#might go back to making paper and pencil sketches to keep some flow going

[valleyggd]

Hi guys, sorry for the loooooong hiatus. Please enjoy some drawings of Ganondorf:) Laptop broke some time ago.

[androidcharles]

Rockin' the House Chapter 3

There's a lot crammed into this chapter, so here's a general summary

Ellie has been commissioned by Charles to write lyrics for their music! And she meets up w/ an old friend in the process... And after that the show starts! How well will it go?

Ellie tapped a pencil on her desk as she let out a small sigh, trying to concentrate as she stared at the blank piece of paper. A week ago, Charles had begged her to write lyrics for one of their songs in time for their first performance. Their set list consisted of four songs, three of them covers of songs ancient and modern. It had been a while since she had really written, so writing lyrics for Charles and his band should have been a piece of cake.

However, it seemed like she was having a hard time finding inspiration. It was strange that Charles chose her to write songs for them. He only requested her to do it because his lyrics were a bit dark. She had read over them and didn’t seem to think they weren’t that bad. A bit horrifying in some places, but it didn’t really fit their sound at all.

Charles seemed to like writing somewhat cheerful sounding songs, but dark lyrics wouldn’t really fit with that. But than why did Charles ask her to write the lyrics? Her poems were pretty dark too.

Maybe he thought they were more tame compared to half of the stuff he wrote. She sighed as she glanced over at the clock, realizing it had only been thirty minutes and slammed her head on the desk, letting out a small groan.

“You OK?” Her head popped up and she saw Henry looking at her with a bit of worry.

YOU SHOULDN’T BE OUT OF BED, Henry said, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

“Writing a song for Charles?” Ellie said, “I mean, he asked me to… The cast comes off in about a few days anyway. I might as well get used to moving around anyway.”

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO WRITE, ANYWAY? Henry asked.

“Charles said he wanted something bittersweet,” Ellie said, “I guess that’s what my poems are? That’s a very interesting way of putting it. His friends said his poem was too dark.”

“Bittersweet…” Henry said softly as he glanced at the papers.

“I’ve already heard their songs. They’re pretty good actually. Charles uploaded the recordings onto AudioMist,” Ellie said, “I listened to them to get a good idea of how I should write these lyrics but in all honesty, I’m not sure if I can do something that’ll impress him.”

WELL, DON’T FORCE IT. TRUST ME, WHENEVER I’M MAKING SCULPTURES AND STUFF, I FIND THAT MAKING FROM THE HEART IS MORE IMPORTANT THEN TRYING TO FORCE MYSELF TO MAKE SOMETHING, Henry signed at her, patting her back in reassurance.

“Maybe I should take a walk, just to clear my head,” Ellie said, “Maybe I’ll find something inspiring out in the city.”

CAN I JOIN YOU? Henry asked. Ellie smiled.

“Sure, why not?” Ellie said.

The two of them exited the apartment together as they headed out through the city, taking in the sights as they walked around the block before they finally decided to sit down on a city bench. Ellie was busy scribbling in a notepad as Henry took in the surroundings, doing some sketches of his own.

“I’m actually feeling the inspiration flowing through me a bit. This actually kinda reminds me of how I used to pal around with my older cousin,” Ellie said, “We’d run around Manhatten unsupervised and somehow get into all sorts of trouble. One time we got chased by two… HEY I met the Toppats before I even met them. How funny is that?” Henry giggled as he watched everyone going by.

“Yeah, Jacob was always causing trouble. Then he became a security guard for West Mesa Museum,” Ellie said.

DIDN’T YOU HEAR? HE ACTUALLY GOT FIRED A WHILE BACK, Henry said.

“What? What happened?” Ellie asked.

“Um…” I HAPPENED, Henry said, making a sort of cringey face as he put his fingers together.

“Oh, yeah, you stealing the diamond did that…” Ellie said.

HOW DID YOU KNOW HE WAS WORKING AT THE WEST MESA MUSEUM BEFORE I ROBBED IT? Henry said, I NEVER TOLD YOU.

“I was kinda keeping an eye on him. But when I moved up north, I found it more difficult so I just… gave up on it. I don’t know what he’s up to now,” Ellie said. Henry only shrugged as he glanced at everyone passing by, taking note of everyone and watching them walk by. Ellie suddenly grabbed Henry’s shirt as he flinched, glancing at Ellie with a look of confusion.

“Is that… who I think it is…” Ellie said softly. She looked down the street as Henry glanced around, trying to figure out what she was looking at.

“There, over there!!” Ellie whispered, pointing at a person who was wearing a huge coat and a pair of shades, looking around as he adjusted his hat to cover his face a bit more. He tried to think of where he might have seen him before Ellie shot out of her seat, trying her best to run after the man with her crutch. Henry cautiously followed behind her as they situated themselves in an alleyway near the person in question. He glanced around again, as if he was trying to see if there was anyone watching.

“Jacob… JACOB!” Ellie shout whispered. The mans head bolted up as he flinched, trying to figure out where the voice had come as Ellie waved her hands at him. He tipped his head to the side as he started to head down the alleyway before gasping, seeing Ellie looking at him with wide eyes.

“Jacob?” Ellie whispered. Jacob took off his sunglasses, returning her bewildered look as Henry put his hand over his mouth.

“Ellie?” Jacob said, “Is that really you?” He glanced from side to side and leaned forward.

“This isn’t the best time for us to meet right now.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Ellie asked as they suddenly heard a couple of screams from the street.

“That’s going on right now. Excuse me,” Jacob ran out of the alleyway, shucking off the coat to reveal his clothes and a pin on the pocket of his shirt… a Toppat pin.

“No way…” Ellie said softly as he raced down the street, hearing police sirens. Henry beckoned for Ellie to follow him as they ducked through the alleys to another part of the city, where Ellie slid down against the wall and looked up in shock. Henry tapped her shoulder to communicate with her.

SHOCKED? Was the first thing he asked.

“I mean, I guess? I didn’t think he had it in him though. He was always such a goody two shoes growing up. I thought he would still be looking after our aunt. After the fire…” Ellie started to grip her head as she felt a spike of pain shook up her spine. She took a deep grounding breath before looking at at Henry, who had a great look of concern in his eyes.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ellie said, “I think I’ve had enough fresh air for today…”

“Ellie!” The pair jumped when they heard a shout and turned around to see Jacob running towards them. Ellie backed away as Jacob stared at her, almost ready to run after her before she approached him.

“You should get out of here, you robbed a bank!” Ellie said quietly.

“I just wanted to tell you that we need to meet up. There’s… a lot I wanna talk about…” Jacob said.

“What makes you think I’m not gonna turn you in to the authorities?” Ellie asked.

“Because… I trust you?” Jacob said, “I don’t know, but I gotta run! Please, let’s meet up, I promise it’ll be worth it!” Jacob ran off as Ellie sighed, resting her head against the wall.

“Wanna go home now?” Henry said softly as Ellie nodded her head.

- - - - -

About two days had passed since Ellie’s encounter with Jacob. She had mentioned it to Charles and Charles seemed a bit shocked that he was related to Ellie.

“I thought that Rose was a very common last name!” Charles said, “To think that was your cousin… I can’t believe it.”

Meanwhile, she had managed to write at least one song for the first song Charles had written. Charles loved it a lot and was already practicing it with Amelia, who seemed to have a hard time playing and singing at the same time. However, things were getting better considering the people they were practicing with.

Ellie wanted to write another song with the second song that Charles had written, but she couldn’t seem to think of anything in the moment.

“Don’t worry too much about it!” Charles had told her as he packed his things for band practice, “Even one song is enough! I think we’ll just perform some covers of some other songs.”

“I don’t want your band to devolve into a cover band though. I’ve still got a week, I could probably get something done for you in that time!”

“Don’t worry too much about it. I know the creative process and it sucks sometimes. Just get it out when you can, alright?” Charles said, “Say, how about you come with me?”

“Huh?”

“You wanna meet with your cousin right? Might as well come with me.”

“I’d rather not. You’re pretty welcome over, but the other Toppats might not take too kindly to me.”

“Well, not everyone is nice to me. Our music trainers are still kinda cold towards me and there’s also a couple of Toppats here and there who’ll jeer at me. There’s this one Toppat in the kitchen though, Scottie who’s really nice! Ah, well, that’s just to name a few,” Charles said, “If you want, I can have you stay in the chopper and I’ll ask the Right Hand Man to find Jacob so he can meet you up there.” Elllie pondered this for a second. It had been a while since she had talked to her cousin and it would be nice to catch up once again.

“Alright, fine. I’ll come with you. But only if you promise I’m not gonna be like… taken prisoner or anything.”

“You have my word. If they try anything on you, I’ll give them hell.” Ellie followed Charles out the door, letting Henry know that she was going out and she would be back soon. Charles handed him a slip of paper before heading out, locking the door behind him.

“What was that?” Ellie asked.

“A slip of paper with the coordinates of the Toppat manor. If anything happens, he can come rescue us!” Charles said as he headed up to the roof.

After about an hour of flight, the helicopter landed on top of the manor in the designated location, where Amelia was already waiting for him with Dave. Charles stepped out of the helicopter as Ellie walked towards the pilots area, watching him talk to Amelia and Dave as Amelia tipped her head to the side. Immediately, she ran towards the helicopter’s entrance and rapidly pulled the door open, causing Ellie to jump as she stared at her.

“Hello,” she said, smiling at her.

“Hey… long time no see,” Ellie said, “I wanna talk to my cousin, Jacob Rose. Is that OK?”

“Jacob? Yeah, that’s alright!” Amelia said, “You’re not gonna attack him are you?”

“That really depends on a lot of things,” Ellie said, “Can you just tell him that I’m up here?”

“Sure!” Amelia immediately accessed her messenger app and typed up a message for Jacob.

GlitterToppatGirl: Jacob

RoseRedToppat: what

GlitterToppatGirl: Are you available?

RoseRedToppat: what do you need

GlitterToppatGirl: There’s a girl claiming to be your cousin here right now on the roof. She has red hair, I forgot her name… Elsie or something? …….Hello? HEY

“Geez,” Amelia muttered as she closed her messenger, “I’ve gotta get to practice. There’s a room nearby you can wait in if you want.”

“No thanks I’m good,” Ellie said as she cautiously exited the helicopter, relishing the fresh air out here compared to the more smoggy air in the city. She looked up to see a sea of stars above her, feeling a bit refreshed at it all as Amelia smiled at her.

“Alright, whatever you want,” Amelia said, “Just don’t catch a cold up here.” She followed Charles and Dave as they talked amongst themselves as Ellie sighed, sitting on the edge of the helicopter, making note of anything she can do to ensure her safety when she heard the door burst open. She looked up to see Jacob, his eyes wide as he ran towards her. She jumped off of the helicopter just in time to get barreled down by a huge hug.

“ELLIE! I WAS SO FUCKING WORRIED ABOUT YOU!! When you disappeared after the fire and oh greater ones above, I don’t know what to tell you I don’t know where to start-”

“How about you start by telling me why you became a Toppat?” Ellie asked. Jacob flinched as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.

“Well, it was more of a recent development. I got tired of working at this one taco stand and a Toppat approached me and asked me if I wanted to join. So… I did. I know it wasn’t really ethical, but I was sick of bouncing between jobs and living with my mom. She’s gone nuts since last year and I don’t know why. So I took advantage of the free lodging and stuff that’s offered there and I just told her I was going to work freelance somewhere else,” Jacob said.

“Seriously?” Ellie said.

“It was either that or become a streamer and I really couldn’t put up with that,” Jacob said, “I didn’t really want to be a Toppat, but I was miserable before! And you already know how my mom is.”

“That’s true, Aunt Bella was always one screw short of a working brain. But that can’t exactly be helped. Especially considering how the entire family fortune was stolen,” Ellie said.

“That’s true too,” Jacob said. He sat down at the edge of the roof as Ellie joined him, feeling a bit relieved as he turned towards her.

“So, what were you up to before you become a private investigator?” Jacob asked.

“Oh, I was a criminal too. I guess it was pretty hypocritical of me to call you out on your own little criminal thing when I was running around doing that shit myself,” Ellie said, “But there’s like… lots of holes in my memories. There are things I can’t remember and things I can’t. It’s almost scary actually…”

“Oh…” Jacob said, “I’m sorry to hear.”

“It’s alright. It’s my fault mostly. I don’t know what happened, but that woman that was with my dad-” Ellie suddenly gripped the sides of her head as Jacob shot up, gasping as she shook in place, trying to breath.

“Ellie! ELLIE!” Jacob shouted, “Oh greater ones above, what do I do?” Ellie winced as she looked up, tears in her eyes as Jacob felt tears springing up.

“I’m sorry…” Jacob said, “I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I don’t know why I didn’t work harder to try to find you but my mom and the police and all these other things just sort of popped up. I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine. We’re together now and that’s all that matters,” Ellie said, “So I guess now we can start over.”

“Yeah, whatever you want really,” Jacob said, lying down on the roof. Ellie lay down with him, gazing at the multitudes of stars as Jacob sighed.

“I wish I could make it up to you, I really wish I could. But if you’re operating on the right side of the law now, I highly doubt anything I could do for you would be legal,” Jacob said.

“I think meeting with you and getting confirmation that you’re still, you know, OK is good enough for me,” Ellie said.

“Well that’s good to hear,” Jacob said, “It’s nice to see that you’re OK as well. After everything that happened, I was afraid you might have died or something…”

The pair was silent as they stared at the stars above, twinkling endlessly as Jacob sighed.

“I guess that’s it then,” Jacob said, “I’m sorry that things turned out like this. I wonder… what would have happened if that fire didn’t happen.”

“We’d probably be groomed to live richy rich lives. Or playing around with the Toppats. Whatever comes first,” Ellie said.

“Well, I would have been a Toppat no matter what then. I guess nobody wins,” Jacob said. Ellie pondered over this for a second, trying to mull over her thoughts before she was suddenly struck with something. Immediately, she pulled out her phone and started to type away on it, hitting each of the buttons like she was desperate to keep the ideas flowing, like a small creek becoming a mighty river.

“Ellie, what’s wrong?” Jacob asked as Ellie looked up.

“I just… I got inspired, I guess you could say,” Ellie said.

“You’re still writing poetry? That’s good to hear,” Jacob said, “What are you writing?”

“Just something that I think Charles and his band will like,” Ellie said. She kept typing away as she mulled over a few details before saving her progress and sending it to Charles.

Meanwhile, Charles, Amelia, and Dave were practicing in their practice room, sounding better then ever as they finished their song.

“Wow, that was amazing!” Amelia said, “A real rush you know!”

“Amelia, are you sure you’re OK? Your voice sounds a bit… bit crushed lately,” Charles asked.

“Huh? Nah, I’m fine! I just need to practice some more,” Amelia said.

“Don’t overexert yourself sweetheart…” Dave said softly, “I don’t want you to get hurt!”

“I’ll be fine! I’m an android, remember? Let’s do it again from the top!” Amelia said. Charles suddenly heard a ping in his head as he gazed at the message in his messenger.

RoseyRose sent ARoseWithoutThorns.txt RoseyRose: I think you’ll like this. This isn’t the final draft, but take a look at it and see if it’ll fit with your second song.

Charles curiously opened the text file and read over the poem before growing a bit excited.

“What’s wrong Charles?” Amelia asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Charles said, “Hey let’s start practicing the second song a bit. I know we’re cutting it close, but I really want this first set to be perfect.” Amelia bounced a little as Dave nodded his head, clacking his sticks together to count them off as they began to play again.

- - - - -

On the day of CC in the AM’s first performance, it was a bit stormy out. That didn’t stop the multitudes of Toppats (and a couple of people Henry had threatened) from heading out to the live house to see the three perform for the first time ever.

General Galeforce sighed as Rupert stood by his side, a little annoyed at the crowd. They were Toppats, that much was true. And with a full squad, they could probably arrest a few. However, they weren’t on duty technically, so they didn’t want to cause any trouble. Plus Rupert really wanted to support his boyfriend by doing this.

“If this ends up becoming another Toppat bottleneck because of that girl… I swear, Charlie’s really playing with fire here,” General Galeforce said as they entered the live house. Rupert took in the air of the place as it was packed fully with dozens of people. He wondered if Dave was even to sell all the tickets that he was given, but he recognized some of Dave’s coworkers in a small group, all talking amongst each other, glancing warily at the stage as Rupert glared at them.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the good general!” Rupert jumped to see two familiar faces; Reginald Copperbottom and his Right Hand Man, both wearing poor disguises as General Galeforce rolled his eyes.

“I suppose you two are here to see your daughter perform,” General Galeforce said.

“Hm… I suppose so. I just hope she can be honest about… ah well, it’ll be fine! I can only hope I raised her right. You know how it is with android children,” Reginald said. General Galeforce chuckled, feeling himself relate a little bit. He couldn’t even count how many times Charles had lied through his teeth to him as a young android.

“I suppose a temporary truce is in place for now. Is that correct?” Reginald asked.

“You’re lucky I don’t want to cause a ruckus while my son is on stage. I know how bad concert riots can get,” General Galeforce said. Rupert glanced at the general as he gazed at the stage, feeling a bit excited to not only see his best friend, but his boyfriend performing as well.

Meanwhile, backstage Charles was pacing the floor as Dave tapped his foot uncertainly, listening to the crowd.

“Greater ones above, I hope my drums are tuned, I hope I don’t get off beat, I hope there’s no riot, I don’t want my coworkers to laugh at me, I hope-”

“Dave you’re not helping. Geez, where’s Amelia?” Charles said.

GlitterToppatGirl: I’m right here.

Amelia entered the room as Dave jumped up and hugged her tightly. Charles smiled as he clapped his hands together

“Huh? Amelia! Thank goodness you’re here! They’re waiting for us outside, c’mon, you ready to perform?”

GlitterToppatGirl: No. I lost my voice.

Charles blinked as he stared at Amelia, who opened her mouth, the most haunting glitchy sound coming out as she tried to speak before covering it up again.

GlitterToppatGirl: It’s been like that since this morning. Combined with the drivers being out of date slightly and me wearing down my voice box, it’s going to take about a week for a sufficient replacement part to come in. I’m sorry guys, I can’t sing…

“I’ll do it! I’ll sing in her place!” Dave said.

“No you need to concentrate on drumming…” Charles said, “Ah, let’s see… Well, I don’t wanna resort to lip syncing, so I guess I’ll just sing in the meantime. It won’t be the same, but I hope I can manage.”

“CC in the AM? It’s showtime!” Ozwald shouted through the door. The three of them glanced at each other, realizing how real this was before nodding their heads. They headed out, getting ready to perform for a room of over fifty people. The crowd began to cheer as the curtain opened.

xXBold_Action_ManXx: Remember the first song?

GlitterToppatGirl: Sure do. Break a leg. And not a voice box.

Charles smirked as Amelia began to strum her bass guitar and he began to sing. For the first time ever he felt nervous, watching over the crowd as they swayed to the slow song, feeling almost excited. He saw Henry and Ellie standing next to each other, watching him as he strummed his guitar, Jacob was in the crowd as well, next to his cousin bouncing along to the music.

He saw General Galeforce, a twinkle in his eyes as he watched them perform and Rupert, who was staring very intently at the stage in a mode of concentration even he couldn’t understand. Reginald and the Right Hand Man were standing next to them, Reginald bouncing in place as his eyes were fully on Amelia and the Right Hand Man recording her with his camera, a gleam of pride his eyes.

But Charles couldn’t help but notice someone else in the crowd. Someone he hadn’t seen in a while. He tried to confirm, but he had to concentrate on finishing the song. Once he did, there was a stunning amount of applause and cheering as Charles approached the microphone.

“Thank you for listening! We want to thank you all for coming out here tonight to support us. I’m glad that so many people were willing to come out and hear us sing. I’m Charles Calvin, I’m the guitarist of the band, joined by my good friend Amelia C- ah… Just Amelia is fine for her for now. She unfortunately sang too much over the past week and lost her voice. Isn’t that something?” Everyone laughed as Amelia’s inseams steamed slightly.

GlitterToppatGirl: Not cool dude 😡

“Aha, anyway, we also have our drummer back here, Dave Panpa. Dave is a pretty cool dude once you get to know him and despite his shyness he’s actually a really excellent drummer!”

“Shut up!” Dave said, “I’m not that shy!”

“Well, it’s the vibe you kinda give off you know,” Charles said, “Well, either way, I hope you enjoy this next song. It’s another cover, but I think you’ll like it.”

So the set continued as planned, with Charles giving witty banter in between songs and even introducing the two original songs, crediting Ellie for writing the lyrics to them. As the finished the final bar of their last song, the crowd cheered, clapping and waving their hands as Charles glanced over the it, feeling a chill down his artificial spine.

No he wasn’t imagining it. There were two other androids in the crowd… they just left.

“Ah, I want to thank you guys for coming out to hear us perform! Check out my AudioMist profile CCintheAM for more original songs and of course thank you guys for coming out tonight! We love all of you and we hope you have safe travels going home!” The crowd cheered as the curtain closed, Charles glancing at Amelia with a bit of uncertainty.

GlitterToppatGirl: Don’t worry, I saw them too.

xXBold_Action_ManXx: What were they doing out here? Spying maybe? Trying to catch us off guard?

