#its my sketchbook! its my art! its me! i need to be sincere with myself. i need to be honest with the paper

[sludgeguzzler]

i really need to like. step up and start doing art about the stuff that bothers me. i only draw what i think is pretty or looks nice or would be cool to show people. i need to draw something that makes me want to hide my sketchbook. i need to draw something so deeply personal and raw i feel bad about showing it to people. i need to basically vomit whatever i think abiut onto the paper and then call it a day

[lunarianillusion]

A change in fate

a maribat fanfic

Chapter 02

Along with the changes to her room, Marinette had also changed her wardrobe. She now wore a cropped baby blue hoodie over a grey-purple shirt, that matched her leggings. Over her leggings she wore a high waisted demin coloured skirt with matching heeled ankle boots. A new larger purse, more a satchel really, hung from her shoulder. It allowed her to carry her sketchbook and other tools more easily. Her hair now mostly hung lose over her shoulders with two braids coming from the sides and connecting at the back of her head.

Once she was ready Marinette walked at an easy pace to the agreed meeting spot. Duusu Had taken to hiding within her hood, so that they could drink in all of the sights. Being both not used for a hundred or so years and being broken, made this a real treat for the little peafowl. Marinette could practically feel the little god vibrating with joy, to be outside in the world again. 

The sun was shining through the clouds and a soft breeze made the early autumn leaves rustle in the trees, as the two reached the park. Marinette could already spot the red-haired omega sitting on a bench close to the pond in the shade of a willow tree. He was fidgeting with a pencil and his sketch book lay on his lap. His posture looked tense.

By the look of it he too had a wardrobe change. Marinette was gonna bet that Marc had helped with the ensemble. Those two were inseparable. He wore a white long-sleeved turtleneck shirt with grey stripes on his chest. Faded navy pants and a jacked tied around his waist. A black and white backpack with rainbow details sat beside him.

“Hey, Nathaniel,” Marinette called out, gaining said boy’s attention as she neared.

“Hey, Marinette,” Nathaniel greeted, his shoulders losing the smallest amount of tension. “Glad you could come. I hope you weren’t too busy.”

“Circumstances made it so that I had nothing scheduled today. But I do hope you were not lying about it being important. Otherwise I will send the Fury’s of art upon thee,” The blue-eyed girl exclaimed in a posh voice. Marinette hoped that it would lighten some of the tension that was flowing through the air and it seemed to work. There was no need for an Akuma today.

“Oh, I beg mercy of thee. Do not condemn me to such a fate, for I would not dare to break my vow,” Nathaniel exclaimed in kind, placing his hand on his heart. It made both of the omegas chuckle and the hidden kwami purr softly.

“So, what is it you wanted to talk about?” Marinette asked, as nonchalant as possible. As she sat down on the bench and pulled out a thermos from her satchel. Which held the gods elixir, coffee. “It sounded quite urgent from your text.”

“Yeah, it is,” Nathaniel said sheepishly, scratching his neck. “But it is not an easy subject to start a conversation with. Or to talk about in general, I believe. So, let me first ask you how you are feeling. I know you have probably had this question asked to many times already. But I know what it is like to be akumatized and of the nightmares that follow so don’t try to say that all is just hunky-dory great.”

Marinette hummed at his words, raising an amused eyebrow at the last bit. Before turning her gaze away from the redhead. Her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any uninvited guests. While she knew Nathaniel would keep to his word the scent anxiety kept her slightly on edge. Paranoia had settled deep into her over the past few years. Only the little hidden kwami’s presence was what kept her calm. For Duusu would inform her if someone with bad intentions was to come close.

After a moment of thought Marinette answered. “I was a bit shaken after the whole event, who wouldn’t? All considered though, I think I am doing pretty good.”

After the whole reveal of her being a true soul, Duusu had helped sort out her emotions. They had given her a few suggestions on how to more healthily coupe with the more negative ones. Who knew writing your problems down on a slip of paper and then watching it burn could be so therapeutic.

She turned her gaze back to Nathaniel. “As for the subject of our meeting. Just be blunt about and we will go from there. Keeping it bottled up and it will only stress you out over time and I really don’t wanna deal with an akuma right now,” She accentuated the last part of her statement.

“Yeah, that would really kill the mood wouldn’t it,” Nathaniel sighed. He took a small breath to collect his courage as Marinette took another sip of her coffee. Then Nathaniel bluntly stated: “I know that you are the original ladybug.”

Cue spit-take from Marinette. Mental panic has reached its peak! Abort!! ABORT!!!

“Uhm…I don’t know wha-”

“Don’t even try Marinette. The amount of times I saw ladybug land on your balcony only for you to leave through the front door and vice versa. Was a big enough give away. After that your physiques just matched up,” Nathaniel boldly interrupted. Leaving Marinette in a stunned wide-eyed stare. “Hey, I might not be a fashion designer, but I am an artist and have an eye for these details just like you.” He said quickly with a small stutter. Since he was feeling a little unnerved at her wide-eyed stare. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

“How long have you known?” The female omega asked tentively, her scent spiked with anxiety. Her body language screamed that she was ready to bolt.

“For maybe seven months now,” Nathaniel replied carefully.

“Did you tell anyone?” Marinette asked further, the tension not leaving her.

“I told no one, not even Marc. I know of the importance and reasons behind a hero’s secret identity,” Nathaniel told her sincerely, allowing Marinette to breathe a small sigh of relief. The redhead then let out a small growl of annoyance. “Unlike a certain tabloid reporter and two-faced liar.” Now that that really got the noir haired girl’s attention even more than him knowing her secret.

“The spell broke,” Marinette whispered as his words settled into her brain as her eyes widened even more, if that was even possible, in surprise. While she had been frightened at the fact of him knowing her secret, but he had not told anyone. She could tell that he was honest in the fact that he had not told anyone.  Since otherwise her identity would have probably been public news by now. Secrets like this would spread around like wildfire with the slightest slip off the tongue.

So, she was now more interested in the fact that he called Rossi a liar. It meant that he had broken through her spell and she wanted to know how he came to this revelation. Had it come after he had fond out about her hidden I.D. or was it something else. She was practically vibrating with a curious need to know and asked him about it.

Nathaniel turned his eyes to the sky, several emotions running trough them. Most prominent was the look of shame and pain. “It did weaken her hold over me, but what really made me realise she was a liar was when she promised to introduce me to one of my idols. One I know to have passed away. I won’t say their name, but that really broke the illusion for me,” He spoke bitterly.

Marinette let out a pained hiss at that. Knowing how painful it is to have someone disrespect your inspirational idols in that manner. She softly rubbed his shoulder in comfort and gave a small apology. Nathaniel let out a gloomy laugh and turned his eyes to the ground.  “You have nothing to apologize for Marinette. I should be the one to apologize. For never mastering up the courage to stand up for you even after I realized Lie-la’s grandeur was nothing more than empty words. And I am truly sorry for that. Because after everything you have helped me with, I really should have.”

Marinette felt her heart flutter at his apology and then he just kept on rambling about how he should have stood up for her. How he should have trusted her. Making her feel hot tears gather in her eyes. She had waited so long to have one of her friends back and here was one. Trying his best to make amends and unlike the rest of her class, he had never hurt her in the same way the others had. He always remained kind to her even before he knew of her secret. He may have been afraid to stand up but did not try to ruin her life like the others. So, she had no trouble pulling him into a hug. At first it shocked the boy, but he gratefully returned the gesture.

“Don’t blame yourself. You did not do anything wrong. You did not turn your back to me like the others did. I don’t blame you for not standing up against Rossi. You would have only painted a target on your back, and she would have made you feel miserable. Like with me,” Marinette whispered. “And I need to thank you for keeping my secret all this time. It means the world to me.” Nathaniel tightened his hold on the girl as a few tears of relief and gratitude fell from his eyes, as the words left her mouth. Duusu nuzzled against her neck in comfort. A feeling of pride washing over the kwami of emotion at his little bird.

_____________________________________________________________________

After they let go of each other they settled back into more comfortable sitting positions. The atmosphere feeling lighter than it had been around them for a long while.

“If it is okay to ask,” Nathaniel spoke carefully. “Is the new ladybug permanent? Because if I am being honest, I don’t really trust her.”

Marinette let outa pained sigh. “I made a grave mistake and because of that this new ladybug has the ladybug miraculous. I don’t know how to rectify this mistake, but I will find a way. That is a promise.”

“You always find a way,” Nathaniel assured. “I’ll keep my eyes open as well. I might not be the bravest, but I want to help. After everything I need to help. Even the tiniest bit.” Marinette wanted to say he did not have to. He did not let her say it. “You have forgiven me, but now I need to forgive myself. So let me help. Paris is my home to.”

It made Marinette smile as she felt the sincere emotion and determination flood of her fellow omega. “Now if only I knew how Lie-la is capable of keeping our classmates and others at her bag and call. That might help take bit of stress of my back,” She sighed. Her eyes scanning the sky, hoping it held the answers.

This made Nathaniel scratch his neck again sheepishly. “Marc and I may have a theory on how she keeps everyone under her spell, actually,” He mumbled off.

Marinette whipped around so fast it was a wonder she did not get any whiplash. She grabbed the redhead’s shoulders and looked straight into his turquoise eyes. Her own silvery blue crystal eyes were ablaze with a cold fire. “Please explain how that two-faced bitch is killing all the fucking braincells of the people around us and turning them into fucking sheep,” Her voice had an icy chill to it that sent shivers up the Nathaniel’s spine.

“I didn’t know you could curse,” Nathaniel said trying to curl away from the internally raging female omega.

It resulted in Marinette raising an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Trust me when I say Chloe can swear like a bloody sailor. So, I learned a few things from her,” She huffed a small smirk on her face. She then let go of his shoulders, giving the redhead some room to breath, as a curios gaze replaced the once cold fire. “Please share. My curiosity is going to kill me.”

Before Nathaniel could start telling her about the theory however, a loud explosion penetrated the air. Both omegas turned to the source of the sound. A good distance away they saw a person a top a glider. They cackled madly as they threw loud explosives around.

Really Hawkmoth, can’t they have one day of peace? 

The answer: Nope.

“How about we continue this conversation tomorrow over lunch. Chloe and Marc can join in on the theory. I do believe Chloe will be thrilled to know how Lie-la is capable of maintaining the utterly ridiculous situation at school,” Marinette proposed. Her eyes never leaving the new akuma.

“You are going to investigate, aren’t you?” Nathaniel asked nervously. Marinette simply nodded not looking at him. He sighed, “I won’t be able to change your mind, will I? How can I help?”

“It would be best for you to get to safety,” Marinette advised. Turning to look him directly in the eye and stopping him from objecting. “You have no need to worry about me. I still have an ace up my sleeve. So, trust me,” She assured with a mischievous look in her eyes.

Nathaniel stared uneasily at his fellow omega before nodding. “Alright but be careful, okay, I better see you at school tomorrow.” Was the last thing he said before grabbing his stuff and turning away to go to one of the akuma shelters. Leaving Marinette alone.

Taking a quick survey of her surroundings, to make sure the coast was clear, she asked Duusu to come out. “Are you ready?” the little god asked. Marinette smirked in reply. Let’s see what they were capable of.

“Duusu, Spread my Feathers”

Authors note: hey i hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. a few people have been asking me about adding them to my taglist and being honest i am not sure of how to do that. i am still very new with tumblr, but once i finally stop being dumb i'll be sure to do that. i hope you will stick around to the rest of the story. stay save.

[inikavulpixelreviews]

Let’s Talk About Pokemon - The Rolycoly Family

837: Rolycoly

OHHHH!!!! OH OH!!!!! THE COAL MONSTER!!! THAT I PUT ON MY WISHLIST! OH How I instantly fell in love with this little guy when it was first revealed. This design is so neato in its lovable simplicity. At first glance it's little more than a chunky hunk of coal with a single eye. Oh, but they eye GLOWS as if it has coal burning on the inside! That on top of its general body shape makes it look like a living miner's helmet! Hah, how clever and original for a little coal critter!

