#like the teacher who taught me used a LOT of ink which then all had to be so carefully and painstakingly wiped off

[bmpmp3]

learned a new technique for intaglio printmaking in school recently! did a quick print based off that drawing i did of the man who is definitely Not Made Of Fish from that dream I had once LOL

[crackedpumpkin]

ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ʙʟᴏꜱꜱᴏᴍꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪᴍᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜱɪxᴛᴇᴇɴ ||

2K12! Leonardo x Waterbender! Reader

a/n: if there's anything I love in this world, it's a good diet of foreboding and build up. tw: mentions of blood

Y/n’s bored.

She’s very, very bored.

“And this is how World War 1 started.” The teacher speaking snaps her out of her daydream, and she glances down at the messy notebook in front of her. She scrawled a few words on it, still trying to get used to the grip of a pen.

As soon as the bell rang (which apparently signals the start of school here, according to April), they made it to the first lesson of the day: History. 

It’s different from what she’s used to; most of her basic lessons have been taught by the private tutor her uncle had employed for both her and Yue. Most of the time, though, she was in the Healing Huts, learning from the older women of the Tribe.

Her aptitude for healing made her famous, though it was only momentary. She was often called over by the elders to help out with injuries caused by the waterbending school Master Pakku ran. 

Her smile falters momentarily when she recalls an old memory that remains stuck in her head to this day.

— — — —- —- — — — — —

"Does no one wanna play with me?" An eight-year-old Y/n mumbles with a pout, stacking the toy blocks absentmindedly. 

"I'm sure they're just shy!" Her cousin chirps from beside her, copying how she stacks the blocks. 

Y/n just shrugs from beside her, brightening up slightly when she sees a few kids her age making their way over. 

"Hi! Wanna play with us, Yue?" 

"Sure! What about Y/n?" 

"She can come too, I guess. But it'll be more fun without her!"

Y/n wilts at the comment, already looking away as her hair covers her face, acting as a shield for the saddened expression on her face. 

"Well, I won't go if she isn't coming either!"

— — — —- —- — — — — —

“You good?” She hears April whisper from the corner of her mouth, glancing over in worry. Her eyes widen when she sees the large blots of ink that stain the paper on Y/n’s desk, practically soaking through. 

Y/n grins sheepishly, holding her pinky to reveal a pigmented blue stain. “Still getting used to it. I much prefer brushes.”

They share a giggle, only for Y/n to sit upright when she hears the teacher clear her throat. “Is something funny, Miss O’Neil? And your friend as well, Miss…?”

“Beifong. Y/n Beifong of the Northern Water Tribe.” She supplies, wanting to be helpful to the teacher. 

“Miss Beifong of the…Northern Water Tribe. Is there something funny about the war?” 

“Kind of,” Y/n shrugs, not noticing how April desperately tries to signal her to stop talking. 

“Would you like to share your thoughts with the class?”

“It’s mainly just that it’s very different from where I’m from. There was a lot of Bending involved in the war.”

“Bending?” The teacher repeats, her brows furrowed in confusion.

Y/n nods, standing up and going over to the whiteboard. She picks up a tool that resembles a pen and starts to draw four separate circles on the whiteboard. 

“Air, Fire, Earth, and Water. These are the basic four elements. There’s also metal, but that’s more of Toph’s expertise.

“The four nations were once united in harmony. My uncle used to tell me stories about the old days, a time of peace when the Avatar kept balance between the Water Tribes, Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation, and Air Nomads. 

But that all changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Only the Avatar mastered all four elements. Only he could stop the ruthless firebenders. But when the world needed him most, he vanished. A hundred years passed, and the Fire Nation neared Victory in the War.”

At this point, she realizes that everyone in the class has stopped talking, staring at her silently. Even the boys in the back who were joking were watching, the girls putting away their phones.

April has her head in her hands.

Y/n grins, happy that everyone is paying such rapt attention. “Here’s where it gets funny; my friends found the Avatar in an iceberg and broke him out! My friend Katara was the one that did so. She’s a fantastic waterbender. Sokka was there, too, I guess. 

We fought against Zuko, the exiled prince of the Fire Nation — now the Lord, though. At first, I thought he was just really depressed. And he was! But I’m pretty sure he’s alright now.”

She’s cut off by the bell ringing, setting down the pen with a massive smile.

“Well, that was…interesting. Maybe you should sign up for our school’s creative writing course.” The teacher forces a smile onto her lips, but Y/n beams at the compliment. 

“Thank you! I have gotten praise from my tutor that I have excellent storytelling skills. It came in handy while we were on the run and needed entertainment.” 

“Okay, we’re leaving.” Y/n’s arm is grabbed by April, who begins to drag her out of the classroom. 

“Wait! I was going to tell her about the time Sokka and Katara had to suck on frogs!” Y/n protests, but upon seeing April’s scarlet red cheeks, she falls silent and follows without complaint.

She spots a few people from the earlier classroom, waving a quick hello with a warm smile. It falters, however, when she spots them whispering to each other and eyeing her up and down. 

Y/n starts to feel uncomfortable. Maybe her outfit wasn’t appropriate enough? She glances down, trying to pinpoint precisely what looked so wrong.

“What’s wrong?” She leans on the sink, the two of them the only ones in the restroom. April sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“Look, Y/n. Stuff like waterbending and earthbending…It’s like a fairy tale to everyone here. If you continue to talk about it, they’ll think you’re crazy!” April tries to explain, Y/n tilting her head in thought.

“So, no waterbending?”

“And no frogs.”

“No frog talk??” She’s already devastated.

“Not in public. But you gotta tell me when we’re back home, it sounds like such a wild story.” April grins, feeling much more relieved with Y/n’s eager nod.

The bell rings, and they share a worried look. 

“Didn’t you say that the bell only rings when…?”

“Yeah. We’re late for class. Let’s go!” April grabs her hand, dragging the waterbender behind her as they rush to class.

“Sorry! My apologies!” Y/n winces when someone bumps against her shoulder roughly, the student sending her a glare until a flicker of recognition flashes across their face. 

“You’re that chick! The Elemental Bending girl!”

“I am!” She slows in her steps, pleasantly surprised that they knew who she was. 

“Your imagination’s rad. You should make that into a show!”

“Sorry, Casey. Y/n, let’s go!” April urges. Grabbing her wrist, they run to the next class. Y/n quickly waves to the boy in the hallway, shrugging off his remark about her imagination.

It stung, but it wasn’t as if she could waterbend in public here.

— — — —- —- — — — — —

Mutant Monsters and robot ninjas are taking over my city. How long before those freaks hurt somebody close to me? Like my dad, my little sister…

April.

Well, I’m not waiting around to find out. All my life, I knew I was meant for something greater. 

This is my calling, my destiny.

A true warrior’s gotta be prepared.

“Scum-sucking mutant freaks of the world, prepare to meet Casey Jones.”

— — — —- —- — — — — —

“My sons, you are truly becoming impressive warriors. But to grow as a team, you must know each other’s strengths and weaknesses.”

Mikey swings his nunchucks threateningly, moving close to Donnie and burping in his face. Y/n groans, sticking out her tongue in disgust. He laughs obnoxiously at her reaction, proud of himself.

“Right in my face??” Donnie cries, outraged, as his eyes start to burn from the rancid smell.

“Garlic and clam pizzaaa,” Mikey says smugly.

“This competition is a free for all. Last turtle standing wins.” Master Splinter states firmly, “Hajime!”

Raph immediately runs towards Donnie, whose vision is still blurred from Mikey’s potent attack, kicking him in the side and instantly knocking him out of the competition. Donnie lands against the dojo wall, and she quickly gets up to help him sit upright.

“This might help.” She bends some water to cover her palm, holding it against his closed eyes as he slumps against her side in relief. 

“Thanks,” He mumbles gratefully. 

Y/n continues to watch the fight, Mikey already out of the battle while Leo and Raph square off. She’s not paying close attention, more focused on patting Mikey’s head when he leans on her with a happy hum and healing Donnie.

“Oooh! Look!” She glances over at where Mikey’s pointing, wincing as she watches Leo use the tree in the dojo to gain an advantage, kneeing Raph in the face. 

“That’s gotta hurt,” She mumbles, hiding the chuckle that almost slips past her lips at Leo’s smug grin. She couldn’t let Raph hear. If there's anything she learnt during her time spent with them, it's that they’re much more alike to her friends back at home than she initially thought.

Raph reminded her so much of Toph, his temperament practically mirroring hers. The only difference being that she was blind, of course. 

He lands face down on the Dojo mat, Leo clearing his throat and propping his katana behind his back as he sneaks a look from the corner of his eye to see if she’s watching. 

She is.

The corner of her lips tugs up slightly, making eye contact with Leo, who averts his gaze with a flush on his cheeks. He clears his throat, picks up his katana and sheathes them on his back. He takes a knee, sneaking yet another peek with a proud smile.

She’s again distracted when she feels the sudden flow of Raph’s blood speed up, practically sensing his heartbeat quicken as he grows angry with each passing second.

Her hands tingle, feeling her body still as everything else fades into white noise. Her heart slows, starting to see the flow of energy and life that surround her in the dojo.

Leo’s is a royal blue, Mikey’s a burnt orange, and Donnie’s is a warm brown. Raph’s is a scarlet red, burning brighter the more the blood rushes to his head in anger. It’s a stunning shade, one that catches her attention instantly. 

The color reminds her of something familiar. The answer’s on the tip of her tongue, a whisper encouraging her to remember it. 

Blood.

“Uh, Y/n?” Donnie voices out worryingly, the once cool sensation quickly turning into a rising temperature he can’t withstand. She doesn’t notice, eyes still trained on the movement of the two brother’s limbs with cold eyes. He shifts uncomfortably on her shoulder, scrunching his snout as the water continues to heat up.

“Dudette?” Mikey waves his hand in front of her face, and she snaps out of it, warmth flooding back into her body almost instantly. She blinks. 

What was that?

It felt as if the cold fingers of death itself had gripped its claws around her heart, slowly freezing it over. But as soon as she snaps out of it, it retreats back into the inky depths from where it came from inside her. 

Suddenly it’s hard to breathe. She pulls her hand away from Donnie’s closed eyes, staring at the rough calluses with tightness in her gaze. Something really wasn’t right with her.

“I…have to go.” She stands up abruptly, surprising everyone. Master Splinter merely nods in approval, and she turns, walking out of the dojo with hurried steps.

“I’m gonna go on a walk too.” Raph grunts with a roll of his eyes, shoving Leo’s shoulder and following the same path that Y//n took.

— — — —- —- — — — — —

My city is infested. A boil, a festering sore. It stinks with evil. 

Pure evil only Casey Jones can face.

— — — — — — — — — —

Y/n’s chest is tight, fists pressed against her heart and trying to regulate her breathing. 

Whatever that was back in the lair, it’s gone now. She looks up, the number of stars that dot the sky incredibly sparse compared to back in her world.

She turns to see the next rooftop, spotting Raph kicking a metal sheet. She takes a deep breath, calming herself down before bending water from a puddle beside her and creating a platform across.

“You good?” Y/n walks over to where he’s now sitting. She sits beside him, and he moves over to make space for her. 

“Yeah. I’m good.” His short answer didn’t deter her; she was already used to the occasional outbursts from Toph when she couldn’t control her anger. She grabs her water bag, offering him a sip. 

He hesitates but takes it and gulps down the refreshing liquid before clearing his throat and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He passes it back to her without a word of thanks, just a simple nod.

She places it back on her waist, sighing blissfully as the chilly breeze brushes against her ears. It isn’t as cold as the North Pole is, but the mornings feel close enough.

“When I first met Toph – Aang’s earthbending teacher, I thought she was cool but also a brat.” Raph glances over at Y/n who begins to absentmindedly tell him about her life. “She was born blind, her parents super overprotective and not letting her breathe. But wanna know how we found her?”

“How?”

“An underground fight. Toph was the reigning champion over all the other fighters in Ba Sing Se. Her stage name was The Blind Bandit.” Y/n chuckles fondly, recalling how surprised they were when Toph first walked into the arena.

“Sounds pretty cool to me.” Raph grins, leaning back as he continues to listen.

“She is! She’s incredibly talented but loses her temper easily and is incredibly stubborn. You kinda remind me of her.” Y/n pauses, seeing Raph frown.

“I don’t lose my temper easily,” Raph huffs, crossing his arms as he glares at her.

“Sure,” Y/n chuckles, unfazed. She’s dealt with Toph almost causing an earthquake once – nothing else would ever be that scary. “But the thing is, she just didn’t know how to process her emotions well. She’s just a kid. But there was one way we vented.”

“What is it?” Raph’s interest is now piqued, intrigue in his frustrated eyes. Y/n stands up, gesturing for him to do the same. She steps back, bending the water out of her water bag and sending a sharp disc flying right at him.

Raph yelps, barely dodging it as it leaves a small scratch against his cheeks. “What the heck??”

He grips his Sais, already irritated by the sudden attack. 

“What’s wrong? Are you scared?” She taunts with a smirk, already preparing for her next attack. She sends a stream of water to wrap around his legs as he charges at her, using his momentum to flip him on his back.

He growls, the smile on her face only angering him further. She draws back the water whip, holding her hand in a mocking ‘come here’ gesture. He runs towards her once again with an aggressive yell, dodging the stream of water she sends his way and doing a quick front flip when it gets close to his legs.

“And here I thought water’s just harmless to turtles,” She feigns a pout, a mischievous glint in her eyes as her words only fuel the burning fury in Raph’s eyes. It’s all too easy to get on his nerves, shifting and sweeping her leg in a semicircle to bring the water back and create a wall of ice to protect herself.

His weapon stabs into it, and he struggles to pull it out. Y/n peeks out from behind it, unable to resist yet another taunt. “Aww, do you need some help?” She offers with a chuckle, yelping when he almost punches her. 

“You little-!” Raph pants heavily, still trying to get his Sais out of where they’re stuck in the ice. “Whatever, I don’t need them to beat you!” He huffs angrily, changing tactics and charging straight at her instead.

Her eyes narrow, bringing her hands back and moving them forward quickly, bending the ice to change it back into its liquid state and sending it once more to creep up his leg and stop him from moving any closer to her. 

He didn’t expect it, the sudden chill that encompassed his leg a surprise. He grunts, trying to move his now frozen leg. He spots his Sais on the ground, lunging towards them and stretching his hands out, barely reaching the hilts. 

He grabs them, using all his strength to break the ice with the sharp prongs. It shatters, and he's in front of her in the blink of an eye. 

He raises his clenched fist, intending to use the back of his hilt to give her a good punch. However, a small stream of water snakes up his arm, and Y/n takes a small step around him, rolling off his back as she uses his momentum against him again. She guides the stream of water and yanks it to the right, using it to veer him off course and land on the ground instead.

He lands with a pained grunt, getting back up almost immediately. She pauses, spotting a few figures in the dark alleyway out of the corner of her eyes. “Wait,” She holds up a hand, eyes trained on the shadowed figures.

Raph doesn’t hear, too focused on winning the fight. 

She raises her hands, gripping them tightly to waterbend a ball of water around his face. His eyes widen almost comically, a bubble of air escaping past his lips as he tries to protest. “Cool off for a minute, okay? Something’s happening down there.”

He nods grumpily, glaring at her. She returns a sheepish grin, feeling bad about the sudden fight she started. She releases the water lock, and he drops to the ground, gasping for air.

She peeks over the edge of the building, overhearing one of the shadowed figures confronting the other three. They’re all dressed in black, so she’s unable to tell who they are. However, the one confronting them is shorter, so they were probably around her age.

“I’m the last guy you see before you wake up in the hospital.”

Y/n blinks. 

That was probably one of the weirdest catchphrases she’s ever heard.

Scratch that; nothing was worse than hearing Sokka go down swinging with his space sword, Sokka Style (also patented by him).

To her surprise, though, the boy down below fights well. He dodges harsh blows thrown his way by the Purple Dragons, fighting back with nothing but a wooden stick and little black discs. He uses the sticks to hit the discs, the amount of force behind it enough to cause enough pain to the attackers on impact.

She raises a brow when he uses the terrain to his advantage, kicking himself off the wall to hit one of the larger assailants. He lands perfectly, darting around and hitting them in the face with his stick.

“I give him 10 for the landing, 8 for the jump,” She murmurs jokingly, impressed.

“That guy’s outta control. Time for a little intervention.” Raph twirls his Sai, still heated from their earlier fight.

“Wait-!” 

Raph ignores her hushed protest, jumping straight down and grabbing the stick as the boy holds it above his head. Raph tosses it aside casually, doing a somersault over his head and landing in the shadows.

“This isn’t going to end well…” Y/n mutters under her breath, quickly making her way down the fire escape. She hurries, hearing their grunts as the both of them fight. She takes the last step down the fire escape, landing on the ground and looks up to see the boy shoving Raph back and running after the Purple Dragons that are getting away.

“You know, anger is a dangerous ally.”

Y/n snorts. She clears her throat when Raph shoots her an icy glare, hiding a smile and masking it with a blank expression. The boy glances behind him, eyes widening behind his mask, when he sees a civilian is in front of a clearly dangerous mutant turtle.

“Get behind me.” He runs in front of her, holding his stick out protectively. She peeks out from behind him, spotting Raph breathing heavily. 

He’s angry, she realizes.

“Stay away, you overgrown lizard!” 

The remark makes her wince. She taps the boy’s shoulder from behind him, and he looks at her questioningly. “I’ll be fine,” She tries to reassure him. 

“What’re you talking about? You’re just a girl.” His eyes are filled with confusion, wondering how on earth this frail-looking girl behind him could hold her own in front of the overgrown lizard threatening him. He blinks multiple times, his eyes dry from all the face paint. 

She looks familiar to him, but he can’t really place where he’s seen her before, especially not with the alleyway being this dimly lit. Plus, his mask made it a bit difficult to have good vision. But it looked cool, so he refused to take it off under any circumstance.

Rule 101 of vigilantism: Never reveal your identity.

“Okay,” Y/n raises her hands in mock surrender, stepping back. “Whatever you say, my saviour.” 

“Why don’t you go cool off for a while,” Raph’s lips are pressed tightly in a thin line, hands gripping his Sai. 

“That’s it, lizard, I’m done with you,” The boy pulls out not just one but two sticks from where they’re slung on his back. Now she’s amazed. 

Was he trying to get killed? She wonders, leaning against the wall.

She watches them charge at each other, Raph kicking the boy into the dumpster beside her. He twirls his Sai, sheathing them before walking towards her.