“Are you guys OK?” Dave asked, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Charles said, “Everything’s alright! We just got through our first set though! High fives all around!” As the three of them exchanged high fives and Dave jumped up to give Amelia a big hug and soft kiss on the lips, Ozwald popped up again, all smiles.

“Great job you three. I was a bit doubtful at first, but you three showed real potential. I guess I can count on you for another performance next month!” he said.

“You bet! Hopefully Amelia has learned a big lesson about over singing, right Amelia?” Charles said.

“Well, clear off the stage,” Ozwald said, “I imagine you need some rest after that.” The three of them nodded their heads as they caught Dave up on the situation.

“There were androids in the crowd? Oh no, you don’t think they’re spying on us, aren’t you?” Dave asked.

“Well, probably. But I don’t know why,” Charles said, “After all, there’s really no benefit to disrupting one of our concerts, so it was probably just to scare us. That’s just disturbing, knowing they were watching us…”

“Maybe they’re planning something!” Dave said, “After all, they wouldn’t be spying if they weren’t really planning anything.”

“We’ve been chasing them around on days where we haven’t practiced. But I don’t know how they found out about us…” Charles said.

“Hey.” the three of them jumped as large man approached the door of the backstage room.

“There’s a group of people claiming to know you. Ellie and Henry their names were?” he said, “There’s also these three mustached dudes and a… living porcupine I think…”

“I’M NOT A PORCUPINE!” Rupert shouted as Charles giggled.

“Let them in,” Charles said, “They’re harmless. Mostly.” The group filed into the room as they extended their congratulations to the three of them. Henry was excitedly signing to Charles as Ellie smiled thoughtfully at him, General Galeforce patting him on the back and giving him praise for his first performance.

Meanwhile, Amelia was being absolutely bombarded with hugs from Reginald as the Right Hand Man very uncharacteristically started to talk very rapidly as he showed Amelia the recorded footage, pointing out his favorite parts as Amelia smiled sheepishly, unable to express her discomfort and embarrassment at the situation.

Rupert was also talking to Dave, telling him how amazing it was that he managed to perform without getting scared or anything as he smiled shyly, telling Rupert about how nervous he was perform but he had to get over that not only for Amelia’s sake, but for his own as well.

After a while, the group finally decided to head to their respective homes, wishing each other a good night as Charles waited for a cab with Henry and Ellie.

“It feels kinda strange to hear something that you’ve written being performed like that…” Ellie said as she stretched, watching Reginald pile into a car with a couple of other Toppats.

“If you want, I can start writing songs so you don’t have to worry about it,” Charles said.

“No, it’s fine, I can keep writing lyrics for you. Just let me know when you need some and I’ll be more then happy to provide,” Ellie said.

IT REALLY WAS GREAT HEARING YOU GUYS PERFORM. I KNEW YOU WERE GOOD WITH MUSIC, CHARLES, BUT TO THINK THAT YOU COULD PLAY THAT WELL… THAT WAS AMAZING, Henry said, smiling at him.

“It was all thanks to our music trainers,” Charles said. The cab approached the curb as they piled in, a bit tired as they headed home, the music from earlier stuck in their heads.

- - - - -

Theodore and CJ were in the alleyway, watching the crowd of people disperse as Theodore sighed.

“I don’t understand. If these androids are not living their ideal life, how come they look happier then us?” CJ asked.

“You know exactly why that’s the answer. I just hope I can convince Daxton of the same thing…” Theodore said, “I’m just scared is all. What if we’re doing this whole Project SAI thing for nothing? What do we even have to gain from it?”

“Money? Power?” CJ said.

“But wouldn’t it better if you could be a little more independent like them?” Theodore said, “Without those obnoxious doctors breathing down your neck?”

“Well, they know what’s best so-”

“So what?” Theodore said, “If they told you to jump off a cliff would you?” CJ shook their head as Theodore sighed.

“I thought so,” Theodore muttered, hearing a ringing in his ears.

Speak of the devils…

“Theodore, report on your findings,” Dr. Daffodil said.

“They were just playing a concert or whatever. Not my kinda scene to be honest. I prefer metal,” Theodore said.

“And the performers were androids?” she asked.

“Only Unit CC and Unit AM. Amelia and Charles as they call themselves,” Theodore said.

“Hmm… interesting. Maybe they’re trying to start this band as a way to garner favor for free will for all androids!” Dr. Daffodil said.

“Or they were just bored and wanted to do something beside fight us!” Theodore said.

“You say that like we’re the bad guys!” Theodore desperately wanted to say that he did feel like, for the first time ever, they really were the bad guys. Stealing all sorts of computer parts, breaking and entering restricted areas, continuing a terrible project under the nose of the government forces was enough to make him feel dirty on the inside.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Theodore said, “I’ll report back to HQ with the video footage and you can see for yourself what this is.”

“Fine, fine. But be quick! You weren’t supposed to be out for this long and who knows who might have seen you and Unit CJ. Daffodil out.” As Dr. Daffodil hung up the phone, Theodore let out a long sigh as CJ looked at him curiously.

“Are we heading out then?” CJ asked.

“Yep, pretty much,” Theodore said. The two of them disappeared into the alleyway, heading back to Site B. But Theodore felt something eating away at him, something that he needed to take care of.

Maybe if I can convince Daxton… maybe… maybe we can scrap this awful idea and move onto something better.

Not just for me, but for them as well.

[ai-sunflower-sketch]

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Inside the central circle, add texture to represent the sunflower’s seeds. This can be done by drawing a series of small, evenly spaced dots or tiny circles. For a more detailed effect, you might create a grid-like pattern or use a stippling technique to add depth and dimension.

5. Add Petal Details:

To enhance the petals, add some lines running from the base to the tip of each petal. These lines should be curved and follow the natural flow of the petal. They represent the veins and give the petals a more realistic texture. Lightly sketch these lines to avoid overwhelming the overall design.

6. Draw the Stem and Leaves:

Extend two parallel lines from the base of the flower to form the stem. The stem should be thick enough to support the flower but not so wide that it overpowers it. At the base of the stem, add leaves by drawing large, slightly elongated ovals with pointed ends. Incorporate a central vein and some side veins on each leaf to add detail.

7. Refine Your Sketch:

Go over your sketch, refining the lines and adding any additional details. Smooth out any rough areas, and adjust the proportions if needed. Erase any unnecessary guide lines and focus on enhancing the clarity of the flower's features.

8. Final Touches:

If you want to add more depth, use shading techniques. Lightly shade the areas where the petals overlap or where shadows would naturally fall. This can be done by varying the pressure on your pencil or by using a blending tool to smooth out the shading.

9. Optional Color:

For a more vibrant sketch, consider adding color. Use colored pencils or markers to fill in the petals with shades of yellow and orange, the central disk with browns, and the leaves with various greens. This will bring your sunflower sketch to life and add a burst of color.

10. Review and Adjust:

Finally, step back and review your sketch. Make any necessary adjustments to ensure balance and proportion. Your sunflower sketch should now reflect the cheerful and sunny disposition of this beloved flower.

Creating a sunflower sketch involves capturing the flower's bold and cheerful essence through simple lines and shapes. With practice, you'll be able to convey the natural beauty of sunflowers and enjoy the process of bringing this sunny bloom to life on paper.

[shirecorn]

how about 17 and 24? what inspires you and how do you deal with art block?

Long post warning.

Art block...

I don't actually get art block, which is probably a combination of neurodivergence and drawing every day for the last 3 years

I wrote an entire tutorial about how to do that, but didn't feel like illustrating it. Would people want to read it even without visuals?

Maybe... I'll just start rambling.

There's a couple different types of art block, and it's really just a philosophy puzzle to get past them. I'm going to assume that the things I think of slow days, or art mud, is a milder form of art block and work through that.

Art block is a symptom, not a disease. You probably have something deep inside that you don't want to face, or don't know how. Sometimes you need to discover the cause, sometimes just power through.

Method 1: Rest

Let yourself just Exist. The act of consuming art is part of the process. Watching shows and playing games, taking a break and going gardening or focus on school. This is what you need for burnout-induced art block.

Method 2: Action

I always choose action, sometimes it means a tiny 2 min sketch per day. Ugly or super simplified. As long as I don't stop moving.

Toss everything. Start every piece thinking you will throw it away.

The act of drawing moves you forward; pinning it to the fridge does not. Don't work things until they are perfect. Work them until they are there.

Art block causes and solutions:

- No Inspiration

Not sure what to draw, nothing seems appealing. Art won't come out like it used to.

Do studies from life or photos. Sketch, paint, digital, traditional, doesn't matter. Rocks, fruit, figure drawing, landscapes, buildings, anything.

Study and copy professional's work. Old masters are best, like rubens, michalangelo (only his men tho) etc because they will teach you anatomy while you work. If you copy someone with a lot of flaws, you will repeat those flaws.

Trace to learn, not to earn. Trace photography and art from anyone you want. Don't post it unless you have the artist's permission or they are dead, whichever comes first. This is strictly work for yourself, on yourself. It's not about the finished drawing.

Find an artist with a fun style and try converting stuff into their style. Don't make that your new style though and especially don't start selling it. Your style is a chimera of everyone you love, not a clone of one person.

Take blurry photos. You don't need a fancy camera or good skills or beautiful subjects. Doing studies from your own photos can spark life into your workflow.

Make challenges for yourself. Randomly generate things to combine. Try fusing characters! Don't try to make it look good, just be fun.

Doodle patterns, swirls, lines, random stuff. Try looking up art warmups and doing some of those.

- Everything Sucks

You finally see how bad you are. Or somehow you got worse. Every piece is a fight and you spend hours trying to get something right only for it to be stiff and disgusting and STILL wrong.

Why are you trying to draw good? It's enough just to draw.

Accept that your art is bad. Every artist can see flaws in their work. Your problem is that those flaws outweigh anything remotely worthwhile and hurt to look at.

So what? You're in a period of growth, not a period of production. Keep that wonky second eye. Let them have hot dog fingers.

Show everyone! Show no one! No piece of art can ever be a reflection of the artist. Not their worth, not their skill. The only thing your art says about you is "Held and moved a pen for a bit."

Make bad art. It's ok. Most of the time, the pressure to perform and get things Right is what made them wrong in the first place. Relax.

- No Motivation

The #1 killer of artists everywhere. On some level you think you should draw, on every other level you think you should stay in bed.

You are not lazy. You wouldn't have read this far in a post about art block if you were lazy. You wouldn't CALL it art block if you were lazy. Laziness is wishing you didn't have to do anything. A block is wishing you were doing something. If you think you can namecall Yourself into productivity again, you're wrong and You need to unionize so that you don't treat You like that anymore.

Consider Mental Illness. Losing interest in something that brought you joy can be a symptom of depression. I know it seems obvious, but if you're waiting for a sign that it's "bad enough," it's bad enough. Seek care if you have the means. Forgive yourself if you already know this.

Selfcare. Examine yourself for neglect. Nutrition, exercise, enrichment, social need, and sleep are all part of the art process. Eat three meals and sleep 8 hours. That's your gaymer fuel. You deserve it, I promise. Depriving yourself of your needs will make your blocks worse, not kick you into making them better.

Identify potholes. Sketchbook falling apart? Tablet cord frayed? Half your pencils missing? Chair uncomfortable? Desk hard to reach? There's a lot of things that you tell yourself to work around and get over. Just because you CAN workaround something, doesn't mean you SHOULD. A difficult work environment can cause secret dread deep inside that you don't recognize and just think you're lazy. What you think of as "no motivation" might actually be "I don't want to deal with my tablet disconnecting every time I move it wrong and I have to wiggle it for a few seconds to make it work again." These little things are like potholes in the road. Sure you CAN still drive through them, but eventually you're going to look up and realize you haven't voluntarily left the house in weeks.

Repair potholes and roadblocks. You might feel bad about buying a new pencil, headphones, tablet, car, etc because technically the old one works if you hustle. But if you're running into so many potholes you've ground to a halt, it doesn't Actually work anymore, does it? Invest, save up, request, and require working equipment and suitable conditions. This stuff isn't just cushy privilege, it's an investment in yourself and your art. You are worth the effort it takes to clear the way. If you can't afford reliable (reliable! not perfect or luxurious) equipment, then say it. If cardboard is all you can afford, draw on cardboard. But know that you deserve canvas, and one day you might be able to make the jump. Acknowledge that sometimes, if you don't have it in you to smear burned twigs on wet cardboard, the problem isn't motivation, but opportunity.

- Haven't Drawn in So Long

A unique type of art block that self perpetuates. The thought of starting again is so stressful you can't do it. Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow. Yeah. Tomorrow for sure.

Face your fears. Are you ashamed of your lack of drawing? Are you anthropomorphizing your paper and thinking it's going to judge you, like "oh NOW you come back >:/" I internalize voices I hear and project them onto other people, concepts, locations, and inanimate objects. Your paper, computer, WIPs folder.... none of that is judging you.

Reframe your WIPs. Do you feel shame when you see "unfinished" projects? Why? Who says you MUST bring everything you start to Finish? You don't have to. A sketch is a finished art piece; it's called a sketch! If a sketch is a fully realized creation, pages that are half colored, 75% lined, or partially rendered are all fully realized creations too. Unless paid otherwise, art is done when you're done working on it.

Lower the stakes. Draw a chibi or grab some crayons. Get messy and slowly ease yourself back into the flow over the course of a couple days. It's fine.

Get a buddy! Find an art meme, do an art trade, get a study subject, or just wing it. Drawing art alongside someone can help you get past that block.

Pretend you never stopped. Don't think about the gap, how long it's been, or rustiness. As far as anyone knows, you drew the mona lisa yesterday and didn't break a sweat. Today, you drew a starfish on your hand with a gel pen. Keep up that streak, good job!

Just keep drawing. Make a goal to do one sucky drawing per day on the back of a napkin. Don't make up for missed days, just pretend they didn't happen. Who's going to judge you? The calendar? That's pieces of paper; it doesn't have an opinion. Draw a cat on it. Done. Keeping up the momentum is a great way to prevent art blocks in the future.

TLDR: Draw imperfectly and toss it. Selfcare is king. Draw often and don't judge yourself.

Art is a process, not a product.

[simmerandwrite]

strangers - steve rogers x reader

Warnings: mentions of sexual harassment and non-consensual touching, swearing.

Word count: 4870

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: When your subway ride home takes a turn for the worst, you hope a stranger in a coffee shop will help you out.

Notes: If you saw a snippet of this the other day, here’s the full thing! I wanted to tackle some ‘in need of saving’ tropes and this just sort of happened. I’ve never posted straight up on Tumblr before but I’m a bit lacking in my experience with reader fics, so I figured this was a good place to share it. no beta, any mistakes are my own! If you like it, let me know - thanks for reading!

—

Steve Rogers liked his days off. Not that he had a set schedule week to week anyway but when things aligned correctly, he could do whatever he wanted. No world saving, no training, no report writing, no meetings.

He had scoped out a small little coffee shop in Brooklyn where he liked to spend these quiet afternoons. Usually with a book in hand (he had so many books to catch up on) or some music loaded to his phone (Nat was currently educating him on 90s punk rock) or a notebook and pencil. People watching served as wonderful inspiration to sketch.

He sipped his cappuccino, eyes tipped downward at the book ahead of him on the table. He was interrupted just moments later as someone dropped into the chair across from him.

Now, Steve wasn’t intentionally hiding out at this hole-in-the-wall cafe. But he did put on his laughable disguise still - a beaten up Yankees cap and his prescription-less thick framed glasses. He liked the anonymity. That didn’t always stop people from recognizing him.

As he opened his mouth to question the person who was suddenly joining him for coffee, she slid her phone across the table to him. Her hand shook. His eyebrows flexed into a curious frown as he looked at the screen displaying a plainly typed note:

‘Do you mind if I sit someone is following me home sorry to disturb you’

—

As if your day hadn’t been absolutely terrible enough, you spotted the gremlin of a man on the subway watching you again. You knew he worked somewhere in the same office building as you because he always trailed a few paces behind you when pushing through the revolving doors in the lobby. It wasn’t uncommon to see the same people on the same subway line at the same time every day, but this man’s presence had become an unwanted downside.

He was always there. Worse than that, he seemed to be always watching you. Today, it was even more obvious that he was following you.

When that thought first occurred to you, it had been really easy to shrug off. He was just a guy taking the subway. But when he happened to be on the later train with you one day, an uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach.

And now, as the car was filling up even more after the second stop in DUMBO, he had moved to stand and put himself even closer to you.

You had been going through so many Next Steps. God, that phrase was the bane of your existence. Next steps, next steps..

Maybe you could tell him to fuck off. You could make an appointment with Leanna in HR and see if there is a way to figure out the name of this guy - though he didn’t work for your company so that was likely going to be a dead end. You could start taking the bus to the village before grabbing the train. Maybe you could Uber home some days instead of taking the subway. Not that you could afford that but this guy was..

You stiffened immediately.

This guy was touching you. In the midst of the crowded subway car, he was pressed against you entirely. And was he.. His hips were moving against your leg and.. Wait, that was two hands on your hips now.. Hot breath whispered against your neck and -

Fuck.

You threw yourself through the mob as the train came to a stop. With hurried feet you ran onto the platform and up the stairs, doing your best to weave through the flow of people, like a fish trying to make it upstream. You tried not to be obvious but as you snapped your head over your shoulders to look back, you saw him there again.

He was smirking. No, snarling.

Next steps, next steps.

You joined a sea of people crossing the street, taking your first left to try and steer yourself into a particular direction. You were still a far walk from your apartment but with this man on your heels, you didn’t want to lead him anywhere near there.

You grabbed your phone from your jacket pocket, unlocking it quickly and scrolling through the contacts. Surely there had to be someone you could call but even then, what could they do? Offer advice?

It didn’t occur to you until then but would it be valuable to call the cops?

Despite the late day sunlight, you suddenly felt very aware of the emptiness of the sidewalk on that side street. You needed to be around people. It definitely wasn’t logical to be anywhere near alone with this guy and -

It sounded like his footsteps were getting closer. With a panicked gulp, you yanked on the door of a little hole-in-the-wall cafe. Your eyes scanned the space quickly once you were inside. You probably shouldn’t sit alone, you couldn’t run to the bathroom if you aren’t sure where it is or if you needed a key. There were too many variables.

You needed something. Next steps..

You spotted someone sitting at a small table near the window and without thinking, you sent out a silent prayer to whoever might be listening and you rushed over. The man was clearly alone, a half consumed ceramic mug of coffee sitting to the right of his book.

Swallowing hard, you quickly typed on your phone and slid it across the table to him after you sat. You tried your best to stay very calm and hoped that he would play along. God, what if he didn’t play along and -

Behind you, the door chimed once more and you desperately wanted to see if it was that man - if the gremlin had followed you inside. You clasped your hands together in your lap and forced a smile on as you looked at the stranger sitting across from you.

Despite not knowing him, there was a familiarity about his appearance. Behind his thick glasses, soft blue eyes searched you carefully. His eyes flicked to the screen once more, stiffening in his chair as he looked past you towards the rest of the cafe.

With his right hand, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out a small notebook and a pen. He scribbled something quickly and turned the page towards you.

Are you hurt?

You shook your head quickly. He offered you a tight smile and wrote once more.

Buzzcut, grey jacket?

Your eyes blew open wide and you tilted your head into a nod.

I’m Steve

He flipped the notebook closed and extended his hand across the table, palm facing up. He leaned forward just slightly, meeting your eyes with a reassuring smile. “Play along.”

Your eyes flicked to his hand and you slowly unclamped your own, grabbing his on the table instead. He was doing an impressive job splitting his attention between you and his surroundings, eyes scanning the room. He squeezed your hand very gently, brushing his thumb against your knuckles.

“Tell me about your day.”

You sucked in a hard breath. You weren’t entirely sure what his strategy was but something told you this guy was in your corner. Though despite that, you could feel another set of eyes on you.

“Uh,” you started quietly, letting the air escape your lungs. “Surprisingly, I didn’t think it could get worse before I got on the subway after work. I had a review meeting that was not great and we had a free catered lunch that was not vegetarian friendly. Missed an important email and deadline and… well, here I am whining about it and interrupting your day. Listen, I’m going to-

You moved to stand up but Steve shook his head, grasping your hand. “Give it a few more minutes, I think he’ll give up and leave.”

His words were casual but had an authoritative tone. Once more his eyes left you, looking towards the front of the cafe. He raised his free hand and motioned to one of the baristas. You weren’t certain if this was the type of place who served people at their seats but clearly he had a comfortable rapport as the young girl approached with a warm smile on her face.

“Hey Tia, could I get another?”

“Anything for you?” The barista turned her head as she asked, pony tail moving from side to side.

“Uhm.” You paused and thought. You certainly had no desire to even consider a coffee order when you felt someone’s linger gaze boring into you. “A decaf con panna, if that’s possible.” The girl confirmed it was with a nod then left the table side.

“Con panna?” Steve’s lips pulled into a curious smirk. Something about his smile calmed you.

“Espresso with whipped cream on top,” you answered. “Short and sweet.”

“I’ll have to try that next time.”

Steve sure had a soothing smile. When his thumb stopped tracing against your palm - when did that even start? - you felt an empty sadness about the loss. Wow, what did that even say about your standards when a stranger was brushing his thumb against your hand that you were so grateful for? Well, it was a thousand times better than someone rubbing his -

You winced at the memory, biting down as you clutched your bottom lip between your teeth. Though that shameful feeling hadn’t disappeared, you managed to keep it at bay. But now, it seemed to have left an image you were unable to blink away.

