad aside and fiddled with a television set on the counter. A low-quality video continued playing––it looked like someone had used a cheap video camera to record a movie theater screen.

The girl’s eyebrow went up. “Is that Star Wars?”

Tobey didn’t look. He didn’t have to since they’d been watching the bootleg on a loop for three days. “Yep.”

“The new one?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That just came out in theaters?”

Tobey looked up from scanning the DVDs. “Wow. You’re a regular Veronica Mars. Can’t slip anything past you.”

She all but rolled her eyes and he decided to dial back the sarcasm.

“Yes, Kurt downloaded it a few days ago,” Tobey explained. “I mean, yeah, I paid to see the first two prequels but there was no way in hell I was gonna be stupid enough to let George Fucking Lucas screw me out of another eight bucks for yet another pile of shit he so fondly refers to as epic Star Wars lore.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“It fucking should be.”

“I meant the downloading.”

Tobey held up the three DVDs. “I’m sorry, did you want to rent these movies—” he glanced at the computer screen, “––Alyssa Tanner of 9000 East Westmore Drive, apartment 263? Or is harassing me over my moral obligation to protest the misguided artistic values of a corrupt media empire entertainment enough for you?”

Kurt shot a sideways glance and muttered: “Misguided artistic values?!”

Alyssa shrugged indifferently. “I just thought that in light of your current career path, you might have a better appreciation for the damage caused by downloading movies illegally.”

Kurt put his feet back up on the counter as he turned his attention back to the sketch pad. “Here we go …”

“The damage I cause?!” The mock in Tobey’s outrage was mild at best. “What about the damage George Lucas caused with these blatant cash grabs? Have you seen all the advertisements for this one? He’s spending millions of dollars convincing the world that it’s the greatest film ever!”

“And you’re saying it’s not?”

“If it’s possible, this one is even worse than the last two combined,” Tobey said gravely.

“Dude,” Kurt said, pointing at the television. “It’s the Vader scene.”

Tobey’s hands went up. “Perfect!” To Alyssa: “This is what I’m talking about. This shit is fucking hilarious.”

Alyssa looked at the television as the bootleg copy of Revenge of the Sith played. Darth Vader found out that he killed his girlfriend, clomped around like Frankenstein and then cried out, ‘Nooooo!’

Tobey clicked the television off.

“The only good thing about this movie is that it’s so bad it’s funny,” he said. “We’ve been watching it for days and that Vader scene just keeps getting funnier.”

“You don’t think Lucas deserves a little credit for closing the loop on A New Hope?”

“Does Adolf Hitler deserve credit for closing the loop on World War II?”

“First of all, Hitler lost—”

“Which effectively closed the loop—”

“—and secondly, you’re comparing a movie to a war that literally killed tens of millions of people?!” Alyssa balked.

“I’m comparing three movies to a war that killed tens of millions––”

“Dude!” Kurt cut in.

Tobey sighed. “Fine. Okay. Maybe the prequels aren’t, like, genocide bad––”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“But they’re still pretty bad.”

At one point, not so long ago, Alyssa had been amused and slightly intrigued by Tobey’s acerbic banter.

That moment had passed.

An awkward silence clung to the air inside the video store. Alyssa glanced at the exit. Kurt’s pencil scratched at his sketch pad.

Tobey held up Alyssa’s rentals. “… you want your movies?”

She took them from Tobey. “Yeah. Thanks.”

She turned for the door and then stopped. “Um …”

“Three day rentals. Due back on Thursday.”

Alyssa turned back to the counter. She grimaced. “Actually, uh, that bootleg—”

Tobey held up a hand. “Wait. Are you saying—”

Alyssa shrugged half-heartedly.

“You wanna borrow my illegally downloaded copy of Revenge of the Sith?”

“I mean, if it’s so bad, you wouldn’t mind letting go of it for a few days,” Alyssa suggested. “Right?”

Tobey studied her grey eyes. There was something about this girl. He chewed his lip, thinking.

“Well?”

Tobey nodded slowly. “Okay, uh, lemme think of a creative way of saying this …” Tobey rubbed his chin and then raised an index finger to the sky. “Oh, I know!”

Tobey threw his hands in the air. “Nooooo!”

*

A VHS rewinder ground on old tape and Kurt cursed as he mashed the eject button, popping the machine open.

“Goddammit,” Kurt seethed. “Why the hell are we still stocking VHS?”

“Same reason we don’t open until four in the afternoon,” Tobey replied as he gathered an armful of DVDs to re-shelve.

“Because you’re too lazy to wake up in the morning?”

“No, because despite appearances, we’re here to serve our customers, Kurt,” Tobey said, strolling the aisles. “Working class Americans. The nine-to-fivers. People rent videos on their way home from work.” Tobey placed a DVD on the shelf. “Or in the middle of the night. There’s been studies. Or something.”

Kurt finished untangling the botched tape and tossed it into the trash. “So what you’re saying is that you’ve got a firm grasp on psychological makeup of our clientele.”

“I’m a savante that way.”

“An idiot savante, sure,” Kurt said with an eye roll.

Tobey placed another DVD. “People mock what they don’t understand.”

“So what about that girl, Alyssa?”