However, the boy stands up quickly, and she discreetly slides off a hamburger wrapper stuck to his shoulder. He climbs out of the dumpster, unknowingly swinging his stick back and hitting her right in her head.

“Ow!” She winces, holding her head as she stumbles back, hitting the wall behind her. The impact sends her reeling, practically seeing stars in her eyes. “That’s a concussion,” She groans.

“Oops, sorry!”

“Hey! Look what you did!” Raph gestures towards her in pain, about to take a step towards her, when the boy holds out his stick, preventing him from getting close. 

“Don’t put your gross hands on her, you lizard!” Casey threatens. It’s enough to set Raph off, and they continue to fight, forgetting about her.

Y/n slumps to the ground, moving her hand away to see blood staining her clear skin. She feels dizzy from the sight, lips tugging downwards in a frown when she processes the fact that she’s bleeding.

Huh.

This isn’t ideal.

Her eyes are fixed on the crimson red on her palms, dotted across her fingers. She almost can’t look away, seemingly hypnotized by the very substance. She feels something wet trickle down her forehead, snapping her out of her daze.

Right, she’s bleeding.

She should probably heal herself.

Holding an orb of water she bends out of her water bag, she uses the rest of the water to surround the injury, her vision slightly blurry. Everything keeps shifting in and out of focus, permanent spots of black in her eyes.

She frowns. 

Why did it look like they were connected to people?

She tries to brush it off, but the darkness unnerves her. Something about it is just so… inviting. But she shouldn’t. It looked dangerous.

Her brows furrow, resolve wavering. Part of her wants to reach out, to let it surround her. Besides, when has she ever stepped away from danger?

But Raph’s furious yell distracts her. 

She tears her gaze away, barely able to make out his eyes blazing with aggravation.

He’s lost in his rage, letting the emotion engulf him. He holds his Sai up, swinging it toward the boy’s face. She gasps, scrambling to her feet to take a step forward. Her hands flex, so close to grabbing the flow that connects his arm to his body. 

She can’t let Raph hurt someone. But she can control it, make it, so it doesn’t happen.

She has the power to.

But as soon as her fingertips brush against the swell of darkness in her vision, he stops. His Sai are inches away from the boy’s face, the blade's edge almost touching his skin.

In that split second, he regains control. His breaths come out in short pants, and she can almost see the condensation from how heated he is.

“What am I doing?” He puts away his weapons, looking down. At that moment, the boy pulls out a gadget that electrocutes the turtle, making his escape as Raph slumps to the ground with a pained groan. 

She looks away, blinking rapidly as she vaguely registers the graffiti before her. It’s as if she’s underwater, with all the muffled noise from the car horns that blare at night.

Use it. Control them. You can have the world in your grasp. You know that.

“It doesn’t mean I want that.”

You can make it, so they never leave you.

“They won’t. I know they won’t.” She states firmly, her eyes squeezed shut as sweat collects on her brow.

That’s what you thought about Yue.

“You don’t know anything. She had to.” Her teeth are gritted, the familiar yet painful memory rushing back.

— — — — — — — — — —

“You have been touched by the Moon Spirit. Some of its life is still in you.”

“Yes, you’re right. It gave me life.” Yue admits, head hanging in defeat before an idea takes root in her mind. She opens her eyes, standing back up.

“Maybe I can give it back.”

— — — — — — — — — —

He could’ve found another way. He could’ve stopped her.

“Stop.”

She didn’t have to sacrifice herself.

“There was no other way!”

Her breathing is shaky, and the water on her head drops to extreme temperatures. But she doesn’t notice, her grief flooding her in waves. She thought she had gotten over it - managed to accept what had happened.

Y/n can almost see the exact moment she returned from healing the waterbenders injured by the Fire Nation’s army, looking around for Yue, only to see everyone else’s sorrowful expressions. 

The realization had hit her then.

“-/n? Y/n! You okay?” She opens her eyes, her lashes wet with hot tears that have spilled over. Raph has his hand on her shoulder, shaking her in a desperate attempt to snap her out of whatever daze she’s in.

“I-I’m good. Don’t worry.” She rubs her eyes roughly with the back of her hand, trying to quell the raging emotions in her heart. Her wound is long gone, the voice receding to the back of her mind with a disgruntled hiss.

Raph raises a brow but doesn’t question her, noticing how her lips are drawn in a taut line. Her hands are shaky, and her eyes are rimmed with red. Instead, he helps her up, slowly returning to April’s place from the rooftops. They walk in silence, and he waits for her to calm down, his earlier anger forgotten.

GIF by verbile

taglist:

brunnetteiwik

ivuriexo

[pjunicornart]

The fact that she refuses to even ATTEMPT to apologize just irks me.

Sorry for the tragedy dump, but I really need to say this... When I was still in high school, I liked the stuff Rouge did (keep in mind, I was a minor at the time who had parents that shielded their views and was very, very blind to most issues, including ones relating to being queer - which I am). I liked her art style, and because she was doing Undertale stuff at the time - most relating to Paperjam, who I hyperfixated on along with Ink at that point - I liked it even more.

Needless to say, I was inspired by her art style. When I told my girlfriend this, she did start to notice the similarities and the difference. Rouge's was more anime-esque, while mine was cartoonish with more shape language being one main difference. But a similarity was how I drew the face and placed features on it. After I learned just how weighty Rouge's actions were, I started viewing my art in a negative way. Hell, I still do it.

Sometimes now I'm reminded of Rouge's shitty actions when I look at my art. When that happens, my anxiety ridden brain goes, "YOU'RE GONNA BE THE NEXT ROUGE," or "ONE SLIP UP IS ALLLL IT TAKES." It makes me scared to even tell the stories I want to tell. It makes me scared to put certain subjects in my current projects.

Like in Student's Echoes, I do want to mention sex. Because it's a natural part of growing up, and it should be taught in a positive light - "discovering your sexual self" as my health teacher once said. I want to make one thing clear here - NO EXPLICIT SEXUAL ACTIONS WILL BE SHOWN IN THE COMIC. Because I don't want to make others uncomfortable. No one wants/needs to see that! Not to mention that even though I will be using my comic to educate people on sex if it comes up (among other topics), I believe that sex should be shared between consenting adults who are well educated on the act they are about to partake in. But I'm scared to even mention sex in the comic because I'm afraid people will draw comparisons between Rouge and I.

Even now, sharing this, I'm trembling because I'm afraid of what people might say. I feel shitty for saying I supported her in the past when I was a dumbass teen. I feel shitty every time I look at my art and am reminded of what it's inspired by.

Let me make this clear. I will never, EVER support Rouge ever again. She's the main reason why I hate my art. She's the reason why I have anxiety sharing the stories I created with the help of my girlfriend. She's the reason I feel guilty for trying to make my own thing out of the AU I fell in love with.

So to those of you who say: "It's just art! It can't hurt anybody!" I'm right here.

I'm sorry again for dumping all this out of no where, but with me starting production on my comics now, I've been thinking about it a lot and having those doubts.

So... yeah. Rouge won't even apologize or own up to her actions, and it pisses me off.

I don't trust people with a pfp drawn by blogthegreatrouge🧍

[starlessea]

Eye For Detail (Daryl Dixon/Reader)​

Sequel to Sketchbook Confessions

Summary: You try to sketch Daryl in return. Except, you draw his smile a little crooked, and the eyes are wonky... And Daryl completely loves it.

Words: 2490

Warnings: Language.

The courtyard was still and quiet, free from the dinner-time rowdiness going on behind prison walls. Well, it was almost quiet; Daryl's scribbling over paper sounded out faintly beside you, as you watched him work. At first, he'd been opposed to the idea of company, but after a while it has become almost like a weekly tradition - in which you'd both bask in the comfortable silence together. You'd even started to bring your own notepad, in your attempts to learn how to sketch from the man.

At first, your drawings were anything but good. Sometimes, even you couldn't tell whether you'd drawn a landscape or a strange, abstract fruit bowl. Yet, Daryl was a good teacher. Where he lacked patience normally, it seemed like he had ample to spare with you. He'd shown you how to use the different charcoals, and had even come back with more art supplies after his latest run.

It was coming up to dusk, and the sky was a brilliant mix of blue and grey hues. There were clouds gathering overhead, too, and you wondered whether there was a storm brewing behind them. Your notepad remained closed over your lap, since you still hadn't gathered the confidence to open it yet. Daryl hadn't noticed, however - too absorbed in his own work to pick up on the way you tentatively thumbed over the spine of your book.

"I tried to draw a person the other day," you finally admitted, "I don't know how you do it."

Daryl stopped what he was doing, rubbing circular motions over the paper to try and blend out his charcoal lines. He looked over at you, and you laughed gently at the black fingerprints littering his cheeks.

"Who was it?" he mumbled, eyeing you as you gathered your sleeve over your hand.

You shuffled over to the man slightly, and used the material to wipe away the charcoal stains over his skin, feeling him squirm slightly beneath your touch as you did so.

"It was you," you told him, and finally he kept still.

His stare bore into you, and suddenly it felt as though you'd been set on fire. You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, and edged away from Daryl as soon as you'd finished cleaning him up.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of an excuse you knew he wouldn't believe. You sighed, knowing it was no use.

"Well, it was a poor attempt at Daryl," you confessed, glancing down at your sketchbook sheepishly. "Maybe a Darren at best."

You'd expected him to laugh at your joke, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed intrigued. He closed his own notepad, and you worried about whether the charcoal would smudge.

"Show me." Daryl said softly, his eyes flickering over to your lap.

You bit your lip, wiping off the cover of your sketchbook before opening it.

"Don't laugh," you warned him, shaking your head slightly.

You didn't think that he would, but you suddenly felt self-conscious. You'd drawn the portrait in your cell a few nights ago when you couldn't sleep - with the page illuminated by soft lamp-light. You remembered the feeling of the linen sheets beneath you as you sprawled out over your mattress, trying your best to shade the stubborn parts. You had tried - really you had. Except, you'd discovered that art came more naturally to some than others.

"Your eyes are crooked, and I drew your nose too big." you grimaced, settling your gaze over the portrait as you inspected its faults. "I'm sorry."

In natural lighting, it looked a lot worse than you had remembered. You tried to snap the book closed, but Daryl's palm prevented you from doing so. He was silent, and you watched his eyes slowly trail over the paper, taking in all of the details.

"Fine, you can laugh," you exclaimed, overwhelmed by his lack of response. "Okay, just say something-"

"Can I keep this?" Daryl interrupted, glancing up to meet your eyes.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It took a few seconds to comprehend his words, before you finally shook your head a little too quickly.

"No!" you cried, trying to snatch the book from his grasp. "I can draw you a better one."

Daryl didn't give up his grip, and only shook his head back at you in return.

"Nah, I wan' this one."

Any argument you had bubbling up was quickly quelled when you caught sight of his expression. He seemed deadly serious, and you felt your own fingers loosen over the sketchpad as a result. The man slipped it away from you, and brought the book onto his own lap, continuing to look over it.

"But it's bad," you retorted, weakly.

You knew you had lost at this point. You had learned your stubbornness from Daryl himself, after all. The man never was one to know when to back down.

The courtyard seemed a lot darker than it had only a few minutes ago. The clouds had gathered to be more dense and thick, and blocked out the remaining light left over from the setting sun. It would be hard to keep drawing like this, you thought - yet, Daryl seemed more preoccupied now.

"E'eryone gotta start somewhere" he told you, "an' I don' want ya to throw it out."

You watched as he trailed his charcoal-stained, calloused fingers along the page - careful not to leave any marks over the pristine, white paper. Even your sketchbooks looked worlds apart from one another. Yours was neat, each drawing labelled, and your lines clean; Daryl's was a collection of blackened fingerprints alongside scrawled handwriting, and the occasional crumpled page.

"Shoulda seen my first drawings," Daryl went on, looking out towards the field, and at the forest behind it. "Merle found one when I was a kid an' told me it was a shit donkey."

You cocked your head to the side, listening to him.

"Was meant to be superman," he explained, with an expression far too serious for his words.

You snorted, and the man whipped his head over to scowl at you.

"I'm sorry-" you choked out, not missing the way his lips quivered as they fought back a smile of his own. "I must have swallowed a bug."

Not long after that, the feeling in your gut turned out to be right. The storm clouds had finished gathering, and soon the first droplet of rain landed over your paper - smudging the line you'd just drawn. You glanced over at Daryl, but before he'd even had time to reply, the downpour started. It went from a single raindrop to a raging storm in a matter of seconds, leaving you both scrambling to collect the strewn sheets of paper and charcoal pieces trembling over the ground. With your supplies bundled up in your arms, the two of you ran towards the cellblock - yelling through the sounds of the rain along the way.

Once you had reached Daryl's cell, you were soaked through. The man had dragged you there since it was closer, but it hardly made a difference. Your shirt was stuck to your skin, and you were left clutching soggy handfuls of paper - bleeding ink over Daryl's stone floor. He helped you set down the supplies onto his desk, gathering up whatever was salvageable, and throwing the rest away. Luckily, most of the pastels and charcoals had been kept safe, but a lot of loose sheets had been sacrificed to the greater good in the process.

You laughed, taking in the sight of the man. His hair stuck damply to his forehead, and you watched as stray droplets ran over his cheeks. He quickly glanced around the room and retrieved one of his shirts, before offering it to you. You took it from him and smiled, waiting for Daryl to turn his back on you before starting to change.

"Looks like the weather had other plans," you noted, pulling the dry shirt over your head. "At least it washed away that god awful drawing I did of you."

You untucked your hair from the collar, and smoothed out the material over your body. Behind you, you heard the sound of a zip, and peered over your shoulder to see Daryl taking off his own leather jacket. As he did so, you noticed that he'd been concealing something beneath it, and squinted to try and make out what it was.

"Looks jus' fine to me," the man mumbled, holding up the dry piece of paper for you to see.

You scoffed; he'd stuffed your drawing there to keep it safe. You couldn't prevent the smile spreading over your face as you looked at him in disbelief. He gave you a teasing smirk back, before setting the picture carefully onto his desk with the others.

"Y'know," Daryl said quietly, "s'a lot easier to draw from real life."

You glanced over at your drawing, knowing what he was getting at. You were acutely aware of its flaws, but you just didn't have the experience to know how to fix them yet.

"I know what you look like," you quipped back.

It was the truth. Perhaps you even knew a little too well.

"Mhm," he hummed back, before walking over to where you were standing.

You could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn't entirely believe you. One of the first things he'd taught you was that there could never truly be a good enough replacement for the real thing. Though, you had to disagree. You felt like you knew exactly how Daryl Dixon looked - you just couldn't translate it to paper.

The man stopped directly in front of you, so close that you could see his chest rising and falling. He lifted one hand slowly, tentatively even, so that you didn't get scared by his actions. Then, he hovered his palm gently over your eyelids, flicking them shut so that your world went dark.

"What colour are m'eyes?" he asked.

His hand was cold over your face, from where the rain had soaked his skin. You knew that he was trying to teach you a lesson, but you thought that perhaps you'd use the opportunity to teach him one back.

"Blue," you answered, without hesitation.

You desperately wanted to see the man's expression, but all you could do was imagine it.

"An' what-" Daryl continued, but you cut him off.

"A greyish blue," you went on, not entirely satisfied with your answer. "Like the colour of the sky before a storm."

Daryl removed his hand from over your eyes, but you kept them shut. Your fingertips brushed over the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, and you felt like you could picture the way it looked in your mind just from the texture of the material.

"Your hair is brown. The same shade as that desk near your bed," you told him, pointing in the direction you remembered it to be. "And it falls just above your neck, and is slightly curly at the ends." You laughed, considering your next words. "Especially just after you wash it."

Daryl remained silent, and you tried to picture the type of look he had in his eyes. You thought that perhaps you should stop, that you'd made your point clear - but you were in too deep to turn back now.

"And you have two moles," you said quietly - and wondered whether he had heard your voice tremble, too.

You reached out your hand slowly, trying to find the other man. Your palm made contact with his chest, and you let your fingertips trail up until you reached his neck, and then his face.

"One by your nose," you told him, resting your palm over his cheek, "and the other near your lip."

You tried to find it, but your thumb accidentally brushed over his lip, instead. Your heart jumped in your chest, and your eyes flickered open unintentionally.

"I'm sorry-" you blurted out, but the words tapered off as you noticed Daryl's stare.

The man stood perfectly still in front of you, letting your hand rest over his cold, damp skin. You quickly pulled away, glancing off to the side nervously. Though, the both of you knew that you'd gone too far to make any poor excuses now. You'd passed a boundary, but you couldn't say that you wanted to take a step back, either.

"Tha's one eye for detail ya got," Daryl said, after a few seconds had gone by.

You shook your head. "Only when it comes to you," you admitted.

Daryl looked off to the side, and then back, but you continued before he had the chance to interrupt.

"I know I'm not the best artist, but I wanted to show you how you look through my eyes, too."

Daryl raised his hand again, but this time it wasn't to block out your sight. Instead, he just rested his palm softly over your cheek - and despite how cold it was, you leant into his touch.

"Ya jus' did," he said, and gave you a small smile.

You could still hear the storm outside, as the occasional breeze whistled its way past the cracks of the cell block, or made the tree branches batter up against the windows. Sometimes, the draft even made those loose sheets flutter over the desk, in a kind of muffled, paper applause.

"Maybe I should just swap out pencils for words," you told the man. "They seem to do the job better."

He nodded in agreement, letting his hand drop back down to his side.

"Hey, Daryl?" you asked, but you already had his full attention.

"Mhm."

You decided to put your words into practice straight away, so that you wouldn't forget exactly how you felt in this moment.

"You mean a lot to me," you admitted, "in a way I don't think I'd ever be able to describe."

Daryl's eyes widened slightly, and you wished to have the talent to capture that expression with pencil and charcoal one day.

"But I still wanted to try," you finished, and waited for his response.

Except, Daryl wasn't a man of words - and he reminded you of that as he reached for his sketchbook. His fingers were still damp, and you watched as they left watery prints over the pages as he flicked through them. He finally stopped once he reached the last one, showing you his latest sketch.

It was stained with raindrops that hadn't dried yet, from where the storm had first broken out and Daryl hadn't reacted quick enough. Yet, even though it was a little smudged and wrinkled, you could still make out that it was you - from where you had been sitting right next to him in that courtyard.

The man set the book down so that the page remained open on his desk, and picked up the other loose-sheet drawing that you'd done of him - and placed them together.

"Me too," Daryl said.