The sweet smell of whipped cream and the shuffling of paper cups broke you from your trance. You reached for your bag to fish out a few dollars but when you looked up, Steve was waving a hand to stop you.

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate his kindness. You did. You really, really did. But given the last half hour, you still had a hard time settling your nervous mind.

“Thanks, Tia.” Steve’s eyes were jumping around the place as the barista grabbed the cash he offered. A loud stomp of footsteps drew their attention as the Subway Gremlin saddled up beside the table.

“Sorry to be a bother, darlin’ - any chance I can borrow your phone?”

You couldn’t help but look at him. Though his words were directed at the barista, he made a point to glance over at you.

You felt Steve’s hands grip yours. When you looked towards him, his eyes were very carefully watching the man. How did he manage to -

“Sorry, we don’t have a dedicated line available to customers.” Tia politely shook her head, pointing towards the door. “There’s a CityBank up the street that can help you, I’m sure.” She shrugged and headed back to the coffee counter.

The man stood still, opening his mouth to argue.

Steve sat back, shoulders broad and steady. “Did you need directions there? I think it’s just two blocks. Maybe 500 paces.” His tone was flat. “Just out the door and you’ll be on your way.”

You kept your eyes on Steve. He kept his stare directed at the man. Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, the man moved his feet. He turned on his heel, though not before stopping to look at you again.

“I will see you tomorrow, dar-

Steve released your hand and pushed his chair back, standing quickly and grasping the man’s shoulder.

Steve towered over him. “You have five seconds.” The man pulled away from Steve’s grip then finally stomped away. You kept your eyes tightly shut until you heard the chime of the bell indicating the movement of the door. Then, you collapsed onto your arms on the edge of the table.

Steve, meanwhile, headed to the door and kept watch for a few more moments to ensure the man actually departed from the area. Then, he stopped at the counter and exchanged a few words with Tia before returning you.

You were still doing your best to encourage the floor to open up and swallow you whole. How had this even escalated? The worst part was your mind seemed clouded with doubt. This man, you hadn’t even interacted with him before. Why was he suddenly so invested in you? To a point where he might follow you home? Were you just another target or had this been intentional?

You considered yourself a fairly observant person and yet..

You twisted your hands together in your lap and tried to consider what was going to happen now. Next steps, next steps..

“Hey.” Steve returned to his chair. Your eyes flicked up towards him, noticing he was sliding a bottle of water towards you. Your sad little espresso and whipped cream treat was deflated next to it. “Are you okay?”

You reached for the water bottle, twisting the cap open and taking a long drink. “I don’t know.” Chewing on your bottom lip, you shook your head. “No, actually. I’m not. It somehow feels like my skin is on fire and my lungs are failing me and I’m sweaty but I’m not and - and -

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Steve spoke so calmly and evenly. “Just take a slow breath with me, okay?” You closed your eyes once more and followed his instructions as he walked you through a few breathing exercises. “That’s great, you’re doing great-

When he stopped speaking so quickly, you opened one eye to look over at him. His cheeks were a warm shade of pink and his mouth was twisted into a frown. “What?”

“It just occurred to me I didn’t get your name.” He paused, as if to consider his next thought. “Although, given what just happened with that man, you are under no obligation to tell me anything about yourself. I just.. I’d like to help.”

His genuine concern for you was surprising. You allowed a small smile to stretch across your face. “You’re very nice, Steve.”

You gave him your name and he smiled back, repeating it to himself. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your smile turned downwards when you looked towards your phone. “I should probably get going. Again, I’m really sorry for dragging you into this mess but I appreciate the… solace.” You took a deep breath and pushed your chair back, pausing to tip the lukewarm espresso into your mouth. “I owe you one.”

You winced when you heard yourself and sighed. Why did you say that? This stranger, this friendly, broad shouldered, tall, handsome stranger who’s day you interrupted, did not need your weird backhanded flirting. In fact, even though every signal in your brain seemed on edge after, well, everything, the only thing that seemed to ground you now was the kindness of Steve. So you tried to will yourself not to ruin it with any additional commentary.

You weren’t entirely sure what had driven you down this particular street into this particular cafe and towards this particular man. But, you were certainly grateful. “Actually, do they have gift cards here? I’d love to buy you one to say thank you and -

“Are you going to walk? Wherever you’re going right now?” When you looked over, you saw that Steve had stood, too. You saw his eyes move towards the door and the far windows up the street where the man from the subway had gone. “I don’t want to overstep but I hope you’ll let me walk you home. Or far enough away to have cleared his radar.”

“I feel like I’ve already wasted enough of your time, Steve.” You truly felt worse and worse for interrupting his afternoon.

“Please, I insist.” Steve tilted his head, half a smirk on his lips. “You just said you owe me one, so. I’m cashing in the favour.”

“The favour repayment you’re cashing in is.. you doing me another favour? Do you know how favours are supposed to work?” Admittedly, you knew you would feel a lot safer having someone walk home with you. And something about Steve made you feel very secure, his presence like a comforting shield.

“C’mon,” Steve replied with a laugh, nudging his head towards the door.

When you stepped onto the sidewalk, you stopped to think. “Let’s go this way.” You turned to the right and Steve followed, staying on your shoulder closest to the street. You walked in a comfortable silence - which made you nervous at first. Then, as your steps fell into a pattern, the quiet soothed you.

You pushed your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you turned down the next block. You looked over at Steve, who turned his head towards you as you shifted. “You didn’t ask anything else about the man.. Who followed me.”

A quiet hum came from Steve. “I didn’t think I should. You seemed shaken up enough.” He shrugged, peering down at you through his glasses. “If you want to talk about it..”

“I work in this big office building in Midtown. The Clifton building?”

Steve motioned his hand diagonally. “Little bagel place downstairs? That’s right down from The Avengers tower, isn’t it?”

You nodded along. Right. Stark Tower was The Avengers Tower, now. It was the most iconic landmark on that block. “Yes. Actually, I work on the 40th floor, which makes for a great angle to see Iron Man coming in.” Your smile was fleeting when you continued on. “It’s a huge building. I work in human resources for this pharmaceutical company.. But there’s a law firm in there, too. Insurance companies, start ups.. Hundreds of people in and out all day long. Yet, that man on the subway has managed to..” You stopped yourself before your chest got too tight. “Let’s just say I’ve seen him around before.”

“Do you know his name?”

“That’s the thing!” You couldn’t help but laugh now, shaking your head in dumbfounded confusion. “No. I have no idea who he is. But he often gets on the same subway line as me, watches me from across the crowd then today..” You stopped and dragged a hand down your face. “It’s a sad truth but I would say most of my friends have been.. Touched inappropriately on the subway before. I guess it’s a weird right of passage or something..”

“Wait - what?” Steve stopped in his tracks and reached his hand out to grab yours. You stopped and looked up at his eyes, somehow both soft and dark with concern. “He touched you? What do you mean?”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering if his ask was authentic. When you saw the disappointment in his face, eyes flooded with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, you realized his reaction was genuine. You opened your mouth to explain but suddenly it seemed impossible to find the words.

Steve let go of your hand as he absorbed your lack of response and reached for his phone. “You can file a police report, right?”

“No, no.” You stopped him, placing your hand on his as he held his phone. “Trust me, that’s just paperwork that goes nowhere. Without the guy's name, absolutely nothing would come from it anyway.” You shook your head. “It’s fine, really. I might just adjust my work hours and change my route home for a few weeks. Maybe he’ll give up.”

Steve muttered something to himself, shaking his head. His face shifted from concern to something else, like his brain was working on a different trail of thoughts. He spoke your name quietly, drawing your attention to him again. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Steve’s kindness was a strange contrast to the entire experience on the subway. How one man could have such questionable intentions while another apologizes with sincerity for it was nearly jarring. Although, it did suddenly occur to you that Steve was just as much of a stranger.

“The worst part is.. men like that sever any opportunity for trust in other people. Especially blind trust. Like me telling you, a stranger, where I work and walking you to where I live. Funny enough though - every wire in my brain should be telling me not to and how it was a bad idea but.. I guess there is something about you.”

Steve sucked in a breath, eyes wide as he considered his response. “When you walked into the coffee shop, you could have asked the barista for help or tried to hide out in the bathroom. But you sat next to me instead. How come?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Like I said, there's just something about you, Steve.”

You walked in silence again, feet falling into a pattern once more. The sky was growing darker, the air cooler. After crossing the street again, you looked at him. “How do you feel about Prezio being traded to the Orioles?” You reached out and tipped up the brim of his Yankees hat. “A tragedy, right?”

A quiet laugh escaped him as he tipped his head. “I think it was a huge mistake. Don’t you think we’ve had a hard enough year as it is?” Your silence was filled with baseball talk instead and it seemed to put both of you at ease.

“This is me.” You stopped outside of a short apartment complex, pointing a thumb to the door.

Steve smiled, one hand in the pocket of his jacket as he studied you. Was this it? After the wild rollercoaster of emotions you had spilled onto him in the last hour, parting with nothing else seemed empty. Lacking. He opened his mouth and closed it, once then twice.

Finally, you cut in. “Thanks again, Steve. Really. If you hadn’t played along and scared him away.. well, I’m not sure where I would be right now. It means a lot that you cared enough about a stranger to make sure I was safe.”

Steve sighed out your name. “I’m sorry your barometer for kindness is so low.”

You sighed. “Yeah, me too.” Part of you wanted to do something. Say something else. Linger a tiny bit longer. But your feet shuffled and your hand reached for the door. “Have a good night, Steve.”

—

“I need a favour.”

“Well, good morning to you, sunshine. Did you lock yourself out of your computer again? FRIDAY can help with that.”

“Tony, this is serious.”

“Okay, okay. I recognize that scowl. How can I help you?”

“If I provided you some video footage from a security camera, can we track someone down? Figure out who they are? For full transparency, it’s just a civilian.”

“Sounds like we’re operating outside of the law, Rogers. Can you provide me with more context? I don’t mind the grey area - I just like the drama, too.”

Steve sighed, then reluctantly explained himself. The cafe. Your panicked message. The stalker of a man. The way you dismissed it all as a normal, unfortunate side effect of existing as a woman. His barista friend provided him with camera footage but he wasn’t sure it was enough.

Tony pinched between his eyes. “Men are scum. And I say that as someone in the practice of trying to be better. Recovering scum, if you will. I’ll see what I can do. FRIDAY, how quietly can we get into the security database at the Clifton building?”

—

Although you hadn’t lied to Steve, it occurred to you on your journey home that your guard should remain up. Which is why you had actually allowed him to walk you to your aunt’s apartment, instead of your own. She was happy to see you burst through the door and insisted you stay for dinner. That was a tiny silver lining to the whole mess.

The next day though, the thought of going into work was suffocating. So you opted to spend the day working from home instead, which your boss had been agreeable to, at least. One day rolled into two and you successfully avoided the office building until the following Monday. But then, you needed a plan. Next steps, next steps.

You took an Uber to the office early and left late at the end of the day, leaving out the back stairway and crossing a few blocks to take a different subway line home. It was unfortunate you had to cater your life to the chance you would run into this goon again, but your sense of security was slowly returning. That had to count for something.

Things shifted later that week. There was a sudden new policy sent out to all the staff in your office outlining new building ownership and training about sexual harassment policies.

“It’s a long time coming,” you heard someone mutter out in the elevator as you headed down towards the lobby.

“Guess Tony Stark just wants to own the whole block,” their coworker chirped back, pulling to loosen his tie.

There was even more commotion when you exited the elevator and walked towards the large glass doors. A team of NYPD officers were standing outside, shoving someone in the back of their cruiser. Your eyes narrowed. You couldn’t be certain but from that angle, you certainly recognized the bad buzzcut. Your eyes darted around the lobby anxiously and across the room, a small crowd of suits and officers had formed near..

Tony Stark, himself.

Before you could even try to understand what was going on, you heard someone calling your name. You turned your head and saw someone who looked a lot like -

“Steve?” You took a few steps towards him, pausing to glance from him back at Tony Stark and.. “Oh my god. You’re Steve Rogers. Why didn’t you say something?”

Captain America had walked you home. Hidden behind glasses and a hat. And you always considered yourself observant.

Steve just smirked, shrugging a shoulder. “I didn’t think it was important.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Should I be thanking you for all of this chaos?”

Steve furrowed his brow in mock confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe I’m extrapolating here but the same day my subway stalker gets taken away in cuffs, Stark Industries buys out this building and mandates a new policy and code of conduct.”

Steve pursed his lips, swallowing back a mischievous smirk. “Here’s the thing. It occurred to me that your best choice of action after that day was changing your entire life to avoid that man. And I couldn’t help but think about how broken that system was.”

You sighed. It had occurred to you, too. While you were relieved to shake the man from your trail, your mind considered he would probably turn his attention to someone else. And that wouldn’t be fair.

“Well, Cap. Job well done. That scum of a man had priors in Jersey, too.” Tony Stark himself had walked to where you and Steve stood. His hand clapped on Steve’s shoulder. “You’re at least going to ask her out, right? I mean, I bought an entire building for you - make a move, pal.”

Steve flushed pink and you couldn’t help but do the same.

“I’m getting a bagel. You want a bagel?” Tony raised an eyebrow from you to Steve again, smiling proudly.

“I’m good. I recommend the poppy seed though!” You called as Tony flitted away, narrowly avoiding a proper looking blonde woman who seemed very tired.

You turned your attention back to Steve. “He seems like a lot.”

“He is.” Steve nodded, motioning his hand. “I know it’s only one thing, maybe a ripple in making a difference but.. I’m hoping one less inappropriate person on the subway can give you peace of mind.”

You smiled again. Though you had seen many appearances by Captain America on the news, seeing the man in person was different. It seemed Steve Rogers walked the walk. After parting ways with him before, though he had crossed your mind, you didn’t anticipate your menial issues leading to this.

“Thanks. Really. Even one person makes a difference.” You reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you, Steve.”

“I’m sorry about Tony, though. His comments about asking you out and.. that certainly wasn’t my goal here.”

“I don’t know. You just did me a huge favour getting rid of that gremlin. I think I owe you.”

Steve caught your cheeky smile and stood up a bit straighter. “Well, in that case, the Yankees are playing the Sox tomorrow night. Tony never uses his tickets and the seats aren’t half bad. What do you say?”

“You’re cashing in this favour to take me on a date? Usually people ask for help moving or a ride to the airport or something.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Sure. I guess you can take me to the game, Steve. If you ask politely, I’ll probably even hold your hand.”

After work the next day, Steve met you outside and you took the subway together to the stadium. You knew this wasn’t the end of it for you or anyone else worried about their personal boundaries being crossed. But, as you gripped the subway pole and your fingers grazed against Steve’s, you could finally breathe again. For the first time in a while, you weren’t anticipating next steps.

It was just you and the kind stranger from the coffee shop.

[adarlingwrites]

Muse

Summary:

You're a frustrated and starving artist, disillusioned with the world you move in. Transported to a new one, you unexpectedly find a muse.

Notes:

Last Boss/Artist!Reader. Protagonist is AFAB. Oneshot, explicit smut.

I just wanted to write something short, sweet, and self-indulgent because damn, I need a break. And um, our favorite tiger boy needs more love.

Your mind was in a dark place when everything changed.

No galleries had contacted you to put up your works there. Your art blog’s viewership is abysmal, all your commissions are still unfinished, and your bank account has dried up. Such is the life of the struggling young artist; no money, no connections, and no talent, as some may think.

Every piece brought from you is something you’re grateful for. Every like, share and comment you receive is something you treasure. And yet, when you see another artist garner more attention just because what they do is trendy, or because they have connections, you can’t stop the resentment from filling up your heart.

These days, your works can’t just speak for themselves. Art is becoming a game, a competition for who gets the most paintings bought from a show, or the most number of likes within a platform.

You hate the galleries. Most of the time, they’re boys’ clubs reserved for old, mediocre men whose swelling egos are easier to rile up than their dicks. They sell their paintings at ludicrous prices, market value inflated by the connections they have to the gallery and the pretentious bullshit they write in the descriptions.

You hate social media. You hate the algorithm, you hate how these online venues to share your work is geared in another’s favor. You’ve tried to play the game for so long, posting at peak hours and sharing your work shamelessly to your friends, but nothing seems to be working. 

You’re envious.

Envy is such an ugly thing.

Galleries rouse it within the small, unseen artist, whose talents are hidden due to their lack of privilege, their lack of name. Social media capitalizes on it, thriving on competition, the number game warping a person’s psyche and perception of their worth.

Curling up in a ball in your bed, you’ve contemplated countless times if playing the game is still worth it. You just can’t keep up anymore. Each stroke of your brush and glide of your pen had your soul weaved in them, and no one seems to appreciate that because it’s not something anyone can put a price tag on.

Sighing, you drag your feet to the convenience store to buy yourself dinner with what little money you have left.

Then you saw it, the fireworks.

Life turned upside down for you within the span of hours.

Weeks later, you’re in a place called the Beach and sitting as far away as possible from the pool, sketching away on your notebook, odd ends of paper sticking out from it. You’ve survived another harrowing game, and you’re trying to wind down with a nice sketch session.

In this world, there’s no galleries, no social media. There’s no people to impress or market yourself to; just survival. There’s no money to be earned to keep living in this world, just visa days. Days of worrying if anything you’d create is worthy of anyone’s attention is replaced by the need to keep forging forward. But still, to keep yourself sane, you carried around pencils and paper, drawing and sketching whatever your heart desired.

In this world, your art is just for your own consumption, entertainment, and respite. Instead of being the thing that kept you up at night, it became something that saved you from the madness of this world.

The blaring music stopped, sound abruptly cut off as the speakers crashed.

Aguni’s militants have arrived, it seems. Per the advice of another Beach resident, you’ve done your best to steer clear of them. Yet, you still couldn’t stop yourself from getting involved with one of them, the one with the tattoos on his face and all over his body.

The first time you saw him, you found his appearance striking. The facial tattoos he had made him look tiger-like, and the katana he carries around with him just adds to the dangerous air he had about him. The fact that he almost always wears his hood up and the fact that he barely speaks add to the mystery surrounding him.

You’ve learned that nobody, not even their chief, knows his true name. They just call him Last Boss, because he looks like the last boss of a videogame.

It started innocently enough. You sketched him on your notebook, tall and wiry stature contrasting with the flow of the loose clothing he wears. Then the sketches multiplied the more you saw him in the games, and in the Beach. You’ve drawn him wielding his sword and finishing an assailant off. You’ve drawn him squatting on the balcony railing, surveying the Beach during his patrols.

Last Boss had filled your sketchbook pages. He became your muse.

Maybe it’s because he stood out to you, or it’s the sheer, unapologetic boldness his tattoos have. Either way, you were intrigued by him. Sometimes, you swore he’d stare at you back, but as soon as you look at him again, he’s looking someplace else. The little game you played thrilled you, thighs rubbing together when you see him. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have impure thoughts about him; you’ve wondered just how much of his skin is covered by tattoos.

And yet, neither of you had spoken a word to each other.

It was your little secret.

But not for long.

In the lobby, you were heading back to your room after dinner to rest when you ran into one of the militants. He barked at you to watch where you’re going, and stomped away. The collision sent your notebook flying, paper scattering across the floor. Scrambling to collect them all, you crawled to find every single piece, only to bump into someone’s shins.

It’s your muse, Last Boss, and he’s found a page of your sketchbook.

“I- um, that’s mine. Thank you picking it up, I’d like to have it-”

The words left you when you realize that he’s looking at your sketch of him.

His eyes flick to you.

“Back.”

You gulped, unsure of how he would react to it. Wordlessly, he gives you back the piece of paper, and you nod at him, proceeding to pick up the rest of the pages. Embarrassed, you hurry back to the room you’ve occupied, and shut the door. Not like it would make a difference; all the locks are superglued, but it still provided you some relief.

A warm bath would be nice. It’ll definitely help melt the stress of today away.

Stripping, you entered the bathroom, soaping and rinsing the grime away as the tub filled with water. The splashing echoed in the room, and the bass pounded outside as the party raged on, making you deaf to other sounds that might register in your ears under quieter conditions.

You get in the tub, warm water soothing your sore muscles from the Spade game you participated in earlier, and your eyelids flutter shut. Engulfed by warmth, you drift off to sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, you awaken abruptly to the sound of footsteps in your room.

Quiet as a ghost, you listened carefully. The footsteps stopped, and springs creaking as a weight sat down on your bed followed after. After that, you hear the gentle rustle of paper.

As quietly as possible, you get out of the tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around your torso. Pushing the door open as slow as possible, you peer out of the bathroom to see who’s the intruder, and what you saw made your heart jump to your throat.

Last Boss is sitting at the edge of your bed, peering at your sketchbook. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he thumbs through the pages of the hardbound notebook, enthralled by the strokes you made on the paper. There were self-portraits, landscapes, portraits of people, figure drawing, and of course, some of them had him as the subject. Engrossed by the art, he doesn’t notice you.

Taking off the bathroom slippers, you walk barefoot, stepping out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. You were making good progress, inching away from the door, but your foot landed on a piece of paper, and you slipped.