It even has a unique ability that has it interacting with Fire and Water, boosting the Pokemon's speed if its hit with moves of those type! Cool! And how I LOVE that grumpy little visage it has. It's just a single eye but it still lends so much fun personality to the thing. But Rolycoly comes with a little something extra:

It's on a WHEEL! It has an entire wheel-shaped shard of coal on its underside that allows it to roll around like a unicycle! That is PRECIOUS! And boy howdy has the excitement for what this thing could possibly turn into get me pumped. So many neat Fakemon ideas floating around. That and I absolutely KNEW I was gonna be using a Rolycoly once I started playing the game myself. I just HAVE to see what this coal dude turns into!

Personal Score: 10/10

838: Carkol

Oh, well... hrmmmm. We're not off to a fantastic start, I guess. My instant turn-off on the other side of that evolution screen was that Rolycoly instantly lost its cool cycloptic eye in favor of a much more regular looking face. Why does it just look like Golem's face??? Like I can't stress this enough. If a Pokemon has a unique feature, especially one that is a rarity like a single eye, or a droopy face, or having shaggy hair cover the majority of its face, or even a complete LACK of face, it absolutely should NOT lose these features unless it has a compelling enough reason to, like fulfilling a design theme. There are so little Pokemon that are cycloptic that it's SO ANNOYING that it instantly fails at step 1.

I also don't really like that's already SORTA lost the wheels. They're there, and they function as wheels, but they're behaving a lot more like legs most of the time. It doesn't even keep its glowing eyes. They light up during certain animations but that's it. Nor do I like that a pile of coal is precariously going over its back. It makes it stop looking like a coal monster and just that it's a monster that carries coal. The shape of its back should evoke the look of a mine cart filled with coal and not BE a mine cart full of coal, if you get what I'm saying?

Even if it was just the face that was redone, I would've taken it. But if I could do a little tidying up and redoing of Carkol, it wouldn't take a TON to do it. The basic shape is fine to me, just good lord please give it its face and wheels back.

Personal Score: 5.5/10

...But not all hope is lost just yet! There's loads of Pokemon with a good beginning, and low middle, and a good end. Awkward teenage stage am I right? Even if its face isn't just a single eye anymore, at least it's keeping the wheeled theme! In fact, you could really build off of that! Like making it a train! A TRAIN POKEMON, LIKE ON MY WISHLIST AGAIN! That'd be knocking out two birds with one piece of coal! Surely they couldn't possibly think of ditching that aspect of this line, especially since it's been present in two stages so far! Surely the least possible thing that could happen would be if this almost literal mine cart Pokemon had suddenly lost all its wheels and miraculously turned into a generic bipedal dinosaur that walks like literally any other Pokemon out of nowhere. That’d be like, the worst case scenario. But that wouldn’t happen, right?

...

...Right?

839: Coalossal

Not to come off as blunt right off the gate here but this did it. I didn't think it was gonna be possible. Gallade is no longer my least favorite Pokemon of all time. Because in the end, as much as you could say Gallade sullies the Gardevoir line's unique take on a knight just by association, you can at least IGNORE Gallade. Just evolve your male Kirlia into a Gardevoir anyway because Gardevoir is just better than Gallade in every way anywho. Gallade? Literally WHO??? But Coalossal is impossible to ignore if you were a fan of what Rolycoly was putting down. And even Gallade had a FEW merits to it. Coalossal has almost systematically taken every little bit of what has cool and unique about Rolycoly and thrown it out the window in favor of being an all-around copy-paste job.

Okay, for a moment, let's pretend Rolycoly and Carkol never existed. Coalossal was just a single-stage Pokemon on its own in a cave somewhere or whatever. What about Coalossal is individually unique to it and it alone? Sincerely close to absolutely nothing. No single individual aspect of this design is unique in any way. Want to know the major reason why? Because Coalossal already existed. We've already had Coalossal for about ten years now. But back then, we called it Rhyperior.

I'm personally not a gigantic fan of Rhyperior either, but look at this. This is absolutely comedic. They're the fucking same. They are the SAME creature. Coalossal is nothing but an off-color Rhyperior. Like come ON. At least Rhyperior has the benefit of having is rough body serve a visual motif where it's wearing construction gear, with sound-canceling headphones, complete with wrecking ball tail. A solid rock monster design, even if I personally prefer Rhydon. I can confidently look at Rhyperior and see that it’s gone through revisions, redraws, and polishes to make it unique even in its own evolutionary line.

Can I say the same for Coalossal? I honestly can't say I do. With Rhyperior fresh in mind, what's Coalossal's visual motif? It's made of coal, I guess? Its face SORT OF looks like a cowcatcher on a train. But here's a question, why doesn't it look MORE like a train if train was clearly a motif they wanted to go with? If it's a train monster, why is it bipedal in the first place?

The only bit of its design that's even a little eye-catching is the pile of coal clumsily piled onto its shoulders, but I already said why I don't like that. It makes it look like Coalossal itself isn't a coal monster, it just carries coal around. Besides, most well-done designs aught to still have at least some value to them even if you took away one aspect of said design. Rhyperior with a plain tail with no wrecking ball is still a funny construction site rhino man. Even Carkol with no coal on its back would've still been a weirdo mine cart monster. Coalossal without the pile of coal is just naked Rhyperior.

Things only get worse when you add Carkol and especially Rolycoly back into the equation. Rolycoly's unique features were that it was a coal monster with one eye, riding on a wheel and it's shaped like an object. Carkol at least continues most of this, mostly ridding of the single eye thing. Coalossal gets rid of all that's left. No more wheels, no more object shapes, no more fun, it's just a coal thing now. Literally the first thing that comes to your mind when you think “I want to make a coal monster.” A rough draft in monster design form, printed and published for the full release.

I have to wonder, how many questions of whether this looked good or not the decisions to make in a train monster but also a bipedal dinosaur-thing was a well enough thought-through idea? Is being a dinosaur with a cowcatcher on its head visually interesting? More visually interesting than its previous stages, where it had far more visual motifs going on? Was it a conscious decision to say yes or was there a time crunch where they had to settle on a “close enough” design to pad out the Pokedex?

And you know what's more than likely the thing that murdered this line? Time.

I feel bad for possibly implying it was going to be nothing but smooth sailing this Gen when I made my little Sword and Shield pre-review. Because the more I've dug into Gen 8 the more I've realized how many designs in here are heavily flawed. And I can only blame the very evident drop in quality on the clear lack of time Gamefreak has these days. Generations are getting shorter and shorter and it's starting to show. Had SwSh not happened for another couple years, I guarantee I wouldn't be making this rant right now. This kind of blunder is simply so uncharacteristic of Gamefreak's art department. Like say what you will about the games themselves but Pokemon's been running strong from Gens 5 to 7. It's hard to believe the same company that made creatures like Mimikyu, Buzzwole, Sigilyph, or Pumpkaboo churned out Coalossal here.

Here, I'll embarrass myself and share a bit of concept art of a personal project of mine. These designs aren't too terribly spectacular, are they? That's because they're just the rough drafts. The very first instance of me drawing a creature in order to have their design idea on paper, because I can flesh them out later. They’re very wonky looking, weirdly generic at best because later on, “Ash Wolf” there would later become...

“Billowolf”. And heck, it’s plenty possible that it’ll go through one more redesign or so before I’m fully satisfied with it. Coalossal feels like the former. A sketchbook doodle of a “coal dinosaur” base idea that was meant to be more fleshed out later but wasn’t given the opportunity.

And I'm noticing more and more that this is gonna be a repeat complaint going into Gen 8. Lots of ideas with decent or even excellent potential not being lived up to because the designs haven't been through enough revisions. We're well aware of an internal approval process that happens within Gamefreak for these Pokemon to get accepted, and I can only wonder if they just settled with “good enough” designs simply because they were running out of time. Like for PETE'S sake this annual release schedule needs to stop. I hope this new trend of DLC will alleviate the Pokemon Rush. Hell, I'd encourage it so long as they're fairly priced and maybe even bring in a handful of new Pokemon designs each. It's not quite a year off the constant Poketrain but DLC is a lot easier to make than an entirely new game or even a “deluxe edition”. I don't care if we go back to a release schedule of one generation per major Nintendo system. Just let these guys have the time and leeway to do their dang jobs without the stress of ridiculously tight deadlines. There's still so much talent within Gamefreak and it's maybe easy to forget that they're the ones that made the more beloved entries in the series back before they forced a game out almost every year.

And to be clear I DO NOT mean to say all this to shame whoever designed Coalossal, even if they themselves are proud of it. Nor am I shaming anyone that does like Coalossal (just given I’ve gotten comments before acting like I’m being the opinion police with this review series.) Alarmingly enough, my taste isn’t law! And that’s fine. I’m just wondering if the higher-ups on the art team have given Coalossal a pass under less time-constrained circumstances? Or would they have sent it back in to go a few more rounds in a feedback loop? The basic point of this rant is just

Obviously, I'd want this line to follow through on the train motif and have Coalossal actually be a goddang train. And of course keep the single eye.

I do hear one of the defenses of Coalossal being dinosaur-shaped being that “it's a fossil fuel coming back to life.” If that was the intention, that should've been the theme from the very start instead of the rolling wheel idea. (Even under this light, I still wouldn't call Coalossal a very good design. It's far too generic to be doing even that cool idea justice. If that WAS the idea, I’d say it’d be way cooler to do a monster that’s moreso crudely trying to imitate the look of a dinosaur.)

...Awkward thing is, Coalossal wound up sticking in my team for the whole game. Mostly because I wasn't sure if any more new Fire types would be coming afterward (there weren't) so. My Sword team has my least favorite Pokemon on it. I still love ya though, Obsidius. It's not your fault your design wasn't finished. ):

Personal Score: 1/10

I'm sorry if it feels like I'm just dunking on Pokemon after Pokemon here. I PROMISE there's some Pokemon I'm excited to talk about coming up later. In fact, oooh, Applin's next! Applin will be a good palette cleanser, yes.

G-Max Coalossal:

Oh yeah, Coalossal has a G-Max form too. It's better, I'll give it that, and it SORTA brought the wheel thing back but only in having tire-shaped thighs. Pbbbth. The scale is imposing and at least its eyes look a little bit cooler again. I can't bring myself to like it much better just by association with Coalossal. It's fine, I guess. I'm not even gonna rate it. I just don’t like it. It’s fine. Eh.

[Archive]

[justanotherdeadgirlwalking]

That is Just the Saddest F**king Thing I Have Ever Heard.

TW obviously DEH is about a kid’s suicide, so it has those themes

other parts :)

Part Five. 

Art doesn’t just happen. It’s a process. You need a muse, an inspiration, something that lights a spark in your brain. Inspiration is everywhere. I’m surrounded constantly by beautiful bodies, beautiful faces. Sometimes you walk down the street and see how perfectly someone’s shoulders meet their slender neck, and the image burns into your mind. You want to see it in front of you again, but you can’t because that would require stalking the person to find them, and that’s super fucking creepy. So, you settle for the next best thing, you draw it. You sketch it over and over again until you get it right, and suddenly that woman is in front of you again. I prefer to draw people, because then you never run out of ideas. Faces are so unique; each body is different. There’s billions of people in the world, each one just waiting to be captured; I never run out of ideas. Eyes are like two little galaxies right in the center of the asteroid that is your face.

Putting together a portfolio has been a lot harder than I’d expected. I thought I’d just through my favorite drawings in a folder and call it a day. The only problem is, I hate literally everything I have ever drawn. Mom has always told me that my drawing look like photographs. That’s complete bullshit because you can see fingerprint smudges, and you can tell that one eye is significantly better than the other, and the noses look like shit. I literally want to redo every piece.