“Pretty sure nobody mocks her,” Tobey replied, scanning a shelf. “Fear her, maybe. Beauty is intimidating. Intelligence doubly so. Beauty and intelligence—”

“I meant her psychological makeup.”

Tobey shrugged absently. “If it’s anything like her physical makeup—”

Kurt sighed. “I mean: why does she come in so often? She was just here yesterday.”

Tobey glanced over at his long-time friend. “She had a two-day rental, Kurt,” he said flatly.

“And that explains why she was here for the past five days in a row, how exactly?” Kurt asked patiently.

Tobey pondered this half-heartedly. “She likes movies?”

Kurt went back to his sketch pad. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m an idiot with a stalker, according to you,” Tobey said, shelving the last DVD and returning to his spot behind the counter.

“She’s not a stalker. She’s a nice girl.”

Naughty thoughts ran through Tobey’s head and his eyes went wide. “I bet she is.”

Kurt put his pencil down. “You know, people might actually like you if you weren’t so sarcastic all the time.”

“What are you talking about? People like me. You’re the one who pointed out that I have a stalker,” Tobey said. “Plus, you’re a person, too. You like me.”

Kurt tilted his hand back and forth. “Eh.”

Tobey shrugged indifferently. “Friends come and go. Porn is forever.”

“That sixty-inch TV in your bedroom working out well for you?”

Tobey turned and leaned against the counter, facing Kurt. “I watch it as I fall asleep so that I have pleasant dreams. Of vaginas.” Tobey spread his hands an arms-length apart. “Ten feet wide.”

“So what you’re saying is that the addition of the big-screen pornocopia has obviated any pressing need to actually be liked by the fairer sex?”

“Who needs to be liked when you have a stalker? Plus, there’s always Horatio.”

Kurt blinked. “Who the hell is Horatio?”

Tobey held up his left hand. “We have a very intimate relationship. He knows how to please me in ways that most women just don’t understand. And yes, the big screen pornocopia helps.”

The bell on the door jangled.

“A vagina ten feet wide?” Kurt asked.

“Ten feet wide.”

“You call your hand Horatio?”

“You spend all day drawing superheroes with their dongs out,” Tobey said.

Kurt nodded. “Point.”

“Good to see you’re being as professional as ever.” The voice came from the other side of the counter. It sounded tired and annoyed.

Tobey frowned and didn’t bother to turn around. He grabbed his film magazine. “You know what? Fuck off, my dude. I don’t have time for your shit right now.”

The man on the other side of the counter glanced around the empty video store. “I can see that,” he said. “These late hours of yours really keep the place hopping.”

Tobey sighed and deliberately turned around to face his older brother. “Fuck you very much, Walt.”

Tobey’s brother was two years older and looked about as tired as he sounded. A dark suit with a loosened tie, coifed hair grown limp, distinct bags under his eyes.

Walt help up his hands in a show of  surrender, car keys dangling from his right fingers. “Just here to drop the car off. I’ve got a guy coming first thing in the morning to detail it. Karen’s picking me up in a few minutes.”

Walt tossed the keys to Tobey. They hit him on the chest and bounced on the counter. They stared at each other for an awkward moment.

Kurt focused intently on giving She-Hulk a very large, very veiny cock.

“Uh, last I checked, I’m not your fucking valet, Walt,” Tobey said.

Walt sighed wearily. “I’m not asking you to be—”

“Cause you just up and threw those keys like––”

“Tobey, we need to talk.”

“I really can’t see why.”

“Can we just––”

“Get the fuck out of my store, Walter,” Tobey growled from across the counter.

Walt ran a hand through his hair. “… it’s gonna be five years next month.”

Kurt glanced up and could see Tobey visibly tense, clenching his fists. He promptly looked back down.

“Yeah, so?”

“So …” Walt said slowly as he nodded. “… I want you to come visit them with me.”

Walt tried to meet Tobey’s eyes but the anger shooting across from his brother was brutal.

“… I think it’ll be good for you, Tobe,” Walt said softly.

“No.”

“Tobey––”

“I haven’t gone yet,” Tobey spat out the words. “I’m not going to go and I’m certainly not ever going to go with you.”

“Tobe––”

Tobey cut him off. “Just get the fuck out, Walt. You can wait for Karen outside.”

“I want to talk about the store.”

Tobey’s hands went up. “There it is! Jesus fucking Christ. You lasted all of two minutes that time, Walter. When are you gonna give that one up? They left it to me, cut and dry.”

Kurt decided that She-Hulk’s cock wasn’t big enough and needed to be more throbby.

Tobey shot lasers at his brother. “… you don’t have anything to do with Videorama.”

“Yeah. Okay. You’re right,” Walt conceded. “I haven’t had anything to do with the store for a long time. But that’s not how I want it to be.”

“Well boo-fucking-hoo,” Tobey spat. “It’s not like you have a lot of options since, again, they left it to me, cut and dry.”

Walt straightened his shoulders and looked up, meeting his younger brother’s icy gaze. “Tobey,” he said, “I want to buy the store.”

Tobey’s anger kept his mouth moving before the words registered. “Don’t even fucking––wait––no––what?”

Walt swallowed. “I want to buy Videorama from you.”

For once, Tobey had absolutely nothing to say.

In the silence, Kurt’s pencil slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor.

“Oh, nooooo,” Kurt said through a quiet grimace.

###

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.

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