With a thud, you land on your ass on the floor. The tattooed militant stands up abruptly, drawing his sword.

“Oh God, please don’t hurt me,” you yelp, one hand holding the towel around your chest into place, the other shielding yourself from him.

He sees you, then he lowers the sword, and tucks it away. Last Boss walks over, and you screw your eyes shut, but there was no pain that followed. His wiry fingers grasped your forearm and helped you get up.

“Thank you,” you whispered, averting his gaze. He towered over you, almost a full foot taller. You move to retrieve your sketchbook on the bed, but he doesn’t let you go. Gaze finally meeting his, you found yourself disarmed by the intensity of his eyes.

“W-what do you need?” you ask him, the tremble in your voice apparent. You’re still gauging his reactions. So far, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you, but he’s a militant. They don’t exactly have a track record for being gentle.

“You’re good. But you drew my tattoos wrong,” he finally speaks.

Eyes wide, you didn’t know how to respond, blurting out something incoherent. Then, you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. I never had the chance to look at you up close.”

“Would you like to?”

Breath hitching in your throat, you nod. “Let me just get dressed,” you say to him, but he still doesn’t let you go, eyes boring into yours. Behind his tattoos are delicate, handsome features that knocked the air out of your lungs. What stood out the most are his lips, small and well-formed, looking too soft for a man as dangerous as him.

Then you understood what he wanted.

Because you want it too.

You let go of the towel, leaving yourself exposed. But he stands there, frozen, as if he didn’t expect things to go his way.

Leaning in, you kiss him, wet body pushing against him, soaking his clothes. It started slow, and sweet, but then you experimentally dart your tongue out, and he lets out a low growl, opening his mouth to receive you.

It was sloppy and inexperienced, but the kiss hit the spot. You feel the fire pooling in your belly, pleasure shooting up your spine.

Throwing caution to the wind, you put your arms around him and his movements become more desperate, kneading and squeezing at your naked flesh, pawing greedily at every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You toss your sketchbook to the bedside table and you hop on, pulling Last Boss with you.

Straddling him, you grind your hips against his, and he’s already hard under his trousers, making you smile against his lips as you kiss him more. Your hands guided his to your ass, and you pushed your chest against his face. Last Boss eagerly buries his face between the soft mounds of your breasts, and proceeds to latch on a nipple, hard from the cool night air.

You let out a soft moan, hands cradling his neck as he assaulted you with his lips and mouth. He unlatches from the nipple, then proceeds to leave kisses all over your neck.

Then, he lies back, and he pulls you over him, his head between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, a little bashful because of his view of your body.

He nods, and he proceeds to lick your folds, making you gasp in pleasure.“Aim for the nub,” you instruct him with a soft voice, and he does as he says, licking at your clit with abandon. You rode his face as he licked you, movements sloppy.

Soon, you were reaching your peak and you braced yourself against the headboard. Thighs quivering, you came with a cry, riding his face as you climaxed, tits bouncing as your body shook.

As you come down from your high, abruptly, Last Boss flips you over, and now you’re underneath him.

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” you ask him, smirking.

“Next time. I want you now,” he half-whispers, half-growls. The hard member pressing against you tells you that he’s serious.

You nod at him, and he proceeds to unfasten his belt, hands shaking from nervousness, or excitement, you didn’t know. It’s probably both.

He went in with a single thrust and you can’t hold back the cry that bubbled in your throat. Fortunately for you, you were wet enough for it not to hurt, but it still caught you off guard. He was slender, but that length… it made your toes curl.

Erratic and inexperienced, you had to guide him with his thrusts, and soon, Last Boss finds a steady rhythm, those penetrating eyes looking deep into you as you brushed the tattoo on his cheek with your thumb. You hook one ankle over his shoulder, and moan as the new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. Last Boss bottoms out, and he groans, rutting deep inside you.

You raise another ankle and pull him closer, and he’s pressed flush against you, hips desperately pounding away. The tattooed militant pins your arms above you and kisses you, tongues sliding against each other as filthy noises of your fucking filled the room. You suck on his earlobe, and whispers filthy, filthy things in his ear.

“You know, I’d been thinking about this for a while now,” you whisper, and he tilts his head.

“I always imagined you breaking into my room and just fucking me raw until I’m a mess,” you continue, and it seemed to spur him on, thrusts becoming more frantic as the seconds passed. “I’d never thought I’d get lucky tonight. Fuck, Last Boss, use me as you wish, I’m all yours!”

Last Boss didn’t need to be told twice. He fucked you at a brutal pace, sharp hips colliding with the soft skin of your thighs, and with a broken cry, you cum once again, your walls milking his cock.

“Please, please, fill me with your cum!” you cry as he continued.

It drove him over the edge. Soon after, he follows, coming with a loud groan. His body collapses on you, and he gives you another kiss, still sloppy, but it almost felt tender, something you didn’t expect from the sword-wielding militant.

The tattooed man lies next to you, and you curl into him, tracing his tattoos with your fingers.

“Can I look at more of your sketchbook tomorrow morning?” he asks, voice low and drowsy.

You smile, looking up to him. “Sure.”

Just when you’re about to drift to sleep, he speaks again. “Takatora. My name is Takatora.”

Smiling, you kiss his cheek, and say your name in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Last Boss is your muse. His attention, both to your body and your creations, is all you need.

[packconfig]

Editor and Designer Desk Carry

I’m so grateful that what started as a tiny side project has grown into an ever expanding portion of our working lives, and I know I’m really blessed to be able to do something I love as my day job. While any work will always have stresses and challenges, but with the amazing, loving support of my wife and business partner, we are carving new paths into 2022.

Laid out here are some the items that don’t often get shown in my loadouts as they are “carried” in/on my desk instead of a pack. That said they are key to my role in the other portion of our business, Surefoot Studio ltd. This is the design company my wife and I started some years ago. I hope you enjoy learning a bit more about these items:

Swatchos cards. These were a gift from Mrs Config, something I’d never heard of before. I work with swatches all day, combining colours, or coming up with new ones for clients to fit with what we’ve already put together, or to stand out. I love anything tactile and I love cards (as you’ll see) so the perfect gift really!

Apple Magic Mouse. My sister’s doctorate (very proud of her!) touches on the fact that tools or clothing we use every day become an extension of who we are. This mouse is very much that, as I use it to create patches, artwork, design, edit photos. There are probably other better mice out there, but this is like that favourite pair of shoes that are riddled with holes that you just can’t bear to part with.

Playing Cards. As you’ve probably noticed from my photos, I have a growing collection of themed playing cards. Loving print and tactile things, there is usually a few cards on display and a pack on the desk that I practise cardistry with to keep my hands active.

Super secret patches. I’ve been really privileged to work with some great people over the years, and some of those people have loved my patch designs and want to collaborate on a design. If you’ve been in the pack world for any amount of time I know You Know The Bo! I was really excited to work with Bo Ismono on this project (and maybe others!). You’ll have to speak to him about getting hold of one mind, this is my only one!

More Cards (!) and Erasers. Transferring Pack Config photos to my iMac always involves scrabbling blindly to find the SD card slot, plus I’m always sketching ideas in my notebook. Sometimes I’m in the flow of an idea or patch design that I don’t want to stop and start again to change it, so out comes the trusty Staedtler.

Zebra Sharbo X LT3. This is like those colour changing biros you get with the 4 colours, but for professionals. With a mechanical pencil, red and black ink (my choice, you can adapt as you like), this adapts quickly to what I’m doing without needing to find the right pen. I had a black one that the clip went on back when I used to carry it daily, but a permanent place on the desk is where it lives now.

Wacom Intuos. I don’t often get out the Wacom as I find the mouse best for most tasks, but usually when working on illustrations this comes out. I did have an older, larger wired model, but smaller and bluetooth is so much better!

“10 blade”. Nope, I’m not a wannabe surgeon! The Swann Morton surgical scalpel with 10A blade is frequently out on the desk as I mock up ideas in paper form. These were the tool of choice all through my design degree and this one has stayed with me throughout. The big box of 100 blades I picked up is still going too. Ru Titley made me a Kydex sheath for it which works a lot better than the one I made out of loop material and sellotape!

Zippo Lighter. This is used to burn every lanyard I churn out for the many Ru beads we sell in the store. The butane insert is by far the best for last-ability and a quick singe. This actually stays in my pocket as I love to fiddle with, the iconic noise it makes can often be heard wherever I go.

Minimal Desk Setups Wool mat. Having something more comfortable than a hard desk (however cool that desk might be) is great for a day of editing, designing or illustrating. I recently switched over to this wool mat which I love for it’s texture, but it does bobble a bit around the mouse. The 10 blade sorted that out, but I think the occasional trim is worth the added comfort, plus you can stick patches to it!

Finally, hiding, the digital callipers. Not one of the very expensive all metal ones, but this is super quick for measuring, especially things like new products from Ru, or when I’m comparing patch sizes when working on a new design.

–

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[lunarianillusion]

A change in fate

a maribat fanfic

Chapter 02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhm…I don’t know wha-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer: Nope.

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

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

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

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

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

“Duusu, Spread my Feathers”

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

[fanfoolishness]

on the subject of rocks (SUF)

Steven and Jasper have a long-overdue conversation.  Set two years after SUF, canon-compliant. A little angst, a lot of hope. ~2500 words.

***

Steven is eighteen years old when he decides he wants to try to speak with her again.  

If she wants to, that is.

He thinks he’s ready.  He thinks the conversation might dim the feeling of her fragments cutting into his palm, the weight of his crime crushing his heart, his gut, his gem.  Therapy has helped a great deal. But there are still nights he wakes up panting, remembering what it felt like to let go, to hurt, to shatter, and he wonders.  

If Jasper has the same terrible memories, the same haunting, then maybe they should talk about it.

He talks with Dr. Boverman for hours.  He wants to be sure this is right.  Not just for him, but he wants to make sure this won’t damage her further than he already has.  They go round and round.  They’ve spoken of so many things, old wounds that pierced and bled and fractured, but most of those wounds were done to him.

The blood on his hands is less than he’d once feared it was, but it still doesn’t scrub clean.

“It will always be with you,” Dr. Boverman’s calm voice says.  “You shattered Jasper.  You didn’t intend to, but it’s what happened.”

“I know,” says Steven, and the thought no longer incapacitates him with shame.  It was terrible, violent, the worst possible action committed at nearly his lowest point.  But he accepts it, now, accepts that this will stay with him always.  That it should.

And yet -- 

He and Dr. Boverman strategize.  Roleplay.  Hours of scenarios, how to accept if she never wants to talk to him again, what to do if Jasper says she isn’t ready, what to do if she lashes out, what to do if she fights him, what to do if she bends her hands into the Diamond salute.  Each scenario frightens him at first, sends his heart racing.  The first time they talked about it he glowed pink again for the first time in months.  But the terror fades a little every time they speak, and several weeks later, he thinks he might be ready.

***

Little Homeworld is always different and always the same.  It’s a comforting flow of change, new Gems appearing each time he visits, old teachers moving on.  His family is still there, of course, and he has plans to catch up with them tomorrow.  But today -- today he wants to know if this is the right time.

If there will ever be a right time.  And if there isn’t, he thinks he can make his peace with that.

He finds Jasper sitting on a fallen log at the edge of the forest, alone as he’d expected she would be.  A sketchbook sits in front of her, colored pencils at her side.  His footsteps crunch on autumn leaves.

“Jasper?” he asks hesitantly, ten feet away.  

She turns to look at him, her form unchanged from the last time he saw her, the stripe through her eye disrupted, her horn broken.  So she hadn’t gone to Yellow, then.  A thread of fear mixed with guilt begins unspooling within him.  Maybe he wasn’t ready after all.

Jasper snorts, a gruff smile spreading over her face.  “I wondered if you’d stop by, one of these days.  I heard some of the others say you were coming into town.”

“Hi,” says Steven hesitantly.  He takes a deep breath, remembering his strategies.  “I -- I’d like to ask you something, Jasper.”

“Shoot,” she says in disinterest, picking up a pencil.  She makes scratchy marks against the sketchbook paper, scribbles he can’t quite make out.

He edges closer.  “I was wondering… I’ve done a lot of thinking.”

“Sounds like you.”

Despite himself, he chuckles slightly.  “All right, fair.”  

“Thinking about what?” she asks.

“About you,” says Steven honestly.  “And me.  What I did to you.  What we did to each other.”  He lets out a long, tremulous sigh, returning mentally to his gemstone, taking deep breaths with his diamond as his anchor.  “And I wanted to see if you wanted to talk about it.  It’s okay if you don’t, or if you want me to leave you alone.”  Breath.  Another.  “I’m so sorry, Jasper.”

She glances up at him, giving him an odd look, then gestures beside her with a powerful shoulder.  “Go on.  Sit down, already.”

No ‘my Diamond.’  He’s more relieved than he’d expected to be.  He sets down his bag and sits down on the ground, resting against the log instead of sitting on top of it with her.  He sinks into the soft loam, leans against the fallen trunk.  It’s more comfortable than it looks.  A few feet between them seem like miles, or inches, he isn’t sure.

Jasper regards him coolly, tilting her head slightly to one side.  “Why’d you really come here?”

“To talk to you,” says Steven, his hands folded and calm in his lap, his breathing slowing.  “You told me once that I was the one who needed help.  I’ve been getting it.”

“Told you,” she says, but there’s no gloating in her voice.  She purses her lips, face tensed in concentration.  At last she says, “So have I.”

He blinks, hands coming apart, fingers falling open.  He raises his head and gazes up at her, wondering if he’s heard her right.  “You have?”

“You told me to do something better with my life,” says Jasper, picking up her sketchbook.  At this angle he can see what she’s drawn.  It’s a rock -- what was it with her and rocks -- but a tenderly realized rock, craggy edges shaded in carefully, mosses and lichens rendered in textured shades of green and brown.  

“Jasper, that’s -- that’s really beautiful,” says Steven.  He’s been working on his art, too, but he’s no good at the type of delicate detail work laced into her sketch.  “Who taught you?”

“Ruby,” she says.  She sets the pencil down beside her, hands tensing on the sketchbook.  “I don’t go to Lapis’ classes.”

“Right.”  Part of him is saddened to hear it.  Another part of him is grateful for Lapis’ sake. He wonders which of them he’s most like.  “It seems like you’ve really taken to Little Homeschool.  I’m glad for you.”

A small scoff of a laugh, but it softens at the end into something more like a real smile.  Jasper shakes her hair, its white strands catching in the dappled sunlight beneath the trees.  She looks… calm, like this, and it’s not a state he ever remembers seeing her in before.

“What about you?” she asks suddenly.

“I’m doing well,” he replies, still shocked that they’re talking at all.  It’s going far better than most of the scenarios he’d practiced with Dr. Boverman.   “I visit with my family every couple of weeks.  I’ve been spending a lot of time in cities lately.  All the noise and hustle and bustle… it’s different, sometimes it’s overwhelming, but I like the energy.  It’s… good.  It’s really good.  Connie and I meet up every week.  And I talk to my therapist.”

“What’s that?”

“A therapist?  Um… it’s like a healer for human minds.  But it’s not instant, like with Diamond powers.  It takes time.  A long time.”  He gives her a small smile.  “Sometimes it’s two steps forward, one step back, but overall, I’m feeling a lot better than… before.”

Jasper considers his words.  She leans down, and he realizes a shiny blue beetle is crawling over the tip of her boot.  He tenses, waiting.

Jasper watches the beetle go, making no further move toward it.  It ambles away peacefully.

“You are not my Diamond,” she says into the silence.

“No,” he agrees, and something inside of him unclenches.  “I -- I’m a Diamond.  But mostly I’m just Steven.”

“I hated you for so long.”

He fights an urge to be sarcastic, to bite back at her.  This doesn’t sound… angry.  He keeps quiet, and lets her speak.

Her hand clenches into a fist, heavy against her thigh.  “I thought that if you could stop being weak, if I could make you stronger, I would have my Diamond again.  My purpose.  Someone to protect, someone to serve.”  

She stares into the woods, and he remembers his hands and legs awash in pink, the glow as he tore through the trees beneath a starry sky.  He remembers jagged laughter, his gem humming, a power crueler than he’d ever felt before --  

“I know.”

“Don’t ‘I know’ me when I’m talking to you,” she snaps.  “I’m trying to -- arrgh.  I thought this would be easier.”

“You thought what would be easier --” he starts to ask.

“You know.  Talking.  Ugh.  It’s nothing like a good fight.  The target keeps changing.”  She crosses her arms, still staring off into the trees.  The sun shifts overhead, casting her face in shadow.

“That’s called a conversation,” he says gently.  “Battles are battles, but a hard conversation… it can hurt.”

“Now you tell me,” says Jasper, and it takes him a solid minute before he realizes it’s a joke.  He laughs, but it’s too late, and Jasper shakes her head.  “Look.  Steven.  I -- I’m sorry.”  The words are hasty and fumbled and fast, but he catches them, barely.

“You’re sorry?” Steven yelps.  “But I’m the one who shattered you.”  It still comes out like a dirty word, almost two years later.  He wonders if he’ll ever be able to fully say it, if he’ll ever be able to act like it hasn’t scarred him.  He hopes not.  “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

“You have.  Just now, and before,” she says, shrugging.  “But I only said I’d teach you to get you to fight me.  And you did.  And I lost.”

“Because I lost myself, I lost who I was, you didn’t make me --”

“But you were off-color,” growls Jasper.  “You were -- what do you humans call it again --?”

“Sick,” he says softly.  Such a small word.  It barely begins to cover everything that went wrong two years ago, but he knows CPTSD won’t mean a thing to her, and that’s okay, that’s not what he’s here for.

“Sick,” she repeats.  “And I --”  She digs her hands into the tree bark, small flakes of it crumbling beneath her shaking hands.  “I made you worse.  So that I could get something I wanted.  I failed to protect my Diamond from myself.”

“Jasper --” he gasps.  “You’ve been blaming yourself? For me shattering you?”

“Someone’s got to do it,” she huffs.

He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, tries to take another deep breath, reminds himself to return to the thought of his gem as a centering point.  He can do this.  He can do this.  It’s just, this isn’t how he thought it would go at all.  

He closes his eyes.  Remembers the way she screamed at him, punches in the gut, the face, the sides.  Remembers the way she goaded, the way she pressed, how proud she looked of how frightening he’d become.  He doesn’t know what to say.  “I -- I was sick,” he manages finally.  “I -- you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

He shakes his head at that.  “But I’m still the one who did it.  I still have to take responsibility for hurting you,” he demands.

Jasper gives him an appraising look.  “Hmph,” she says, and he doesn’t know if it’s a hmph of agreement or a hmph of disdain.  It’s hard to tell with Jasper.  She holds the silence an uncomfortably long time before she says, “Maybe.”

“This isn’t how -- I wanted you to be mad at me,” Steven admits.  “I wanted you to be pissed off! To tell me to get away from you!”

“I can still do that,” says Jasper, apparently turning the thought around in her mind.  She chuckles, very slightly.  “But if that’s an order, I’m ignoring it.”

He laughs.  “You’re full of surprises, Jasper.”

“Am not.”

“You kind of are.”

“Don’t be so surprised then.”  She picks up her pencil, returning to her sketch.  Grass starts to grow beneath her rock, verdant blades springing up from dark soil.

“I thought you hated the local ecosystem.”

“It has its functions,” says Jasper begrudgingly.  “If I leave the grass it provides better contrast for the rocks.”  She picks up a different shade of green, adding highlights.  “It’s still puny.  But it has a purpose of its own.”

“What’s yours?” he asks, then kicks himself for getting so personal.

“Only if you tell me what yours is.”

Two years ago, the request would have paralyzed him.  Two years ago, he’d have panicked, spun out with a lie, tried his best not to think about who he was and what he was supposed to do.

He just smiles.  Breathes in the fresh green air, so different from the machine-smell of the big city.  Beneath the green there’s a hint of salt, the promise of the sea.  It smells like home.

“My purpose is to be Steven,” he says simply.  “To be myself.  To grow and change.  To love myself, regrets and all.”

“Sounds all right,” says Jasper begrudgingly.  “Sort of like mine these days.”  She turns to him, frowning.  “You got something to write on?”

“Uh, let me see.”  He rummages in his bag.  “Oh hey!  I have my sketchbook, too.”

“Well?” Jasper says, pointing to the boulder before her.  “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He flips through his sketchbook, passing pages of silly Connie faces, a self-portrait in pink and white, Lion poses, CPH classic fanart.  He settles on a blank page and Jasper shoves a green pencil into his hand.  He feels smooth wood, the lightness of the organic drawing implement rounded and gentle in his palm.  No sharp edges, no jagged fragments, no terrible weight dragging his clenched hand into the hot water.  He blinks back tears.

The sunlight shifts, the golden hour arriving, brilliant light shafting through the leaves above and lining the forest floor in spun-gold glory.  His hands don’t quite have this kind of magic in them, but he tries his best, his drawing including sketches of the rock, the grass, the trees beyond them. He adds a gleaming line of yellow at the edges.  He’ll show it to Dr. Boverman at their next appointment.

“Not bad,” says Jasper, peering over his sketchbook.  “You added the trees.”

“It just felt more complete that way,” he says.  He glances at her drawing.  The rock is resplendent, resting on gold-touched grass, light captured in patches against the mosses and lichens.  ��You can see all of this?  It’s incredible, Jasper.”