I’m not being one of those people that says their work is shit because they’re fishing for compliments, I know they’re good. I’ve been featured in district art shows, and I’ve won awards. And I’m not trying to sound like a cocky asshole either. Art is just the one thing in my life I have complete and total control over, and trust me, I took control. I can choose how it looks, I can make it as perfect, or imperfect as I want it. I had to beg my parents for the best pencils and canvas to use. I figured, I didn’t take music lessons or dance lessons like Zoe did, you guys can buy me some quality supplies. They didn’t want to waste money on the stuff if I wasn’t going to use it. As a child I tried a lot of sports and hated them. When I was ten, I joined the swim team. I practiced every day, for hours. I even talked Zoe into training with me, I made her time me, and yell at me in an angry German accent when I wasn’t making time. Then, after probably hundreds of hours of training, I decided that I didn’t like swimming before I even had the chance to compete. I guess they didn’t want me to do the same thing with art. Mom finally took me to an art store, like a real art store, when I proved to her I was serious about it. It was like going to Disney world. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of was right there in front of me. There was a wall of colored pencils. There were pencils in every color I could think of, and then some, colors I never even seen before. I stood there in awe. It was a game changer to use real colored pencils, not Crayola’s. Larry was so mad, he didn’t understand how art supplies could be so expensive. Well, I don’t understand why someone would spend $100 on a dozen golf balls either, so I guess we’re even.

Since I couldn’t realistically redo every piece of art I’ve ever made, I decided I would just use every piece that my art teacher loved and draw one new piece. It seemed like a good compromise. Miss Schmitt was the only person I really trust with anything. She’s always pushed me to keep going, not to give up on a piece and see it through. She didn’t teach me how to draw, you can’t teach talent, but she always motivated me.

I really needed her motivation now. There was one person I really wanted to draw, but I seemed to have a mental block on what they looked like. Miss Schmitt told me to use a reference picture, but I didn’t want anyone to know who I was drawing. It would make me look psycho, and people finally stopped thinking I was a freak.  I couldn’t bring myself to draw his face, so I drew his body. I drew his New Balance sneakers and his mal fitting khakis. I spent hours trying to replicate the crease down the front of his pants just right. I even made a special trip to the art store to make sure I found the right shades of blue for his stupid stripped shirt. I got an off-white colored pencil so I could shade his cast just right. Evan’s arm may not be broken anymore, but when I think of him, I think of him in his cast, just after I signed it. When everything was still really real and made sense.

I’ve become obsessed with him. How could I not be, he was my one and only friend. Except, that wasn’t true, and he used me for a better life. I really wanted nothing to do with him, but at the same time I wanted to know everything about him. It didn’t help that he was always around.

There was a knock on my door. “Come in” I called, snapping my sketchbook shut. I looked up to see Evan in my room, behind him, Zoe was peering in, almost hiding. “What’s up” I asked them, annoyed. Evan stands there for a second, looking down and playing with his fingers. I cleared my throat to get his attention.

“Um, me and Zoe want to talk to you” he spits out in a nervous stutter. I motion for them to come in. Zoe comes in and sits on my bed, not looking at me. Evan stands still for another moment before pulling the door shut and sitting on the ground where he stood. Everyone is silent for a moment, avoiding eye contact. I cough loudly to end the awkwardness.

“What did you guys want to talk about?” I ask.

Its Zoe that answers, softly, her voice breaking, “I want answers,” she says. Well kid, that makes two of us. “Why did you try to kill yourself.”

I feel like I was kicked in the chest. I don’t really have an explanation as to why. I just did. It was impulsive, seemed like the right thing to do in the moment. I wasn’t suicidal, and I wasn’t depressed beyond my normal gloom and doom. I just did it because I felt like it. I wasn’t feeling helpless or worthless, just bored. Except, I can’t tell her that. “Connor?” she asks. I just stare at her, hoping she will drop it. She meets my gaze and raises an eyebrow. She looks so sad, so broken. I must have really hurt her.

“I don’t want to talk about it” I say.

She sighs and balls her fists and taps them against her legs. She didn’t like that answer. I get it. I’d want to know too, I guess. Except, there’s nothing to know. Except, I wasn’t as important to her as she is to me.

“In the emails you wrote to Evan,” she starts. Oh, great the fake emails, “you were doing so well. Please you don’t need to tell me everything, but I just want to know what happened”

“I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it.” I snap.

Evan coughs, bringing attention to himself. I forgot he was here for a second. He looks nervous, really nervous. I don’t blame him, I could blow up his whole life right now with the truth. “Maybe he needs more time Zoe” he says. I give him a dirty look.

Zoe slams her hand against the bed, “You’ve had months,” she yells, “How much more time do you need. How do you go from climbing trees with Evan to killing yourself in a park?”

“Zoe,” Evan says, “you remember what you read, you don’t want to trigger him.” Trigger me? Okay Evan, you just don’t want me to tell the truth. Evan stands and opens the door, motioning for Zoe to leave. She looks at me again, pleading me with her eyes, then gets up and leaves. Evan lingers for a moment, watching her walk down the hall to her room. He steps back in and slams the door.

“We need to talk f-for real,” He says.

“Oh, for sure” I say, standing up and covering the distance between us until I’m towering over him, “Let’s talk about how you’re taking advantage of my entire fucking family.”

He’s beet red. “I’m not” he says, looking at the floor.

“Hey buddy, we’re not friends, we never were friends, and we’re probably never going to be friends.” I say

“Wh-why not?” he whispers.

“News flash,” I yell, “the first and only time I ever talked to you was when I signed your cast remember? You lied to everyone, and you’re a shitty liar.”

Evan is silent, he’s staring at the ground and pulling at his fingers. I watch him as he scratches his neck, pulls his ear, shifts his weight. I’ve thought Evan and I were the same; neither of us had friends because we were outcasts so to speak. He was just socially awkward, whereas I was the school freak. But I could tell he felt the same stuff I felt. The same wish that someone would notice us, that we were both on the outside, always looking in. Maybe if things were different we would be friends. I tried reaching out to him, but he was too self-absorbed with his own issues to notice me. And now, I am somehow engulfed in his issues. He took my suicide and made it about him. He lied to my parents and Zoe and the whole world. Evan Hansen was a nobody, a barely in the background kind of guy, and now his basically an internet celebrity. And me? People still don’t care about me, but at least they’re nice to me now.

I think that’s why I’m so angry about the whole situation. He got what he always wanted, he got his dreams come true. He got a taste of a perfect life, so he did what he had to do. But it ends now. I hope it was fun and he had a blast while he dragged me along.

“Did you read the emails?” Evan finally asks. I read them. He wrote a story of a perfect friendship. Friends that quote their favorite bands and tells jokes nobody understands except us two, and there’s nothing that we can’t discus, like girls we wish would notice us but never do. He even included me encouraging him to go after my sister. The fucking creep.

“Dear Evan Hansen,” I say, “You either tell Zoe and my parents the truth, or I will.” I open my door and shove him out of my room, “Sincerely, me.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

a painted lady 

[carol danvers x reader]

author’s note: i started watching iasip and it’s so funnyyy i love it so much. anyway, here’s something short and sweet for my girl carol. hope you enjoy  <3

word count: 2,737

Spring announces its arrival with the melting of the snow and the crisp mornings which give way to a sunny afternoon and a gentle breeze not nearly as harsh as the winter gusts that makes cheeks flush and stings the sensitive skin. Warmer weather begins popping up on the forecast. The days grow longer. The flowers bloom. There are many telltale signs to the changing of the season, but this year, they’re joined by a rare spectacle that has become the main topic for news stations and strangers making small talk in the coffee shops or at bus stops.

Channel 2 is on mute, but Carol hasn’t bothered un-muting it or even looking at the screen, since the view outside the bedroom window is exactly the same. Butterflies flutter past the glass in great numbers, taking their time with the plants on the front lawn. The neighbors’ houses aren’t bound to be any different, nor would anywhere else in town really. Seeing butterflies isn’t out of the ordinary when spring is approaching, but what is out of the ordinary is just how many there are. They’re everywhere.

Carol catches the sight of orange wings with black bands on them, and speculates aloud. “Monarchs?” To an outside observer, it might appear as though she’s asking this to thin air.

“No. Painted ladies,” you respond from the ensuite bathroom. After you’ve combed the tangles out of your hair, you set the brush down and walk back into the bedroom. “A little smaller than monarchs.”

Carol hums in acknowledgment, and takes a few more seconds to study the bright swarm before she lets her hand drop and the curtain shifts back into place. She turns around and grins when she sees you across the room putting on your watch. You’re wearing your usual lip color today: a bold red shade that brings out your eyes. “You’re a painted lady.”

That color hadn’t always been a staple in your makeup routine, and Carol has the sneaking suspicion it had found its way there after she had mentioned how much she liked it on you the first time she saw you in it. You’d been so unsure of it then, but she genuinely liked it. While she had told you as much, she’s sure you also could tell by the sincerity in her voice and the earnestness on her face. Not that it’d be difficult for you pick up on what she is thinking. You read people like books and she’s your favorite novel, one you know from front cover to back.

Even at this distance, you notice her gaze lowering to your lips and you roll your eyes but you’re smiling too. “I guess I am.”

Carol had closed the gap between you as you made your comment, and she leans in close. You’re about to take a step back and tell her At least give it a minute! but it’s too late. She steals a kiss and laughs at your expression of playful incredulity.

“It hasn’t even dried down!” You reach up to wipe the bit of lipstick that had transferred to her mouth, then grab the compact on the dresser to check if you would have to re-apply any on yourself.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”  

“That’s what you say every day.”

“Well, it’s true.” She shrugs matter-of-factly.

And you can never even fake being irritated for too long. Once you’ve confirmed that your lipstick is finally completely dry and transfer-proof, you kiss her. This one lasts a little longer, and she meets you with equal enthusiasm. She smells the lavender perfume you wear—every morning, two small spritz, in the soft spots behind your ears. By now, she has your routine memorized, but that’s no surprise because you’re her favorite book too.

The butterflies are immortalized in a small piece you create for your art class. You wave it off as nothing special, but just as with every other instance Carol has had the opportunity to see your finished art sitting on the easel, oils still setting and your familiar signature with its trademark loops and elaborate flourishes (“My signature is not that fancy!”) tucked away in a corner, she shakes her head and says, “It’s amazing.”

You stand side by side, surveying the canvas like you’re in a museum studying a painting on the wall. You’re mulling it over, considering her compliment and staring at the butterflies and she’s right, you think. It’s not so bad at all. You can’t help smiling because of how supportive she is, has been, and would continue to be, for it’s in her nature to pick you up when you’re down, and a warmth bubbles in your chest.

“Thanks.”

Carol’s watched your artistic endeavors from the sidelines, which she has been happy to do. She doesn’t have much to complain about when she has the front row. As such, when you come home one day and ask if she’d help you with your newest project, her brows raise at the unexpected request.

“I don’t know how much help I can be, but sure. What is it?”

“I need a model.”

Her eyes light up and her grin is big. “How should I pose? Maybe something dramatic?” She rests her wait on one foot and juts out her hip, setting her hand on it and angling her head slightly downward so as to look up at you in mock seduction. “Or maybe something fancier?” She stands back up straight and reaches over to grab an apple from the fruit bowl, then holds it up as if scrutinizing it closely, her other arm folded neatly behind her back.

You laugh at the various poses she strikes, and she breaks character quickly, laughing as well. “No, nothing like that, although that would be pretty fun.” You take a deep breath as you calm down. “I’ll have to get back to you on pose ideas. I’m not really sure what mood I’m trying to go for here. The prompt was really vague.”

“But that’s good right? More open avenues.” Carol sets the apple back down and leans back against the counter with crossed arms.