And that was all you needed to hear.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

Also, here is my buy me a coffee! If you enjoy my writing, tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

A/N AHH. I just loved this 2 part story.

Tag List:

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[nicknellie]

Ok, so obviously Luke’s relationship with Emily was very strained before he left home. But what about with his dad? I present to you, headcanons about Mitch and Luke Patterson’s father-son relationship, featuring trans!Luke.

(I tried to keep this light-hearted but it didn’t really work so... I’m sorry.)

Luke and Mitch were always close

I’m talking all the usual father-child activities: Mitch taught him how to swim, how to ride a bike, took him to his first sports games, they went fishing once (but Luke fell in the lake so they never did it again), they go camping together, everything and anything

Luke wasn’t the best behaved child growing up though, so his parents were always trying to think of things that would calm him down or at least distract him

It was Mitch’s idea to buy Luke his first guitar

Mitch used to play acoustic guitar and thought it would be a fun thing to share with Luke, and it might help him be better behaved

The first time Luke played he wanted to give up immediately because he couldn’t do it on the first try

Mitch sat him down and taught him everything he knew (very patiently, because little Luke was not willing to learn)

Eventually he got the hang of it and loved it to pieces

It made Mitch so proud to see his son enjoying himself so much

Mitch was the first person Luke spoke to when he was questioning his gender

He was ten or eleven and knew next to nothing about gender identity, so he went to his dad because he had been so good at explaining things in the past

Mitch was as supportive as you could imagine - as soon as Luke felt ready, the two of them headed out shopping to buy new clothes and things

Truth be told, Mitch didn’t know a lot about gender either, but he made it his mission to research it until he felt that he knew enough to be truly supportive of Luke

After Luke had also come out to Emily, the three of them went to their first pride event - Mitch didn’t think he’d ever seen Luke smiling quite so brightly

(Luke wrote My Name Is Luke and played it to Emily as his way of coming out - she was also incredibly supportive, and Mitch cried)

Luke asked for an electric guitar for his fourteenth birthday

Emily wasn’t so sure, but Mitch was the one to persuade her that it could be a good idea

“You know how much he loves music, it’s not as if it’ll be a waste of money.”

Luke, of course, adored his electric guitar

He’d put on “shows” for his parents, which were really just him sat in the living room, blocking their view of the TV, singing covers of his favourite songs

Then he met Reggie, Bobby, and Alex one by one, and they formed Sunset Curve

This is when things started to go downhill

Emily didn’t want Luke in the band - not because she didn’t want him to enjoy music, but because she had a lot of misconceptions about rock musicians and things like drugs and drink

When the arguing started, Mitch was stuck between a rock and a hard place - agree with his wife or agree with his son

He could see both sides of their argument and whenever they argued he either tried not to get involved or tried to calm it down

Neither tactic really worked

It hurt him to see his family falling apart

After the first big argument between Emily and Luke, Luke stormed off to his room

Mitch spoke to Emily first

“If he’s enjoying it and staying safe then what’s the problem?” he asked her

She had sighed and said, “I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

Later, Mitch hesitantly knocked on Luke’s door

Luke said, “Go away,” but Mitch ignored him and walked in

“If you’re here to tell me that mom’s right and I should quit the band then you can save it, I’m not leaving.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. You want to go somewhere? Get something to eat, just go on a drive? You can’t stay in your room all day.”

When Luke didn’t reply, Mitch said, “Just the two of us.”

They went to Luke’s favourite fast food restaurant and Luke’s mood brightened steadily

Mitch listened to him gush about the band, talk about all the gigs they had lined up, laugh about his friends’ antics

He didn’t think the band could be dangerous or a bad idea, not when Luke so clearly adored it

The fights only got worse - it became routine for Mitch to calm Emily down first, then go and take Luke somewhere

They went to the cinema, crazy golf, the beach, museums, the planetarium, haunted houses in October, Christmas markets in December, or they would just wander around or go on a long drive

Whatever Luke needed to take his mind off it, Mitch was happy to help him

It got to the point that after an argument Luke would be stood by the door with his coat on, ready to leave

We know Luke and Alex dated for a bit in the nineties - Mitch was the first person Luke told when they got together, and he was the shoulder Luke cried on when they broke up

Mitch was just arriving home from work the night Luke ran away

He could see his bike disappearing around a corner, and Emily was falling apart

She explained everything - Mitch held himself together; he thought Luke would come home eventually

He blamed himself a bit; he felt he was the one who had taught Luke that if an argument got too heated it was alright to just leave

After three days, he started to worry

He called the police, told them of a missing person

“Please, it’s my son. His name is Luke Patterson, he’s been missing since Wednesday night. Apparently he hasn’t been in school either. My wife and I... we miss him so much, we just want to know he’s safe.”

He and Emily made missing person posters together, along with the ones issued by the police

The ink on most of them ended up smudged after one of them cried on it

Mitch took out newspaper ads in the hopes that somehow Luke would see it

(Luke did see the ads, he just never responded to them - he would tear them out of the newspapers and keep them in his pocket because it felt like that way he had a bit of his parents’ love with him)

He and Emily went to Reggie, Alex, and Bobby’s houses to ask them if they’d seen Luke - on Luke’s request, none of them really gave a straight answer

One night, Mitch was looking out of the living room window

He thought he saw someone in the bushes

He wondered - hoped it could have been Luke

When he did a double-take, he saw that no one was there

He decided it was a trick of the light

On the night of Luke’s death, the police showed up at the Pattersons’ house, lights flashing, sirens wailing

Luke had been missing for months - of course Mitch and Emily assumed the worst

Of course they were right

They identified the body together

Mitch cried as Emily hugged her son - that probably wasn’t allowed, but she did it anyway

Emily whispered something to Luke but Mitch couldn’t hear what it was

Mitch said goodbye afterwards

He smoothed down his son’s hair, closed his eyes, straightened his jacket, held his hand, hugged him gently

Silently, he thanked Luke for everything he’d given him and done for him, for making him a better person and teacher and father, for being so perfect

That night, Mitch picked up his own old acoustic guitar for the first time in years

He played a lullaby he and Emily had sung to Luke as they tried to get him to sleep as a baby

He played the first song he’d ever taught Luke

He played a few of Luke’s original songs, the ones he’d liked so much that he’d learnt them himself, without telling Luke

He played the guitar at Luke’s funeral

But he didn’t play again after that

He remembered his son in other ways: framing hundreds of photographs and hanging them around the house, volunteering at a youth group on Friday nights, switching career paths and training as a teacher

One year, for Emily’s birthday, Mitch named a star and gave her the certificate

He had called it Luke

“Our boy was always going to be a star,” he told his wife, “and now he really is.”

[shijiujun]

I noticed that you've done Chinese calligraphy (very pretty btw) and I wanted to ask if you know of any good resources for beginners?

heya!!!! thanks for that!! this is a timely ask because i was thinking i’d do a round-up anyway some time down the road so this is good XD 

firstly tho, i’d like to put out a disclaimer that i’m no expert at this and am pretty much an amateur. so i took calligraphy classes for three years at a national calligraphy center (not that it made me a pro or shite because i don’t one bit have a natural affinity for it). if there are any calligraphy experts on this site, please feel free to add to this or correct me.

once again, i’m not claiming that everything i know is super accurate, all my basics were taught by a teacher so i’m not super sure where to go for self-learning but here’s what i know in brief for an unreliable, personal crash course:

↳ there are a lot of types of calligraphy, but i’ll just simply go on two types for now:

(1) normal calligraphy 书法 with a 毛笔 (calligraphy brush)

(2) contemporary calligraphy 硬笔书法 that’s done with a pen (can be 0.7/1.0 ball point or fountain pens with thin/thick nibs etc., although using fountain pens is considered something influenced by the west, and a lot of people prefer to use inky ball points instead for better flexibility)

↳ in terms of font/style there are five main groups (of which examples i will give in calligraphy brush, not a normal pen), and the first two are the most commonly used ones:

(1) 行书 - semi-cursive script

(2) 楷书 - regular script

(3) 草书 - cursive script

(4) 篆书 - seal script

(5) 隶书 - clerical script

↳ what are the differences and how do you pick a style to begin with?

in general people start with either 行书 or 楷书 especially for young adults these days because honestly, these are the more clearly visible forms that most of us that read chinese can decipher, as you can probably tell from the above differences. it’s literally chinese as most of us know it.

even those who’ve practiced calligraphy for a really long time are still kind of arguing on whether beginners should start with 行书 or 楷书, and the 楷书 camp advocates for the learning of regular script before they start inventing with semi-cursive 行书, which has its own merits. after all, with 楷书 you do learn the basics of how to start a stroke, end a stroke, the structure of characters split for the best composition (that’s why a lot of people practice on grid paper), but there are those who started with 行书 that say it’s easier to go to 楷书 after you learn semi-cursive.

the rule of thumb is, learn the style you like best and you think you can follow best. i began with 楷书 and honestly haven’t figure out 行书 much i have to say. although personally, if you are not familiar with chinese characters in general, i’d recommend going with 楷书 first. only because you know exactly how many strokes there are etc., whereas with semi-cursive there are some tricks to it that you might not need to know right now.

篆书 is considered like an ancient form of writing font and was used in certain periods and dynasties not that i know which ones, but if you watch certain cdramas, you’ll definitely have seen this font - this font is also commonly used to make stamping seals (i’ll explain what’s written on seals below)

隶书 was invented sometime after that for, as the name suggests, administrative purposes where clerics required a faster font to write with. lastly, there’s 草书, which as you can tell, is a hell lot harder to decipher! this is because this font was created more as an aesthetic, art form than actual like reading. there are some that are of course written clearly, but the extreme curves and like sometimes even thicker brushes are used for aesthetics/style sake like this one:

↳ some general advice when you’re practicing

(1) this is a time-intensive practice and requires a lot of patience but is incredibly rewarding - it’s not something that will come immediately even if you watch tutorials and practice a single word for like a week. just like english calligraphy, you’ll probably have to practice for months/years depending on how much you can practice BUT it’s not as if you need to put up ‘perfect’ work each time, and it’s more important to find your own style after getting the basics right

(2) my teacher and a lot of calligraphy enthusiasts always nag and say: chinese calligraphy is not about just technique, you need to write with the heart - [练字重在热情, 只要能坚持就好] this sound incredibly philosophical but is pretty much the old adage of if you like something and have passion for it, keep at it and you’ll get it eventually

↳ brushes

okay, here’s where it might get a little complicated - the type of brush you need depends on the type of font you’re going for, and of course if you don’t have that many choices, just go for whatever you have as long as the ends of the brush aren’t split [cr: https://www.sohu.com/a/343812958_161249]

(1) 硬毫笔 (hard): made of wolf, horse, rabbit, deer hair etc.

(2) 软毫笔 (soft): made of sheep hair etc.

(3) 兼毫笔 (medium): mixed with hair used to make both hard and soft brushes

(4) i think there are now brushes made of synthetic hair as well now #technology especially if it’s a cheap brush, also there are only so many animal hairs you can grab XD

obviously, is it more difficult to start with (2), the soft brush - it is said that once you begin with the soft brush and master it, you can use any brush. i started with a hard brush, especially for 楷书 because you need a hard brush to help you end the strokes precisely but that’s because i’m half a noob

for 行书 and 草书, because it’s cursive right and requires flexibility, of course a soft brush works better!

length of the brush matters as well - it is easier to control a shorter and slightly thicker brush than it is to control a lengthier and thinner brush - i’ve tried both, and i died with the second one, you can see the different varieties here:

*most calligraphy brushes for daily normal practice have pointed tips, the one you see on the far left is obviously a wide tip and this is only used for larger or huge pieces, those with four characters, and typically used with 草书

size of your desired font matters too - if you’re going for a dainty size, do use smaller, shorter and thinner brushes like these:

regular sized fonts would do well with brushes like these:

↳ paper

(1) print 

square paper is your best friend - beginners should honestly start with grid paper and the type that sections the square nicely for you here, but once you’re familiar, any square/grid paper will do for practice, any size works as well, depends on what size font you’re trying to go for

square/columned/blank paper for final product

(2) paper types

yellow or white thin calligraphy practice paper, made of rice or normal paper - usually comes in a huge stack, feels a little like felted paper - they’re also usually folded into huge scroll-like stacks

normal A4 grid or column foolscap/paper - this list is not exhaustive, you can technically use any type of paper as long as it helps you to space out the words nicely

↳ miscellaneous accessories

(1) ink and ink holder - there is a special kind of ink for calligraphy called 墨 and people usually just buy it in bottles these days. in ancient times you had to 研墨 rub/scrape the ink out (which you can see with the rectangular pieces below). it honestly has a really pungent smell in my opinion for certain brands especially the cheaper ones, but that’s the authentic type i guess!

as for ink holders, just use a tiny plate or a tiny sauce plate (i stole one from my grandma XD)

(2) brush holder －  not really necessary unless you have a lot of brushes and need a place to hold them. the reason to have one of these is also because it’ll help the brush keep its shape and will help it last longer as well

(3) stamps - for a final product, you should end it with a stamp! there are different types of stamps and different types of fonts, you can use the seal font for this as well, or just usual regular script this is your watermark/signature for calligraphy pieces

shapes come in ovals, squares, circles 

characters in the stamp - it can be your surname, your full name, or even like a full poem for a huge stamp 

ink - usually when you purchase a stamp and have it carved, it comes also with a red ink stamp pad, traditionally, stamps on calligraphy pieces are stamped in red

(4) felt base - we use felt bases so that when you write the ink doesn’t seep through the paper! but honestly newspaper works as well, but i bought it for real cheap on taobao 

(5) paper weights - buy some nice chinese-style paperweight or just use whatever you have on hand because the papers are REALLY THIN and always end up flying somewhere

(1) get your strokes right first 

honestly, get all your single/compound strokes right first! which means starting with words such as 一，二，三 and others

some videos: 

(2) move onto other more complex words, one at a time

(3) print practice papers, get tracing paper and trace over each

here’s one but any works: https://kuaibao.qq.com/s/20191230AZP1AK00?refer=spider

---

so that’s all i have!! let me know if you’ve got any other questions or need some other resources for me to point you to!

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 9: Percy Forces Me To Join A Quest

The next morning, Percy moved to cabin three. Luke was the only one I could hang out with from my cabin. He was also the one who took care of my wounds after the thing happened. Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but I got the feeling they were all talking about it behind my back. The attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: one, that I managed to command a hellhound; and two, I came with the son of Poseidon. They all assume I would be as great as Percy. The other campers steered clear of me as much as possible. Only Luke struck around. Yes, even Percy started ignoring me. I figured it had something to do with water and stuffs. Cabin eleven was too nervous to have sword class with him after what happened in the woods, so he had one-on-one with Luke. I usually sit in to watch them in hopes of Percy talking to me again. But nada. "You're going to need all the training you can get," Luke promised, as they were working with swords and flaming torches. "Now let's try that viper-beheading strike again. Fifty more repetitions." Annabeth still taught Percy and I Greek but on different times I had mine in the mornings. Even Clarisse kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill me. I wished she would just yell or punch me or something. I'd rather get into fights every day than be ignored. I stayed with Luke most of my time. We'd gotten close that talking about gods wasn't such a touchy subject. He also told me stuffs about himself, like how he got his scar and small stuffs. I was still in bed in cabin eleven. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn't dreamed that. It was so early that most of the campers were still asleep. "Good morning?" I saw Luke standing near the door. "Eh... good enough I guess." I said sitting on my bed. "It's really boring since I don't do anything." "Not sure if I'm bringing you good news or bad," He smiled taking the seat beside me. "But Mr. D wants to see you." "Really? Will I finally get to do something fun?" "I feel like I should be offended." He gasped dramatically. "Why? Am I not fun?" I laughed, "Pretty much yeah." "Ouch. Anyways, I'd better let him tell you what's up." "Walk with me?" I asked with an UwU face. "I would, but commitment and all that." He joked. "Aight then. I'll get ready, wait for me outside." "I said I won't!" "Geez don't need to be in a hurry. I won't take long." I got dressed and went out to see him with an exaggerated frown. "You better walk fast. I'll leave as soon as you get there." For days, I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that Percy was declared a son of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figured it was a crime for him just to be alive. They're probably suspicious of me now as well with Percy and I's relation. The other gods had probably been debating the best way to punish me for existing, and now Mr. D was ready to deliver their verdict. "So... with Percy being a big three material. What would that make me?" "Well, putting aside the fact that you suck, you drown at every body of water that's at least a foot deep, you don't smell like a half-blood. I'd say you're... one of the big three's. Maybe Zeus's." "Har har. I'm just really worried you know? With Percy getting claimed as Poseidon's... and I came with him. And water just loves me so much. I'd assume I'm somewhere along the lines of Zeus and... Zeus. Is there someone stronger than Zeus?" "Depends on who you asked." "If I asked Zeus he'd definitely answer Zeus." I heard a loud thunder echoed. "Someone's brave." Luke laughed. Over Long Island Sound, the sky looked like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain was coming in our direction. I asked Luke if we needed an umbrella. "No," he said. "It never rains here unless we want it to." "So my kiss under the rain fantasy is a no?" "If it has to be here... probably." I pointed at the storm. "What the heck is that, then?" "Bad news. But don't worry, it'll pass by us." I realized he was right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley. But this storm... this one was huge. At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin were playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysus's twins were walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everybody was going about their normal business, but they looked tense. They kept their eyes on the storm. When Luke saw the front porch of the Big House. "Whatever they say. Don't choose the option where you'll die." "Half a promise. Depends on the other option." "Well I'll give you an easier promise. Don't die." "Not really easier but okay."