“It’s just what it looks like,” she says stubbornly.  “It’s a good challenge.”

“Like a conversation,” he says, half to himself.  

“Something like that.”  The breeze flutters past them, carrying faint birdsong, the far-off scent of the sea.

“Thanks for talking with me, Jasper.  I know you didn’t have to.”

“Of course.  I do what I want,” she replies, and her voice is gentler than he’s ever heard it.

[valleyggd]

just more coloring practice 

[nerdypanda3126]

It’s Complicated - Ch. 1

What happens when you cross a black cat, a designer, a guitarist, and a fencer? The answer is it’s complicated. Chat Noir stops by to help Marinette with her design block, but when he discovers the design is for Luka he has to figure out why that bothers him. Surely it’s because she’s a very good friend, right? Meanwhile, Marinette struggles with letting Adrien go and figuring out why Chat Noir is suddenly acting so differently... 

This story takes place shortly after Miracle Queen, so everyone’s still a little confused. 

Read on Ao3 Ch. 2

Chapter 1: Design Block

Marinette groans as she scribbles over yet another design, and rips yet another sheet of paper out of her sketchbook, crumpling it before tossing it to the ground among the many others. Nothing is working. This piece has to be finished by this weekend so she can give it to Luka before he goes onstage with Kitty Section, but she can’t even get a vision of what she needs to be sewing. Her head is too full to think straight.

“Maybe you should take a break?” Tikki asks, floating hesitantly in front of her. Marinette considers it, but then she shakes her head.

“One more try, Tikki. I promise.”

She bends her head back over her sketchbook, letting her thoughts flow onto the page. She keeps Luka’s stage character, his colors and his mask, in mind as she draws. Her mind drifts to the small smile he gets when he plays. The bright blue of his eyes when they flick open to glance at her in his audience. The songs he’s played for her in the few moments they’ve had together. He always manages to play the song she needs to hear.

When she looks down at her work, blinking out of her design trance, she finds that she’s covered the paper in hearts. Oh no. This can’t- she doesn’t- it’s not like that. She takes a deep breath. His voice echoes in her mind. 

You can be yourself with me, you know. Just yourself.

She glances at her screensaver: a picture of Adrien she couldn’t bear to take down. She touches her fingertips to his bright smile. Her heart twinges. Hard. She still sees him in class, of course. And that has gotten easier. They’re still friends, after all. Alya isn’t a fan of this new plan, obviously, but she respects it. Marinette has noticed that Alya has subtly been rearranging their hangouts. She appreciates the thought, she really does, but she does miss Adrien. Maybe she should invite him to the concert this weekend.

Her eyes travel to the hiding spot where she’s tucked the Miraculous box. Boys should really be the last thing on her mind. She tears the page out of her sketchbook with a sigh and crumples it, throwing it behind her. She’ll clean this mess up and try again tomorrow.

When she looks around for Tikki, the kwami isn’t anywhere in sight. It’s not normal for her to just disappear unless –

Chat rakes his claws against the glass of her window. The sound makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she grits her teeth as she gets up to let him in.

“Why do you do that? You know I hate it.”

“And that’s why I do it.” He grins rakishly as he steps inside, spinning his baton over his palm before he latches it to his back. She slumps back into her desk chair. He wouldn’t be here unless something were bothering him. She can hold off going to sleep a bit longer.

Chat’s brow furrows when his boots hit the floor and he sees that it’s littered with her failed attempts. He moves to pick one up out of curiosity.

“Chat, don’t. Seriously, it’s not good.”

He smirks as he smooths out the paper, but she’s scribbled out every design she’s tried, so she knows he can’t see what she was working on. He picks up another from the floor, but it’s the same result.

“Design block?” He tilts his head at her and one of his cat ears flops over. She nods, then curls onto her desk chair, setting her chin on her arms. “Maybe I could help? I know a thing or two about this stuff.”

“Maybe? I don’t know,” she says.

“What are you trying to make?”

“Menswear.”

“Have you ever done menswear before?”

She shrugs. She’s not going to mention the mound of gifts she’s made for Adrien that are in the chest behind him, still waiting to be presented. Mostly accessories. “I’ve dabbled.”

“Well, talk me through it.” He crosses his ankle over his knee and leans forward. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s supposed to be stage wear, but also something that could be casual.”

“Who are you designing for? Like, who’s your guy?”

The tips of her ears heat up when she thinks about the hearts she hadn’t meant to draw. “I don't think I should tell you. You might know him.”

“Oh, so it’s a specific ‘him’, then?” Chat asks, his cat ears perking. “Who is this ‘him'?” She starts to stammer an excuse, but he waves her off. “Just throw me some adjectives.”

“Well…um, he’s…nice.”

Chat’s lips quirk in amusement. “I can’t help with just ‘nice’. Keep going.”

She pauses to think. Chat and Luka have met a few times now. But it's not like Chat knows him well enough to guess who it is off a vague description. It should be safe. “He’s laid-back. Quiet, even though he has a lot to say. Patient. Perceptive. He keeps his nails painted black. He likes Jagged Stone, and he plays the guitar. And he’s sweet. Very sweet.” She hadn’t realized while she was talking that she had started smiling, and her cheeks are starting to burn.

“Luka,” he breathes, “you’re making something for Luka.”

She tries to hide her surprise. He got it on the first try. How well does Chat know Luka, anyways? No, don't think about it, that's dangerously close to identity territory. She clears her throat. “Um, yeah, it’s for Luka. The band is performing this weekend.”

Chat stands from the chaise and paces to the other side of her room. She’s seen him irritated a few times now, and she can tell by the tense curve in his shoulders and the way his tail is flicking around his calves that something she’s said has bothered him. She watches him as he seems to try to get ahold of himself. It only takes him a moment or two before he drops into his feline crouch and sidles back to her.“So, this design, it’s for a concert?” He’s slipped into his professional problem-solving tone, like when they’re brainstorming how to defeat an akuma. She can’t place her finger on why she finds this odd.

She hesitates before she answers. “Yeah, just the band and a few friends. Nothing big. Kitty Section usually draws a crowd along the banks of the river, though. I thought that maybe I could make something different for Luka to wear on stage. Something more him.”

She can’t bring herself to mention that she also wants to thank him for being there for her. She had broken down in his arms when everything had fallen on her shoulders and he held her and told her it would be okay. She hadn’t known how much she needed that until he gave it to her. The least she could do is make him something thoughtful.

Chat has recovered only slightly. He picks up another of her crumpled sketches off the floor and starts to smooth the wrinkles open with the pads of his thumbs, lingering on the corners. Her pulse speeds up when she notices it’s the one she had been working on right before he walked in. At least there’s actually an attempt at a design on there for him to look at. Hopefully he doesn’t tease her too much about the hearts. He runs a hand over the paper, tracing her wispy pencil marks and probably trying to make sense of it.

“It’s a jacket?”

“I was playing with the idea.” She knows her cheeks are turning bright red. “I thought that might be the easiest for him to work into his stage costume. If he wanted to.”

Chat nods, reading her fabric and color annotations. “It’s a good idea. I like this here, the hood you had.”

“I got that off of those hooded character towels.” Her blush is deepening every second he holds that paper. She tries to take it out of his hands. He hasn’t said anything yet about her doodles, but she knows it’s coming.

He catches her wrist, taking the paper back from her, and a grin spreads across his face.

“Chat, give that back.”

“Nope. I’m going to take it home and frame it.” He jumps up out of her reach when she lunges for the paper. “These hearts are for me, right? Or are they for Luuuuka?”

Yup, she knew that had been coming. She tries again to get the sketch away from him, but he’s too fast, keeping it just out of her reach.

“Will you autograph it for me? I want to keep it for when you’re famous.” He clutches it to his chest as if it’s precious to him. She can see the challenge in his eyes. For a moment neither one of them moves as they size each other up.

Then Marinette tackles him, catching him around his midsection and throwing him down to the chaise. He wraps an arm around her as they fall, still trying to protect her even when she’s trying to fight him. Typical. She grabs for the sketch as she rolls away from him, but Chat wriggles it out of her grasp. Quicker than she can follow, he’s up into a crouch position on the chaise, the sketch dangling from his claws. Taunting her.

She lunges for it again, but he jumps back, his feet landing on the floor on the other side of the chaise. With an impish grin, he holds the sketch above his head, to the full extent of his reach. She refuses to jump for it. He knows he’s won. She can see it written across his face, that victory grin and his bright eyes.

“You’re supposed to be helping me!” She picks up the pillow from the chaise and throws it at him. He dodges it easily, laughing.

He clears his throat, his smirk still lingering. “Alright, alright. So, something special for the stage, but casual enough to wear regularly. Laid-back like he is, but that makes him stand out.” He lists the criteria off and glances down at the sketch still in his hands. She’s surprised at how much he had actually been paying attention. “It’s a tall order,” he says.

“He’s a tall order.” Marinette slaps a hand over her mouth as the words leave her. The response had flown out of her before she thought it through. She knows she’s blushing all the way to the roots of her hair. Chat’s eyes can’t possibly be any bigger.

There’s an awkward pause between them. Strange, considering nothing has ever been awkward with Chat before. He blinks at her and clears his throat again, coughing to cover it. His cat ears flatten against his head and his belt tail droops.

“Uh, it’s late. I… I should go.” He lays her crumpled sketch on her desk next to her. “I think you should go with this. It suits him.” He gives her a small smile before he slinks up the ladder to her skylight and pulls himself onto her balcony.

She’s too stunned at his sincerity for a moment to follow him, but when she does, he’s already run off into the night.

[quickspinner]

My Favorite Inspiration

Here’s my entry for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers event! The prompt was snuggles/cuddles and forehead kisses. I hope you enjoy  @blue-bell-rising !

“Oooh,” Luka said, halfway up through the hatch to Marinette’s room. “That’s not a good face.”

Marinette moaned, turned her chair back to the desk, and flopped down on it, burying her face in her arms. “I can’t do this, Luka,” she groaned. 

“Well, I don’t believe that for a minute,” Luka said, coming the rest of the way into her room. He slipped off the strap of his guitar case, and laid it gently on the ground, and then went to Marinette, laying a hand on her back and rubbing it lightly. “You absolutely can do it.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about,” Marinette grumbled, turning her head enough to peek at him with one eye. 

“I don’t need to,” Luka leaned down to give her a cheeky grin. “You can do anything you put your mind to, I’ve seen it. But go ahead and tell me what’s giving you trouble.”

Without lifting her head, Marinette reached out, slapping blindly on her desk for a moment, before her hand finally landed on a loose piece of paper. She grabbed it and held it up.

Luka took it, straightening up to read it, though he kept one hand on Marinette’s back. “Junior Design Contest,” he read, “Sponsored by Teen Vogue Paris.” He snorted. “See? I was right. You absolutely can do it.”

“I can’t,” Marinette moaned, still face-down on the desk. “I’ve been trying for hours. Nothing is working. Everything I come up with is terrible and derivative! Unoriginal! It’ll be so bad that not only will the judging committee laugh themselves stupid at my proposal, they’ll probably pass it around in the industry for laughs and I’ll be blacklisted and then it’ll end up in classes for young design students as an example of what NOT to do and—”

“Whoa, whoa, breathe, Marinette,” Luka reached forward and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Come on, sit up and look at me.” 

Marinette let out a heavy sigh, and then did as he asked, leaning back until she was slumped in her chair and pouting up at him. “Luuuukaaaa,” she whined. 

“Hey.” Luka reached down and turned her chair around, and then pulled it back with him to the chaise so they were sitting knee to knee. “Okay, you’ve had your little pity party,” he teased. “But you and I both know that Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not back down from a challenge. Is this contest really something you want to do?”

“Well...yes,” she sighed. “I mean, the derby hat contest was cool but it was pretty small-scale. Teen Vogue Paris, there’ll be hundreds of designs submitted. If I could make the top ten in a competition like that, it would really mean something. But I’ve been so busy, I didn’t find out about it until yesterday, and I really have to crank something out if I want to make the submission deadline. And I’ve been trying but I’ve got nothing!” She ended in a wail, throwing her hands up.

Luka smiled to himself, and took her hands. “Marinette, I’ve never known anyone with a mind that works like yours,” he said seriously, cradling her hands in his. “You’re smart and creative and fantastic under pressure. I know sometimes when you’re on a short timeline, it can feel like you have to get it right the first time and you can’t always let your creative process work itself out. But you need to just take a breath, and let it happen. Forget about the deadline for a little bit. You can’t make a plan to meet it until you know what you want to do. You’re trying to jump to step seven and you need to start back at one. Just let the ideas flow for now.” 

Marinette gave him an uncertain look. 

Luka moved his hands up to cup her face and leaned forward to kiss her forehead tenderly. “Whatever’s going on in here,” he whispered against her skin, “It’s going to be brilliant and amazing.” He kissed her forehead again, and then her nose. “So just let it come out, give your imagination some room to breathe. Don’t edit yourself. You can sort it all out later.” He sat back. “Will you come take a walk with me, maybe talk it out a bit? I’m a good listener.” They both smiled at that.

“Well…” Marinette sighed. “I guess I’m not getting anything done here, so...sure, let’s go for a walk.” 

Luka grinned, and waited while she got her things together and tucked her sketchbook under her arm. He strapped his guitar back on, and together they went downstairs and out into the sunshine. Luka smiled to himself as Marinette took a deep breath by his side. She slipped her hand into his and he could feel some of the tension leave her. Luka laced their fingers together. “Anywhere in particular you want to walk?” 

“Anywhere’s fine,” Marinette shrugged. 

“Okay.” Luka gave her hand a little tug to get them started. “So, tell me about these ideas that you decided wouldn’t work.”

“Well, at first I thought—“ 

Luka listened as she listed ideas and dismissed them just as quickly. There was one, though, that she kept circling back to, and the smile on his face grew slowly as her words flowed faster and her step got bouncy and her eyes lit up. “There we go,” he murmured to himself, and allowed a satisfied smile to settle on his face as he concentrated on guiding Marinette through the streets, tugging her around obstacles and out of the way of hazards. 

Suddenly he realized they were near the Liberty and had to laugh at himself. He’d led her there automatically. “Think you’re ready to start sketching?” he asked the next time Marinette paused for breath. He nodded to where the boat could be seen in the distance.

“Oh. Oh!” Marinette blinked, just as surprised as he’d been. “Yeah, that would be great actually.” She giggled and Luka grinned. 

Rose and Juleka were hanging out on deck, so Luka and Marinette went below and curled up side by side on Luka’s bed. Luka got out his guitar and occupied himself with it as Marinette began to sketch.

“There,” she sighed finally, putting her pencil down and stretching her fingers. “I can work with this. It’s enough for the proposal, at least, and I can keep refining it after submission so that I’ll be ready if I make the first cut.”

“Will you hit me if I say I told you so?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Okay,” Luka chuckled. “Then I won’t. Even though I totally did.”

Marinette dug her elbow into his ribs. Luka winced away and grabbed her hand, and in the ensuing struggle, Marinette’s sketchbook slid from her lap, bounced off the edge of the bed, and landed on the floor.

“I got it,” Luka grunted, shoving her hands away. He leaned down and reached out one long arm to snag the book from the floor.

“Thank you, Luka,” Marinette said gratefully, but when she tried to take the book, Luka didn’t let go. She looked at him and found he was staring down at the sketchbook. 

“What’s this?” he asked, turning it towards her. The pages had flipped when it fell and it was now open to a design for a jacket with a very familiar blue and pink lightning bolt down one sleeve, a scattering of pink and blue stars on the other arm, and triangular details along the shoulders that echoed the shoulder piece of his stage costume.

Marinette groaned, trying to snatch the book back from him. “Oh, no, that was supposed to be a surprise.” Luka let her take it reluctantly, and then slipped his arm around her waist.

“I really like it,” he said quietly, nuzzling her cheek. “Can I see the rest of it?” 

“What makes you think there’s more?” Marinette said lightly, and Luka chuckled. He pulled her over his leg to sit her in front of him so he could wrap his arms around her waist.

“Please?” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry for ruining the surprise, but I’d really like to see what else you have. It looked awesome.”

Marinette sighed, and pouted a bit, but she opened the book and turned it to the next page so he could see the back of the jacket. It had Luka’s name on the back in pointy letters, and the kitty section mask logo, personalized with a blue horn and his lightning bolt over the eye.

“I was just playing with some ideas for merchandise that I wanted to show you guys,” sighed Marinette, “But I got so into it and started adding all these details, and I decided to keep it back and try to make it for your birthday.” She groaned. “Ugh, now my whole plan is ruined!”

Luka squeezed her tight, and she leaned back against him and let her head fall against his shoulder. “It’s not ruined,” he said in her ear. “I love it, Marinette, I really do. Now I get to be excited the whole time you’re making it. Have you started yet? Can I go shopping with you?”

“I haven’t started yet,” Marinette replied, amused. “And no, if I let you go shopping with me you’ll end up paying for something and I’m not going to let that happen.” 

“It’d be the least I could do when you’re going through all this work.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Marinette elbowed him, more gently this time. “It’s a gift. That’s not now gifts work.” 

Luka leaned around her and curled a finger under her chin, turning her face back up towards him. “It’s enough of a gift that you even thought enough of me to create something like this, let alone make it for me with your own two hands.” He kissed her forehead tenderly, almost reverently. “You’re going to do great things, Marinette. I’m honored to be even a small part of it.” 

Marinette turned red and spluttered, dropping the sketchbook in her lap as she covered her flaming cheeks. “Luka! How can you just say things like that?”

“Because they’re true,” Luka said, grinning, letting her face forward and hugging her close again. “Now come on, tell me more.” 

“Well,” Marinette sighed, picking up the sketchbook again and turning back to the front view. “I guess since the surprise is ruined I might as well ask what you’d prefer. Do you like Juleka’s star on the other sleeve? I know how close you are so I thought maybe—but if you don’t like it we could just leave that sleeve plain...I think two lightning bolts would be too much though—”

“I love the stars,” Luka smiled, resting his chin back on her shoulder. “I love that you thought to put Juleka’s symbol on it for me.”

“And for the color of the jacket itself, do you think white, grey, or black? I could do it in blue but I don’t think the details would stand out so much…”

“What were you thinking?” Luka asked.

“Well, I know you don’t wear a lot of white, but—” Marinette went on about the pros and cons of the different choices, more thinking out loud than asking his opinion, but her face began to redden as she slowly became aware that Luka was cuddling closer and closer, curling around her, his chin still on his shoulder, his arms tight around her waist, his chest pressed against her back. 

“You’re so amazing,” he said, and the genuine admiration in his voice was enough to render her speechless. Marinette meeped quietly and turned in his arms, burying her face into his shoulder. “Aw, come on,” he teased, moving one hand to rub it along her back. “It’s the truth, I should be allowed to say it.” 

“Well, what about you?” Marinette pushed back, looking at him with a determined pout. “Does that mean I get to compliment you until you can’t talk?”

Luka laughed lightly. “Go ahead,” he teased, rubbing his nose lightly against hers. “I don’t blush as easily as you.” 

“Oh yeah?” Marinette never backed down from a challenge. She turned to gave him fully and got up on her knees so that her face was level with his. Luka sat back slightly, leaning back on his hands, the amused smile still on his face. Marinette planted her hands on his shoulders.

“You’re a great listener,” Marinette began, “And you’re a great brother. I know you’re always supporting Juleka and watching out for her.” He continued to look at her placidly, though there might have been just the faintest bit of color in his face. She wasn’t sure. “You’re an amazing musician. Kitty Section would fall apart without you.” Okay, that got some definite color, and a slight change of expression, like he wanted to deny that last part. That gave her an idea. She licked her lips and adjusted her position slightly as she prepared her next attack.

“You’re always encouraging everyone around you. You welcomed Adrien when he showed up. You’re always complimenting the other band members and when you have criticisms, you’re so thoughtful about it that nobody minds hearing it from you.” Okay, she was closer to the mark. There was definite color in his cheeks now. “You’re a natural leader and you do it so gently no one resents you for taking charge.”

“Marinette,” he said, looking away. “That’s—“

“True,” she insisted. Time to go in for the kill. “And you inspire me,” she told him, a slow smile growing over her face. “You always encourage me and give me a safe place to create. No matter how stuck or frustrated I am, you make me feel better. You’re kind and selfless and you always know what I need. So I think your mind is just as brilliant as mine, even if it maybe works a little bit differently.” She leaned up and kissed his forehead as he’d done for her, and Luka made an inarticulate noise, pulling her to him so he could bury his now very red face in her shoulder.

“I win,” Marinette said cheekily, giggling as she moved her legs out from under her to settle more comfortably into his embrace.

“You forgot something,” he mumbled from her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I have Jagged Stone’s personal designer making my birthday present.”

Marinette laughed and put her arms around him. 

[lov3nerdstuff]

Beautiful Imperfection

*Loki x reader*

Part: Oneshot (or possible part 2 of Beautiful Stranger)

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: none, only fluff and domestic Loki

Summary: Inspired by your artworks, Loki decides to try his own luck with drawing and painting… Yet, things don’t remotely go as planned and he ends up needing your help to learn how to surrender.