“It is, but it can be overwhelming too… The key is just to let the inspiration come to me. If I try too hard to come up with ideas, I might just get more frustrated than anything else…”

While waiting for this inspiration, you fill your time with sketches, thumbnail drawings of people in motion and positioned this way and that. You also draw Carol quite a bit. It’s your warmup for when you move onto the real piece, and if she hadn’t noticed whenever you stared before, she definitely does now, catching your eyes as you look up at her then back down at your sketchbook.

You draw her over and over again, pages of your sketchbook filled with her face at different angles and wearing various expressions. Even if the drawings are hasty, the care behind each is apparent. You ache to understand every detail, the natural sway of her hair as she turns her head whenever you call her name; the crinkle of the corners of her eyes when she flashes you a wide smile; the high points of her cheeks that catch the sunlight just right. And Carol peers over your shoulder at these pictures and she knows exactly what you are trying to do and she understands that you don’t just see with your eyes. You see with your hands.

One slow morning you’re doing it again, sketchbook in your lap and pencil in hand. Carol’s still laying down, drifting in and out, her body trying to cling to the last bits of sleep but she can’t tune out the scribbling and scrawling and the erasing. She’s not mad about it though; she probably shouldn’t be trying to sleep this late into the day anyway. So she rolls onto her side and props herself up on her elbow to look at you better—you’re sitting cross-legged facing her, which means she can’t see the page.

“How many times is this now?” she asks to break the silence.

You glance up at her but don’t answer immediately, your eyes tracing the line of her jaw, which you then replicate on the paper. “I dunno. Haven’t been keeping count. But I need to make sure I get everything… perfect…” You trail off, enamored with your task.

The fact is, you don’t draw many people. Portraits aren’t your forte, and that’s the main reason you’ve had to draw Carol as many times as you have before you take out your paints. Still, she can’t resist teasing. “You’ve never drawn me before this, have you?”

“No…” More scribbling.

“This isn’t quite playing out like those romance movies where the artist draws their partner all the time.” She tries to sound disappointed, but it falls apart the moment you look at her with a raised brow, and she cracks a grin.

“Since when have you wanted one of those storybook romances?” you shoot back, playing along.

“Hm…” She purses her lips pretends to be deep in thought. “Ever since you started drawing me I guess. I have to admit, it’s flattering, and you make me look good.”

You chuckle. “While by this point I’m confident I could draw you from memory, drawing from reference is always better.” You grow quiet again, presumably putting the finishing touches on your newest study, then set it off to the side as you turn your attention back to Carol. “And for the record, I only draw what I observe, so if anything, you make you look good, not me.”

Carol’s not one for bashfulness, but there’s something about your tone and how you look at her that prompts her to avert her gaze as she suddenly finds the white bedsheets very interesting. She only ever reacts like this to compliments when they come from you because you’re the artist and you can find the beauty in everything so when you say that you found it in her, well, that’s the highest honor, isn’t it?

Her eyes slide back up and you’re grinning because you know what your words can do to her. You want her to love herself like she loves you. Plus, you won’t lie: you like having this power. Shy Carol is a rare sight (and a sight, she would tell you, is reserved solely for you).

Deciding the space between you is too great, you crawl forward into Carol’s bubble to kiss her and she welcomes you because really, her bubble’s got enough space for two.

When you paint, you tie your hair into a bun and use paintbrushes to hold it in place. Carol won’t admit it but she really likes when you do that. You also change into clothes you don’t care about getting dirty, like a ragged and flimsy shirt with loose threads and a pair of sweatpants with holes. They’re well-used and paint-stained, much like the plastic storage cabinets in your art room.

The designated art room of the house is organized chaos, but there’s a certain charm to it. It’s the physical manifestation of all the ideas you have in your head, and Carol feels privileged that she’s able to take a peek into your mind via the drawings taped to the walls and the sketchbooks stacked on the desk. It’s the room with the largest windows and she’s not surprised you’d created more butterfly paintings since the first one; you can see them all the time.

She’s seeing them right now from the glass sliding door leading to the backyard. It’s dark out, but a few painted ladies remain exploring, not yet ready to turn in for the night. Her cup of coffee has been empty for a few minutes now, and her attention only shifts when she hears your footsteps padding through the hallway.

“You okay?”

It’s late and the darkness always seems to warrant lowered voices. Your enquiry is gentle and fatigued, and Carol turns to look at you rubbing your eyes, an attempt to fight off sleep but that’s a losing battle.

“Yeah,” she replies, speaking quietly in turn. You join her in staring outside. “There’s been so many of those butterflies.” While the painted ladies have been around for a few weeks now, she, as well as many others in town, still like to reiterate the peculiarity of the occasion. The subject hasn’t gotten old, and it might not anytime soon. It’s too special to gloss over that easily.

You hum and smile sightly, and Carol spots it in the reflection on the glass. Then you tell her you’re going to clean up and go to bed. You sound faraway, evidence of sleep finally taking over, and she grins as she nods okay. She kisses you quickly and says good night.

As for her, she lingers for a short while before following your lead, taking her time washing her mug and setting it on the drying rack where it would be ready for the next day. One of your sketchbooks is on the dining table, so she picks it up and walks to your art room to return it. The only light on in the house is that in the bedroom, visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, but she needs none to find her way to her destination.

The moonlight pouring in from the windows is enough to illuminate the canvas sitting on the easel. After Carol sets the sketchbook down with the others, she walks over to inspect your current work in progress. It’s not finished, but you’ve completed enough of it that she recognizes herself staring back, and she understands that you don’t make paintings; you make mirrors.

This is your final draft, she realizes. It’s the culmination of all your studies, in which you’ve enshrined the planes of her face on paper and on canvas and in your mind because your soul will live forever and you carry the thought of her like a rabbit’s foot tucked into your pocket.

One of your sketchbooks is open on the desk next to the easel, and she picks it up so she can see the page more clearly. It’s from the morning you’d drawn her while in bed, the picture she hadn’t seen at the time. This is the reference you’re using. She’d been wondering why you hadn’t yet gotten back to her about pose ideas, or announced that you’d be starting the final piece so she’d better clear her Saturday to be your model. She just assumed you wanted more time to practice and to settle upon the perfect pose for the mood you wanted.

And the perfect pose, it would seem, was no pose at all. Carol’s posture in the drawing and the painting is relaxed, half her body concealed by the bedsheets she’d struggled to untangle herself from that morning (they’d just been so comfortable). She’s propping herself up on her elbow and the hand of her other arm rests atop the blankets. Her eyes stare directly ahead, like she’s watching the viewer, and even she’s unable to deny the sense of intimacy this affords. It makes the viewer an active participant rather than a mere observer, which appears to be your goal—you want the viewer in your shoes. You want them to feel what you feel.

Carol’s eyes switch back and forth from the sketchbook to the canvas, comparing the details. The painting is still missing a date and signature, but they’re present in the drawing, at the bottom and off to the side so as to be non-invasive. There’s a title too, in quotation marks: My Favorite Place. Her chest blooms with warmth and her lips curve in a fond smile. You want the viewer to feel at home.

There’s a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, an inexplicable mix of heaviness like there’s something there and an airiness like she’s about to sprout wings and lift off from the ground. Her heart wrenches hard enough she swears it might shatter—for you, always for you. She loves you with every bone in her body and perhaps the town’s influx of extraordinary visitors these last few weeks has been her doing because every time she thinks of you, she gets butterflies.

[mystblbk]

Chavela Valdes-Chapter 8(part1)

JULIANA POV

What started as a thrill-filled day ended up knocking me back to the ground after agreeing to go with Valentina for lunch. After a long walk down the stairs of Grupo Carvajal’s main staircase, Val convinced me to be the one to treat us to lunch. This is how we ended up at a rooftop restaurant that she and her family would frequent at an upscale hotel near one of Mexico City's parks: Parque España. Condesa DF was a lovely place. It had the vibe of San Antonio’s very own upscale hotels: urban, modern, and overpriced in every way. The second we went into the building and up the elevator to the fourth-floor restaurant.

Valentina had been a girl that, no matter how many expensive things she surrounded herself with, acted down to earth and was as kind as a saint. It wasn’t until I saw directly the type of environment that she lived in that the worry and inadequacy that i should have been feeling from day one set in. Luckily for me, Valentina read me correctly, again, and calmed me down with promises that due to their discreet staff and proximity to her school it was the best option to choose from. I sighed and acknowledged her need, allowing her to ask for a table on the terrace to the woman seating people. It seems like the woman recognized her as a waiter appears from thin air and calls Val’s name.

“This way, ladies,” the well-dressed waiter said, leading us to through open space.

My eyes take in the greenery of the nearby park along with the tree-lined streets and houses. There were always so many trees that it looked like a safari from one of my childhood biology books. What pulled me away from the skyline around me was the feeling of being stared at. My eyes glance at the people around us as we pass and I’m assured my place in society when my eyes meet well dressed narrow-eyed businessmen and Stepford wives with tipped up noses.

I look down to my Chucks and pull my jacket a bit closer around my body. My shuffling is stopped when a soft hand takes mine away from the lapels of my jacket. I look up and see turquoise eyes gently staring at me. I blush and look away only to have another hand pull my chin back to her. I look at Val and she smiles softly to me.

“I don’t care what they say,” she reminds me, “Let’s not let them ruin our lunch. Okay?”

I look into her eyes and only see sincerity. With a smile, I pull her by our intertwined hands to keep following the waiter near us. The man smiles to us as we reach a table at the corner of the terrace with the best view of the two intercrossing streets. He reaches for a chair to pull out but I raise a hand.

“Allow me,” I offer as an answer.

The man watches in shock as I pull the chair out and signal for Valentina to sit. She kisses my cheek as she sits and I push the chair in the appropriate space. The man snaps out of his shock and allows me to sit before handing us our menus. I try to ignore the stares and gawking as we order and the man leaves us be.

“So, what are you doing later today,” Val asks, taking my hand again.

I look down at our hands and smile, “The library.”

“Library?”

“Yeah. I was going to look up places to take you for our date.”

Twinkling eyes beam at me, “Oh really? Haven’t had time to look around the city yet?”

I shake my head with a laugh, “No. Work. Eat. Sleep. That’s the schedule.”

Val smiles at me, “Well, I have faith in you.”

“I won’t let you down.”

The woman pulls our entwined hands up. I watch, speechless, as she kisses my knuckles.

“I know you won’t.”

Icy-blue eyes meet my own and we stay staring at each other. An urge pulls at my chest as I take in the blue, white and surprisingly gold flecks in her eyes.

“Don’t move,” I whisper to her.

Val furrows her brows but stays silently watching as I pull out one of my sketchbooks from my bag. I open the worn blue book to an open page and pull out a sharp HB pencil. I look up at the heiress and wink at her. A curious smile is given to me as I place the book on the table and start drawing. I glance up at my subject every few seconds as I draw her profile. Val’s energy becomes excited and in awe, as I keep working at a fast pace. The minutes pass and we don’t talk. The sound of pencil on acid-free paper is the only noise our table makes. Before long the waiter returns with our drinks. I sigh and move to close the book but soft hands stop me.

“Let me see,” blue eyes plead to me, “Por favor, Juls?”

My eyes freeze as I take in her pout and wide eyes. My heart stutters as the shade of blue seduces me to I unconsciously nod to her. Val grins and takes the book from my loose fingers. The movement of pages wakes me up from my stupor and I make a move to take the book back.

“Wait-”

“Juls…”

I wince as Val stops at a few pages in. I look out to the safari around us in an attempt to feign disinterest and fear. I hear Val gasp as pages are turned. My thumbnail makes its way to my mouth as my nervous energy heightens to extremes at the noises she makes.

“Que hermoso.”

WHAT?!

My head whips to Val in a panic. The woman is staring down at my sketches, hopefully not too embarrassing ones, and softly tracing the shapes she sees on the page.

“How-,” she whispers, “How did you draw me so well?”

I gulp when she looks up, patiently waiting for my answer.