After he ruffled my hair, I walked up to the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sat across the table in his fake wheelchair. They were playing against invisible opponents--two sets of cards hovering in the air. "Y/N!" Grover greeted. "Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity finally got his request." I turned to see Percy who was looking at me and then moved away. I waited for him to greet... "Come closer, both of you," Mr. D said. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father." A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house. "Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus said. Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards. Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth. "If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm." "Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in. "Nonsense," Dionysus said. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father." "Mr. D—" Chiron warned. "Oh, all right," Dionysus relented. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rose, and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do." Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle. A credit card? No. A security pass. He snapped his fingers. The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind. Chiron smiled at me, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit, Percy, please. You too Y/N and Grover." We did. Grover sat between us. Chiron laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use. "Tell me, Percy," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?" "It scared me," I said. "If Y/N hadn't told it to stand down, I'd be dead." I saw Percy turn to my direction, which made me roll my eyes. "You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done." "Done... with what?" "Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?" I glanced at Grover, who was crossing his fingers. "Um, sir," I said, "you haven't told me what it is yet." Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part, the details." Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I could see, the sky and the sea were boiling together. "Poseidon and Zeus," Percy said. "They're fighting over something valuable... something that was stolen, aren't they?". Chiron and Grover exchanged looks. Chiron sat forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?" "The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And... I've also been having these dreams." "I knew it," Grover said. "Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered. "But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes were bright with excitement. "It must be!" "Only the Oracle can determine." Chiron stroked his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, Percy, you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt." I laughed. "A what?" "Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives." "Oh." "Zeus's master bolt," Chiron said, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers." "And it's missing?" "Stolen," Chiron said. "By who?" "By whom," Chiron corrected. Once a teacher, always a teacher. "By you." "At least"—Chiron held up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best', 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it." "But I didn't—" "Patience and listen, child," Chiron said. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt, and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his son. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief." "But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!" Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around us, as Luke had promised. They were rolling straight over our valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid. "Er, Percy...?" Grover said. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky." "Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy. Chiron was waiting for an answer. "Something about a golden net?" He answered. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods... they, like, trapped Zeus and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler, right?" "Correct," Chiron said. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you've come along—the proverbial last straw." "But I'm just a kid!" "Percy," Grover cut in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, that he's fathered a new mortal hero who might be used as a weapon against you.... Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?" "But I didn't do anything. Poseidon—my dad—he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledged war would look like, Percy?" "Bad?" "Imagine the world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight." "Bad," I repeated. "And you, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath." It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky. I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of Percy. I was furious. "So he has to find the stupid bolt," I said. "And return it to Zeus." "What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the son of Poseidon return Zeus's property?" "If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" "I believe I know." Chiron's expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago... well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle." "Why can't you tell me where the bolt is beforehand?" "Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge." "Good reason." "You agree then?" He looked at Grover, who nodded encouragingly. Easy for him. He wasn't the one Zeus wanted to kill. Percy then turned to me, "All right," he said. "But, I'll go when Y/N comes with." "Woah there! I am not going anywhere." I hissed. You ignore me for days and now you want me to die with you now? "Why do I have to go with you?" "Percy---" "I don't want to leave without her." He looked down. I felt guilty about turning him down. Which was stupid since he's the one at fault. I gave a sigh, I hope Luke won't get mad at me. "It's better than you being turned into a dolphin." I mumbled. "I'll go." "Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron said. "Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more." Before Percy came up he took my arm and pulled me in a hug. "I wanted you there, so we could save our parents together. After this quest, you me your mom and dad and my mom, will stay together." I hugged him back and nodded. "Thank you." Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trapdoor. Percy pulled the cord. The door swung down, and a wooden ladder clattered into place. After he went up. Chiron turned to me. "Hmm? Something to say?" I asked in a hopefully not rude tone. "I've had enough of people staring at me thinking, I summoned that hellhound." "Y/N, I assure you I don't think you'd do that. I am just confused as to why it followed your command." "Did you maybe forget to tell us something? I really can't seem to find out who you are." "Well... I don't think I forgot to mention anything. Maybe the fact that water hates me, I've never been on a plane, and I am low-key kinda scared of the dark depending on the situation." "Water hates you?" Grover asked. "First time swimming, beach, I was 5. I drowned at a supposedly 3 feet deep water. I haven't been near any bodies of water ever since. Until I met Percy, I drowned at the beach again. If I wasn't mistaken I was few meters away from the water and it pulled me and I almost drowned." "It would seem, Poseidon hates you. Why would he?" "My parents must've realized that fish god hates me and didn't take chances on the others." I could tell Chiron wanted to continue but Percy came down, "Well?" Chiron asked. He slumped into a chair at the pinochle table. I could see he wasn't happy. "Are you okay?" I asked him. He looked at me warily and nodded. "She said I would retrieve what was stolen." Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!" "What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron pressed. "This is important." "She . .. she said I would go west and face a god who had turned. I would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned." "I knew it," Grover said... Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?" "No," He said. "That's about it." I took a hold of Percy's hand. And he gave me a look that said, 'I'll tell you later.' "Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass." "Okay," I said, anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?" "Ah, think, Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?" "Somebody else who wants to take over?" he guessed. "Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken." I thought about my dreams, the evil voice that had spoken from under the ground. "Hades." Chiron nodded. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility." A scrap of aluminum dribbled out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh-what?" "A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminded him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades." "Yes, but—but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protested. "Especially if he has found out Percy is a son of Poseidon... ." "A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this young half-blood before he can take on the quest." "Great," Percy muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me." "Hey, I beat you, I got all of them." I smirked. I was trying to lighten up the mood and Percy finally cracked a smile. "But a quest to..." Grover swallowed. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year." "Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth." A strange fire burned in my stomach. The weirdest thing was: it wasn't fear. It was anticipation. I wasn't feeling scared of anything right now. I felt like I could face anything. I was ready to take him on. Anyone in a matter of fact. Besides, if my mom and dad might be in the Underworld... which would be unlikely. Who knows maybe I could bribe him and talk him into reviving them. Or what if he's misunderstood? What if there's a plot twist somewhere here, and it actually wasn't Hades's fault? Grover was trembling. He'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips. The poor guy needed to complete a quest with us so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that was. This was suicide. "Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy told Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads." "It might not be him you know." I added. "She's right, suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron said. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?" "You're saying I'm being used." "I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon has claimed you now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs you." "Damn, my parent doesn't? I'm going on a deadly quest thanks to Arthur Curry right here. Least they could do is support me and let me know They'll be proud of me saving the world." I huffed. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?" "I had my suspicions. As I said... I've spoken to the Oracle, too." I got the feeling there was a lot he wasn't telling us about his prophecy, but I decided I couldn't worry about that right now. After all, I was holding back information too. "So let me get this straight," I said. "We're supposed go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead." "Check," Chiron said. "Find the most powerful weapon in the universe." "Check." "And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days." "That's about right." Percy and I looked at each other then we looked over at Grover, who gulped down the ace of hearts. "Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly. "You don't have to go," Percy told him. "I can't ask that of you. "Oh..." He shifted his hooves. "No... it's just that satyrs and underground places... well..." He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his T-shirt. "You saved my life, Percy. Both of you did. If... if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let you down." I felt so relieved I wanted to cry, though I didn't think that would be very heroic. I wasn't sure what good a satyr could do against the forces of the dead, but I felt better knowing he'd be with us. "All the way, G-man." Percy turned to Chiron. "So where do we go? The Oracle just said to go west." "The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America." "Where?" Chiron looked surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles." "Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane—" "No!" Grover shrieked. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?" I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash. "We're not allowed to fly because Zeus is a stuck up who doesn't want others touching his stuff without permission." "Y/N!" Grover panicked when loud thunder echoed above us. I wanted to yell, 'Oh shut up thunder boy.' But I still wanted try fulfilling my promise to Luke with all I can. "Percy, think," Chiron said. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive." Overhead, lightning crackled. Thunder boomed. "Okay," I said, determined not to look at the storm. "So, I'll travel overland." "That's right," Chiron said. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other is Y/N. But someone else has already volunteered, if you will accept her help." "Gee," I said, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a quest like this?" The air shimmered behind Chiron. Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket. "I've been waiting a long time for a quest, seaweed brain," she said. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up." "I'll gladly give you my spot and all but... Percy and I are a duo." I lifted my fist which he bumped. "But she's right, we can't leave the world at the hands of two idiots and a scaredy-cat." "Can't we have four people on a quest?" "You can also pick more than two people to join, but this is considered dangerous as three is a sacred number. Any more than three on a quest could result in a catastrophe, including a member of the quest going missing, dying, or the quest failing." "Willing to risk it Peabody?" She gave me a glare. No. I assure you no one shall be lost in this quest. They were all looking at me weirdly. "What did you say?" "I asked if you were willing to risk it...?" I was confused. "Y/N you're doing it again." "Doing what? I am literally not doing anything wrong. Wanna fite me? I will back out of this quest." I gave an exaggerated glare. Annabeth turned to Chiron, who was looking down on me. "I suppose... if Percy is willing to risk it and all parties approve. I could allow this as a four person quest." "Well, I call not it to the dying person." I raised my hand. "But you can come Peabody. We need a not so stupid guy." "Well, if she say yes..." "I-I... don't really..." "I want to come." "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?" Her cheeks colored. "Do you want my help or not?" "A quartet," I said. "Hopefully it works." "Excellent," Chiron said. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own." Lightning flashed. Rain poured down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather. "No time to waste," Chiron said. "I think you should all get packing." I took Percy's hand and gave him a look to remind him about his quest. "I'll tell you later."

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UwU Haha I'm better now :) I am sorry for being on haitus And for some parts that I might've forgotten to erase UwU -kookie-doughs

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[cakesunflower]

Just My Kind [Teacher!Calum AU] Part 1

A/N: So I caved and decided to post part 1 of this fic. The way I wrote Calum in this is different than the way I’ve written him in the past, I think--as in he’s just a little honey in this LMAO. I hope y’all enjoy!!! 

The microwave in the teacher’s lounge was sparkling clean, and Odessa took that as good of a sign as any. The one in the high school she’d taught at in Nevada had never been clean, no one ever having the decency to clean up after their mess—and Odessa refused to do it, given that it looked as nasty on her first day there as it did on her last. It was why she always brought cold lunches from home so she wouldn’t be subjected to such filth. But this microwave was spotless, and Odessa had no qualms in placing her small bowl of spinach and chicken pasta to heat up during her lunch break.

As she waited for her food to heat up, Odessa allowed for her gaze to wander around the teacher’s lounge. It was large, bigger than her last, which wasn’t surprising given that she was from a town of barely four thousand people, with square table to eat at, couches, a bulletin board pinned with colorful fliers of latest school events. There was a hum of chatter from the few other teachers who were either on their lunch break or weren’t on cafeteria duty for the current freshman and sophomore lunch period. Large windows that looked out towards the front of the school parking lot allowed for the late morning sunlight to stream in, brightening up the space and bringing Odessa a sort of comfort her old town surrounded by mountains bought her.

“How’s your first day going, Odessa?” She turned to see Mrs. Brewer, the chemistry teacher, approaching her with a kind smile on her face. Mrs. Brewer was older than Odessa—as was most of the staff at the school, truthfully—but she’d been one of the first friendly faces to greet Odessa on her first day earlier that morning.

“Pretty well,” Odessa answered with an honest smile. Technically, it was everyone’s first day, given that it was the first day of the school year. But Odessa was new to living in a city she only came to for vacation, so her first day was relatively different than most people’s. With a gentle laugh, she added, “I’m in the same boat as the freshman so we’ve decided we’re in this together. The sophomores are pretty easy going, too.”

Mrs. Brewer chuckled, turning to the counter they stood by to prepare herself a mug of coffee. “Making friends with the freshman—smart.” Odessa smiled, opening the microwave when her food was ready. “Have you met any of the other English teachers yet?”

Odessa hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve met Bridget Donnelly and Justine Greggs.”

Stirring the sugar in her mug, Mrs. Brewer tilted her head as she followed Odessa towards the table. “You haven’t met Calum yet? I’m positive he’s the only other teacher here around your age,” she said with a laugh.

As soon as she sat down on the chair, Odessa’s eyebrows shot up at the name, clicking in her head like a snapping rubber band bringing forth a memory she’d forgotten about. Calum—of course! He was Luke’s friend, who Luke told her about as soon as she’d mentioned the school she’d gotten a job at. Calum was one of Luke’s closest friends, and Luke had informed her that he was the boys soccer coach at the school as well as one of the high school English teachers.

In the haste of moving out of Nevada and to California and preparing for her job as she settled down, the fact had slipped right out of Odessa’s head. She’d never met Calum, but she knew of him because of Luke, who Odessa kept in touch with even after they graduated college and she moved back to Nevada and he remained in California. She saw pictures of Calum on Luke’s social media, knew that Luke was in a band with him and two other guys. What a small world that she ended up with a job at the same school he was at—and yet she had gone almost half of the day without running into him.

“Oh, look—speak of the devil.”

Odessa glanced up at Mrs. Brewer’s words, following her gaze towards the door where she saw a familiar face walk through. Her back straightened as Calum entered, offering a smiling nod to Mr. Engels, the government teacher. Odessa easily recognized him in his pale yellow button down tucked into black jeans, running his fingers through short blonde curls, soft on sight, and flexing the muscles on his tattooed arm. She bit the corner of her lip as she watched him make his way towards the bowl of fruit by the stove, deaf to the way her mind was telling her to look away. He was handsome, the yellow shirt downright beautiful against his inked skin, the pictures she’d seen of him not at all doing him justice.

As if feeling her gaze on him, Calum’s dark eyes met hers right as he picked up an apple, and Odessa felt her cheeks warm at being caught but before she could even think to look away, she saw recognition flash across his features. Then, to her surprise, Calum was making his way over with a knowing furrow between dark eyebrows as he asked carefully, “Odessa? Odessa Kline, right?”

Odessa told herself it was just her polite nature that brought her smile, not the slight accent he had when he spoke. She sat up, nodding as she answered with a light laugh, “Yeah, yeah. It’s nice to finally meet you, Calum.”

He grinned then, a smile that brought sharp crinkles to the corners of his soft eyes, and Odessa chalked the flip of her stomach up to her hunger and not the way he instantly pulled up a chair to sit next to her upon confirmation of who she was. His body faced hers, elbow on the table as he played with the red apple in his hand. “Yeah, you too,” Calum laughed, the sound deep and rich and dangerously fluttering something in Odessa’s stomach. “Luke’s told me a lot ’bout you.”

“Same here,” Odessa nodded, feeling a small surge of confidence as she added, “I was gonna try to find you at the end of the day so I could meet you but I guess you beat me to it.”

“Not too disappointed, I hope,” Calum chuckled, making Odessa shake her head in response. She was getting pathetically ahead of herself, but she highly doubted she could be disappointed in meeting him. Not with that smile and voice. Calum’s gaze then flickered over her shoulder and he lifted his chin, charming smile ever present on his face as he greeted, “Afternoon, Mrs. B.”

Mrs. Brewer smiled back before gesturing between the two of them, raising her mug as she asked, “You two already know each other?”

With a shake of her head, Odessa answered, “We’ve got a mutual friend.”

“Good—now you have more than just the freshman on your side,” Mrs. Brewer teased Odessa with a smile before getting up. “Excuse me, I should probably get my lesson plan ready for the afternoon classes.”

She left, leaving just Odessa and Calum sitting at the table, and Odessa faced him once more as he hummed. “Mrs. B’s right—us English teachers gotta stick together.”

Odessa raised an eyebrow, picking up her fork and shooting Calum a smile as he bit into his apple with a sharp crunch. “Against who? The students or the rest of the teachers?”

He swallowed the bite, sharp jaw working as a teasing glint flickered in his dark eyes when he let his gaze briefly wander over to the few teachers in the room. “Both,” he answered with a small smirk once his gaze met Odessa’s, earning a laugh from her. “No, but really,” Calum laughed, lightly slapping the top of the table with his free hand. “You need anythin’, let me know, yeah? Luke’ll throw a fit if I didn’t.”

Twirling the pasta around her fork, Odessa raised an eyebrow at Calum, unable to keep her smile from turning teasing as she asked, “Oh, so you’re only offering because of Luke?”

Calum scoffed lightly, giving a subtle shake of his head. “Any friend of Luke’s is a friend of mine,” he told her, and his kind words had Odessa’s cheeks warming once more. It was totally because of his subtly accented words and not the smile that accompanied them. They both took a bite of their food, and afterwards Calum spoke, “Speaking of Luke—I’m assuming you’re coming to his bar Friday night? Since the party’s for you and all.”

Odessa paused in reached for her water, head turning towards Calum with a raise of her eyebrow and tone falling flat as she asked, “The what’s for who now?”

Calum blinked in mild confusion, eyebrows knitting together as he took in Odessa’s own questioning expression. Then, almost comically, his dark eyes widened in realization and he bared his teeth, hissing as he inhaled sharply through his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut in self exasperation. “Ah, fuck, I don’t think I was ’posed to tell you that,” he groaned, free fist pressing against his forehead as Odessa kept her gaze fixated on him, silently demanding him to further explain. Sitting up, Calum informed, “I mean, it’s not really a party. He’s just having a few people come over to welcome you. You know how Luke’s always lookin’ for a reason to celebrate.”

Odessa’s expression fell at Calum’s words, a small sinking feeling settling in her stomach. “Oh, God,” she huffed, leaning back in the chair and blank gaze falling on her lunch in front of her. “He knows I don’t like being the center of attention.” Odessa glanced at Calum, a half smile curling at her lips before she added, “Except in the classroom.”

He laughed lightly, nodding along and Odessa had a feeling that he may, in some way, relate to her words. When his gaze met hers once more, a warmth that somehow had the power of making her feel at ease despite the news of Luke’s party, Calum lifted his chin. “It won’t be too bad. You should definitely still come.” Then, with a small, boyish smirk and a raise of an eyebrow, Calum added, “We’ll even perform a couple of songs for you.”

Her stomach flipped. She kept telling herself it was because she was still hungry and not because of the crinkles that appeared alongside his kind smile. And despite the warmth in her cheeks, Odessa still said, “How can I say no to that?”

*****

“Grams, Grandpa, I’m heading out!”

Odessa’s grandfather, Zeke, sat up from his recliner and looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “You’re not driving, are ya?”

“No, the Uber’s gonna be here in a minute,” Odessa reassured him with a laugh. She entered the living room, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek before stepping over to where Grams sat on the couch, a book in her hands and pressed a kiss to her temple as well. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back—please don’t wait up.”

Grams looked up at her, blue eyes holding a maternal concern as she asked, “You won’t be alone, will you?”

“No,” Odessa told her, shrugging on the deep red bomber jacket. “I’m gonna be with Luke—you remember him, right?”

“That tall, handsome boy we met at your graduation? How can I forget?” Grams grinned, earning a bemused scoff from Grandpa. Odessa merely laughed as Grams added gleefully, “Are you interested in him?”

Her question had Odessa laughing only harder, intensifying as Grandpa grumbled, “Kid looks like a mountain man.”

“I’m not interested in Luke, Grams,” Odessa laughed, her cheeks already hurting from the grin. She swore Grams was sometimes worse than her gossiping aunts, except she knew Grams only ever came from a place of warmth and good intentions. The same couldn’t always be said for her aunts. “He’s just a friend, and he’s got a girlfriend.”