A.N.: Who could resist Loki making a mess and covering himself in paint? 😁 This is fun and fluffy and might or might not include Loki using you as a canvas 😉💗 enjoy! @daddys-littlewhitegirl

______________________________

“Loki, have you seen my pencil sharpener?” You called through the whole apartment in such a desperate voice that Loki had to bite his lip to keep from smirking as he lay on the couch with his legs crossed at the ankles, reading peacefully.

“Would you like me to help you find it?” He called back in his best attempt to keep the humor out of his voice. It wasn’t working too well.

“No, it’s all good, I found it! Thanks!”

“Too bad…” Loki sighed to himself, smiling as he flicked to the next page.

“What was that?” You asked lightly as you came walking into the room with bouncy steps that made Loki want to grin even more. Ever since he had met you, he hadn’t been able to stop wondering how he deserved such an enchanting creature… how he got to call you his, how he was granted to spend every single day with you.

“Oh, nothing, dear…” He mused with a smirk, looking at you for a second and then back to his book. That probably was one of the things he adored most… your incredible curiosity. And teasing you, that as well.

“C'mon Loki!” You laughed, standing in front of the couch and staring down at him for a moment before simply sitting down on his stomach. Since the whole couch was blocked by his long frame, you didn’t have any other choice… and you didn’t want one either. Loki was comfortable and warm and you knew that he secretly enjoyed it when you claimed him like that.

He pretended to groan under your weight for a second, then couldn’t help but chuckle. God, you really weighed nothing… to him at least, and honestly that’s all he cared about really. You, a lot, and himself, a little. Yet, he also had discovered a tendency within himself to care about the things you cared about… which could extend from paying the bills to saving the rainforest. It depended on the day, really.

“I said ‘too bad’, if you must know.” He finally answered honestly, enjoying your intense gaze as you looked down at him with an amused frown.

“Too bad… that what? That I found my pencil sharpener and can continue to colour the drawing?” You chuckled, rising an eyebrow at the absolutely insufferable man beneath you, who you just happened to love so very dearly.

“Indeed.” He smiled, humored. “All you did today was drawing… When am I going to get some attention?”

“Well, all YOU did today was reading, so I could ask you the very same thing!” You laughed, shaking your head to yourself.

“If you wanted my attention you just could’ve asked, darling…” He said with a small smirk, looking at you in the utmost adoration while you playfully smacked him in the chest. You really were absolutely incredible, perfectly imperfect. Loki didn’t like perfection. Perfection was boring, and you were VERY far from boring and so was your life with him. Loki would gladly give you everything you asked for and yet so much more.

“I’m almost done with the drawing…” You sighed, then grinned at him. “After that we can give each other some very much necessary attention, alright?”

“Sounds lovely. What are you drawing anyway?” He asked, sitting up once you had risen to your feet to collect your sketchpad from the desk on the other side of the room.

The apartment Loki and you shared was small, but Loki loved it nonetheless. He would gladly forgo every palace in existence for this little kingdom that was your home. You were his queen, and Loki your humble servant. As long as you were together, Loki was content. Happy, even, more than he was able to properly express.

“You.” You shrugged, chuckling as you made your way back to the couch to sit down next to him.

Loki snatched the sketchpad out of your hand before you could protest, looking at the partially coloured drawing in awe. “This… this is absolutely beautiful. I still have no idea how you can draw emotions and feelings like this. In every new piece you showcase a small piece of my soul.”

“Well, it’s not hard to draw something beautiful when the beauty is sitting right in front of you, reading all day.” You smirked, shoving him a little in the side as you took your work back and got comfortable in one corner of the couch.

“How many drawings of me do you have by now?” He asked with a smile as he handed you a blanket that was draped over the backrest of the couch on his end and watched you wrap it around yourself in amusement.

“Countless. Really, I have lost count and even lost the ABILITY to count them all.” You snorted, picking up your box with pens from the coffee table.

“If you want to draw true beauty, why don’t you ever draw a self portrait?” Loki rose an eyebrow at you as he sat down in the opposite corner of the couch more comfortably.

“Ha ha very funny.” You rolled your eyes, looking back to your drawing instead of him.

Loki pick up his book once more, flipping to the current page. He tried reading a part, and another… Yet, his mind wouldn’t take in on any of the words as it was too busy with his own thoughts, the letters on the page faded as he kept thinking of your drawing.

It had been a while now… a long while of you creating those stunning and breathtakingly expressive drawings of him. Sure, you did draw other things too, occasionally, but knowing that you did draw him oh so often and with such a joy made Loki both proud and desperate. Proud, because you knew and understood him so incredibly well and still chose to love him, and desperate because he felt so many things for you, knew and understood you too… and yet failed (in his eyes) to show it.

The urge within him to give you something back grew with every new piece you showed him, with every emotion caught on point and every perfect piece of his imperfection.

“Can I try?” He asked straight out, without giving himself the change to back out now. Drawing wasn’t something he had done all too often, but some basic sketching had been part of his education nonetheless. Yet, that had been decades ago and he wondered if he could still do it at all. But he wanted to try to express his emotions in a drawing, just like you did.

“What?” You asked in utter irritation, finally lifting your eyes to meet his.

“Can I try to draw you?” He asked with a sigh, unsure of what he’s just gotten himself into. “Since you refuse to draw yourself, I would like to try.”

Your lips parted in surprise as you started at Loki for a moment. Then you nodded strongly. “Uh, yeah… I mean yes, of course you can! Feel free to use whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” With another soft sigh Loki got up from the couch, placed his book on the coffee table and picked up an empty sketchpad and some pencils from the desk.

You watched him selecting his tools with care, smiling at the sight. Loki loved art, you had known that from the very first day, but he had never made an attempt to actually create something himself. Usually he would talk to you about your works, or fill in with some knowledge about art history while you were going to the museum. This new ambition was both intriguing and amusing. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he sat down on the ground instead of the couch, crossing his legs beneath himself and placing the papers on his thighs. An inevitable smile came to your lips… Loki just looked effortlessly gorgeous in absolutely every situation (which was kinda unfair, really). Even sitting on the ground in tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt, a deep frown on his face as he marked the page with some reluctant lines. The way the sharp edges of his face stood out even more when he concentrated on something was enough inspiration for you to let the colouring be for now and do some portrait sketches instead. Maybe Loki would one day believe you when you told him that he was amazing indeed. However many sketches and drawings that might take.

For quite some time the two of you stayed like that, listening to quiet music flowing around the apartment while drawing each other with the utmost care and attention to detail. Until finally, Loki decided that he was done. He didn’t like the outcome of his work at all, and after he had separated the drawn page from the rest, he looked at it for two more seconds, then at you… and ripped the page apart into tiny pieces.

“Loki!” You protested, dropping your own drawing supplies on the couch and moving to sit in front of him on the floor. “Why on earth did you rip it!?”

“I didn’t like it.” He said quietly, with a sharp edge to his voice, looking down at the small shreds of paper between you and him.

“But I wanted to see it nonetheless…” You said quietly, taking his hands in yours and gently caressing his knuckles. “I’m sure it wasn’t half as bad as you think it was.”

“It didn’t do you justice at all.” He stated in pure disappointment with himself. “You would’ve hated it.”

“I promise you I wouldn’t have.” You sighed, letting go of his hands to place your arms around his neck. With a low hum coming from the depth of his chest, Loki wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer until you were sitting in between his legs, comfortably wrapped around him.

“You’re too hard on yourself.” You whispered against his neck, playing with a few strands of his raven hair. “I love everything you do, and I love YOU very very much. You know that, right?”

“I know, darling. I really do… Do you really want to see the drawing?” He asked in an equally quiet voice and you nodded, brushing your lips against his soft skin in the process.

Loki leaned back a short moment later, unwrapping his arms from you, and thus allowing you to place your legs over his and around his hips to sit more comfortably, closer.

“Good for you that I can fix stuff with magic.” He mused with the tiniest smile as he held the good-as-new piece of paper out to you, his eyes locked with yours in the most serious expression.

Gently you took the drawing out of his hand and when you looked at it, your lips parted yet again.

“Are you trying to tease me?!” You finally managed to say as the corners of your mouth curled into a soft smile.

“Usually, yes. Right now, no.” He replied calmly and the expression on his face told you that he was being serious indeed.

“But… wow.” You were at a loss for words, staring down at the drawing in your hands incredulously. “Did you really draw this in the last thirty minutes? Without magic?”

“Yes.” He replied shortly, looking surprisingly flustered. “Sorry.”

“Why in any world would you apologize? This is absolutely gorgeous! It looks like a photo, seriously Loki, it’s absolutely perfect!” You rambled, staring down at what really looked like a photograph of yourself. How could he seriously think this was bad?!

“I don’t want perfect.” He sighed, resting his hands on the small of your back once again. “Perfect is boring. It’s vain, and cold and distant…”

“So is your problem that the drawing is perfect or that I am not?”

“You’re perfect for me, don’t ever doubt that! Yet you’re not universally perfect, which I am honestly very glad about. That would be awful… I’m a flawed being and you are too and that makes us our own kind of perfect.” He argued eloquently, making you smile at him fondly.

“And what bothers you so much about the drawing?” You inquire as you placed it on the coffee table before resting both your hands on his shoulders once more.

“It’s absolutely nothing like yours.” He shrugged.

“Well, it shouldn’t be. It’s your drawing, so it should be like you.”

“That’s not what I meant… See, your drawings speak to the viewer. They express emotions and soul… while mine is just a photograph. Perfect in technique but blind in emotions.” Loki sighed, suppressing the urge to yet again rip the drawing into pieces. He knew you’d be mad at him if he did, so he let it rest on the coffee table in one piece for now.

“Don’t be so upset about it, please. I’m absolutely amazed by your drawing and even more that you drew something at all! Just for me…” You whispered to him with a soft smile, placing a gentle kiss to his lips.

He hummed quietly against your lips in return, pulling your body closer to his as he deepened the kiss. If he failed to express his emotions in art and drawing, he might just have to show you the depth of his love, the core of his soul in another way. For now.

_______________

However as Loki lay in bed that night, your small frame curled around his and your head on his shoulder, he found himself thinking back to his 'failed’ attempt at drawing. He had come to accept the fact that he didn’t need to show you his emotions through art, as you had solemnly sworn that you knew indeed how much he loved you…

But Loki wouldn’t be Loki if he’d let the things go that he hadn’t been able to accomplish to his fullest contentment. And just because he didn’t NEED to express his emotions this way didn’t remotely mean that he didn’t WANT to indeed. It had become a challenge the moment he had tried and yet failed, and Loki wouldn’t ever back down from a good challenge.

So once you had gone to work on Monday morning, kissing him goodbye like you always did, Loki got out a piece of paper and a pencil and started sketching random objects around the apartment.

It started out small, with a bouquet of dried flowers… A glass bowl with your favorite candy… A bottle of Loki’s prefered wine. The graphite stood out against the white paper in a way that made the objects jump straight out of the page, realistic as ever, almost a grey scale photograph. Loki frowned to himself. This, again, is not remotely what he wanted, not remotely what he meant to draw.

So he switched out the medium. Until now, he had only tried graphite on white paper, which (as proven multiple times) led to him drawing a perfectly realistic photograph. He was quick to decide on using another pen, first of all. Surprisingly quickly, he did one drawing in black ink, which he soon realized he did not like at all, even less than the pencil. Sighing, he tried to get rid of the ink stains on his hands by rubbing his palms against his tracksuit bottoms. Didn’t work.

Thus, with a doubtful eye, reluctantly circling your drawing supplies like a wounded predator on the hunt, he scanned what other mediums were available to him. He really would need to get braver, bolder, to go bigger.

First, he tried charcoal. Needless to say, he ended up creating a huge, black and smudged mess on the livingroom floor and also on himself. But he actually, finally, ended up with something that looked less like a photograph and more like an actual drawing, which in this case was a step into the right direction. Yet, it still wasn’t what he was trying to get to, so the paper landed somewhere below the couch as he pushed it away angrily. How was it possible that he was so BAD at this?! Loki wasn’t used to being bad at something. At least not at something he was actually trying to be good at. And oh, he didn’t like it at all.

As he rose to his feet, pushing the long sleeves of his green t-shirt back over his elbows, he made his way through the mess of papers lying everywhere, back to the arsenal of materials.

Next, he settled for oil pastels. At least those were a little less messy than the charcoal… Loki wasn’t too fond of messy things, and even less of willingly creating a mess. But he HAD to get good at art, and he would go great lengths to get what he wanted. So he moved back to the only empty space on the floor in the middle of the livingroom, his bare feet leaving black footprints on the warm wood. Maybe he shouldn’t have stepped onto the charcoal drawings…

Surprisingly, Loki did like the oil pastels a lot. It was nice getting to blend colours a little, to work them together and get both crisp edges and soft blurs… yet, after filling pages upon pages with whatever motives he could think of or see around himself, he found that it wasn’t ideal either. It was getting better, yes, but it still wasn’t imperfect enough to be beautiful. He groaned to himself, running a hand through his hair and leaving small smudges of colour on his forehead.

By now the livingroom was an absolute mess and so was Loki. He was angry with himself, frustrated and just desperate enough to continue on nonetheless. So he pushed the enormous amount of paper around him further away, off to the side, wherever… Then he took the oil pastels back to your stash, restoring them to their original state with a subtle green light. He didn’t want to use up all your supplies, so he made sure to replace whatever he took. And while in the knowledge that he could very well clean up the living room in an instant, he just couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. His mind was occupied with so many mixed emotions and somehow, the mess in the livingroom represented that fairly well. Also… he was getting closer. Closer to creating something imperfect enough to be ENOUGH at all.

He went for acrylic paints next, a step further, a step bigger… But he went with a random piece of cardboard that he tore off a box, instead of a canvas. In his mind, a canvas was for art. Not for whatever it was he was doing here.

So he slumped back down in his small circle in the middle of the room, frowning. What was he supposed to draw next, what could he try to give meaning to? With a single thought and a swoosh of green, he arranged all his previous drawings in multiple rows of circles around himself. There really was nothing he hadn’t tried to draw… nothing he hadn’t tried to wrap into emotions (and failed to express anything at all).

With a sigh, he decided to draw his old bedroom in the asgardian palace out of his memory, for once. It was the one place where he had spent the most time throughout his entire childhood and he could see it in front of him in every detail. It was a lot of gold, just like the rest of the palace, but also some green and beige tones… He spent quite a while painting, getting used to the acrylic paint and the brushes… creating even more of a mess of himself and his surroundings.

Maybe it was the painting, or the focus, the memory of a lost home or the general frustration of not getting it right anyway, no matter how hard he tried… but after he had covered the entire piece of cardboard in paint, he felt even more desperate than before. It was yet again closer to what he wanted his art to be, but still not quite right. With an angry frown he tossed the cardboard into any direction and lay down in his small empty circle, staring at the ceiling. Maybe his art was doomed to mirror himself in being a failure indeed.

_______________

When you returned home that afternoon, unlocking the door with a long sigh, you dropped your bag and jacket in the hallway and moved to find Loki. Usually he would either pick you up from work, or be waiting here for you with a decent enough excuse for why he didn’t come to pick you up in return.

Yet today, as you walked around a corner and your eyes fell upon the mess that was your livingroom, your lips parted and you gasped at the sight in front of you. Colour absolutely everywhere, drawings and paintings scattered all across the floor and the furniture, and right in the middle there was Loki. Even though he was lying on his back, you could tell that he was covered in all kinds of paint, his clothes, his hands and face… And a slow smirk spread on your lips that soon turned into a huge grin.

“Hey Loki.” You chuckled, standing in the doorframe and watching the artistic massacre in front of you. It really did look like Loki had fought a war with your art supplies and the thought alone almost made you snort.

“Hello darling.” He replied quietly, not once averting his eyes from the ceiling.

“Uhm… What exactly happened to the livingroom?” You asked, suppressing a laugh rather badly as your eyes scanned the absolutely incredible drawings strewn around.

“I’m a failure, Y/n…” He sighed deeply instead of answering your question. “I tried to art, and I failed.”

You tried really hard not to laugh at his overly dramatic demeanor as you took off your shoes and socks and tiptoed through the pagers on the ground, making your way towards Loki. The closer you got, the more you realized that he was seriously upset and not joking at all and that made your heart fall immediately.

Careful not to wrinkle any of the papers, you sat down next to Loki in the middle of the drawings and looked down at his paint smeared face with a soft smile. “C'mon, sit up and let me hug you. Please?”

Sighing, he did as you asked and you wrapped him into a tight hug, to which he responded by pulling you into his lap indeed.

“Hey…” You whispered, looking into his eyes with an encouraging expression.

“Hey.” He replied in a breath. “I apologize for creating a mess.”

“You’re pretty adorable when you’re covered in paint.” You chuckled, brushing through his tangled hair with your fingers.

“I am not adorable! I’m a god, I’m imposing and powerful and…”

“Covered in paint.” You chuckled again, causing Loki to roll his eyes. “May I look at your drawings?”

“If you have to… I’m not hindering you. But be aware of the fact that I despise every single thing in this room but you right now.” He sighed and you picked up the drawings you could reach without having to get up. They really were absolutely stunning, each one better than the previous, and you marveled at the detail and the colour choices and just everything really… It was impeccable.

“I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but these are absolutely gorgeous, Loki…” You sighed with a smile, looking at his deep frown.

“You’re right, I don’t believe you.” He replied with a chuckle, hugging you tighter to himself and pressing a kiss to your neck.

“You’re smudging paint all over me!” You laughed, trying to shove him away, but he wouldn’t let you and continued to shower your neck with tickling kisses until you were breathless from laughter.

“Am I really covered in paint all that much?” He asked after a while, pulling back to look at your face and to allow you to look at his.

“You most definitely are. But that’s no surprise when you paint and draw obsessively like you did today.” You smiled at him, brushing a strand of hair out of his face and thereby causing him to sigh a little. “What happened that made you create all this?”

“Yesterday I tried drawing emotions like you do, and I failed. Thus I had to try again today.”

“And why all the different mediums?”

“I was hoping that I simply needed to find the right tools to create something that would be beautiful. I assume I got a little better with the oil pastels and the acrylic paint, but it still does not express emotions, nor does it have soul.” He sighed, moving some papers over, towards you, so that you could see the minimal progress he’d made. It wasn’t like Loki would ever admit to anyone else that he had failed at something, or that he wasn’t good enough… but he had learned to trust you more than himself, and thus he had grown to share every thought with you in utmost honesty.

“So you have created all these amazing pieces of art in an attempt to create something that YOU can consider art?”

“Precisely.”

“Alright.” You sighed, sitting up a little straighter and placing the drawings back on the ground after you’d inspected them closely. “I DO consider all these pieces works of art, brilliant works of art even. But I understand that you are aiming for something else and I’ll help you get there. BUT…”

“But?” Loki asked suspiciously, both excited and embarrassed at the prospect of having your help in this. Yet, the embarrassment passed after a short moment, for even though Loki was a rather proud person, he was also smart. And that meant he knew when to accept help from a superior. You definitely were his superior, a higher being in every way and he loved it beyond measure.

“But! I’ll only help you if you allow me to keep everything you created today, intact and just like you drew it.” You grinned smugly, causing Loki to roll his eyes. “And I want you to stop trashtalking yourself and your art. What you do is beautiful and I need you to stop saying it’s not. If you can do that, I’ll help you create something you are trying for.”

“Alright.” He sighed. “You can keep everything and I will refrain from saying a bad word about it. Now, how exactly are you going to help me?”

“First, we need a little more space.” You smiled and a moment later the papers started moving around to create a neat pile in a corner of the room, leaving the livingroom floor visible once more. “Gosh, I love magic. Can’t you teach me that?”

“I can try, darling…” Loki chuckled deeply. “But right now we are teaching me how to art.”

You laughed, shaking your head to yourself. “I love how you say that… 'how to art’…”

Loki didn’t say anything and only looked at you expectantly, while you moved off his lap to sit in front of him with the box paints and brushes in between you.

“Now, you want to draw with emotions and soul, right?” You asked calmly.

“Yes.”

“Well, first of all you need to actually FEEL something in order to draw it. You need to allow yourself to feel things, and you need to allow your emotions to surface through the channel of art.” You looked at him intently, in the knowledge that honesty of feelings and Loki didn’t necessarily go together well.

He was quiet for a moment, looking at you as if he was contemplating existence. “I don’t want to draw my own emotions. You can draw mine perfectly well, or anyone else's… can’t I start with that?”

“See, that’s the first problem right there. I need to feel what someone else feels in order to draw it. It’s called empathy, Loki, I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” You chuckled, looking at him kindly. “But that’s another thing, so let’s focus on your own emotions first. That’s easier.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Y/n.” He replied quietly, looking down to the many colours spread out in between you.

“You can, and you will. I know you don’t like it when people see what’s going on in your mind, and…”

“I don’t mind when you see.” He interrupted you, eyes locked back with yours in all honesty. “I never minded that you know every part of me.”

Your smile widened at that. “I know. But I think I know a way to make it easier for you nonetheless.” With that you unzipped your hoodie, tossing it off to the side. Then you lifted your shirt over your head and Loki rose an eyebrow at you in amusement and suspicion.

“I am nowhere near complaining, but what are you doing, dear?” He asked, trying not to laugh.