Sal’s words hit my heart again and I answer truthfully, “I told you, Val. I’m crazy about you. I can’t say that I don’t think because when I don’t think my mind turns to you. That book is a testament to how much that happens.”

Pale cheeks turn rosy and bright blue eyes seem to turn neon with energy. The woman looks down and I feel a hum in my soul as I watch as she grins down to the page.

“You’re such a charmer,” she whispers.

“You bring it out of me.”

She sighs dreamily and I accept her praises for once. I grab all my courage and turn to the page I was working on. Val gasp as she looks to the drawing.

“It’s not done…”

“It’s beautiful.”

I watch for a moment then speak my thoughts our aloud, “My art teacher said that there once was a woman who wished to have an artist fall in love with her.”

The woman in front of me looks up, “Que?”

“She was convinced that he would see her and love every part of her,” I continue, meeting her gaze, “All of her. Every curve. Every line. He would love her as she was because he would be able to understand that her uniqueness is what made her truly beautiful.”

The air in her lungs leaves her. My eyes watch as blue eye morph into something soft. Something that I have yet to see on her face. I breathe out raggedly and lick my lips to speak--

“Aqui esta, señoritas.”

I blink and the spell is broken. I begrudgingly turn to the waiter as he places the food in front of us.

“Perdon,” he says looking between us, “Did I interrupt?”

“No.”

“Sí.”

The man looks apologetic and smiles kindly to me before leaving. I sigh and turn back to Val. Her annoyed look turns a bit sad when she turns back to me.

“What timing,” she huffs.

A small smile tugs at my lips, “We have Saturday.”

Her eyes light up then, “All of Saturday?”

“Does that sound like something you would--”

“Yes!”

A laugh leaves me and I shake my head, “Okay, then. Let’s eat. You have to go to school and I don’t want your step-mom or your sister to yell at me for keeping you from going.”

This makes her huff but after I kiss her knuckles and she grins. I half-heartedly eat, content on watching the gorgeous woman in front of me. Ideas of sketches file themselves in my mind as time passes. Before long, Val is done and I proclaim I’m ready as well. She looks uncertain, mostly from seeing my half-eaten plate, but lets it go on one condition.

“I want this.”

My eyes turn to see the page she has turned to. It’s a picture of the park bench we met at. I look up at her in confusion but she simply smiles.

“I want a reminder.”

I grin at her, understanding her reason, and take the book. With a quick tug, the page is free and I hand it to her. Val stares at it and I see the same unknown emotion as before. She then looks up and it's gone.

“Let’s go.”

I manage to convince the older woman to allow me to walk home from her university once we arrive there. Though reluctant, the girl hugs me and kisses my cheek before walking up the stairs to the school. My eyes follow her silhouette until she’s gone through the entrance. I sigh happily and start walking to El Jardín. I walk slowly to a nearby bus stop and pull out my phone only to find a small white card in my hand with it. I look down at the card and furrow my brows. I turn it over and my eyes widen as I read what’s written

“What the?”

How are you going to pick me up if you don’t know my number, Romeo?

--Valentina

The note is written under Valentina's name and the new position in her family’s company. Just above the handwriting are three numbers. One number was circled with a little heart drawn next to it: her cell phone number. Valentina’s writing is loopy and large, girly and bold all at once and makes me grin as I read it then re-read it.

“Cleaver girl."

I tap the card on my hand and unconsciously pull up the card next to my nose. The same scent from the previous owner hits my nose.

“What are you doing to me, Valentina?” I whisper to myself.

I have no time to linger in thoughts as the bus arrives and I jump into it. The ride to the restaurant is slow enough for me to pull my book out and sketch her a few times. The bumps and sudden stops do nothing to harm my work, I’ve gotten used to the dreadful driving of the city bus drivers.

A few stops before reaching the restaurant my hand starts writing word near a pair of well-drawn eyes. I start hearing stums and beats while I keep writing. I start tapping with my other hand to the imaginary beat as I continue. The bus stops and I look up from my page.

Here.

I pull on my small backpack and grab my things. I hand the bus driver the eight pesos of fair and jump off the steps with ease. I huff and walk forward until I feel pain from my right hand. I look down and see the open page next to my cut skin. Furrowing my brows I read what I wrote.

Y aunque la vida, tal vez

Nos haya llevado por distintos caminos

No somos súper humanos

Para controlar o cambiar el destino

The words seem incoherent but for some reason, I hear the singing of guitars and beats of drums as I read them. I shake my head and continue walking into the resultant. As I enter I hear music playing from the stage area. I grin as I see some of my brothers jamming with smiles. I greet the staff that I pass and even get a smile from Carla. Sal looks up from his seat nearby and sees me. He waves me forward and I shrug the backpack off my shoulders and put my notebook on top of it.

“How did it go,” he asks when I sit next to him.

I sigh happily in response and he laughs.

“Good to hear,” he nods, “So...did you ask her?”

“Yes but now I need to come up with a date for Saturday.”

Salvador grins, “I have a few ideas.”

“Oh?”

“Do you trust me,” he smirks.

I nod slowly and he grins back.

“Alright. So, do you remember that on Saturday…”

[machihunnicutt]

FIC-VEMBER DAY ONE

Good lord, I’m late on day one. See y’all tomorrow, here’s some Anne.

When You Aren’t Looking

(or read on ao3.)

Anne had been pestering Marilla about her tea party menu all week. Naturally, pestering was Marilla’s word. Anne preferred “diligent reminding” or “dedicated attention to detail.” She couldn’t help it. This was the first tea party since the previous tea party’s fiasco, and Anne was going to get everything right this time.

“I’ve collected the things I need for the finger sandwiches,” she said, Saturday afternoon. She’d already been in the kitchen for hours, unsupervised, apart from Marilla’s frequent checking in, and was proud of her progress thus far. “The cheese and ham and cucumber slices...and oh, there are the scones!”

She rushed to the oven as Marilla watched her from the doorway.

“Now, Anne, don’t get carried away.”

“The scones are lemon and thyme. I think it will be an enchanting combination of flavors, don’t you?”

Marilla frowned. “Why now, I suppose it isn’t the most traditional of combinations, but they seem to have turned out just fine.”

Anne looked down at the golden tops of her steaming baked goods proudly.

“Diana and Cole should be here soon. All I need to do is finish the sandwiches and then move everything to my serving trays.”

Anne had set the table that morning: smooth beige table cloth, pine cones and holly arranged into a centerpiece, Marilla’s nice tea cups and platters with gold trimming that Anne had sworn on her life to protect, and neatly folded napkins. Anne set out her cooled scones and assembled the sandwiches. She laid out the food on the table.

“Well, you’ve done a lovely job Anne,” Marilla said sincerely, and Anne beamed.

“I think a tea party is just what we need,” she said. After the shock of Diana’s near “end of childhood”, the persistent injustices of Cole’s treatment at school, and Anne’s tragic loss of her hair, they needed something to lift their spirits.

Diana and Cole were impressed with the table. Anne took their coats and led them inside with her best impression of elegance and grace. Diana beamed at Anne’s centerpiece and told her the whole table looked like something out of a storybook.

Anne sat them down and did her duty as hostess.

The three of them liked to play adults sometimes, when all it meant was an afternoon of fancy things and mock seriousness. The game didn’t last long. They dissolved into giggles when Anne called Diana the beautiful and distinguished Ms. Barry as she offered her some tea.

Cole smiled one of his small but supremely happy smiles that made Anne feel particularly satisfied when they were directed at her. He took another bite of his scone.

“Show us some of your sketches, why don’t you?” Anne said. “I know you have your sketchbook with you.”

“That’s a great idea,” Diana chimed in. “If you don’t mind sharing, Cole.”

The kinship between the three of them was a relatively new development. Anne remembered the surprise written across Cole’s face when she led Diana and the other girls (save the snobbish Josie Pye) to sit with him at lunchtime. It brought up feelings from not all that long ago, the burning shame of being whispered about and ridiculed, of no one but Diana daring to share lunchtime with the orphan trash. Anne remembered tensing up every muscle in her body, like she was preparing herself for a fight, every time she entered the Avonlea School in the early days. She remembered how exhausting it had been to stay constantly on guard. It was exhausting but necessary, if you didn’t want them to see you cry.

She’d consulted Diana and Ruby before she invited Cole to the clubhouse. When they agreed with her assessment that he was a kindred spirit, she made him pinky swear to protect their fortress of friendship. She could see her own seriousness staring back at her when he agreed.

“They aren’t very good,” Cole was telling Diana. He tugged his sweater sleeves further over his hands as if they were so unskilled that they needed hiding. “I need more time to practice. But if you’d really like...”

“We’d be honored,” Anne cut in. “Wouldn’t we Diana?”

“Deeply honored,” Diana echoed.

Cole smiled. “It’s in my coat pocket. I’ll fetch it.”

Anne and Diana nodded attentively and he stood. When he returned, he handed it over the table to Anne, who took it with extreme care and placed it between her and Diana.

“I like drawing landscapes,” he said, as Anne opened the first page to a lovely drawing of a farmhouse and expansive fields. She and Diana took turns marveling at Cole’s detailed studies of Avonlea places: the schoolhouse’s exterior early in the morning, when deer weren’t scared away by the students and the sunlight created marvelous shadows; the creek in the wood, newley frozen over but still bursting with life in its cracks; and the clubhouse, looking enchanting and mossy as ever.

“Although, lately I’ve been trying portraits.”

Diana turned the page to a lovely sketch of herself. In it she was laughing, and Anne had to stop and really stare at the drawing because it was so close to the real Diana, not entirely in her physical representation, although he’d done a splendid job on that as well, but in the feeling Anne got when Diana laughed. Every bit of joy and fondness and deep pang of friendship was there, on paper. Anne could see as much about the artist as she could about his subject.

“That’s me!” Diana exclaimed, after a moment of held breath. “I’ve never seen myself like that,” she said, quietly.

“What do you think?” Cole replied, nervous  and not meeting their eyes. Anne watched Diana as she gathered the words to answer.

“I think it’s wonderful. Thank you,” she said, smiling at him in the way that brought out her dimples.

“It’s beautiful,” Anne said, and Cole looked up at her briefly. His face was flushed slightly, and Anne realized he wasn’t used to compliments. His art was something to hide: from Mr. Phillips’ ridicule, from Billy Andrews’ bullying, and from everyone in Avonlea who looked at him and thought him strange.

Diana turned the page. There were sketches of the girls at school: Diana, Tillie, Jane, and Ruby gossiping and smiling and huddling together at lunch time. They turned the pages through numerous sketches of their classmates, everyone who wasn’t nasty at least, including a whole page of Anne drawings.

There was Anne keenly focused on her school work. There was Anne telling a story with grand hand gestures. There she was looking determined and brave in front of the class, probably during the spelling competition. He’d drawn her with her braids and her hairstyle with ribbons, and even her short hair. There were more drawings of Anne than anyone else. They spanned several pages of poses and expressions, and Anne was about to say something when she turned the page again and was caught off guard.

Cole had drawn Gilbert Blythe. The sketch of him was beside the last of the group of Anne sketches. Gilbert was sitting at his desk at school, elbow on the table. His chin was leaning gently in his palm and his mouth was curled into a small smile. Cole had captured him effortlessly, from the dark tousle of his curls to the slouch of his shoulders. Anne hadn’t seen Gilbert like that though. His expression was so soft and open. He looked distracted, and almost romantic.

“I’ve only done that one of Gilbert,” Cole said, and Anne blinked, realizing she was still staring at the sketch. “I was meaning to draw you again, Anne. But I kept noticing him looking at you, and I hadn’t drawn any of the boys at school yet so I...” Cole hesitated. “You don’t think it’s strange, do you?”

“He was looking at me?” Anne said at the same time as Diana said. “It’s not strange at all.”

Now Diana and Cole were staring at her. They looked at each other briefly as Anne’s face flushed.