Grams twisted her lips to the side, disappointment evident. Clicking her tongue, she looked up at Odessa pointedly and said, “I’m sure he’s got some cute friends. A boy like that’s got to.”

Odessa bit the inside of her cheek, a face flashing across the forefront of her mind that she instantly pushed back with a skip of her heart. This conversation was only bringing forth thoughts Odessa had repressed over the past week—particularly when she saw that familiar face in the school hallways or teacher’s lounge. He’d pop into her classroom in between classes, greeting her like they were old friends, chatting for brief periods before they had to attend to their students. 

She appreciated Calum’s friendliness more than she thought she would. In the midst of settling down in her new job, getting to know new students and ironing out her lesson plan, it felt nice to wind down and relax for moments in the form of talking to Calum. He was sweet, charming, and from what Odessa gathered over her first week at teaching at the school, he was adored by his students. She was also pretty sure a bunch of them had a crush on him—not that she blamed them. Odessa herself wasn’t innocent of not harboring innocent crushes on her school teachers—or college professors.

Fuck. She couldn’t be talking about crushes and Calum in the same context. 

Glancing down at her phone, Odessa noted the Uber waiting for her outside, and after a quick goodbye to her grandparents—as well as to Lettie, Grams’s American shorthair—Odessa was out the door and sliding into the backseat of the Hyundai. She kept busy on the ride by scrolling through social media, letting Luke know that she was on his way, who was still bothered that she didn’t let him pick her up. But Odessa had errands to run right up until she got ready, and she didn’t want Luke to wait around for her, and she didn’t mind taking an Uber—especially with driving being out of the question since she planned on drinking.

Her knee bounced during the ride over, a flutter of nerves making themselves known. Like Luke, Odessa was always down for a party—except when she was the center of attention. Honestly, she thought Luke inviting everyone to hang out to welcome her was both sweet and excessive, and when she had told him about her hesitation, Luke had been understanding. Of course, he’d cursed out Calum for ruining the surprise, but at the end assured Odessa that it wouldn’t be a big thing. It would just be people he was close with that he wanted her to meet, especially now that she was living in the area and Luke, who was a social butterfly, loved having all of his friends meet. And with Luke knowing how Odessa felt about parties centering around her, she felt a lot more at ease attending tonight.

Except it was easier to blame her bouncing knee on those kinds of nerves rather than the ones of seeing Calum outside of school.

Right as the Uber turned onto the street Odessa knew the bar to be on, she texted Luke that she was basically there, and as soon as she stepped out of the car after thanking the driver, she felt a smile grow on her lips to see Luke emerging from the bar, ready to greet her upon arrival. The sign above the bar was neon blue that read Borderline, the name of the joint, with windows on the bar front allowing to show how busy it was inside. Odessa prayed they were mostly people just enjoying a night out and now those who Luke personally invited.

“I still wish you would’ve let me given you a ride instead of wasting money on an Uber,” was how Luke chose to greet her, arms open wide to allow Odessa to step into his embrace.

She snorted, returning his hug, enjoying his familiar warmth as she returned dryly, “Hello to you, too.” When they pulled away, she smiled and patted his chest. “Next time.”

He rolled his blue eyes before dropping his arm around her shoulders and ushering her inside, bumping knuckles with the bouncer out front before they entered the loud, busy bar. It wasn’t bright inside, the lights dim and soft on the eyes as a DJ set up on a stand higher than the bar played music throughout. The first thing Luke did was lead her towards the bar, ordering Odessa’s go-to drink of a Malibu Bay Breeze which was ready for her quickly before bringing her to where a group of people—including a few familiar faces—were hanging out by a couple of tall tables.

Odessa returned the hug Sierra, Luke’s girlfriend, greeted her with before losing herself in the next few moments of meeting new faces. Luke’s friend Michael and his fiancé, Crystal, and Ashton with his girlfriend KayKay, and then finally—

Oh. Odessa hadn’t expected to see her.

“Long time, Odessa,” Paige, Odessa’s roommate from her junior and senior years of college, greeted with a too wide grin, stepping from the group and pulling Odessa in a hug she hadn’t expected. Paige’s rose scented perfume tickled Odessa’s nose as she returned the hug, hoping her mild discomfort didn’t overpower her surprise at seeing Paige, who pulled away with that grin still on her face. “I’m so excited you decided to move into the city! It’ll be great to catch up.”

The smile on Odessa’s lips felt strained, but she kept it in place as she forced herself to nod and respond, “Yeah, totally.”

If Paige picked up on the subtle lack of sincerity in Odessa’s words, she didn’t comment on it as she smiled and took a step back, grabbing her glass of mojito from the table. Gaze wandering over to Luke, Odessa saw the hint of apology in his blue eyes, and she bit her tongue. At least Luke was aware that she wasn’t too thrilled about Paige’s presence. Being her roommate for two years had been bad enough—Odessa didn’t have much of an interest in hanging out with Paige otherwise.

It wasn’t that Odessa hated Paige—it was just that Paige could be a bit much. In a bad way. It was always her way or the highway, and Odessa had become used to keeping her opinions to herself when she was around Paige in order to keep her then-roommate appeased and keep herself off of Paige’s shit list. Because she definitely had one of those. But after they graduated, Odessa had assumed she wouldn’t have to see her again—and she kind of wished Luke had given her some kind of warning that Paige was still a part of his life.

“Hey—the guest of honor’s arrived.” Odessa looked to the left to see Calum walking towards them, a friendly grin she often saw at school on his face as he made his way over, and Odessa tried not to think of how naturally she accepted his greeting embrace, the vague scent of cigarettes tickling her nose. The black lighter in his hand further confirmed he’d been smoking. She clicked her tongue at him at his words, and Calum chuckled and relented, “Right, right, this isn’t a party for you. Just a bunch of friends getting together.”

Odessa mirrored his grin, feeling her heart momentarily freeze at the teasing wink he sent her way as he grabbed the extra bottle of beer from Ashton’s hand. Next to her, Luke scoffed, “Yeah, thanks, man, for ruining the surprise.”

Calum shot him an apologetic grin while the rest of them laughed along, and Odessa came to his defense as she said to Luke, “You know I don’t like surprises. He basically saved you from getting smacked.”

Luke stuck his tongue out at her. “Last time I try to do something nice for you.”

The group of them gathered around a couple of round tables and chatted, and Odessa found herself feeling at ease in their company despite only having met some of them tonight. She was comfortable as she was asked questions about herself, the few who she didn’t know wanting to get to know her better, genuine interest lacing their tones, and Odessa returned the sentiment as she got to know them, too. 

“So Odessa—you and Cal teach at the same school?” Paige spoke up, a curious smile on her face as she stood opposite of her. “How fun—it must be nice to have a familiar face in the building, right?”

“Yeah, it is,” Odessa answered carefully, stirring her straw in her cup. She had learned, a long time ago, to always be cautious when it came to talking to Paige. She knew never knew when her so-called friend would try to turn the conversation against her. Still, though, when Odessa answered, she glanced at Calum, who stood to her right and shot her a charming and agreeing grin that had Odessa’s stomach flipping.

Paige nodded, humming innocently, gaze sharp. “I bet; probably makes it easier, right? I know how anxious you get whenever you’re in a new place.”

Odessa bit the inside of her cheek. She genuinely wondered sometimes if Paige was being patronizing on purpose or if she truly didn’t catch on to the way she spoke to her. Instead of feeling embarrassed, especially since she had no reason to, Odessa shrugged. “I broke out of that habit a while back; it’s easy to when you have to teach a bunch of hyper high schoolers.”

Next to her, Calum scoffed and held his beer bottle out to her. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, and Odessa smiled as she tapped her cup to his bottle before they both took sips of their drinks. “Teaching those kids is no joke.”

Michael rolled his green eyes, waving his free hand as he said sarcastically, “Yeah, yeah, we get it—you’re modern day superheroes.”

Odessa laughed with everyone else, easily finding the good nature behind Michael’s words as she continued sipping her drink. All the while ignoring the feel of Paige’s gaze on her from across the table, refusing to meet her gaze as she allowed for Crystal to pull her into a new conversation.

“Hey, come here a sec,” Luke murmured about ten minutes later, and Odessa excused herself from a conversation with KayKay and Michael before following him a few steps away from their group and towards the bar. When she came to stand next to him, Luke looked down at her with an apologetic expression. “I should’ve told you that Paige was gonna show up—I wanna say she came to see you, but if I’m being honest, it’s ’cause she knew Cal would be here so she kind of just invited herself.”

Odessa blinked up at him, his words kind of taking her by surprise. An uncomfortable knot formed in her stomach as she reluctantly asked, “Oh, are they, like, a thing?”

Luke shrugged as he took a sip of his tequila, licking his lips after. “Not really. I mean, Cal said they hooked up a couple of times but if I’m being honest—” Luke offered a wry smirk. “—she’s more into him than he is into her.”

At that, Odessa chanced a glance to where their group stood, eyes catching the way Paige stood next to Calum as they chatted with Sierra. The music playing in the bar deafened Odessa as to what they were talking about, but it didn’t blind her to the grin Calum shot Paige as she said something Odessa wasn’t privy to. “Really?” she asked Luke, the doubt a lot clearer in her tone than she would’ve liked it to be.

“Yeah, trust me,” Luke scoffed out a laugh, and Odessa glanced to see him look back at her as well after following her gaze. “Cal’s just a nice guy. They haven’t hooked up in, like, months. I think Paige just doesn’t get the hint, ya know?”

“You seem to know too much about this,” she said suspiciously, prompting Luke to merely smirk in response. Odessa let out a sharp breath through her nose, shooting Luke a look as she turned to face the bar. “When has Paige never gotten what she wants?” she added dryly as she flagged down the bartender, her drink finished and in need of another one.

Luke rolled his eyes, knowing the the truth of Odessa’s words. “Fair enough. Still, though—can’t wait for the day she gets knocked down a peg or two.” With a smirk appearing on his lips to show off his dimples, Luke added, “I always knew I was right to have you as my favorite across-the-hall neighbor.”

That had her laughing as the bartender placed her drink in front of her, and the grin on Odessa’s face remained as she said to Luke, “I missed you too, Luke.”

--

tags: @irwinkitten​ @sweetcherrymike​ @loveroflrh​ @meetashthere​ @astroashtonio​ @loverofhood​ @captain-what-is-going-on​ @angelbbycal​ @singt0mecalum​ @hopelessxcynic​ @lfwallscouldtalk​ @bodhi-black​ @findingliam-o​ @softlrh​ @highfivecalum​ @calumsmermaid​ @erikamarie41​ @quintodosuniversos​ @longlastingdaydream​ @babylon-corgis​ @lukehemmingsunflower​ @miss-saltwatercowgirl​ @pastelpapermoons​ @conquerwhatliesahead92​ @rotten-kandy​ @metangi​ @neigcthood​ @ohhmuke​ @mindkaleidoscope​ @5sos-and-hessa​ @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @antisocialbandmate​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @gosh-im-short​ @thesubtweeter​ @mycollectionofnuts​ @cthwldflwr​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @socorroann​ @wildflowergrae​ 

[undercoverwizardfanfiction]

Mud is Thicker Than Blood:

Sick Day

Summary: I said i’d put all the little shorts I have about the Mud Dogs and Donnie in one story, so here it is!

Gift for: @void-inked-pen birthday a while back. They are a amazing friend and a source of inspiration for me

Characters: Donatello, Loathsome Leonard, Mickey, Dastardly Danny, Myra, April O’Neil

Pairings: You’re in luck! all the pairings for this fic are just past this door [gestures to wall that has a badly painted door under it and the laundry basket above it that’s suppose to be some sort of trap]

“What is this supposed to be?”

Even though Len had been using as polite of a tone as possible, Danny still gives him a heated glare. He uses his spatula to scrape the blackened flat pastry off his frying pan and onto Len’s plate with the consistency of a dried brick. ”They’re called crespelle’s. My Dads used to make them for me and my siblings all the time.”

“Are they supposed to be…” Mickey pokes it with his flipper, “rocks?”

Danny lets out another angry huff. “I couldn’t remember the ingredients, alright??” he says, flipping another burnt disc onto a plate. Len uses his chopstick to poke at the burnt food. For someone who had known the sting of hunger many times and learned to not be picky, he finds himself wondering if he can sneak out back and compare the taste of the burnt disk to dirt.

The sounds of footsteps tells him the last member of their little family was coming down to join them. “Morning,” Danny calls. ”I got a nice big breakfast for my only grateful family member with taste!” Danny says as he starts stacking another plate.

Donnie is pulling on his hooded cardigan as he reaches the bottom step, eyeing the breakfast with a concerned eye. “Doooo I want to know?” he asks before looking to Len with a look that clearly says ‘remember how I never forget ‘best parents day’? you owe me’. It takes more than a little willpower to keep from laughing but manages to duck his head to hide his grin before turning to Danny.

“How about we spare my kid this time? He’ll never hit his height goals if he eats this.”

Danny unties his apron and stomps over and pours himself a cup of coffee all while grumbling about ‘uncultured swine.’ This time Len can't stop the snort that escapes him this time but when Donnie takes his spot at the table his smile falters as Donnie pours himself a cup of hot coffee. Leaning over the mug with a sigh, his normally dark jade complexion feels a shade lighter than usual and more than Len’s comfortable with. “You feeling ok?” he asks, moving his chair to Don’s side of the table. He puts an arm around Don's shoulders and without waiting for an answer he presses the back of his hand to Don’s cheek. The teen squirms at the contact but was unable to pull out of his grip.

“Dad, Dad, I'm fine I just didn’t sleep well. I had a bad dream again.”

“Why didn’t you come get me? You could have slept in my bed.”

“You got home late last night, I didn’t want to wake you,” Don says, still trying to twist his head away from Len’s hand.

“I’m the Dad here, Donnie. I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around.” But when he’s unable to find anything close to a fever he pulls away. He looks to Danny hoping he’d see something Len missed but the rat shrugs at him.

“Is it still ok to go tutor April today? Please? I’ve been cooped up here all winter.”

Len wants to say no, but sighs at the pleading look Donnie gives him. It had been a longer winter then usual, he didn’t blame his son for needing some space. He was no longer a five year old but he still had a hard time telling him no for no good reason. “Yeah, but if you start feeling sick you come home ok? Or ask Myra to help you home.”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” As Donnie downs his last bit of coffee he stands back up. Len had turned to poke at his breakfast again when he feels Don's arms wrap around his collar bone and rest his cheek on Len’s head. “I love you Dad. Thanks for being obnoxious and worried.”

“Aw. Love you too, silly gecko.” Len pats his arm in reciprocated affection. Donnie grabs his shoulder back and hurries out the front door. “Have fun!” Len calls after him. Only then did he look back to Danny. “He looked pale right?”

“Yeah but honestly it could have been the breakfast,” Mickey says, picking up a disc, “I even felt sick when I saw it.”

“First of all screw you,” Danny points at Mickey with his spatula, “Second of all, if he’s not feeling well he’ll come home. And third of all, next time you all can make your own crespelles.” Danny drops his last disk onto a plate when the shattering of ceramic fills the air. The three thieves blink at each other for a sec before Danny raises up the food slowly to show the plate underneath had been cracked in half from the sheer force of the crepe. With a defeated sigh, Danny drops his spatula. “Ok whose all for throwing these at trees and seeing if they shatter??”

Len and Mickey both raise their hands with a grin.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

“Donnie?”

Despite the softness of April’s voice Don jumps so hard his elbow hits the stack of April’s school books. It’s only by his reflexes that they don’t join the rest of April’s dirty clothes on the floor. It takes him a few moments to regather his scattered thoughts before looking to April. ”Did you say something?”

“Yeah, your name, like five times.” His oldest friend peers at him from over her glasses. “Are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

Donnie would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t painfully aware of the migraine that would return if he did. Unfortunately, it had been haunting him ever since he woke up that morning. “For the last time yes. Uncle Danny made breakfast and it's just hurting my stomach. Now, the compound would be 23.6% more effective if you set the witch fire to exactly 129 degrees cinder.” He scribbles on the paper for a few moments before sliding it over to her. April casts him a suspicious look before looking over the paper again.

“If you ever convince your Dad to let you go to school, my Alchemy teacher would cry tears of joy. Again.” She pauses “They cry a lot.”

Don tries to smile but his aching head only allows him a half grin. As April starts adding his notes to hers he reaches for his yunomi of tea, not thirsty so much as needing the warmth for a subtle cold that clings to his skin.

There’s the sound of a door opening downstairs followed by the sound of a woman shrieking and dozens of items hitting the ground. ”A-April dear!!! I could use some help!” calls the unmistakable voice of the Mayor of witch town.

April was already out of her seat. “Coming Mom!” she calls hurrying for the door. “Don’t do my homework Dee!” she calls behind him.

“I would never!” Donnie says [even though he had already been reaching for her note book]. A few years ago he had the brilliant business idea, in lieu of being able to go to school himself, to do students' homework for them for a small [not so small] fee.

Of course before he could even launch his venture his Dad had found out and outright forbade it.

This time he’s unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The effect is instantaneous as the lights in the room become painfully saturated. He tries to cover his eyes but his world is already spinning.

It’s the last thing he feels before he blacks out

(#)#(#)

“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed,” Len says in a tone that can only come from nine years of parenting experience. It does its job on Mickey who’s shoulders bunch up to the sides of his head, and even though Danny is trying to pull off ‘I don’t know how you think you can guilt trip me’ by leaning back in his seat. But it's hard to look innocent when the two of them are covered in mud.

“IT WAS DANNY’S FAULT!!” Mickey shrieks pointing at the rat. “After we knocked over a tree with one of his crepy things he told me that he knew alchemy that would make mud into chocolate and-and-“

Danny’s ‘calm bad boy’ dis option went out the window (which was also broken because of a wayward flying crepelle). “Who the hell raised you to be a snitch?!” the rat hisses.

“You did!! I learned it from watching you!”

The rat opens his mouth to argue before thinking. “Ok fine but I always taught you to get paid first.”

Len slaps a hand down his face. Normally he and Danny have reversed roles but he should have recognized that wild look in the rats eyes when Mickey was using one of the leftover crepelles as a tool sharpener. But Len, forgetting they were not in fact grown men but children pretending to be adults, had left them to their own devices.

There is a knocking on the door that makes Len sigh again. ”I have a fourteen year old and he has more common sense than you two.” He says in a way that is probably supposed to make them feel ashamed, but Mickey snorts loudly with his flippers over his mouth.