“Giving you the right canvas. You’re gonna draw on my back.” You stated calmly, with such a certainty that Loki found himself obliging. With a smile you laid down on your stomach in front of him, resting your head on your arms, smiling. “This way you won’t have to worry about anyone ever seeing what you choose to create now. We can take a shower afterwards, and you can wash it off and all that will be left is you knowing that you completed your mission.”

Loki felt his heart swell with adoration as he looked down at your bare back, smiling to himself in the knowledge that you knew and loved him indeed, with a depth and intensity that no one ever had.

“Any more tips you can give me?” He asked. “About what I should draw? Or how to have better control over it?”

“See, Loki, the things is… You shouldn’t control your art, nor your motive. You need to let go, and allow the emotions to control you indeed. Surrender to the art, to the act of creating. Otherwise you will always end up with another photograph.” You mused, and Loki frowned.

“I’m not good at letting go of control.”

“I know!” You laughed, as goosebumps covered your body upon his cool touch on your skin. “But didn’t you say yourself that your drawings got better towards the end of your trying? That’s not because you practiced, but because, and I’m making an educated guess here, you grew frustrated and angry with yourself more and more and that anger took control over you. And that’s what I see in your latest drawings. Desperation and anger. And if you can let those emotions control you involuntarily, you can let positive ones lead you to a greater art.”

Your words echoed in Loki’s mind like a sharp and clear note sung in a cathedral and his lips parted slightly at the realization that you were right. He could do this, and he could let himself be vulnerable for once in this safe haven that was your love.

“Fine. I will paint something beautifully imperfect, and you will tell me about your day.” He smiled, picking up a colour at random and chuckling as you flinched upon the contact of the chilled brush and the wet paint on your back. “Alright, darling?”

“Sounds like a plan.” You smiled widely, enjoying the innocent intimacy of the moment.

And just like this, Loki finally created a true piece of art, one he was content with. A piece of beautiful imperfection.

________________________________

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[kittinoir]

Echoes of You Ch. 2

Read on Ao3

Marinette sprinted down the stairs two at a time, holding onto the railing to keep herself from pitching down them altogether. She’d stopped by the ladies room to make sure there was nothing stuck in her teeth or that her bangs weren’t doing that weird v-split thing and had lost track of the time trying to come up with things to talk about with Adrien. 

By the time she checked her phone, she discovered her preparation had been for nothing; she was running late and would have to run to be on time, meaning she’d be flustered, sweaty, and messy by the time she showed up.

Except she wasn’t sweaty, or flustered. A little windswept, sure, but the short sprint didn’t seem to wear her out at all. Maybe all these months of being chronically late to everything had whipped her into better shape than she’d realized.

They’d done nothing at all for her reflexes, she realized suddenly as the toe of her shoe caught on the frame of the front door and pitched her face-first into the pavement.

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the sting of the scrapes she was sure to get on her hands, but just before she was sure to hit the ground, she felt hands grab her, using her momentum to pull her back up.

“You ok there, Marinette?”

Marinette slowly opened her eyes and found herself face to face with Adrien. A blush began to creep across her cheeks, but it didn’t get too far. Her name was practically synonymous with clumsiness; it wasn’t really a secret. Besides, after the mishap with constipation prescription, it was getting harder and harder to be embarrassed. Although now that she thought about it, she couldn’t quite remember how that mix up had happened in the first place.

“Yeah, just clumsy,” Marinette said. She had to tilt her head to look up at him and suddenly realized he still had his arms around her, as though she might collapse like a house of cards if he let go. She was beginning to think she might. “Are we, um, ready to flow? Go! I mean, ready to go?”

Adrien laughed, finally releasing her. “Yeah, we are. Here comes the car now.”

Marinette tugged on her bangs as she followed Adrien to his car, hoping against hope her wild ride hadn’t messed them up too badly. She looked up to see Adrien waiting by the door, gesturing for her to slide in first. She bit her lip as she slipped inside as memories of the last time she’d been in the car came back. Adrien had said he was in love with another girl, nearly crushing her hopes altogether, except…for some reason she hadn’t quite given up on him. Besides, she couldn’t imagine any girl saying no to Adrien but none of the sites or blogs she followed had said he’d asked anyone out. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Marinette lurched in her seat as Adrien broke her reverie. “Um, just remembering the trip to the wax museum,” she said. She felt the blush come back stronger this time. She bit her lip, wishing she’d come up with anything else. It was the last thing she wanted to talk about.

“Oh, yeah.” Adrien slid down a little in his seat. “That was crazy. Remember when we thought Hawk Moth had shown up in the museum?”

“I…” Marinette blinked, searching her memories. She remembered Alya and Nino conspiring to leave them alone together, Manon’s embarrassing comments, and the conversation on the car ride home, but…

“Oh, I’m sorry, Marinette,” Adrien blurted, misreading her confusion. “I didn’t mean to… are you feeling any better since this morning?”

In truth, she hadn’t had time to worry about it. Things with Chloe had been tenser than usual; even Adrien had been cold toward her. It had unnerved Marinette. She hadn’t thought Adrien was cold to anyone, even people who maybe deserved it.

But Chloe had just…accepted it. She’d sat alone at the back of the class, forsaking her usual front row spot for solitude. Marinette might not have even noticed if it hadn’t been for the daggers everyone had been staring back at her. She’d tried asking Alya, but her friend had only said Chloe had finally taken it one step too far and left it at that after giving her a puzzled frown, as though she should have known. 

Unease had crept through her, but it had drifted away just as quickly when the teacher called on her to answer the question on the board. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time Chloe had pushed the envelope. Marinette expected her father would have soothed the ruffled feathers by the next day.

“Kind of,” Marinette finally said. Could she tell him? Could she mention those intangible gaps in her memory, that elusive feeling of sheer…sorrow that seemed to haunt her whenever something seemed to slip through her fingers. “I think something’s wrong… I’m having trouble - ”

The car door opened abruptly, nearly dumping Marinette onto the sidewalk. She hadn’t realized she’d been leaning against the door - or that the car had come to a stop.

“You’re not Adrien.” The woman looking down at Marinette as she hung halfway out of the car look as if all she’d done for lunch that day was suck lemons. Marinette could feel her gaze burning holes in her skin, but instead of shrinking back like she wanted to, some inner strength drove her to meet the woman’s gaze head-on without flinching.

“I’m right here, Dominique,” Adrien said as he exited the car and came around to Marinette’s side. “This is my friend, Marinette. She’s with me today.”

Dominique sniffed as Marinette righted herself and stepped out of the car as well. “Very well. As long as she is not a distraction.”

Dominique turned without waiting for a response and started for the tall glass and metal building where the shoot was taking place. Marinette hid a giggle behind her hand as Adrien rolled his eyes at Dominique back. She felt a rush of warmth as he winked at her; she’d never seen this side of him. It had never occurred to her that modelling might not be what he wanted to do or that it was something he didn’t enjoy.

“See you in a bit,” Adrien said when Dominique paused outside hair, makeup, wardrobe. “Dominique will take you to the set.” His green eyes briefly flicked to the stern assistant. “Make sure she get a front row seat? I’m sure as a Gabriel intern, my father would want to make sure she makes the most of this experience.”

Dominique’s demeanour changed almost instantly. “Intern? You never said - ”

“I was sure you were already aware,” Adrien cut in smoothly. “I mean, you seem to have everything so in hand.”

“I do,” Dominique said with a small cough. “I do. I knew she was coming, I just thought she’d be…older.”

Marinette had to turn her face and bite her lip to keep herself from straight up laughing. She stared at a spot on the floor, knowing if she risked a glance at Adrien’s face it would all be over. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, Marinette,” she heard him say. “Make sure to take lots of notes.”

“I will,” she said, finally looking up. She could see laughter dancing in his eyes and struggled to keep her face a mask of calm. “Can’t wait to see the collection.”

Marinette covered a short laugh with a cough as Adrien disappeared and she followed Dominique to set. Adrien had lied for her - and he’d been surprisingly good at it. He had a devious side. Just when she thought she could love him anymore, he turned around and proved her wrong. 

“You may wait here,” Dominique said, indicating a chair near the photographers’ station. “If you need anything, please, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Thank you, Dominique,” Marinette said, draping her bag across the back of the chair. The assistant hurried off without so much as another word. Marinette pulled out the sketchbook she’d packed and sank into the chair as she took in the set, the tip of her pencil poised on the paper.

The set mimicked a beach, with actual sand spilled across the bottom of the backdrop and across the floor. The backdrop itself was printed with the image of a sunset on the ocean. Palm trees flanked the sides of the set, and a beach ball and beach chair were set up to the side as props. 

Marinette swallowed hard as she alternately sketched and glanced around the room. Adrien had said the collection wasn’t exciting, but was that because it was simple - because it was swim wear? She wasn’t entirely sure where her confidence had come from, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t solid enough to withstand seeing her crush up close and personal without a shirt on.

But what if it was? What if the next three hours would be swim suits? Worse, what if she he was modelling with someone else? Heat flashed across Marinette’s face; what if it was Lila? She couldn’t remember the girl bragging about something like that, but then, she wouldn’t unless she had some manufactured proof to go with it.

Marinette gripped her pencil so hard it almost snapped. She’d never thought her temper was particularly volatile, but she was finding it hard to keep it under control now. A small part of her shook at her own wrath, at how overwhelming it felt. What was it about this girl that made her this angry? Why? Betrayal. She felt betrayal. At first Marinette thought it was about her friends, how they chose to believe Lila over her, but she quickly realized it was about Lila herself, but why? The girl had never done anything other than what she’d always promised to do, so -

Before Marinette could follow the thought further, the lights above the set came to life, so bright they bathed the studio in manufactured heat. The various grips and lighters and prop handlers that had been milling about talking on headsets suddenly began to rush to their positions, coffee cups in hand. 

An unexpected wave of loneliness swept over Marinette, at once cold and unfamiliar. Her sketch book began to slide off her lap, and she realized she’d unconsciously moved her hand to her purse. She saved her sketchbook, resettling it on her lap just as a door across the room opened and Adrien appeared with Dominique.

Marinette’s heart leapt as it always did when he entered a room, like the sun finally breaking through the clouds. His gaze briefly settled on her, and she felt herself grinning in response to the wink he sent her way. Something about it struck a chord of a familiarity, like they were co-conspiritors in on a joke together. 

To her surprise, Adrien was not dressed in swimwear, as she’d feared, but in a three-piece suit. It looked immaculate on him, of course - what didn’t, she couldn’t help but think. The photographer must have decided to go for a juxtaposition between a casual set and formal attire. It would certainly stand out. 

Despite Adrien’s warning that it would be boring, Marinette found it to be anything but. Watching Adrien work was amazing, but she found herself being sucked in by the photographer and seamstresses that were on hand. Adrien seemed to know what poses his father would prefer, but every so often the photographer would direct him or the seamstresses would point out a key detail in one of the garments. Marinette found herself analyzing the construction, the style, the technique more than she was fawning over the boy wearing them. 

Adrien had just disappeared to change into yet another suit when a boom shook the building. Marinette fell to her hands and knees as her chair toppled. She glanced up and flung herself into a clumsy drive, swallowing a scream as a light fixture crashed to the floor right where she’d fallen. People around her were covering their heads and diving for cover, but she was surprised to find that most of them seemed rather calm. They huddled together, waiting for the shaking to subside, but otherwise their faces were set in lines of grim determination, not fear. Not like her. 

Marinette looked up as a laugh echoed throughout the room. Nausea rolled through her stomach as she tried to make sense of what she saw, but she was beginning to wonder if that lighting fixture hadn’t whacked her on the head after all.

It was a girl, dressed in what Marinette could only describe as a ball gown that looked like a giant, lilac-coloured cloud, which she guessed was fitting because the girl was floating in mid air in front of a jagged hole in the ceiling. Marinette honestly couldn’t say what was more bizarre about her: her apparent disregard for gravity, or the baseball sized sewing needle in her hands. 

[cheeky-kookie]

Muse | K.T.H

Taehyung/Reader | Fluff, Slice of Life | Photographer!Taehyung x Artist!Reader

Word count: 3.7K

Summery: Run dry from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, you find yourself without inspiration and a blank page of your sketchbook in front of you. That is until your eyes fall on a handsome stranger who sees through a lens of a camera.

A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve written but I’ve felt so inspired by writers on here that I began to write again. So if you are reading this one, thank you for the support!

It was a sunny day, one of those days where all you want to do is in some way spend it outside. You had decided when you had woken up that it was exactly what you were going to do; spend it outside. It wasn’t out of your element to spend every nice day you encounter outside, since nature seemed to be constantly changing. It gave you new things to be inspired by. Yet, with work and school, finding the time to go out and enjoy yourself and create some art had became almost absent. It had started to drain you, being in a cycle of classes, work, then sleep. All you needed was a little kick to get back into the thing you loved.

You had decided on going to this park located somewhere in the middle of town. It was a few blocks down from this coffee shop you really liked that served the best muffins. It was a guilty pleasure of yours to stop by there on the way home and snag one of those pastries, whether it be coming home from classes or spending the day sketching in your pad. There was just something about how moist and fluffy those muffins were that made you want to keep going back for more.

Searching the park, you looked for a spot to sit and pull out your sketch pad. You were waiting for something to catch your eye and trigger inspiration. You didn’t necessarily need to draw what was sitting in front of your face. Honestly, you were looking for a certain feeling to pull you to where you needed to be.

Defeated, you went and sat by this giant oak tree located in a clearing, farther away from the chatter of the park. It was off the main path of the park, so no one seemed to be around it. The closer you got the more it seemed to feel like a good decision. It was quiet and had a great view of the rest of the park. You let your bag drop down your arm and land in the soft grass by the roots of the giant. You followed suit, plopping down next to your bag and tucking yourself comfortably into the trunk of the tree.

You rummaged through your bag before pulling out a black spiraled book you purchased a few months back when your other one had become so full with sketches you hadn’t had room to continue to use that one. The old one was safely tucked away at home on your desk, waiting to be picked up and examined someday in the future. The current one you had in your hands held nothing on the pages because there had been no time or inspiration to do anything with it. Flipping to the first page, you stared at the blank paper in front of you.

With pencil in hand, you let the tip rest on the paper without movement. You waited for something to strike you but again, nothing did. Sighing, you leaned your head against the trunk of the tree and closed your eyes. You heard a distant scream of some kid playing on the playground on the other side of the park causing you to reopen your eyes.

 That’s when you saw him.

He stood out, but not in the obvious way. It wasn’t like he was trying to stand out. But even from the distance, you could tell he had a face that made people want to keep looking at him. His caramel skin was complemented by his dark curly hair and brown coat. In his hands he held a large camera, strap slug around his neck. You watched as his eyes scanned the surroundings and he slowly brought the camera up to his face, finding just the right image he wanted to capture.

 Part of you was jealous he was able to find inspiration while you sat by yourself at the base of a tree wallowing in your own self-pity. Shaking your head, you looked down at the blank page in front of you and started sketching him. You had spent a good while at the park, and he seemed to be the only thing to truly catch your attention. You weren’t about to let that go to waste.

This was how your sketchbook started to become filled with nothing but a few pages of this handsome stranger who seemed to love to take pictures of nature.

Another day free from the stress of adulthood and you had found yourself back at the park; your eyes catching a yellow flower and finding yourself wandering over to it in wonderment. You sat down on your knees, taking your bag off your shoulder and pulling your sketchbook out. You started sketching the flower out on the blank page, a small smile creeping on your face as you found inspiration far easier than the other day.

Even with the inspiration flowing, your mind wandered back to the handsome man you had sketched the other day. For some reason something about him intrigued you. Maybe it was because he carried himself in such a way that he exuded confidence but didn’t come off as cocky. Or maybe it was because you felt like your drawings were incomplete knowing you couldn’t get the tiny details from the distance you sat at. You could only really imagine the small features his face might have held.

When you arrived home that day from the park, you confided in your roommate about the handsome man you came across and sketched. Of course, she had gotten all excited, telling you to make contact with him if you ran into him again. If you remembered correctly, her choice of words were ‘If he was as handsome as you sketched him, I would take the chance’  though you realized that in reality things don’t necessarily line up how they do in stories. She reminded you that sometimes things do indeed line up.

 You did owe him for sparking the creative flow that had taken over your body. You weren’t sure if there would ever be a time to thank him in person so you were left appreciating him in your own head and thanking him mentally every time you drew something new within the pages of the spiral book in your hands now.

The flower was on the page after a few minutes. Nodding in approval of your art, you closed the sketchbook and held it to your chest. You then proceeded to throw your bag back over your shoulder before making your way in the direction of the tree you had found solitude at a few days prior.

You felt a buzz in your back pocket. Grabbing the source of the buzzing, you peered at the reminder going off on your phone. Rolling your eyes, you swiped away the reminder your roommate had snuck onto your phone before you had left to the park. It was a reminder to introduce yourself to the guy if you saw him. Sighing, you put your phone back into your back pocket to be forgotten about.

Once back at the tree, your bag was back on the ground and you sunk back into the spot you found comfortable the other day. You pulled the sketchbook from your chest and opened it back up, looking at the new addition to the book. You lightly shaded part of the flower you deemed not shaded well enough.

 When you peered up from the page, your heart sipped a beat. He was back. Again, he was sporting the brown coat which you were sure was protecting him from the cool air of spring. He seemed preoccupied with one of the trees of the park, finding it interesting enough to capture in picture.

You thought briefly about setting your sketchpad down and walking over there to introduce yourself but the idea was soon discarded as you determined that you may have all the confidence int he world of your art and were comfortable and confident with yourself, but there was just not enough to convince you to speak to him without rhyme or reason. Yet you couldn’t keep your mind off him. There was just something about him you couldn’t shake, and it didn’t help that he kept showing up. You hummed to yourself and shook your head, bringing your pencil back down to shade the flower.

What you didn’t notice while your head was buried deep in your sketches was the curly haired man’s attention had landed on you.

He had been capturing a picture that had pleased him when he turned around and saw you sitting against the tree, pencil in hand, and attention focused in some kind of book. He couldn’t determine what kind of book, though you seemed very invested in what you were doing. He could see your passion from the distance and he himself was kind of envious of you. Your hair had fallen in your face and he watched you tuck it behind your ear, still completely focused at your task in hand.

Though you had a majority of his attention, his artistic mind had also noticed how perfect the image was in general. He noticed how you fit perfectly leaned against the trunk and how the tree was placed in the perfect spot where no bystanders could get in the way of the image. The tree itself was magnificent. It was quite old, he had determined by size, and the branches framed it well.

He slowly brought his camera up to his face and snapped a picture of the tree, and you. He looked down at the image he took and nodded in approval. It was the first picture he truly felt confident about in a while and he had gotten it first try, which he deemed a success on top of it.

It had been a week or so since you had found time to do art. Though you had somehow found time to escape your apartment and your responsibilities for a bit today. You had wandered the park for a little bit adding a few pages to your sketchbook before you had made your way to the coffee shop you were so fond of.

You smiled, peeling the wrapper of the muffin back so you could take a bite. It was just as great as you remembered it; Moist and fluffy. It was exactly what you were craving after a long day of sketching, along with the cup of coca placed on the right side of you. Setting the muffin down onto the plate they provided for you, you flipped your sketchbook to an empty page. You sighed to yourself as you bent down to your feet to access your bag, wondering where you had put your pencil. Finding it, you resurfaced to the table and started to put your imagination down on paper.

You heard the bell of the front door of the café echo throughout the business and out of curiosity, you looked up to see who had entered.

It was like time had stopped. The murmur of the other customers had been drowned out by the own sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You didn’t even notice your mouth dropping slightly at the person who had entered.

He looked like he always had, perfect. His dark hair falling in curls around his face, almost blinding him because of the length. He hadn’t worn his jacket today which you could only assume was because it was a warmer day, but he still opted for an oversized grey sweater. He also didn’t have his camera, but you were more than willing to bet your life savings that the bag he was carrying around his arm held the camera in question.

You were too preoccupied with him being there; you didn’t notice that he too was shocked to see you. You didn’t notice the way he paused when you two met eyes, or how his own lips parted at the sight of you. And you for sure didn’t notice how his eyes grew huge and he had to quickly look away to hide his own reaction. Instead, you just saw him turn his attention towards the barista and proceeded to move in that direction.

You shook your own head, staring at the almost blank piece of paper in front of your face unable to focus anymore. You could still hear your own heartbeat in your ears as the adrenaline slowly ran its course through your body. You took a deep breath to calm you down, before trying to go back to working on what was in front of you. Well, until you heard the chair on the other side of the table slide out and the sound of a bag being set on the floor.

You didn’t want to look up because you knew. You knew that the mysterious and oh so handsome man you had been thinking about for weeks was sitting across from you. You could feel his stare bare into you as you focused on the page at hand. You could also smell his cologne which was musky but not at all overwhelming. It was almost a comforting smell.

“Who comes to a coffee shop for hot coca?” A voice said, sending shivers down your spine at how deep and smooth it sounded. You took a deep breath and looked up at him for the first time since he had sat down moments before.

 Up close, you realized your assumptions about him being attractive were very right. You realized that when he walked in the shop, but now that he was only a mere tables width away you really knew. He sat with confidence, leaned back with his legs parted covering as much space as possible. He seemed to make that chair his own and it really was a show of confidence. His plump lips held a small smirk, the corner tilted only slightly upward. His eyes were a deep brown that you felt you could melt into. And on his perfectly shaped nose, was a faint beauty mark which seemed to actually make him seem less god like and more human. Though in your professional opinion, you still found it attractive.