“I mean, I don’t care. Why would I care one bit what Gilbert Blythe does with his eyes?”

“I just thought he was an interesting subject. I don’t know why he was looking at you so intently,” Cole said.

“Intently,” Anne repeated, taken aback, though the drawing clearly indicated the careful intent with which Gilbert was looking.

“These really are lovely, Cole. Thank you for showing us,” Diana said, glancing over at the still flushed Anne.

“Yes, thank you,” Anne added.

“You can have one if you want,” Cole said, gesturing to the sketches. His hands had found their way out of the depths of his sleeves.

“Really? We can?” Diana’s face lit up.

“Of course. They’re all practice anyway,” he said.

“You should take that one, Anne,” Diana continued, pointing to the page.

“Of Gilbert?” Anne exclaimed.

“Of you,” Diana said, with a smirk. “The sketch of you beside the one of Gilbert.”

“Oh,” Anne said, feeling her face heat up again. “Right, of course.”

“You can take the whole page if you want, Anne,” Cole said. “If you don’t want to split them up,” he added.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to rip the paper down the middle,” Anne said. “It seems an awful shame to do something like that. And since they’re on the same page it’s like they’re a set...so,” she trailed off.

The Gilbert drawing was good, and Gilbert was her friend. It wasn’t strange to be interested in keeping it. There wasn’t any harm in that. It didn’t mean anything worth suspicious, knowing looks.

“Well, I’ll take this one,” Diana said, flipping to the page with the drawing of her laughing. “And I’ll keep it forever.”

Cole laughed and Diana tore the drawing out of the notebook with care.

“Your turn,” Diana said, handing over the sketchbook.

Anne turned to the drawing of her and of Gilbert, tore it out, and tucked it into her dress pocket before they could talk any more about it. The conversation changed, the contents of Cole’s sketchbook fading from their minds as the daylight began to fade from the sky.

She saw them out when they’re party was finished. Cole stopped her in the doorway.

“You won’t show Gilbert, will you?” He asked, hesitantly.

She looked at him with confusion.

“The drawing...” he continued. “I’m not really friends with the other boys at school, but he’s nice to me, at least. Well, really he’s nice to everyone.”

“When he isn’t being arrogant or competitive,” Anne cut in, rolling her eyes.

Cole cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t want him to think I was strange for drawing him. I wouldn’t want him to convince the other boys that I’m always watching them.”

“I don’t think it’s strange,” Anne said.

“I didn’t expect you to, Anne. You’re lovely and understanding. I don’t want to make myself seem more different than I already am.”

Anne wanted to say that Gilbert was different too, and Diana and Marilla and Matthew. All of the most important people in her life were perceived as too strange or sad. They all ignored what the mean-spirited, backward people in Avonlea had to say. Anne would never tell Gilbert that she included him on this list. She would never tell him that when he set off on the steamer to see the world, she thought the world of him. She thought he was special and brave and kind.

“I won’t tell Gilbert,” she said instead.

***

Roughly 15 minutes later, as Anne was clearing the table, Gilbert Blythe showed up on her doorstep.

“I’m sorry,” he said when she opened the door. Since the initial hair pulling fiasco, Gilbert Blythe had become increasingly apt in the art of apology.

“What are you apologizing for? You just got here.” Anne said. Gilbert’s dark hair was dusted in snow and his nose was bright red. He’d evidently forgotten his scarf.

“I’m sorry to be bothering you. Marilla said you were having a party and I...well, Matthew is giving Bash some pointers about farm work and I had to show him the way to Green Gables so I’m here. Marilla told me to go in because of the cold. Am I interrupting your party?” She detected a hint of hurt feelings in the way his voice tilted and shoulders tensed.

“No, my  honored guests have departed already. Come in,” she said. “It was a tea party,” she added. “With Diana and Cole.” She thought to add that she didn’t think he’d be interested, and had therefore elected not to extend an invitation, not that she didn’t want him there.

Gilbert’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m sure it was lovely,” he said.

“It was, quite. I pride myself on my hosting capabilities. You may have me beat in arithmetic, but I’m sure I could best you in a competition of elegance and refinery.”

“I’m sure you could,” Gilbert said.

He stepped inside and she took his coat. He stood, tall and shifty in the doorway for a moment before she spoke again.

“I have some scones left over. And I could make tea?”

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Nonsense,” she said, turning abruptly to the kitchen and assuring he was following as she set to work preparing a kettle. “The scones are just there,” she said, pointing to the plate she’d left on the counter. He took one and stood awkwardly by the counter as Anne put on the kettle. The few times he’d been in the house at Green Gables he’d moved through the places she considered most comfortable and inviting as if he were afraid to touch anything.

Anne wished for a Green Gables Gilbert could exist in with ease. She imagined him at the kitchen table across from her, spreading jam on toast and quizzing her for the spelling competition. She imagined Gilbert sinking into the sofa in the living room or perched on the loveseat when the sunlight hit the window just so and everything was golden and languidly happy.

Of course she would never tell Gilbert any of this.

“This is amazing, Anne,” he said of the scone and she smiled.

“I told you I was an excellent hostess. The perfect hostess has the perfect menu.

“I’m sure Diana and Cole were grateful.”

“They were.”

The kettle whistled and she took it off of the stove.

“How is work on the farm going, with Bash?” She asked as she located a clean tea cup.

“It has its challenges,” Gilbert said, running a hand through his hair. “Bash still hasn’t acclimated to the Avonlea climate. And it feels different to be back here without my father. But I’m glad we’re home. I missed Avonlea, and the people.”

“The people,” she repeated. She’d found a tea cup and was in the process of pouring. When she looked up and saw Gilbert looking right at her with the same quiet intensity Cole had captured on paper. The dreamy, far-away look was even more commanding in person, and Anne didn’t realize she’d spilled tea on the counter until Gilbert’s expression shifted to one of concern.

“Anne?”

“Sorry! Distractions, I’ll just--” she looked around frantically for a cloth and then Gilbert was beside her, with the dish rag she’d left on his side of the counter. Their hands brushed as he sopped up the spilled tea and she shifted the saucer out of the way. The both jumped back from the contact and the picture in Anne’s pocket fell out of her pocket and onto the floor.

Of course he was the one to pick it up, and of course it had opened to reveal its contents, because nothing in Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s life was simple.

He stared at it for a moment too long, and Anne wanted to rip it from his hands but couldn’t, because she was scared of ruining Cole’s work.

“These are beautiful,” he said at last, voice hushed. He didn’t move to hand it back, so Anne just watched him look at the drawings, dark eyes scanning them slowly and brows gradually furrowing. “Did you draw these?” He looked up.

“Cole did,” she said, and then instantly regretted her big, honest mouth. “Don’t tell him I told you. He doesn’t want any of the boys to know he draws people in class.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Gilbert said seriously. He handed the drawing back. “Though I’m flattered.”

“He draws me more than you,” she said, teasingly. “That’s the only one of you.”

“And now you have it,” Gilbert said.

Her grip tightened on the paper. She was looking down at the Gilbert of pencil shadows and sketched lines, but it occurred to her that she missed so many glances and smiles and amused eyebrow raising from the flesh and blood Gilbert. She missed him every time she blinked. She missed him every time her face flushed and she felt on instinct that she had to look away. Anne was tired of looking away. Anne wanted to see what Cole saw. She looked up at him.

“Cole said you were staring at me when he drew it. Do you stare at me, Gilbert?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The snow had melted into his hair and made it droop over his forehead chaotically. “Sometimes I do,” he said quietly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my favorite person to look at, Anne,” he said. “And I missed you when I was gone. And I’m making up for lost time.”

They were looking at each other now, really. Anne knew her face was as red as her hair. She knew her freckles would look like pox and her eyes would be big and watery, but she didn’t look away. Neither did Gilbert.

“I missed you too,” she said.

When Marilla came in to tell them that Bash and Matthew were finished and that Anne needed to clean up her mess, they were still staring at each other. Anne made Gilbert take a scone for Bash and promised she’d make him a real cup of tea next time. He nodded, and thanked her for her hospitality.

She hung the drawing up in her room, across from the window so the light would hit it first thing in the morning and she would remember what it felt like to be looked at like that.

She would remember how warm it felt.

[white-bouquet]

Ten Facts Challenge

Rules: Write ten facts about yourself and then tag 10 followers you'd like to know more about

I was tagged by the wonderful and lovely @she-who-treads-on-water

1. This one is probably obvious for anyone who's seen my blog, but i am a HUGE nature junkie. You can call me a man of the woods, one of my favorite places to be is within a forest of some sorts, hammacking with a book and/or a blunt and feeling the wind, listening to the trees, and just BEING. I also love to swim, i can do so for hours because i feel drawn to the water. Its very calming. I like hiking, i love camping as long as i am not bit to death by mosquitoes, and i dream to live in a nice, cozy, kind of big and spacious cabin near the woods, mountains, and lake with my pets and a family of my own.

2. I have a very diverse set of beliefs and theologies, so much where i can't label myself anything else than a deist because it sums everything up. I am a sincere believer that God is somewhat of a universal singularity of consciousness, comprised of the most evolved and transformed energies to exist ever since the big bang, and that anything that is living, contains its spirit and is all around us. Essentially, i believe God is the Universe and Nature as one sentient being, and all life within it is just itself trying to learn about itself to better itself. Basically, we are just fragmented pieces of God's mind as it is meditating upon itself. So, there's my religious beliefs in a nutshell 😁

3. I have never really been a "social butterfly" myself, as a matter of fact i have seen the good and bad in people so much that It has caused me to be a little resentful, and aggressive and have caused my personality to be almost demonic in nature if i am pushed too far by certain people, and especially if i am protecting. But it has also caused me to be altruistic, loving, and compassionate about doing my best to help out everyone i can to live and feel better. Call me an angel/demon hybrid eh? Just depends on how we get along 😂 I don't do big parties, but I can let loose if I am around close friends. I don't fit in either, and believe culture is only a game but i do believe in mindfulness for others.

4. My favorite food is, well, idk for sure but id go with sweet and sour tofu over lo mein noodles with grilled veggies. Any kind of stuffed veggie burrito with guac and a good sauce is second. My favorite thing to drink is, well, coffee. I only drink coffee, water and tea, and barely any soda and i am not an alcoholic drinker.

5. I love animals (so much that i am a vegan, also for environmental reasons) music, art and poetry. I haven't really written music for a long time, and i have many sketchbooks and such full of drawings and paintings of mine (not all of them are originally MY drawings, many of them i looked off an already drawn drawing and hand replicated them).

6. I want to travel the world badly.

7. I am truly happy and blessed and grateful to be where i am at. I make many mistakes, i say things that i don't mean when angered or provoked, but I am truly happy inside. I love the world, even when i say i don't, i love people even when i say i hate them. I have dreams of becoming a psychologist so i can help people, if i was better at math and chemistry i wanted to be a healer, like a doctor or something. I also want to make a lot of money so i can give it to people who need it more, because if i am not starving there is no point in letting others if you can do something about it. I also plan on volunteering a lot and i really like it. I tried to volunteer for the ASPCA once but i don't have a vehicle or anything so its hard to transport and everything. Really, i just want to help make the world better and i am passionate in doing so

8. I am terrible at math

9. I have a lot of views about, like, everything

10. I currently attend college as a psychology major, i plan on taking piano lessons, maybe dancing lessons, participating in archery, and i like to volunteer with my school to clean up lakes or beaches of trash and the like. I am just trying to keep up with my classes the best i can, and pay for everything to make it a comfortable experience and it causes me to not afford to be able to do everything i wish i could. But one day, i will be financially free. I love all my followers too. It actually brightens my day when i get reblogs and likes 😊

If you're tagged, tell us ten facts about yourself and then tag ten of your followers who you would like to know more about 😁 (if you want to). Also, you all have amazing blogs, and I will be showing it more love ❤

@loafie-soph @pride-and-onism @cloverren @turneround1996 @starry-eyed-forest-witch @justtenderlies @kenzieinthesky @supersweetvenus @ironicxgay @sarahlienard16 and an 11th one because i am a rule breaker: @pale-moonight

[belladonnaandulriched]

the artist | chapter twenty-eight

Lars grumbled to himself as he led Joey and me back up the sidewalk and to the speakeasy. The place stood so close to us, within our line of sight and yet it happened. Even though it was so obvious to me, I hoped that nothing was taken out of there. I hoped that whomever broke in were caught by the fact the door remained unlocked. But then again, we were living in a time in which the pandemic was returning without rhyme or reason: I didn't think they were that smart.