He opens the door to a flash of light that forces him to cover his eyes for a moment before his eyes adjust to the familiar form of the mayor of Witch Town. “Myrah?” He rubs at his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to come get Doniel, he has a fever and passed out while tutoring April.”

Len felt as though a cold chill had passed through his body, it was the only reason he hesitated. “Y-yeah just give me a sec.” He ducks back into the house, where Danny is already waiting.

”Len what’s-“

“Donnie passed out, I need you to come with me,” already the air of lighthearted teasing and jabs went out the window. Len is back down the stairs with a quilt from Donnie’s bed as Danny is grabbing his coat and tossing Len his. He almost feels bad for Mickey who can only watch on as the two exit. Myra waves her wand, the bright light from earlier returns, creating a portal in front of them. Len barely waits for the portal to form before stepping through. A moment later he is standing in the familiar oversized living room. He had been to the witch family house many times and each time was always surprised how disproportionate all the furniture was, (which made sense considering how tall Amaranth was).

The child in question was lying on the bright pink sofa under a thick blanket. There was a washcloth hovering over his head, every few seconds wiping at his brow. April looks at them when they enter with panic in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened Lenny, I went to help mom with groceries and-and when I came back-“

“Its ok April, it's not your fault.” Len takes her place by Donnie. His son's brow is furrowed underneath a layer of perspiration. Even though he already knows the answer, he presses the back of his hand on Don’s brow. His already racing heart is now beating so fast it almost hurts in his chest. He replaces the blanket Myra had given him with the one he had brought, wrapping him up in it before scooping him up into his arms.

“I’m sorry Len, if Amaranth had been here she could help but...” her fingers tap together anxiously as she watches the child in his arms. Len was always touched by how much Myra and Amaranth cared for Donnie. He never felt the need to have a partner (though he and Donnie both made enough ‘mom’ jokes about Danny to last a lifetime) it warmed his heart to know someone outside his family loved Donnie almost as much as he did.

“I know, thank you.” He moves past the mayor to where the portal was and in another flash he's back in front of his house where Danny is waiting. The rat reaches out and takes him around the shoulders and herds him inside. “He’s burning up Danny, I-I don’t know what happened, I felt his forehead his morning and he was fine, you saw me do it.”

“I know, I know.” Even though Danny claimed that he didn’t remember any of his medical training he’s already looking over Donnie. Trained eyes looking for anything that could tell him what was wrong. After a few moments Danny says to Len, “Get him into bed I’ll be there in a sec-“

“Ah-shouldn’t we put in him some ice?”

“No, the last time we tried that he almost went into shock before I stepped in. He’s a turtle, he can’t handle it.”

“I-I know.” Len unconsciously cradles Donnie closer to his chest protectively. He could still remember the terror of the time when Donnie got the Fall Flu and had a fever that burned his hand. They had gotten so desolate they had put him in a tub of ice to combat it. They had thought it was working until Don had fallen into a deathlike stillness. It was only then Danny had realized Donnie was going into shock and pulled him out so quickly they had knocked over their makeshift tub.

Now Len couldn’t tell if the shivers he was feeling were from Donnie’s sleeping form or from his own fear. Not until Danny put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to look into his eyes. “Can you get him to bed please? I’m going to mix together some medicine that Amaranth taught me and I’ll be right there, ok?”

Len nods “Ok, ok.” He lowers his cheek onto Don’s scalp as he carries him upstairs. It's only when the parent and child are out of sight does Danny let out a shaky sigh, running a hand over his scalp under his hat and forcing himself to calm down. He had never realized how much he depended on Len keeping a calm head. He hadn’t realized just how much he depended on that til they brought Donnie in. During missions Len had an eerie calm about him that he thrived off of. But it was moments when anything threatened the health or happiness of his child that threw Len in the deep end and forced Danny to step in.

“Mickey,” he says without looking behind him, knowing the poor eel was fluttering around not knowing what to do. “Will you please go upstairs and keep Len calm? Help him how you can til I get there.”

“Y-yeah ok.” The eel hurried to do as he was told. In that moment Danny allowed himself one more sigh before reaching under the cabinet and pulling up an old beaten box, filled with herbs and remedies he had swiped from houses over the years. He pulls out a notebook he had filled with some of Amaranth's recipients and pulls out a mortar bowl and pestle. Picking through a few jars of tiny shards and grinding them together before taking out an empty incense holder and pouring it inside. He made sure to secure the lid and take up the glass bottle under his arm before hurrying up the stairs.

A part of him had been scared that Len’s own fears would drive him to ignore his warning about the ice, but he entered Don's room just as Len was pulling a blanket over him. “Good job.” Danny moves past him to kneel by the bed, turning and handing the incense to Mickey. “Can you light this please? It’ll help clear the bacteria out of his lungs.” As he was twisting open the glass bottle he heard Mickey spark behind him before the smell of lavender filled the air (he ignored Mickey gagging behind him). He tips the tip of the bottle to test how much liquid was inside. Luckily, they still had enough for Donnie (he’d have to steal more later). He dabs his thumb with the light pink liquid before running it across Don’s burning forehead. ”There.”

“Is he ok?”

Danny had to commend Len on not asking him a million questions. He reaches back and pats his old friend on the knee. “The Willow Extract should help take his fever down, but if It doesn’t help in a few hours we’ll go to witch town.” He doesn’t get a response, but when he turns to look at him, he sees Len staring at his son. His dark eyes full of concern and fear that only a father could have. Danny stands up and steps back. “Len why don’t you sit with him for a bit, and I’ll make you some tea.” He makes eye contact with Mickey and jerks his head towards the door. After taking a moment to pat Len on the shoulder he follows him out the door.

Len finally lets his face drop into his hands with a shaky breath before the sound of a weak cough reaches him. When he looks up again he was filled with relief to be looking into Donnie’s feverish dark pink eyes. “Hey,” says a weak voice.

“Hey baby boy,” Len sits up on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone tried to kill me with one of Uncle Danny’s devil pancakes.” He barely has enough wind to finish his sentence before he has to gasp for air. “Will you sit with me please?”

Len can't help but smile, holding the side of Don’s face with his hand for a moment before climbing over him and laying on his other side. Don turns his head and tucks his head underneath Lens chin. “I’m s’rry,” Don mumbles, “I-I didn’t know I was sick.”

“I know you didn’t, you’re not a good liar remember?” Len lowers his cheek onto his scalp. “You get that from your Uncle Mickey.”

“And you?”

“Nah, I’m a great liar,” he smirks down at Donnie, “I’m not going to teach you how to lie though until you turn eighteen,” he pauses, “Hundred.”

Donnie lets out a laugh that sounds more like a raspy balloon, but Len can tell he’s trying not to fall asleep again. He rubs Don’s arm over his blanket. “Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” The teen gives a nod of acknowledgement before rolling towards him. A few moments later he's fast asleep again, breathing easier than he had been a few minutes ago.

[needmytea]

Art? (career choices at a young age) - confused edition

[ NOTE: all information I gathered were from Google and (might not be accurate!) ] :) enjoy! I took a career test on Tuesday, where I had to go through 11 sets of 5-7 questions on which job I would like and which job I wouldn’t like. In the end, I would get a three character abbreviation based on the RIASEC (Realistic, Investigative, Artistic, Social, Enterprising, Conventional) code. What I got was a three character abbreviation - IAC - which stands for Investigative, Artistic, and Conventional, respectively.

- Investigative: one who likes to investigate, analyse, evaluate problems in a nutshell. - Artistic: one who is creative, leans a lot on imagination, and have artistic abilities. woohoo! - Conventional: one who likes dealing with mathematical equations, data and statistics in general. After getting my results, I have many recommended job choices that suit the received code best. The most common ones I saw were under the field of “Engineering”. From then on, I researched about the different types of engineers, ranging from the higher paid ones, to the happier ones (did you know, biomedical engineers have one of the highest happiness rates - 3.4 stars out of 5 stars), and to the high-in-demand ones. The thing about engineering is, it’s such a HUGE, BROAD field, it’s soooo popular, and it even pays quite well (to some extent!!). Jobs under Engineering are like the somewhat ideal type of job one would want to have. Good pay, somewhat-good life, and in-demand. However, my passion lies in the Arts. Art comes in many different forms, and its a wide field as well. Some examples are music, digital media, visual arts, performance arts, and many many more. My passion is for the visual arts. I really, really love drawing. Using ink markers to create an artwork, using colour pencils to blend, and even using digital art apps to draw is extremely enjoyable to me. I really, really love drawing, but I do not like drawing things that does not pique my interest, or if it’s boring and about the past. I like drawing, so as to properly express, show myself to the world through various the art forms. It’s like saying “HELLO WORLD!” Even if I receive a theme about (for example), “Partly Opened”, I would still try to put some of my elements into the artwork to make it unique and completely original (done by me). Every single artwork i produce is supposed to contain a part of myself :) The downside of my passion is, even if I do want to pursue the arts and go down the arts career pathway, it is like going down a totally opposite road (from Engineering). The pay is lower (from where I am), and without the amount of pay I wish to get, I won’t be as happy. If I go down the art career pathway, I would not enter into a college, which my parents wants me to go to. Furthermore, my weakest skill in Art is painting. My fundamentals for painting is just zero to none (i’m self taught ;), which results to me being worse than my artsy friends at painting [ cue sad noises ]. “Follow your passion,” My teacher said. But, teacher, what if my passion is something not very appreciated and popular? What if I don’t get a job with this passion of mine? What if I fall into the depths of poverty all because I wanted to chase my passion? Wouldn’t it be all for nothing? . . . In conclusion, I am stuck and confused, and I sort of need some help figuring out my career choices </3 Comment down some tips if you would (and can!) . . stay safe, stay healthy ~ yoon 

[memorymistress]

{jeon yeo-bin, 28, cis woman, she/her} || min-ji nam is a mutant with the ability of memory manipulation they’ve been in new york for two years where they spend most of their time as mortician. when i think of them, i think of the name of a childhood friend you can’t quite remember, ink bleeding through a page, hands that don’t warm up, a long black coat with two buttons missing.

nam min-ji was the first child and only daughter to two loving parents.  she’s born in a small fishing town in korea. she’d remain an only child for four years, until her brother was born. her first seven years were unremarkable, then her parents pack everything and move to america for a work opportunity for her dad. she has an eidetic memory, which helped a lot during her schooling. she speaks two languages: korean and english, along with a small bit of french thanks to a required high school class. her life is normal, and she pursues a degree in chemistry with a minor in photography, and the former would lead to her pursuing an associate’s degree in mortuary science. after seven years of college, she’d shadow a local funeral director for a full year before going off on her own. her work has taken her all sorts of cities, even back to korea for a short stint. now, she’s back home in new york, running her own funeral parlor for the past two years. 

those are the facts. that’s her life story. 

it’s all wrong. 

nam min-ji was the first and only daughter to two loving parents. she’s born in a small fishing town in korea. she’d remain an only child for four years, until her brother was born. when she was five, she started a game that would entertain her friends and other neighborhood kids. if she touched their hand, she could tell them what they had for breakfast, what their mother had told them earlier in the day word for word, or what they’d gotten for their last birthday. the kids were amazed at min-ji’s ability, and begged for her to teach them. she’d just smile. by six, kids would come up to her in school for help remembering where their house was, what the teacher had said an hour beforehand, or other things their little minds couldn’t quite recall. but min-ji always could. 

the fun and games ended when her teacher noticed how children flitted to and from her desk. she wanted to know what was going on, as the disruptions were becoming a nuisance. min-ji, a little kid and proud of what she could do, wanted to show off to the adult. she grabbed her hand. images filled her head of a man yelling, and she could hear her teacher yelling back, something about money and cheating. min-ji frowned at her teacher, and repeated the exact words the man had used at her. the adult flinched and looked at her in horror. 

it was the beginning of the end. 

she’s sent to the headmaster’s office. neither them or the teacher could decide what was there to do about her. was she spying on the teacher? had her parent’s heard and told her? any rational conclusion couldn’t fit as how had the girl been able to say exactly what the teacher’s husband had? at the mention of touch causing it, they came to one solution: min-ji could no longer have skin to skin contact at school. she was to come everyday in gloves.

little min-ji became a pariah in a matter of days. there were whispers of what caused her new daily accessory, why the teacher wouldn’t even look in her direction anymore, if her ability to look in the past was actually a curse. her parents took her to different doctors, all of which had no clue what caused min-ji’s abilities. 

a year after her incident at school, a group of kids a grade older than her cornered min-ji in alley. they grabbed her hand and yanked a glove off. 

“show us your magic trick, freak.” 

min-ji, in tears and scared as the other kids pushed and smacked her head, discovered a new skill she had. as her hand was placed in one of bully’s, she saw a blur of memories and shut her eyes tight. she wanted it all to stop. stop. stop. STOP. and then it did. she was back in her own mind, and a sense of calmness washed over her. the other kid wasn’t so lucky. he dropped her hand and looked around. 

“where am i?” their group’s eyes widened. “who are you?” he questioned. unable to understand what was going on, the children screeched, one pulling on their now confused friend away from her. 

“get away from her! get away!” they yelled to each other. 

word was spread around. the boys’ parents are furious, claimed min-ji cursed their son. the entire town was aware of min-ji’s...quirk now, and they were furious. nothing her parents said could soothe the angry mob. a sympathetic doctor had contacted them, and let them know of a school that taught children like her in new york. her parents had no other choice, as they were just as worried about their daughter as much as their neighbors were scared of her. 

within the next few months, her family were moved to a two bedroom apartment in new york. in another week, min-ji was enrolled in the xavier institute. the harassment from their town, move, and overall culture shock of a new place had shaken min-ji. she didn’t understand what made her so different, made her so hated. 

slowly, she became to understand it. as she met the other kids, she could see their various talents and how hers weren’t just an everyday oddity. for awhile, things improved. she still wore her gloves, but with one on one teacher instructions, she learned to control and sharpen her abilities. there were still bumps and dives in the road, but nothing too bad. 

then, she took off her gloves one day. she’d met someone she’d wanted to hold hands with, to touch without fabric as a barrier. it was a mistake. she wasn’t ready. 

her excitement caused her to push her own memories onto her current crush, so much so they felt like they were experiencing it. for the first time in more than half a decade, she saw the emotion she saw in those kids’ eyes in the alley. fear. 

the other students started to avoid her. they’d flinch if she even brushed past. they were all different, but now people realized fully what min-ji could, the extent of it. how do you know if your memories are your own? is she messing with us right now? i feel like i’m forgetting everytime i’m in a room with her. min-ji realized even mutants couldn’t resist acting on their panic. 

still, there were a couple of people who stayed by her side, were friends with her. it didn’t ease the sting of people being scared of her entirely, but it helped her cope. as soon as she graduated, she was out of there. professor xavier had been kind enough to pay for her schooling to a university. she flourished there as no one knew she was any different. her parents were proud, happy that she’d grown up to be the woman she was. they found her choice of career a bit funny, but were glad she knew what she wanted to do. 

it’s during her year shadowing a funeral director things are thrown awry. the president confirms the existence of mutants. people will find out. they always want to know why she wore the gloves. 

with mutants coming out of the shadows, she panicked even moreso. she left the city, wanting as much distance between her and the school as possible. then, she couldn’t run anymore. she was in charge of someone who turned out to be a mutant, as well as their friends who attended the service. one had the ability to see other people’s mutation. he pulled her aside, began peppering her with questions. her repeated denial was met with an invitation. they had a group of mutants, people to test their powers with. if you don’t let it out once in awhile, you’ll explode. that conversation kept her up for weeks, until she finally gave in. it was uncomfortable at first, as she was resistant to revealing her abilities. when she did, it wasn’t fright that met her. it was amazement. 

she’s thriving again, but this time as herself. her true self. everything was going well, she was happier than ever. her powers weren’t a curse. they could make people happy, make her happy, like they had as a child.  

but she started to use it too much. she overexerted herself. she began having ideas, ways to speed up mutant acceptance. as she discovered she didn’t even need to touch people to look into their memories, to change it. why couldn’t i just meet the president, rewrite his history so he comes up with stronger mandates for mutant protection? some were for it, most were wary. you’re going off the deep end. take a step back. she didn’t care, she had a gift and wanted to use it. the amount of bodies coming into the parlor that were mutants had skyrocketed over the years. something had to be done.

the group agreed, just not with her. a plan was made with the other telepath among them as the main player. with their abilities, as min-ji slept one night, they put a stop to min-ji’s fantastical plans by erasing her knowledge she was a mutant at all. it took some time, to fill such a large part of her life enough that she wouldn’t be suspicious. 

it worked. min-ji started over without knowing it, and has been living that way for the past eight months. she wore gloves because her hands were always cold. i was born to be a mortician, huh? she’d joke to people once she told them her line of work. it’s normal. she’s normal. nothing could change that. right? 

okay so hi! i would love to plot with everyone and write with everyone! i’m izzy aka bells (i answer to either!) my discord is gaytendo#6961 or you can im me on here!! i can’t wait to write and talk with all of you!!

[catesartworks]

Sorry if this is a loaded question, but I’ve been thinking of taking sequential art classes in the future, do you recommend scad for that?

Personally, I think that SCAD teaches a lot of really good art fundamentals and many teachers have industry experience. SCAD also has a lot of resources in their libraries in regards to art history and access to industry standard programs. However, this all can be done without going to SCAD, which is pretty expensive!  

Also, studying sequential art comes with a lot of preloaded course work to get into at SCAD (not to mention the student loans and art supplies!😭). So I wouldn’t necessarily recommend going to art school for this, as it can be self taught. What I learned in my sequential art courses was American Comic book history, Composition, Art theory, and Storytelling. 

Your experience will also depend on the professor, you might end up like me, butting heads with teachers/students who don’t like certain art styles you employ! But still I had to learn how to take criticism either way, and I still have a lot to learn about applying it years after graduating. 

There is something to be said about accessibility too, because a lot of art programs in other majors like Toonboom/Storyboard Pro and Adobe Suite, which are industry standards, come at a high paywall that not many can afford. For sequential art I use Clip Studio Paint, which is a one time payment and it is great for comics. Free resources like backgrounds and assets exist online for this program too. SCAD has access to these programs, but free tutorials also exist online.

I had a good time at SCAD, but there are more affordable options out there that can be accessed now for free or at lower cost. Not to mention, job prospect wise, while there are career fairs at the school it really depends on how you network, especially on places like LinkedIn. Before COVID, you would go to conventions and talk with recruiters there, like at CTNX. 