Joey lingered behind me as the three of us walked on back up the street. To think he held me so close to his body back there: his touch was so delicate and gentle, and his body was so warm even being out in the chilly night such as that. I felt his hand on the back of my shoulder as we followed Lars across the street. I wanted to touch him some more, to go back to that safe spot there by the pond and hold him some more. I wanted to tease him some more and mess with him and play with him. He and Lars were my muses after all: every artist should not only have a muse but have a muse they feel comfortable to hang out with when given the chance.

The speakeasy didn't look any different from before, everything down to all of the lights still remaining on, but I had to take Lars' word for it, especially since my parents still had not shown up there and my art was in there, just waiting to be scooped up by slippery hands. His long smooth hair streamed behind him like a curtain.

I wanted to lose myself in that hair, to give it a good whiff when he was sleeping and then play with it after he took a shower. I wanted to paint his wet hair when I found the chance. Wet hair in the shape and form of tentacles spread across a canvas on the floor.

But I need not pay attention to that at the moment: for all I knew, someone could have taken my art. Or taken one thing. But otherwise, someone got in and I should have been told to lock the door.

Lars held the door for both me and Joey. The whole place still smelled of paints and coffee, and yet it remained vacant. He ducked behind us to the bathroom to wash down his hands. Meanwhile, Joey and I stood there in the middle of the floor with our masks over our faces. I turned to him to look at him dead in those brown eyes.

“So what do you think they could'a taken?” he asked me, to which I shrugged.

“No clue. I mean, first of all, why would anyone wanna take from me, of all people?”

“'Cause you're the artist. I'm no artist myself, not like Charlie, no—but when things go to shit, you're both revered and treated like shit. Why? I dunno.”

“That's just from what you've seen, too,” I pointed out; my hands itched to be washed and then soothed over with sanitizer.

“Absolutely. I remember one time back home, when I was in school, there was this artist who lived up the street from me. She was kinda like you, real fiery and wasn't gonna take shit from no one and she had her own style to boot, too. Real cartoony but not like over the top, though. People loved her but I swear to god, if you could take a shot every time she was brought up in conversation in a negative light, you'd probably be dead in about ten minutes. She was a victim of theft, too. The thief who took from her, by the way, said his motif was 'she just seemed clueless.'”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I remember watchin' it on TV at my parents' house once an' my mom was at a complete loss for words.”

Lars surfaced from the bathroom with the smell of soap accompanying him. He peeled off his mask and held it by the straps on one finger.

“It doesn't look like anything was taken,” he remarked, “at least as far as I can tell anyway.”

“Like did you do a run through or something like that?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I saw someone move to the door and I think they saw me because they bounced out of here before I could call them out.”

He gave his hair a toss back over his shoulder.

“Even in this setting, where there is an impending curfew, we must be wary of thieves,” he explained. “They are fearless and merciless. They will resort to anything to ruin your life out of spite. They are selfish and they don't care.”

“In other words, you can find reams of evidence against them and people will still have it out for you,” I followed along.

“Exactly!”

“Wait a minute, there's a curfew now?” Joey stopped him.

“That was what the barista told me in the cafe when I walked past again,” Lars explained, “meaning we need to wash up and call it a night here soon or we could land our asses in jail. You guys can also take off your masks now.”

Joey peeled off his and let his tongue hang out from his mouth like a dog. I did the same and licked my lips: too many times I would wear my mask and it felt like a thick wax had made its way onto the skin there.

“And Chris still isn't back,” Lars added. "It's been longer than an hour, I'll tell you that much. I do sincerely hope Stone is alright."

“What d'you think we oughta do?” Joey asked him as he shifted his weight next to me.

“At the moment?”

“Yeah.” “Joey, remember when you said you'd take those paintings back to upstate New York with you?”

“Yeah. But I was kinda jokin', though, Lars.” He shrugged a little bit.

“It mustn't be a joke now,” Lars pointed out. “This art needs to be protected at all costs—from thieves, from liars, from just dumb shit starters, from negative cunts, from the clutching cunts, from all of it. This art is truly precious—I am positive that you are aware of that, Joey.”

“Oh, yeah. We gotta hide it all away here—just so long as nuthin' happens to this place while we're away, either.”

“Once the pieces are all stashed away in their respective hiding places, we shall make our break for it.”

“When does curfew end?” I asked him.

“Five in the morning, if I recall correctly?” Lars answered. “You might want to bring a sketchbook or something with you when we take our walk upon then, Holly.”

“Of course! Oh, wait, but my regular sketchbook is back home, though.”

“Will found one in the back room here—” He nodded to my right. “An empty book of blank pages—and I believe there are some pens in the drawer, too. But for now, let's wash up and put these precious pieces of art in a safe place—”

I snapped my fingers.

“What?” he asked me with his eyebrows raised.

“The back room,” I stated. “The room there with the easel. The room where I took you guys to be painted. The room where I touched and felt the both of you.”

“That room?” His eyes twinkled with excitement; I heard Joey let out a soft groan in his throat from right next to me.

“There's a side of the table missing but we can use it as a crawl space of sorts. And as long as no one goes back there, it'll all be safe. Anyone gives us any looks, we'll tell them it's imperative that they have a key to get in here. And Will's the one with the key.”

“We can cover it up with a sleeping bag, too!” Lars declared. “Good thinking, Holly.”

“And I assume we're lockin' the door while we're sleepin'?” Joey cracked with a shake of his head.

“We are barring the door with a support beam if we must, Joseph,” Lars retorted. "I will personally dig a moat around here to keep all of them thieves out of here."

"All of them thieves..." Joey's voice trailed off for a second. "I oughta throw that one at Scott when I see 'em again."

"And you claim you're not an artist," I pointed out with a little nudge of my elbow.

[empathique]

*puddles over and plops cub into your lap* If you're still doing the "Get Wet" ask... 9, 19, 36, 47, 57? Please feel free to answer only if you're comfortable with it!! (From your fellow puddle

*smooshes his bean paws against you

9. Favorite scent

Oooh, definitely the smell of books. Especially old books. Walking into a bookstore is downright heaven to me. 

10. Pick one thing to your left, and what does it mean to you

*looks to my left*

*sees my water bottle*

*sees the end of my writing table*

Uh, well, it hydrates me when I am in a terrifying place called class....?

36. What would you say to your younger self?

It hasn’t gotten better

You don’t have to please everyone. Please take a break. You don’t have to be perfect person that you think people expect you to be.

47. Talk about your favorite family member

Ahh I think I love my family pretty much equally, but I’m going to give some love to my poor unappreciated father

My father’s side of the family isn’t a very... loving part of my extended family. Even so, my father takes care of my grandmother financially and continues to make sure that she’s taken care of and doesn’t get lonely. 

He was also the person who taught me not to discriminate against people that were different. I don’t remember much of my childhood because of certain trauma inflicted on me, but I remember my family in a car ride on the way home at night, and my father gently telling my mother that people who were homosexual (back then, the very idea was scandalous) that they weren’t ‘strange’; That was how they were born, and they should not be discriminated because of it. I don’t think they knew I was awake in the back seat, but because of his liberal views I grew up very open-minded in the still-conservative society.

Because of my father grew up in a very harsh environment, and because he is a very strong person, it’s still difficult for him to understand (and accept) the concept of mental illness. He’s not the person I can go to when I need a good cry or when I’m stuck in waves of panic attacks, but he does what he can - he drives me to and fro from school (my anxiety makes it difficult to travel via public transport during peak hours), occasionally asks my neighbour if I can go over to her house to pet her four very fat cats and drives back home even for a brief minute, just to make sure I’m eating my meals. My father can’t support me emotionally through my depression, but he does whatever else he can to make the process easier on me. 

57. Top ten life values

Ooh, this one is interesting! Let’s see...

1. Be open minded. I don’t like to police the actions of other people - their opinions are not facts, and I respect that. As long as they aren’t hurting anyone, I’m more than happy to stay out of their business. Nothing hurts me more than seeing people attack each other over their differences. 

2. Be sincere. Compliments are paid when I truly appreciate them, and congratulations are given when I’m truly happy for them. I’m not often a person of many words, so I place a lot of thought and meaning into them. 

3. Be forgiving. Holding grudges just take up space that could otherwise be used for more positive thoughts. People grow and change, especially after their mistakes, so I don’t think it’s fair to use their past actions against their current selves. 

(This also means that when I don’t forgive someone, I completely mean it. It means that that person has hurt me so thoroughly that the wound will scar, and our relationship can never go back to how it was before. The number of people on this list can be counted on one hand.)

4. Patience. Honking your horn while stuck in traffic won’t make the cars magically move. Being impatience just leads to anger which hardly ever leads to anything good. Why let something small build up and ruin everything in its path?

5. Appreciate the people around you. There are so many people in the world, and yet these chosen select people care for you, and you care for them. What are the chances? I may not be able to love myself in my current situation, but I love the people dear to me with all my heart.

6. Be kind. Everyone has a story, and everyone has their troubles. It doesn’t hurt to give that cashier a smile and a thank you when they give you your change, and it doesn’t hurt to smile and say “it’s okay!” when someone steps on your shoe on the bus. Even if a waiter or waitress is being rude to me, I would rather kill with kindness rather than let it get to me.

7. Work for what you want. Even though I’m still not content with where I am with my art (and I don’t think I will ever be), I climbed my way up here fighting tooth and nail. There was a point in my life where I spent hours and hours on end just drawing hands and flowers and figures and poses. There was another point in my life where I wept over whatever I drew and threw my sketchbooks away, but continued drawing anyway. 

8. Be humble. To be honest, I don’t quite know why this is one of my values. It’s just been something I’ve grown up with. Maybe it gets in the way of self-love and accepting compliments, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

9. Grades don’t matter. Maybe I’m speaking from a place of superiority, and maybe I don’t have the right (?) to say this. But even though I scored well for my O Levels and A Levels, the stress I placed on myself during the study period put me on a downward spiral. I’m enrolled in one of Asia’s top colleges today, but I’m still unhappy. The saddest thing is that I’m not the only one. 

10. Live your life. I’m not religious, so I don’t really believe in an afterlife. You have these 80~90 years to walk this earth and breathe oxygen -- what are you going to do about it? It does put me in a mild existential crisis when I think about it, but in the end, we all want to die a happy person. And constantly ‘waiting for the right time’ isn’t the way to get to that. This only really came into perspective for me when I wrote my first suicide note and, well, that’s not how I want others to realise it, too. 

[myteline]

•//▪Mysterious artist▪//•

<<¤BTS FF¤>>

《♡Taehyung x Reader♡》

●☆Word count: I DONT even know… ☆●

■♢Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst(future chapters ;)) ♢■

○Description: Your name is Kim Y/N. You are 18 years old. You are Korean but moved to America 2 years ago, your dad made that decision he just wants to run from his problems -_-. Anyways you’re moving back to Korea today! You were planning on finishing high school in the school you started before moving in America however you eventually got news that Portman high school( your first high school in Korea before you moved to America) was shut down due to poor teaching system and no teachers available to teach. So your dad sent you to Soung Highschool which was a high school closer to your home than Portman. Everything goes well till you meet a guy and he acts weird around you and he always acts like a dick around you. I wonder why?