But most of all I think it’s important to have a good portfolio website, study comic history in your preferred style, and understand the market as a whole. Learning to take criticism and problem solve is also super important. Going to art classes in general puts you in front of an audience, which is so important. 

Here are books I bought while I was at SCAD that are required (that I remember haha):

Framed Ink: Drawing and Composition for Visual Storytellers

Making Comics: Storytelling Secrets of Comics, Manga and Graphic Novels

Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art Paperback

(This one wasn’t required but one of my professors made this and I like it!) Foundations in Comic Book Art: SCAD Creative Essentials (Fundamental Tools and Techniques for Sequential Artists)

There’s probably more, but I can’t remember at the top of my head. 

[tripleaxeldiaz]

all was golden when the day met the night

chapter 1/5

for @hearteyesforbuck (it’s for EVERYONE but definitely for eli)

read on ao3

Eddie’s bad at words. 

He can talk, of course, will happily go on for hours about how great Christopher’s latest art project is, can give a sermon about the Rangers’ chances of winning the World Series. But when it comes to discussing what’s happening in his brain, the gloomy, sticky parts that follow him around and keep him awake, he clams up. Keeps them locked in because it’s easier than exposing to anyone just how gross it all is, how dark everything is, how dark he is. He wants to talk about things, he does. Wants to make sure Chris knows that he should talk about his feelings, especially the bad ones. And he does his best to be open with him as well, but he’s the only one he seems to be able to do that with. Anyone else — his parents, Abuela, Shannon — he just...can’t. He’d rather save them the trouble.

Eddie’s bad at words, but he’s good at flowers.

He partially blames Abuela for making him spend hours with her in her garden when he was a kid. She taught him different planting methods, how to cut the flowers so they stayed alive longer, and a few basic meanings she learned from Good Housekeeping. After his first tour, they didn’t have the money for him to even try and get into med school, so he got a job at a local flower shop to help with their landscaping team. The owner, Mrs. Negrelli, saw he was better with the roses than the mulch and took him under her wing, teaching him everything she knew. When she retired shortly after Shannon left, she handed him a check with a lot of zeros and said, “It’s time to go plant your own seeds.”

So he did. The Greenhouse has been up and running for just over a year, and it may very well be the best year Eddie’s had in a long time. They’re in a small plaza just outside of LA proper, with an apartment above the shop that makes early morning deliveries much less horrible. Chris is doing great in school (“very popular and excellent in all subject areas”, according to his homeroom teacher) and he’s made some good friends with the other local business owners. It’s the peaceful, quiet life he always dreamed of having when he finally got out of the Army.

Peaceful except for—

“Morning, Diazes!”

“Dad! Buck’s here!”

Eddie pokes his head through the doorway from the back room in time to see his son crash into his friend’s legs, Buck scooping him up and throwing him over his shoulder. Chris laughs loudly, echoing through the whole shop, and starts talking animatedly about his latest drawing when Buck sets him on the counter. He listens intently, throwing a wink towards Eddie when he catches him lingering a few feet away.

As usual, Eddie has to school his face into something other than heart eyes as he watches the two chat. Buck’s in his standard uniform of ripped black jeans that hug his thighs in all the right places and a t-shirt featuring some grungy rock band he’s never heard of. He’s a stark contrast against the rows of hyacinths and magnolias currently on the wall, and Eddie feels a blush rise on his cheeks as he tries (and fails) to stop staring.

When he first met Buck, he was pretty sure he was getting robbed. When a six foot whatever stranger in all black and combat boots and covered in tattoos comes barreling into your newly opened flower shop, that’s kind of the first place your mind goes. He had 9 and 1 dialed on his phone before the stranger ran up to the counter and frantically asked, “What kind of flowers can I buy to apologize to my very intimidating adoptive mother for sideswiping her brand new car?”

Eddie figured an actual criminal would have bigger problems to worry about than his mom’s Nissan.

They formally met the next day, when Buck came to thank him for the bouquet (a small arrangement of broom for humility and common rue for regret; all the yellow tended to make people happier and more likely to forgive you for being a dumbass). He told Eddie he could come by the shop anytime for a tattoo, on the house.

He’d been in Armageddon Tattoo when he was first looking for a space, had met Maddie, the co-owner, and Chimney, their head artist. If he had known the other co-owner looked like Buck, he would have signed the lease much faster. Faster still once he saw how quickly and easily he and Chris got along.

A year on and Buck’s in the shop almost every day, either to buy a bouquet or to give Chris tips on a drawing or to complain about an annoying customer who changed their mind about a design after it was halfway done.

For all the peace that Eddie’s found, Buck is the one chaotic spot that keeps his reflexes in check. He’s a microburst, a runaway firework, an ATV rolling through a field of wildflowers. He blasts his music as he drives in in the mornings, and he opens doors so hard they almost fall off their hinges.

Eddie is painfully, unbearably in love with him.

Which is funny, really, because his whole life, Eddie has always been “the good guy” or “the good son” or “the good soldier”. He was homecoming king, set multiple records on courses in Basic, and became Staff Sergeant quicker than any of his superiors had seen in years. He was always by the book, always tried to be the best, and he usually was the best. 

Until he wasn’t. Until his brain was so full of sadness and horrors that it was a battle to get out of bed each day. Until he was missing so much of Chris’s life that he might as well not have been in his life at all.

Until he wasn’t enough.

His marriage crumbled from there. He knew any path he and Shannon tried to take to move forward would be foggy with the guilt of all he hadn’t done in the past to help their family, so when she left, he didn’t go after her. And that guilt — knowing that he could have fixed it if he tried, if he had just been better — follows him wherever he goes now. He second guesses himself with Chris all the time because he knows one wrong move will lead to whispers among the PTA moms about the single dad who isn’t doing it right. He almost withdrew his lease application for the shop four times because he was constantly worried that it wouldn’t work, that he’d invest all this money and time and effort and it wouldn’t matter. He had done things by the book for so long because that was supposed to be how he succeeded. But now the books are empty and he’s in free fall, hoping he finds a soft landing before splatting on the asphalt.

When he met Buck, the complete antithesis to doing anything “by the book”, a voice whispered in his head that’s your landing. He’s the opposite of everything Eddie knew how to be, and that was thrilling to see. Freeing. To see someone living a happy life by making their own way and not giving a shit what anyone else thought. Not to mention that he was gorgeous, a gentle soul armored in chains and ink, and so unabashedly himself that he drew everyone to him like a magnet.

So Eddie fell, hard but quietly. Because on top of all that, Buck is the best friend he’s made since moving to LA, and he’ll be damned if he screws that up for himself or for Chris.

He finally gets himself moving to the counter, pulled by that damn magnet, where Buck is now showing Chris his latest tattoo — a small skull with a string of roses weaving in and out of the eye sockets and mouth on his right bicep.

“Does it mean anything?” Chris asks, running a small finger over it, taking in the detail.

“Chim says so, went on and on about how it symbolizes life after death and blah blah blah. I just thought it looked cool.”

“Peach blossoms would have been better.” Eddie mutters absently, eyes glued to Buck’s arm and the pale skin under the ink. He blinks as his words register, meeting Buck’s eyes and internally wincing. Thankfully, Buck just looks amused, not mad. “They’re a sign of longevity and immortality in some Eastern cultures. Would’ve fit the life after death idea a little better.”

“See, this is why I need you and your flower wisdom on retainer at the shop. You’d save me a lot of time researching, and our stuff would be even cooler because it would make sense.” He leans down to stage-whisper to Chris. “Between you and me, I think roses are the only flowers Chim knows how to do anyway.” Chris giggles, and Eddie huffs out a laugh too. 

“Any real flowers today, Buck?” Eddie asks. He grabs the craft paper, already knowing the answer.

“Of course! Whatever feels right to you.”

Buck gets a bouquet for the shop about once a week, claims they’re good for inspiration and help some of the more nervous clients relax among the black leather chairs and tattoo guns. Sometimes he has very specific requests (“I just want orange. Like so much orange you could die.” or “Someone asked for tulips on their arm, can I get those in every color so I can practice?”), other times he tells Eddie to put together “whatever feels right”. At first, Eddie never put too much thought into those, just used whatever he was running low on and still looked okay together. But one day, one particularly dark day, when all Eddie was doing was feeling, he took Buck’s words to heart. It was a pretty morbid bouquet — cyprus for despair, peonies for the anger that never seemed to leave him, vervain as a plea to whoever was listening to protect him from the evils of his own mind. His internal mess must have been written all over his face too, because when he handed the flowers to Buck, he just looked at him for a while, like he could feel the sadness that Eddie had physically given him, like he knew the weight of what he was holding, even though Eddie knew he didn’t really. When he said thank you, it was more sincere than usual, laced with something like empathy that Eddie wasn’t ready to look at too closely.

Buck kept those flowers alive for three weeks, said he just couldn’t bear to let them go.

Luckily for everyone, Eddie is in a much less terrible place this week. With his son’s laughter still floating in his mind, he puts together crocuses and daisies, youthful joy and innocence, and ties them together with a dark blue ribbon, Chris’s favorite color. He wraps them in paper and hands them to Buck, who beams as he helps Chris down from the counter.

“Oh, these are beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the man who arranged them.” Eddie feels his cheeks get red and sees Buck’s smile turn smug. “How much do I owe for this masterpiece?”

“Please, you haven’t paid for anything here in months.” Eddie stopped charging while he was only using almost bad flowers, and told Buck as much. He just didn’t tell him when he started using the good stuff.

“I know, but I’m a gentleman, I always have to try. Remember that when you’re older, buddy.”

“I will.” Chris replies. “Dad, we’re gonna be late for school.”

“Okay okay, go grab your backpack.” Chris heads towards the back room as Buck heads towards the front door.

“Well, I’m off to stab people with needles for fun. See you later, boys! Bye Hen!”

Eddie whips his head around and sure enough, there’s Hen, leaning on the far side of the counter, looking far too smug for Eddie’s liking.

“When did you get here?”

“My shift started 20 minutes ago, boss. Glad I got here in time for the show.”

“The show?”

“Yeah, the show. You really should get an Oscar or something for how hard you act like you’re not head over heels for that man.”

Eddie’s jaw drops and Hen cackles. He doesn’t even have time to explain himself before Chris returns with his backpack and starts shoving Eddie towards the door.

“Don’t worry,” Hen calls as she opens the register for the day, “at least you’re cute when you blush!”

Eddie pointedly ignores Chris’s questioning look as he drives, his face and neck still blazing.

He can only hope Buck is less perceptive than Hen. If not, they’re going to have to move cities. Maybe countries. Maybe to the moon.

[cameronhvrley]

I’ve been thinking bout this a loooooong time basically a large portion of my life tbf.

While you can’t compare it to other discriminatory issues, I feel it does have its own place and honestly having experienced myself - it is kinda cruel and not talked about much or being brushed off as it not being deep.

So, I’m left handed - doesn’t sound too bad, right?

No, but hear me out.

Historically speaking left handed people were seen as evil, an advocate of the devil, an abomination, sinners, criminals and just something really unnatural and WRONG. 

Up until my dad’s generation they would force left handed people to use their right hand as their dominant one, which caused severe damage to their brains. For example a lot of those have a lot of trouble reading long paragraphs, writing, spelling, concentration etc. the list is very long. My point is, it was just very damaging. 

While changing left to right stopped for the most part, the stigma kind of remained. Yeah, sure we live in a world where most people are right handed and thus, everything is made to accommodate them. Like those weird single chairs with a little table (luckily we had actual large desks you could share with another person), various kitchen gadgets, computers (which I was forced to use right handed) and the fact our writing is from left to right. 

I still very much have ingrained in my brain how I was treated when I was a little child. - like in primary and secondary school I'd constantly get yelled at by teachers for turning in messy school- and homework (we had to write with fountain pens and ink which I smudged and ballpoint pens weren't allowed until I was in highschool), no left handed scissors were provided at schools so I couldn't properly cut paper unless I’d brought my own which right handed pupils never had to worry about. 

In crafting lessons in schools everyone got taught in depth how to crochet and knit except for me because the teachers didn’t wanna bother too much with the left handed pupils which was mostly only me in my class and if I was lucky one other kid. So it was kind of like "LOL good luck lil one" in my case, while still having to deliver same quality for equally good grades (luckily crocheting was easy enough). I had one teacher who tried so hard to explain knitting to me so I could do it properly. ONE in my whole life. 

I lived through years of people seeing me write and being like “you’re left handed???? Woooow that is SO WEIRD how do you even hold the pen that is so strange!”, also through bad jokes and having people make me feel like an alien or outcast or some weird creature. I had a person look at me while writing and say to my face “if my child were to show signs of being left handed I'd simply slap that shit outta them so they’d never dare picking the pen up with their left hand" because she found left handed people to be such an abomination and just really out of place and “strange”. 

I just think left handed people deserve less disadvantages in our right hand centered society is all. I hope that children today have it a bit easier and don’t get scolded for things that aren’t their fault like smudging ink. It was a lil bit traumatizing for me

sorry this is a long post but I needed to get this off my chest. 

x 

[artnerd1123]

A Familiar World

Pen Pals (pt 1) ——————————————

Just a bit of book exchange and small talk between a couple sorcerers. 

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

——————————————

whattup belle n @vaaloirr are back at it again with another joint chapter, ft alex n journ!!! vaal wrote the letters by alex, and i wrote the ones by journ! these were rlly fun to write, so y’all will prolly see more in the future :>

hope y’all enjoy!!! 

Dear Journal

I hope you’re having a good week, over there, hope life’s treating you well. I’m here with my book recommendation, as usual. I hope you like this one. It’s an intriguing little piece called “Forgotten Shoals”, a story about a small group of people, mostly mercenaries I think, getting shipwrecked and separated on a very strange island. I was a little lost? About halfway through? The story’s kind of too vague for its own good at certain points, but overall it was pretty good. It’s in a pretty old time period, when there were still kings and stuff, so that’s pretty interesting, how they handle that. It’s only two books, but they’re long ones. They make for fun animated book nights, especially if you’re watching in a dark room. It really helps the atmosphere, so there’s that to keep in mind.

Sincerely, Alex

-

Dear Alex,

Thanks so much for the rec! It came at a great time, I’d just finished with the last series. I’ll be sure to let you know what I think of this one. I’ll work them into my schedule sometime. Probably at midnight. That’s the best time to read, haha. Maybe we’ll both get confused, and we can compare notes. Life’s ok over here. I finally decided to get better acquainted with my roommate. My book rec for you comes from him, actually. It’s a book of really old questor legends- maybe you’ve read it before? Sorry if you have! He called it “Legenday legacies.” There’s a whole series of them. They don’t really go in any order, but the oldest are marked first. I’ve only read a couple, but they’re really cool. It’s best to have them animated, too. My roommate said they were old oral stories that someone finally decided to write down, so the animation has some really neat extra details. This letter got a little long, haha. Hope you’re doing ok over in your town!

Signed, Journal Drapht

-

Dear Journal

Yeah, midnight’s the best time for a spooky book, haha. And thank you for the rec! I actually had the first book when I was a kid, but I forgot it when I left home. I would love to read it again, and to read the other books too… I’ll definitely try to snag them the next time I’m over there. I always meant to go back to them, so thanks for the reminder. And I’m glad you’re getting along with your roommate, it wouldn’t be very fun if you weren’t, haha. I couldn’t really picture myself with a roommate, me and Lucy is just fine. And I’m doing fine, though things are a little hectic over here right now. Someone says they saw a monster nearby recently, which… I’m pretty certain was just a random wolf they got spooked by? It was late. But you know. Rumors are a hard snowball to stop once they get rolling. Hopefully it’ll all get sorted out. Anyway, I’m running out of room on the paper, so I gotta call it here, haha. Have a good one.

Sincerely, Alex

-

Dear Alex,

Oh, nice! Hopefully the next ones are a good read. And I get leaving books at home on accident. I had to leave a bunch of mine when I left home, too. I got the important stuff! But you can’t quite replace a lifetime of books overnight, haha. At least we have libraries and book merchants, right? Roommate life isn’t for everyone. I’m glad you and Lucy are getting along well at your place. Though the rumors sound rough. It’s hard when a whole town is going off about something. Sorry you’re dealing with those. Hopefully they’ll quit when they catch whatever the critter is, haha. Could make for a town legend, right? I’ve heard plenty of those. They’re certainly something. Before I run out of paper, I actually have one somewhat unrelated question. Does Lucy ever run around the apartment at 3am for no reason? My roommate’s familiar is a cat, and he does that. I’m not sure if it’s a familiar thing or a cat thing. We didn’t have any cats in the house growing up. Hope this letter finds you well.

Signed, Journal Drapht

-

Dear Journal

Yeah, a lifetime of books is not the easiest thing to replace, haha. And the rumors aren’t really rough, so much as annoying. It’s a merchant town, so once monster rumors start, everybody’s gotta hold up while some people go out and find whatever it was. They’re very on edge when the topic of monsters is brought up. But hey, what can you do. Hopefully it’ll be a boring town legend at the end of the day, haha. And as far as the 3am thing, yes. All the damn time, every night. Without fail. My mom had a few cats when I was growing up, and I can confirm that it’s a cat thing. They just do that. I don’t know why, you can have the laziest cat in the world and they’ll still sprint around at full speed at 3am. It’s actually kind of hilarious. Also, if we’re gonna be trading questions, I actually had one… Your roommate is a questor, right? I was wondering if you could maybe ask for a few questor tips from him for me, if that's alright. Have a good one.

Sincerely, Alex

-

Dear Alex,

I mean, a legend’s a legend, right? But I do hope whatever it is doesn’t bother the townsfolk much. We used to have some problems with woodsy critters back at home. I don’t know if they’re still having issues now, but sometimes wolves can get pretty bold, haha. And that’s good to know. It is pretty funny to just hear my roommate’s familiar sprinting around outside my door at Revaew awful hours of the night. I just have to make sure he doesn’t wiggle his way into my room. He’ll go curl up on my bed to claim it and not move until 6am. Usually that’s not a problem because I stay up late, but it means I crash later during the day. Not so great when I'm in the middle of magic training, haha. I went and asked my roommate about questor tips for you. I didn’t know questors were actually a separate class of sorcerer, so that made for an interesting conversation! He told me that you should keep an eye on the questing board- you have one in town, right?- and to keep some sort of compass/map on you among your supplies. Make sure to pack a snack and water if you don’t already. If it’s a fetch quest, make sure to find the quest giver beforehand to check for any special conditions. He said a bunch of other stuff, too, but half of it sounded like he was trying to be a mother hen. The guy’s a bit of a softie. I could send you my notes with my next letter if you’d like to see all of them.