Previously in Chapter 2:

The boys were so happy to have you back and you were happy to be back. You texted the girls the night before and agreed to go out to buy school things. Clothes, supplies, etc. You got up and got ready. You stopped for a second and looked in the mirror... Was this reality? Was this really you? You couldn't believe that it was reality... How could your life go back to normal after that day? It never would... it was always an act. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice the doorbell ringing multiple times and Mark shouting at you to open it.

Chapter 3:

Lisa: Hey gurlll! Jisoo: Hiya!! How are you gorgeous!! Y/N: Ohh PpPLEasE pfffttt. Hi guys! Mark: Byeee nuggets! You waved at Mark and left. You went to the mall with the girls and bought multiple things.

-TIME SKIP TO BEDTIME- toooo lazyyy to type ;))

Mark: Tomorrows your first day back! Are you nervous? Y/N: Nahhhh *you said confidently although on the inside you were endlessly shaking*. Suddenly you felt warm. Mark was hugging you. Y/N:???! Mark: Don't ever lie to me *he said softly* Don't keep it inside you, talk to me, I can't lose anyone anymore... You felt weak and fell to your knees, silently sobbing. His words hurt you cause you knew you were the cause of this in the first place. No one else is to blame except yourself... Mark hugged you even tighter. His hugs were the best, they were comforting. 

Mark POV:

I hugged Y/N I didn't wanna lose her but I could tell she was lying to me. How can she not be nervous on her first day back to her old high school? suddenly I felt a weight on my shoulder. Y/N had fallen asleep. I picked her up and put her into her bed. Mark: Goodnight Y/N *kisses *forehead*.

Y/N POV:

You woke up. Suddenly you remembered what had happened the previous night. Mark... Does he still blame?

-FLASHBACK-

You woke up on the hospital bed, confused you asked the nurse what had happened. She told you everything... You started crying... You felt like screaming and then heard him shout. Mark: WHAT NO! WHY! WHY! *He was breaking down* He entered your room and said, “ I HATE YOU! YOU CAUSED ALL OF THIS! JUST DIE ALREADY” His words penetrated your heart. You felt like jumping off a bridge. He wanted you to die and he was the closest family to you after your mum died so when you heard him say that you were in utter shock. Your heart was beating too fast, you were feeling dizzy, tears were streaming down your eyes. Mark was forced out of the room and that's all you saw till you blanked out. One day you woke up and saw a nurse with a worried but excited expression. Nurse1: Miss you're finally awake! She hugged you tight* OH MY WE THOUGHT YOU WOULD EVER WAKE UP! Y/N: How long was I asleep for? Doctor1: Almost 2 weeks and we thought because of your trauma you would never wake u as your body started shutting down... Y/N: So I almost killed myself unknowingly? Nurse1:  Kind of... yes... Y/N: Did anyone come visit me during this time? Doctor1: Yes a group of girls came and spoke to you every day with hope youll wake up and a boy came but he could never enter the room he always said that if you wake up to say that he was just upset he didn't want to hurt you and he never meant those words. But I'm not sure what he meant...  Although the doctor and nurse had no idea you did. Mark didn't mean those words but you know he did. He had never spoken to you that way so you knew he was genuine. 

- END OF FLASHBACK-

Mark: Y/NNN  ARE YOU READY WELL BE HEADING OUT IN 15 MINUTES UNLESS YOU WANNA WALK! He shouted from downstairs. OK Y/N breathe everything will be fine! Your first day is going to be a good one! Y/N: COMINGGG

- TIME SKIP TO ARRIVAL AT SCHOOL- (too lazy to type) All eyes were on you. This is what you were wearing.

Everyone was in awe.  Y/N:  BYEE MARK! Imma go get my schedule! You left Mark and as you were running indoor you bumped into someone. Y/N: IM SO SORRY! ???: Do you ever watch were your going chubbs? The boy hugged you. Y/N: SAMUEL!? OMG, I MISSED YOU SO FUCKING MUCH! Samuel: Me too chubsss!!! You and Samuel were childhood BFFs but after you left Korea you lost contact the only updates you got were through the girls. And the other way around the only updates they got was from the girls. Y/N: Wanna come with me to get my schedule? Samuel: Of course lets gooo! You went to the office and found out you had most classes except English and some other boring ones with Samuel. The bell rang and you went to your first class which thankfully was art. You entered the class and as before all eyes were on you. Teacher: New student! Please introduce yourself! Y/N: Hi I'm Y/N and I hope we can all be friends! You sat down next to Samuel and an empty seat. You took your sketchbook out and as you were about to open your sketchbook someone entered the class. They were almost late but as from their gasp for air, you could tell he ran to get here. He was probably running late. ???: Sorry miss I had to drop my little sis to her first day at kindergarten and she woke up late! He apologised and you could tell he was sincere. Teacher: Its ok Taehyung, just don’t let it happen again. She sad in a sweet tone. You looked at him... Do I know him from somewhere? You ignored your thoughts and drew. After half an hour or so the teacher asked you to show your drawing. You went up and showed the class your drawing. Everyone's jaws dropped. This is what you drew:

Teacher: Woah! It looks like we have another good artist in here! *Bell rings* Teacher: OK everyone please pack up. Y/N AND Taehyung please stay behind! You stay behind as the teacher asked you to. Teacher: Y/N this is Taehyung. Taehyng this is Y/N. You two are the best artists in this class so, Taehyung you already know this, but Y/N if I am ever in need of a student to represent our school in competition is going to be you two who will be picked for it. Is that ok?”You both nodded.”Well, then you're free to go unless you wanna say anything to each other...” Y/N: Hi I'm Y/N nice to meet you :)) Taehyung: Whatever... he said as he left the classroom but he accidentally pushed you as he turned around. You fell and were in utter shock. Why is he such a dick? He looked like such a sweet boy! W-w-wait co-could i-it be that he's jealous or is he afraid ill beat him? But I'm nowhere near his level! UGH, whatever.  Teacher: OH MY! Y/N I'm so sorry he isn't always like this i dont know whats gotten into him ately. Hes been acting strange and coming late to cass... Y/N: its ok! Ill take my leave now see you next time teacher! You exit the class and head to lunch. As you enter the cafeteria you see four girls sitting at a table giggling. You go behind one of them and cover her eyes. Jennie: I know its you chubbs! she said as she smirked. Y/N: WHAT? HOW? Lisa: We have known you for over 9 years of course we would recognise you! Y/N: OH. Well how were your lessons? BP: They were fine! You? Y/N: Well, uhm-uh they were fine i guess... *they gave you stare which indicated that they knew you were lying-  UGH FINE it was actually bad cause this guy is acting like a dick! HEs HES SO- You felt cold water down your back... TO BE CONTINUEDDDD

[fic-dreamin]

5.0 out of 5 stars An amazing book ruined by Amazon’s Packaging

5.0 out of 5 stars I would put this book up there with the other greats of the comic industry and rivals everything else I've read in the medium. This is some seriously quality comic making here. It's crazy levels of clever and funny and dramatic. The artwork is on another level and the story is better than anything I could have imagined. The printing quality is amazing, and has the best "extra deluxe content" I've ever seen. This deluxe version has a very detailed description on how the creators of Saga make this amazing piece of literature behind the scenes. I would put this book up there with the other greats of the comic industry and rivals everything else I've read in the medium. Do yourself a favor and buy this. And if you're wondering if you should buy this deluxe book or the smaller editions, buy this book. It's a better deal at the moment and assembles it all together for one glorious stack of paper. Go to Amazon

5.0 out of 5 stars Saga Deluxe Edition Volume 1 Another hit by Brian K. Vaughan!!!I've enjoyed Y: The Last man, and Ex Machina. More than enjoyed. I think those are great graphic novels with honest writing. Saga is exactly the same, but this is a story that takes place, well, not on the planet Earth.Saga is the story of two beings (a male and a female) that belong to two different races. Turns out their races have been in war for years, however, the fell in love with each other. Imagine the odds!! And even more amazing, they have a child!! This is terrible news for their respective races, because (seems to be) none of them like the possibility of peace nor love. Each race just want it's war and hate, and these two put everything in jepardy. So... everybody wants them dead.What impress me the most with this book is that it contain different races, creatures, cultures, worlds, technology, magic, literature, etc, etc, etc... and for my surprise, everything is accesible to you as a reader!!!! And this is exactly what Brian K. Vaughan does best. He can make everything accessible. Most characters talk like us, and taking into account that is other worlds and some of them are weird creatures, it makes it very funny. Great way to tell a story! Everything is pretty straighforward, so you won't be lost.The art is freaking fantastic! The design of ships, clothes, technology, and so are SO good! Plus, the color pallette is sublime. Completely eye candy.Mind you, this is a book for adults! There's gore, explicit language, and surprisingly graphic sex, so don't give this to your kids, unless they are 18 or older.I give this 5 stars, and I can't wait for volume 2! Go to Amazon

5.0 out of 5 stars This is Wrong, and I Don't Want to be Right. If you have ever said of a work of fiction, "Oh, that's F-ed up," but enjoyed every second of it, then this graphic novel is for you.I loved it. My sister loved it. The friend who recommended it to me loves it.We're all a bit . . . wrong. I haven't been brave enough to recommend this to anyone who isn't a bit perverse, but it's a wonderful story, and every page is a "Whaaaaaaaaat???" moment that is well deserved.I had never thought of what it might look like when an android with a television for a head gave birth, for example. Now I know! It puts the "graphic" into "graphic novel," but more in a "that's just wrong" way than in any way that's gory or stomach-turning.I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Go to Amazon

5.0 out of 5 stars Read Saga. If you already do and you have the other volumes, I don't think you need to buy this, but do it if you want it! Okay I bought that and never read Saga before, I just figured "I'll probably like it and it's cheaper than if I end up buying all 18 volumes in it."First off, I'm an art student, so I sincerely don't find the occasional exposed breasts and once-in-a-blue-moon sex scene with no genitals shown all that explicit. Second, I'm a huge gore wimp, I can't handle gore. But there's just enough in here that I could do without, but it also won't keep me from LOVING this series!!! GEEZ it's so good!! The artwork is FANTASTIC and I love it to bits, the writing is wonderful and I feel like there's great twists and turns everywhere. It's witty, funny, ridiculous, serious, thrilling, sad, and heartwarming! JUST- read this comic.This comic is so good, I read 12/18 chapters THE DAY I got it and then I had to tear myself away because I didn't want to run out of it! I want to wait for Deluxe Edition 2 to come out, but it'll be awhile... and thankfully, it's hard to see spoilers unless you actively google "Saga comic" like I did for inspiration and references. Go to Amazon

5.0 out of 5 stars Not essential if you already own the trades or comics. Otherwise...VERY essential! I'm one of those people that wait for the trades to come out to start reading a series. That's going to be really hard to do with this series. Especially after reading this massive volume in one sitting. I had already purchased the first two TPB's when they came out and decided to wait until this deluxe edition came out to catch up on the story. As far as the extras go, I'm not impressed. I'm an artist, so I was really hoping for more of a sketchbook section, but it's really slim. In fact, I think its a joke. Nearly all of the sketches are of characters in the story dressed as other characters in the story. Maybe Fiona is just messing with us. There is a lengthy step by step process for the making of an issue if that interests you. Useless info to me as I'll likely never publish my own comic. But who cares about the extras when you've got such a great story and the art is displayed in a larger format? This series is easily the best thing in comics right now. If there's something you think is better, please let me know. The best thing about it is that it pulls no punches. It comes off so much more genuine when you know this is exactly what the writer and artist want to do with the book. If you prefer your typical superhero stories, this may not be the book for you. This is more of a sick, twisted, sci-fi romantic comedy. From the very first page you know how the whole book is going to go. It's perfect. Now I can't wait until volume 4 of the tpb comes out. The only bad thing is I'll have to sell the trades when the next deluxe volume comes out. Go to Amazon