Signed, Journal Drapht

-

Dear Journal

Yeah, yeah… I still think it’s just a wolf. Or maybe a bear. Who knows. Honestly, I would be more shocked if people weren’t bothered by this, merchants are just such uppity people. At least the ones around here. You definitely don’t wanna crash during magic training, yeah. I remember when I was training with my uncle, when I used to live with him, I was not good at keeping myself in check at all. Most of the time not spent practicing was spent napping because I would use all my energy trying to get this one spell, and then just pass out. I was young and excited, to be fair. He got me out of that habit. And maybe you should let the little familiar claim your bed sometime, there’s probably room for both of you, haha. Y’know, the more you talk about him, the more I think he and Lucy would get along great. You didn’t know questors were another class of sorcerers? I mean, I guess the distinction isn’t exactly obvious, now that I think about it. And we do actually have a questing board! Though it’s a little bare lately. Mostly just odd jobs, not much else. Any nearby dungeons have apparently decided to be quite shy, haha. Be sure to tell your roommate that the advice is appreciated, he sounds like a nice guy. And I would love to see your notes! If you’re good with it, that is.

Sincerely, Alex

-

Dear Alex,

Haha, maybe I will. It’s sort of weird sleeping in a room by myself right now. I have had a lot of siblings. Maybe the company will do me some good. And maybe we can have them meet up the next time you’re in town. I’m sure my roommate would let me take his familiar out. His name is Roo. He’s a shy little guy, but the library is quiet enough that he’d do ok. Just have to find him a fairy tale book and he’s all set, haha. As for magic training, that sounds so cool! Having your uncle train you sounds so exciting. My old mentor sort of took me under her wing because I was trespassing on her woods. She’s a strict teacher, but I’m really grateful to her. She taught me a lot, and gave me an amplifier a while ago. We still exchange letters and I still try my best to stick to what she told me. Learning magic is hard work, but I’m willing to reach for it. Guy’s got a dream, you know? And, for the record, I didn’t grow up in a very magical place. I think my magic mentor was the only sorceress in the entire area of my hometown, haha. Totally different story in this town. There’s lots of sorcerers- my roommate included. He’s pretty cool. Buys me coffee and gives me training tips sometimes. Anyways, all this to say I’ve attached a copy of the notes. Sorry if the ink is a little faded. I wanted to try out a duplication spell I’ve been practicing, and I don’t know if it took all the way. Simple spells can be hard for me, but I’m working on it, haha. Hope you and Lucy are doing well.

Signed, Journal Drapht

-

Dear Journal

Yeah, I bet the change from “a lot of siblings” to “one roommate and his familiar” is a bit jarring. I wouldn’t really know? I was an only child. To be honest, I always wondered what having siblings was like, maybe you could tell me sometime? If that’s good with you? Maybe when we introduce Roo and Lucy to each other. Roo is such a cute name by the way, I hope the little guy knows that, haha. As far as my uncle goes, he was a very good teacher! He knew a whole lot of spells, and still tried to learn even more. He was a show sorcerer, so he knew so much neat stuff… I kinda miss him, but you know. He’s got his career, and I wanted to be a questor. At least it helped me get used to travelling a lot, haha. Your teacher sounds super cool too, like? Meeting a sorcerer in the middle of the woods and getting taken under their wing? That’s some legend stuff, man. Awesome. My town wasn’t very magical either, but it wasn’t super unmagical? There were sorcerers here and there. Not enough to really call the town magical, though. It wasn’t a hotspot, I guess is what I’m trying to say. I heard it’s become even less so since I left, but I digress. Oh! And the notes were really great by the way! Thank you so much! And don’t worry about the faded ink, I’ve read more illegible, haha. I think you did a fine job. You’ll get better with practice! I believe in you! And we’re doing fine, though Lucy is getting a bit claustrophobic. I hope you guys are doing well too.

Sincerely, Alex

-

Dear Alex,

I apologize in advance if my handwriting gets messy. I’ve rewritten this letter at least three times now. My hand just tends to make absolute chicken scratch if I get too excited. That being said, you mentioned your uncle being a show sorcerer? How long has he been performing? How did he start? What category is he? Are all his shows the same or does he switch it up every time? What does he travel in? Sorry for all the questions, I’ll stop myself there. Show sorcerers are sort of an interest of mine. An aspiration, if you will, haha. Hearing that you worked with one sent my mind into overdrive. That’s so cool! Maybe we could practice spells together sometime. And a legend? Maybe. My mentor tells a lot of those. Sometimes I swear she’s telling an actual story that happened to her. She never confirms, though. I don’t know how much of legend material I am yet. I have to work on my magic some more. One day, though. It’ll happen. Especially if the notes weren’t as bad as I thought, haha. It’s progress! Also, we’ve got solidarity on non magic towns, haha. Glad we’ve both got somewhere that has more pizazz. Just a couple magic guys trying to make their way in the world, ammirite? Anyways, sorry about Lucy. Maybe taking her on a walk would help? We’re doing ok over here. My roommate has been painting scenes from the books we’ve animated. It’s pretty cool. And Roo seemed to like the idea of meeting Lucy! He was a tad nervous, but that’s the norm for him. I think he’d like having another cat friend. Maybe we can get together soon? I might have some sibling stories. Depends how much I remember that day, haha.

Signed, Journal Drapht

-

Dear Journal

Your handwriting’s fine, don’t worry. I’ve read worse. As for all your questions, uh… since he was a teenager, I never asked, I can’t remember the categories but he does a lot of stuff with legends, dragons, and dragon legends, they have the same themes, but he has a bunch of different shows, if that makes sense, and he travels in a little caravan with his familiar and a couple of his friends. I get being excited, it’s all good. Maybe we could have a Q&A the next time we see each other, haha. And I’m sure uncle Leo would love to meet and practice magic with you, but he’s really busy nowadays, so you might have to hold that thought for a bit. He’d have to find a gap in his schedule. You really need to introduce me to your mentor eventually, she sounds awesome. And I’m sure you’ll get a legend or two for yourself one day. I mean, nobody was born the star of one, am I right? And I wouldn’t really say my current town has more “pizazz”, but it’s definitely more tolerable than my old town, I guess. Some people were very opinionated there. Especi Yeah I took her on a quick walk through town before writing this letter, actually, and she’s feeling a lot better! Sometimes she just needs a little bit of fresh air like everybody else. I bet your roommate's paintings look great, I can’t paint to save my life, haha. Lucy’s a little nervous too about the meeting too, so I guess the feeling’s mutual. Hopefully we can all get together soon!

Sincerely, Alex

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Most Powerful Magic - Chapter One

Summary:  Set a few months after the end of the events of Family Fights, Hilda and the librarian’s sister are tired of seeing Johanna and Maven dancing around each other and decide to take matters into their own hands

Notes: Heyo! Okay, for a better understanding of this fic, I’d recommend reading Family Fights first. However it’s kinda long so if you want to read this before season 2 comes out and you haven read FF yet, you just need to know that the librarian has a teenage sister named Myra, and that the librarian trains Hilda in witchcraft. You should probably be fine with this info. Oh, also please forgive the typos and low quality of the writing. I really rushed with this because I wanted to post it before season two came and ruined my headcanons :’)

Read it on ao3: (chpt1)

”Go on.” Her mother encouraged her gently, the hand on her shoulder nudging her forward. “She won’t mind.”

Myra took one look at her mother’s smiling face before entering the living room. She knew her sister didn’t like being disturbed while she was studying, but she was having a sleepover at a friend’s house that night and so she wouldn’t be with Maven when she went to sleep, which would mean missing her bedtime story. She really didn’t want to miss her bedtime story. So now Myra approached her sister, who was taking notes on their living room table, with a book at hands.

“Mavey?” She called when she got closer, which got Maven to look at her. “Can you read to me now?”

Looking slightly irritated, the teenager glanced at the book she was using, thinking about how far she was from finishing her notes. “Does it have to be now?”

“I won’t be home at night.” Myra nodded, trying to put on a pleading face. Maven bit her lip and then sighed, resigning to the fact that she wouldn’t be able to tell her no.

“All right.” She reached for her sister's book. “Let me take a look at that.”

As soon as she read the title, she frowned. After skimming through some of the first pages, an eyebrow was lifted at Myra.

“Are you sure you want this one?”

“Yeah! It’s one of my favourites! I love how the knight saves his prince through the magic of love.”

Saying that, the little girl twirled to make her skirt flair around her, nearly tripping on her feet when she tried to face her sister again.

“Myra, this is stupid.” Maven chuckled, running her eyes through a picture of the two protagonists hugging. “Love isn’t magic.”

“Yes it is!” She stomped her foot on the ground. “It’s the most powerful magic of all!”

That only made Maven laugh even more, both at her sister’s innocence and at the angry face she was making at her. It was always hilarious when Myra got angry, like being threatened by a baby kitten.

“You evil sorceress!” Myra exclaimed at her. “One day you’ll see I’m right. Someone will kiss you and you’ll transform into a beautiful princess”

Out of one of her discarded drafting sheets, Maven made a small paper ball.

“Not happening, sweetie. I’d just rather be a witch.”

She threw the ball at her sister, who gave a dramatized gasp of betrayal before beginning to laugh along. Even though she appreciated Myra’s bright eyed way of seeing the world, she knew for sure that love was not, in any way, magic. No matter what the legends and fairytales said. After all, she was a witch. If love was magic, surely it wouldn’t feel so impossible.

_#_#_#_

Myra did not feel comfortable at all being in that place.

Before those two years when she had been… away, this had been the place she would come to every day. While it had been so familiar, now the school was full of faces she’d never seen, and some she had but for all the wrong reasons.

She could only hope none of those children remembered her from their nightmares.

Of course, once she had begun attending school again, it was not Trolberg’s Elementary School she went to (neither was it their local high school - they couldn’t risk her studying with people from before her marra period and having them question where she’d been at and how she hadn’t aged a day.) but it was still unpleasant to be there. She felt out of place.

Luckily for her, the person she was there to talk to was just coming out of the building, so she wouldn’t need to be there for much longer. Upon noticing Myra by the school’s grades, Hilda stopped on her tracks for a second, surprised to see her there, but she recovered quickly and told her two friends to stay close to the main building while she talked to Myra. Although she’d never been anything less than kind and welcoming to her, Hilda didn’t completely trust Myra yet. She couldn’t say she blamed her.

“Good afternoon!” The girl greeted when she walked closer. “ I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, sorry for the surprise.” Myra straightened herself up, no longer leaning against the grades. “But I needed to talk to you at some time when neither your mother nor my sister could hear us.”

Hilda narrowed her eyes with suspicion even as she tried not to let her face show any distrust.

“And why would that be?”

“Hilda, I can not be the only one who is tired of this.” Myra exclaimed, gesticulating with her hands. “It’s becoming ridiculous!”

“What is?”

“The two of them! You are a smart girl, you must have realized at this point that they like each other a lot.”

Finally understanding what the conversation was about, Hilda let her guard drop and nodded.

“They definitely do. Have… have they not noticed?”

“No!” Groaning, she ran a hand through her hair. Her lilac strand was there again, but she still kept it mostly black. “Well, I can’t say about your mother, but I know my sister and she definitely thinks it’s unrequited, and the two of them are driving me mad! I caught my sister singing girl in red, for crying out loud!”

“Things are a little complicated in this aspect, I’ll admit it.” Hilda said, remembering the times she’d found her mother absent mindedly drawing her mentor. “But there’s hardly anything we can do about it, is there? shouldn’t they figure this out on their own?”

“Should they figure it out on their own? Yes. Will they figure it out on their own?” Myra looked at her nails, making a disinterested face which reminded Hilda of her older sister. “Eh, not looking likely. Is there anything we can do, though? Definetly.”

Hilda blinked. “And what is it?”

After giving the girl a mischievous grin, Myra took a step back to start on her way home.

“Meet me in the library at seven this evening.”

_#_#_#_

“I don’t really get it.” Hilda whispered as she followed Myra, who was climbing the stairs to the top floor of the library. “Wasn’t the point being somewhere where they couldn’t hear us? Maven will certainly notice us in her workplace, you know.”

There were few people in the library that evening, mostly students who had work due the next day. None of them were paying the slightest attention to the two girls making their way through the bookshelves, but Hilda felt like she should be trying to go unnoticed at the same time. Whatever Myra’s plan was, she was sure it’d be better if no one else knew.

“Already taken care of. This is the time the Trolberg Book Club comes here, and she needs to give them some attention. Besides, what I need to show you is right here.”

Myra stopped near a bookshelf that Hilda recognized, and her brow furrowed as she realized what she wanted.

“Are we supposed to be here?”

“Nope.” Myra answered as she tried to push the bookshelf. “But in for a penny, in for a pound right? I’m gonna need your help with this.”

Figuring that if she had agreed to go behind her mother and teacher’s backs already, she might as well go through with it, Hilda pressed her side body against the bookshelf and they both grunted as it began to move. As soon as there was a passage big enough for them to squeeze through, they stopped, panting.

“Honestly, you’d think that a magical room would have a better entrance.” Myra mumbled under her breath as she stepped inside and flicked the light switch up, turning the old lamps on.

Hilda came in after her. That room had become familiar to her, not only did Maven take her there for lessons often enough, but it was her first pick when she wanted to research a certain topic. She’d always been advised to be careful, however, as not only there was beautiful knowledge stored in there, but also dangerous information. She didn’t know if Maven had made that up just to scare her into being careful, but she’d even gone so far as to mention the existence of a soul stealing spell that hid itself under the guise of being a good luck charm.

Due to having been taught to act like so, Hilda treated the library’s hidden room with reverence. Meanwhile, Myra looked like she was right at home, skipping down the stairs two steps at a time and going straight to the shelf she wanted. Hilda supposed you saw things in a much more different way when witchcraft had always been a natural part of your life.

“Aha! It is still here.” Taking a book with leather binding out of its place, Myra put it on the table at the corner so that Hilda could see it too.

The first thing to call the young witch’s attention in the page she was shown was a romanticized drawing of a cupid right at the center. Though the ink in any other spot she looked was already faded, the cupid’s colours had resisted the test of time, and Hilda could only imagine there was some magic in the engraving.

When she brought her focus to the actual spell she was being shown, however, she felt like any understanding she thought she’d had of Myra’s plan went down the drain.

“A love spell?” She gasped. “What do we want to make them fall in love for? Is the whole point of us doing this not already believing that they like each other?”

The teenager waited a few moments to speak, letting Hilda take a closer look at the spell first. At the same time that the casting ritual looked simple, Hilda noticed, the potential for that spell to go wrong energy-wise was gigantic, and her brow was furrowed when she lifted her gaze from the book to Myra.

“First of all, no spell can make you fall in love. Magic can’t create love, only the illusion of it. Also, relax! We’re not actually casting it.”

“Huh?” Though Myra was talking as if this all made a lot of sense to her, Hilda still felt like she was missing something.

“Listen.” She said, nearly losing her balance when she squatted down to be closer to Hilda’s height. “We are going to pretend we cast this spell on your mother. There are a bunch of similar spells, but it has to be this one, because it’s the only one that has this completely ridiculous breaking condition.”

Hilda lifted an eyebrow, content to at last be getting an explanation. “Which would be?”

“A kiss from the person the spell made them fall for. Sure, it’s very cute when it’s in curses, but you’ve got to agree that for a spell with the objective of getting the two people together, it’s pretty dumb.” Myra said, picking up the book and showing her the note in one of the corners warning about how the effects would only last until both parties kissed. Hilda had to agree, it did not sound intelligent at all. “So yeah, we’re going to pretend we accidently cast it on your mother, with my sister on the receiving end. And then we’ll tell this to Maven, who naturally will freak out and want to break it, but she knows about this one spell and how to break it. This should give her the motivation to kiss your mother and if we’re lucky enough, they’ll actually talk for a change.”

Rubbing her chin, Hilda looked at the book, then up at Myra, then at the book again. The plan was coming together on her mind, the thoughts organizing themselves in her head like a puzzle. in a way that allowed her to see the parts that didn’t fit.

“I see what you mean.” She hummed. “But how are going to pretend to have accidentally cast a spell? That doesn’t sound very believable at all.”

As she finished her question, she glanced at the entrance at the top of the stairs anxiously. The library was better lit than this secret room, making it so light came in even though the lamps were on. Talking about doing something behind Maven’s back, even if with good intent, made her skittish, and she almost expected to see the older witch at the entrance ready to ground her for a week.

“Obviously.” Leaning her hip against the table, Myra scoffed, though there was no meanness behind it. In fact, she seemed to be amused by Hilda’s clever thinking. “So… that’s the part that might make you give up on the plan. We’re kind of going to have to throw ourselves under the bus.”

“What do you mean?”

Showing the first sign of nervousness since Hilda had met her, Myra looked away from her and around the room, suddenly very interested in the runes in the tapestries. It didn’t look like she was expecting to be caught like Hilda had, however, but like she was trying to gather strength.

“I don’t suppose you have a crush on anybody, do you?”

“What?! No!” Hilda gasped, bringing her hands in front of herself. Remembering that she was in a library, and hidden on top of it, she lowered her voice. “No, I don’t.”

Myra sighed, biting her lower lip in the same way Hilda had sometimes seen Maven do when she was anxious. “Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t have. You’re just a kid.”

As she said nothing else, silence hung over them heavily, making the girl figure it was up to her to push Myra a bit further, even if it looked like she would rather not be pushed.

“Well?” She said softly. “Do you?”

As Myra nodded, Hilda could see the glimpse of a smile on her face even as she gazed down.

“Yeah. Their name is Nyx. And they’re… pretty amazing. My sister knows I like them, so she won’t be surprised. If we orchestrate it well enough, it should be very easy for her to fall for it.”

When the teenager looked up again, the nervousness was gone, and her smile had shifted from smitten to mischievous.

“You see it now, don’t you? We’ll pretend I asked you to cast this spell so they’d fall for me, and we’ll pretend it went wrong in a way that serves us. Maven will see that your mother under a love spell does not act at all differently from your mother normally, they’ll kiss and admit their feelings. Sure, we may make ourselves look bad, but it’s for their own good. What do you say?”

Despite the nerves and the part of her that said she shouldn’t meddle with her mother and mentor’s personal lives, Hilda felt herself suddenly buzzing with excitement. A chance at an adventure and a way to finally stop having to deal with their mutual pining? Looking bad was the least of her worries. Squaring her shoulders, she smiled.

“I’m in.”