The worst part wasn’t that you were suddenly confronted with this inhumanly attractive male you’ve been mulling over but the fact that you were totally right before. The smaller details mattered, and your sketches were rightfully incomplete.

“I’m not a huge coffee drinker but these muffins are to die for.” You respond, setting the pencil down. You watched as he nodded, taking a sip of his coffee before setting his cup back on the table.

“I don’t like coffee either,” He said. He watched one of your eyebrows raise and your eyes zoned in on the cup at the table. A laugh escaped his lips, “It’s tea. But now I might have to go back up there and get myself one of those muffins since you’ve talked so highly of them.”

“I recommend,” You said, a small smile playing on your lips.

“You know,” He said, pausing for a second, “I’ve been wanted to talk to you for a while, but I just haven’t had the opportunity to do so.”

You felt your heart start pounding again, and just when you thought you had gotten it back under control. How long had he known you existed? You had gone to the park for a few weeks now and you seemed to always find him there as well.

“I’ve been wanting to since I saw you sitting underneath that huge oak tree at the park down the street. You seemed so engrossed by whatever you were doing that the world didn’t seem to matter to you. It’s sort of driven me to start getting absorbed by photography again. I had quit for a while and I had been going to that park for some time before and I just couldn’t get past the judgement I put on myself. But I saw your passion and I wanted that back.”

He reached down in his bag and pulled out his camera. He seemed to be looking for something specific, skipping through picture after pictures until his eyes grew wide when he found what he was looking for, “I sort of ended up taking a picture of you under the tree that day. It just reminded me to be as passionate as the girl under the tree. I will delete it of course, if you don’t want me to have it.”

You looked at the picture he had pulled up on his camera. It was just like he said, you were perched in your usual spot under the old oak at the park. The way the shot was framed was exquisite to say the least. The branches of the tree framed the picture perfectly and the way the sun peaked through them had added a really nice contrast to the very green picture. Overall, your artistic brain could see why he couldn’t pass up the picture. Your average human brain was on fire with the idea that you had sparked passion within such a talented person without even speaking to him. You also couldn’t shake the similarities.

 “I love it,” You said to him, watching his tanned skin be graced with a twinge of pink. He smiled and shut his camera off. You sighed as he did, “I have to admit something to you too.”

 You flipped to the front of your sketchbook and opened the first page before turning it around, so it faced him. You watched as he slowly grabbed it, his face becoming slightly pinker at the realization that his own features were sketched onto the first few pages of the sketchbook.

 “I had this huge creative drought. I was staring that the first page of this sketchpad for weeks hoping something would catch my attention or my mind would drum up so cool idea to put down, but nothing came to me. I had gone to the park and sat down at this huge oak tree and stared at the page some more. I saw you. You seemed to be so sure of what you were picturing. I guess distance could be misleading, but you still were the first thing that truly caught my attention that day and I just had to draw you. I’ve been able to sketch since so, I guess, thank you.” You spoke softly, watching him slowly leaf through the pages.

 “You are talented,” He hummed, still absorbed within the pages.

 “I sure would hope so, I’m an art major. If I wasn’t my teachers have been lying to me for years,” You joked, “Though I probably could have done better.”

“You’re your own biggest critic, or so the saying goes,” He closed the book and slid it back over to you. He then leaned forward, looking you in the eyes, “So, girl under the tree, do you have a name?”

 “Y/N.” You told him, ripping a piece of the almost forgotten muffin off and popping it in your mouth, “Do I get the pleasure of knowing yours?”

 “Taehyung,” He introduced, “I’m happy to finally get to meet you.”

You were back under the oak tree, this time the leaves were finally turning shades of red and yellow and the cool breeze was knocking them loose causing them to fall to the ground. The ground had become cooler, but you had reminded yourself to bring a blanket to sit on instead of the dirt.

Your pencil danced on the page before you, sketching an individual who you could probably draw from memory now. You could remember exactly how his hair falls into his face and how the corners of his mouth turn upwards when he spots something he likes. You knew just how his eyes sparked in wonderment and where exactly that faint mole sat on his nose.

You could sketch him from memory but why would you give up the chance to keep looking at him any chance you got.

 You heard a click of a camera and you looked up at him slowly from the page you were focusing on, a huge smile gracing his face making him seem almost childlike. You raised an eyebrow at him, and he plopped down on the blanket next to you, peering at the paper in front of you.

 “Don’t you ever get tired of drawing me?” Taehyung asked, meeting your eyes. You could feel your pulse quicken. You had known this man for seven months now and you still couldn’t get over how your body reacts to the way he looked at you.

  “Don’t you have a billion pictures of me on that camera of yours?” You asked. He licked his lips and looked away knowing damn well he did have many pictures of you on his camera and you had proven your point.

 He then looked back into your eyes, “So, girl under the tree, is there any way I could talk you into kissing me on the lips right now or is it too much to ask?”

  You rolled your eyes at him and pushed his chest away from you. He chuckled and turned back towards you, eyes finding yours again. He slowly closed in the gap between the two of you and placed a soft kiss on your own. Even the smallest thing could make your heart soar. If there was any problem, it would be that you were absolutely and utterly engulfed in everything that Taehyung was. He was genuine and passionate, and it fueled your own drive. You both fed off each other’s energy and to be honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Just go take pictures of something,” You mumbled, his face still inches away from your own. He cracked a lopsided smile and backed away, pushing himself back off the ground and putting his camera back around his neck.

 “Don’t miss me too much,” He teased, and you were just happy that he had turned around quick enough he couldn’t see the red in your face because the last thing you needed was another reason for him to keep flustering you.

[athenagc94]

Gust and Piper - Beginnings Pt. 4

This one is a lot longer than the others, but I wasn’t sure how else to break it up based on the next part, so I just put it all in one.  I know the brooch comes from Walnut Grove, but let’s just pretend it came from Atara instead.

You can read the first the other parts here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

I’m also posting the story here on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gust wet his lips with his tongue as he peered closely between the canvas in front of him and the setting sun.  It was quiet.  The only sound around him was the lazy flow of the river beside him and the occasional grunt from QQ who snoozed at his feet. He brought his paintbrush to the canvas and added some purple where the sky met the water.  The purple bled into a gradient of pink and orange that mirrored the sky overhead.  He glanced back at the sunset. It was quickly disappearing on the horizon, so he didn’t have much time before it was dark. The pains of being a landscape artist.  Time was rarely on his side and with autumn quickly approaching, the days were getting shorter.

“So is this one of those important tasks you were telling me about?”

Gust tore his eyes away from the canvas.  Piper watched him curiously, hands placed firmly on her hips.  Her fishing rod was strapped to her back and he smelled the distinct odor of marine life that often followed his father after a day of fishing.  He wrinkled his nose at her and turned back to his canvas.  “It is.”

“Oh really?” Her voice was closer now, but he didn’t look up.  He was on a race against the clock.  He wouldn’t indulge her, not this time. “Because this looks a lot like a frivolous activity if you ask me.” “Well, I wasn’t asking you.”

She didn’t respond and he, for a brief moment, believed she had left.  “So you’re a painter too?”  Gust sighed heavily.  He should have known better.   Piper wasn’t perturbed by his temperament.  She never backed down, she always came back, and Gust let her.  It appears they both were gluttons for punishment.  The rank stench of fish was stronger now as Piper regarded the painting over his shoulder.  “This is beautiful,” she said, “but could you maybe save some talent for the rest of us?”

His lip curled.  “I’m good because I practice,” he said firmly, “years in front of a canvas have led me to where I am today.  I can’t rely on talent alone.”  He mixed a little more pink in with the purple to soften the transition from one color to the next.  “It’s not my fault if other’s fall short by comparison.”

“Light, you take everything so seriously.”  

“What can I say, I’m a straight shooter.”  He heard her shuffling around behind him, but he still didn’t look at her.  The sun was almost gone now.  He didn’t have time to argue with her, but after a few moments, the sound of snuffling and squeals filled the air.  Gust glanced down.  QQ had disappeared from around his feet, but he could hazard a guess of where he’d gone to.  A certain builder liked to slip him an aroma apple anytime she visited the office, so it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

“Can you stop feeding QQ?  He’s getting fat.”

Piper chuckled.  “But he’s such a nice piggy. He deserves all the treats,” she cooed, “besides, I heard an apple a day keeps the doctor away.  Why shouldn’t that apply to pigs as well?” Gust rolled his eyes and turned away from his easel.  Piper sat in the grass as QQ inhaled the sliced apple she’d laid out in front of him.  She scratched him affectionately behind the ear.  “Such a good boy,” she continued, “You’re perfect, don’t listen to your grumpy owner.”  She shot Gust a cheeky smile.

“Well, this grumpy owner is the one who has to deal with that stupid pig at the end of the day,” Gust snapped back, “so I think I know what’s best for him.”

“No offense, but you don’t really strike me as someone who would know or care how to take care of a pig,” she shot back, “you strike me as more of a cat person.  They’re easy to look after, with a mild disinterest in everything and everyone, just like you.”  He glared at her and she stuck her tongue out at him.  “Just saying.”

“QQ was given to me by my Master when I was studying in Atara.  She said I was boring and thought caring for a pet might broaden my horizons.”  Piper scratched QQ under his chin and he nuzzled closer with a happy squeal.

“Well, you’re a lot of things Gust.”  She was cradling QQ in her lap now and the pig looked like he was living his best life.  “But I would never describe you as boring.”  He straightened in his seat, taken aback.  He wasn’t sure how to respond.  Obviously, he didn’t find himself boring.  He had intricate depth and creativity on his side, though those facets of his being were rarely ever acknowledged by others.

“But it must have been QQ this whole time.”  Piper winked and Gust visibly bristled.  “So, maybe there was a method to your Master’s madness.”

Gust snorted.  “I still think it was all an elaborate prank for her.”

Piper hummed.  “I mean, it is a little funny, too.  As I said, you’re an unlikely pair, but I think QQ likes you.  Isn’t that right, buddy.”  QQ gave her another happy snuffle.  “That’s what I thought.  You love your owner.”

“QQ doesn’t have the capacity to love.  He’s a pig.”  With a sniff, he turned back to his painting.  The sun was barely visible now and he sighed.  So much for finishing this piece before the light was gone.  “Still, I care for him because he was given to me by my Master.”

“You’re telling me that you keep QQ out of spite?” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I don’t believe that.”  She was back at his side now, QQ in her arms.  “Look at this face and tell me it doesn’t make your ice cold heart melt.”  Gust arched an eyebrow as she raised QQ at eye level.  He nuzzled up against his cheek.  Gust tried to keep a straight face, but he smiled despite himself.  “I knew it. You care about him.”

“One is bound to get attached to an animal when they’re in your care,” Gust deadpanned as he took QQ and placed him back on the ground.  The pig bounded across the grass to chase some fireflies that had just emerged.  He watched him go fondly.  “But I should pack up,” he continued as he began gathering his paints, “I lost the light, so I’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

Piper looked up with a frown.  “My bad,” she muttered.

“It’sー” He paused, considering his next words.  Piper had pulled him away from his work, as she was known to do.  But he’d allowed himself to be distracted, so it wasn’t only Piper’s fault.  And honestly, he’d take any excuse to get out of his home for another evening.  “It’s fine, I probably wouldn’t have finished the painting this evening anyway.”

“You sure?”  Gust only hummed in response as he packed up his easel.  “I could try to work with the ladies at the Research Center to see if we could make you a light.  In case you ever want to do painting in the evening?”

“I assure you, it’s fine.  I was painting a sunset and that sunset is now gone.”  He threw his bag over his shoulder and balanced his canvas in his hands, careful to not smudge the wet paint.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head home.”  He gave her a curt nod and brushed past her before she had a chance to respond.  She didn’t follow him .  He tried to ignore that little voice at the back of his mind that was wishing she had.

↢↢↢↣↣↣

The sound of pencil on paper always calmed Gust. It was therapeutic for him.  He could press as hard as he’d like on a pencil and if it broke, so be it.  He scrutinized the messy sketch in front of him.  His lines were heavy and dark today.  The preliminary design for the new relic museum was slowly taking shape.  It was tame compared to his other work.  A classic two storied building with a cross gabled roof, crafted from polished white stone.  He’d add his own flair to it, of course.  

He traced the curve of one of the large arched windows.  They would be the star of the show if he had his way.  Stained glass.  A wonderful mid morning sun would create a fantastical lighting display in the museum.  His own masterpiece to go down in history. “Stained glass, huh?”  Gust’s blood ran cold.  Piper’s breath tickled the back of his neck.  How long had she been there?  How did he not notice?  He swallowed the gasp that threatened to spill out.  “Who’s going to be the poor builder who has to make all that glass for you?”  There was teasing lilt to her voice.

“I’m just drafting some ideas,” he set his pencil aside and swiveled in his seat, “nothing’s set inー”  The words died on his lips as he balked at the sight in front of him.  Piper was a mess.  Her face was flushed, breathing hard, like she’d just finished running a marathon.  Her wheat colored hair was plastered to her skin, drenched in sweat.  “What in Light’s name happened to you,” his lip curled at her the mud and sand she’d trekked up the stairs, “you’re filthy.”

Piper rolled her eyes and pushed her bangs out of her eyes.  They were sticking up straight now.  She didn’t seem to notice.  His fingers twitched in his lap, but he resisted the urge to fix them.  Instead, he chose to stare at them helplessly.  “I just got back from the ruins in the Eufaula Desert,” she explained with a shrug, “I feel the heat out there a little more than I do here.  Trekking across sand isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”  Gust couldn’t argue with that.  He’d only visited the Eufaula once since the bridge opened and he had no intention of returning.  “But,” she continued with an enthusiastic smile, “I came here for a reason.”

“Oh really?” He tried to hide the smile in his voice.  “You aren’t just here to irritate me?”

“You know that’s my favorite pastime, but no, not this time.”  She reached for the bag slung across her shoulder.  There was the distinct clink of rocks and metals as she shuffled through its contents.  “Here we go.” She tugged a book out of her bag and presented it to him.  “Tada!  Structural Dimension Theory by,” she paused and glanced at the cover, “Vincent Azula!”  

Gust’s eyes widened.  The cover was a little battered and it was covered in a thin layer of mineral dust, but he could read the title plain as day.  He’d been searching for a copy of this book for years.  He’d scoured the Free Cities.  He sent letters to fellow architects.  He even asked his Master to keep an eye out during her travels.  Nothing had come of it.  “How did you find this?”

“I found it while I was digging around in the mine,” she pushed it a little closer, “hence the dirt.”

He reached forward to touch it, but stopped himself.  Why was she giving it to him?  This book belonged in a museum, not his bookshelf.  She could sell it and make a fortune.  Instead, she was just giving it to him.  He didn’t do anything to deserve it.  His hand fell back into his lap.

“Do you know how valuable that is?”

“Do I care?” She tilted her head at him, “Albert told me you were itching to get your hands on a copy and I found one.  I want you to be the one to have it.”

“Well, I don’t want to take it.”

He winced.  That’s not what he meant.  He wanted to take it very much, but she was wasting it on him.  Piper’s expression fell, the disappointment clear on her face.  She was terrible at hiding her emotions.  The exact opposite of him.  He lacked the ability to appropriately convey his emotions.  It’s how he found himself in situations like these.  He couldn’t even describe what he was feeling right now.  Shame? Guilt? A deeply rooted sense of self loathing?  Probably a lovely mixture of all three.  Piper was giving it to him.  He shouldn’t turn away because he felt he didn’t deserve it.  That wasn’t his choice to make.  He turned away from her to hide the angry blush burning in his cheeks.  “You can set it over there.”  Piper didn’t respond.  A part of him was afraid she’d left.  He wouldn’t have blamed her.  

“But you just said…” Piper trailed off.

Gust breathed a sigh of relief.  She was still there.  “That’s not what I meant,” he managed softly, “it’s a rare find and you’re just giving it to me.  I was just surprised.  Set it over there.”  He gestured to table off to the side.  “You went through the trouble of bringing it here, I might as well read it.”  He grimaced.  For once in his life, he wanted to say what he meant.  Thank her, you coward. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?”  She sounded confused.  That made two of them.  “I hope you enjoy it.”

Gust didn’t trust himself to speak, so he settled for a dismissive wave.  Not much better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  Her heavy footfalls retreated back down the stairs, then the jingle of the front door.  When he was certain she was out of sight, he let his head fall forward with a groan.  He tapped his forehead, once, twice, against his drafting table.  A disaster.  He was a disaster.

“And you say I’m bad with women?”

Gust glanced up. Albert leaned against the banister of the stairs a cheeky grin playing on his lips.  He hated when Albert gave him that look.  It meant he felt like gloating and he was not in the mood for Albert to get on his high horse.  He massaged his temples.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on mate,” Albert threw his hands into the air, “You used to be so charming and talkative when we were in Atara.  You had men and women eating out the palm of your hand and now you can’t even thank someone properly for their incredibly thoughtful gift. What happened?”

Gust fiddled with his watch.  What hadn’t happened?  He’d abandoned his family and fled to the city with no intentions of returning.  Now that he was back, he had to face the consequences of his actions.  He doted on his sister.  He tried to make up for the time they’d lost, but it was clear that she’d grown up without him.  They spent time together, but he could feel the unspoken tension.  They never talked about the manner in which he’d left.  There was an elephant in the room and neither of them made any attempt to address it.  His father.  He bit the inside of his cheek.  Well, his father had Mint who was, by all intents and purposes, more deserving of his father’s affection and attention.  Mint could be the man and son Gust never could.  Portia had been his home, but now he was the stranger.  He had no right to feel bitter and alone.  He’d done this to himself.

“I have no interest in charming the people here.”  That much was true.  He couldn’t fix what he’d done, so he just didn’t bother anymore.  It didn’t matter what he did, whether he was kind or mean.  His future was set in stone as long as he lived in Portia.

Albert shook his head.  “You’re allowed to make friends.”

“I’m not here to make friends.  I’m here to do a job,” Gust replied with a pointed look in his direction, “As are you, we’re building our reputation.  When that happens, we can move onto bigger and better things.  This way, I won’t have any attachments holding me back when that happens.”

↢↢↢↣↣↣

Gust wandered the streets of Atara.  He knew these roads like the back of his hand.  He’d spent his free time as a student exploring every inch of the city.  It’s how he found his favorite cafe.  It sold the best coffee and it was where he and Albert had hatched their original plan for A&G Construction.  He almost smiled at the memory.  They had a lot of dreams back then.

Today, he’d decided to meander through the market district before he had to meet Albert for a long day of schmoozing.  People surrounded him on all sides, but he relished the bustling energy around him.  They were strangers.  They had their own lives and they didn’t bother themselves with knowing him or his business.  It was so unlike Portia.  

A gentle smile settled across his face as he followed the flow of traffic.  He was on a mission this morning.  Ginger’s birthday was in a few months and he wanted to find something to bring back home for her.  Perhaps there was a new book that he could get his hands on.  Anything to get her to stop raving about Journey to the East.  If he heard her gush about Albert’s thoughtful present one more time, he might just scream, especially when he knew where the book really came from.

He glanced at the shop stalls with mild disinterest.  Nothing really stood out to him.  Most of these shops sold boring knick-knacks.  Cheap and plentiful.  There was nothing of real value, and certainly nothing worth giving his sister.  Just as he was resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t find anything, he paused.  A small display of jewelry and brooches was set up on the side of the road, glistening softly in the mid morning sun.  He examined the pieces for a few moments, but one in particular kept drawing his eye.

It was a brooch, reminiscent of a pinecock feather.  A gradient of gemstones went from deep emerald to a pale blue and the golden frame was lined with pearls.  It was beautifully crafted.  It made him think of Piper.  He knew she  would appreciate the steady hand it took to make it.  It would also compliment her complexion.  He shook his head, mentally scolding himself.  No.  He was looking for a gift for his sister, not Piper.  He took a hesitant step away from the display, but couldn’t manage another.  His eyes stayed trained on that brooch.

He was conflicted.  On the one hand, getting Piper a gift wouldn’t be completely out of the question.  She had given him a birthday present and that architecture book, so getting her something in kind would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?  But on the other hand, he didn’t want the ramifications that came with giving her a gift.  If others found out, they’d read into it and then rumors would start to fly.  The last thing he wanted was for people to be prying into his personal affairs.

He willed his feet to move, to put these silly thoughts out of his head and continue down the street. He’d find something else for Ginger and he’d meet back up with Albert at the exhibition hall.  They’d charm investors and showcase the wonderful projects he’d spent months working on, then they’d come home.  He’d act like nothing had happened because it hadn’t.  Simple.  A moment passed, then another.  People pushed past him on the streets and for the first time he felt smothered by the city crowd.  Another moment passed and he swore under his breath. He reached for the gols in his pocket, and before he could stop himself, he was waving the shopkeeper over.

↢↢↢↣↣↣

The sun had just broken over the horizon when Gust slipped out into the quiet streets of Portia that morning.  He wanted to catch Piper before she made her rounds through town, away from prying eyes.  In order to do this, he knew he had to get to her workshop at the crack of dawn. He had no idea how Piper did this every day.  He often saw her milling about during his late night strolls with Ginger, so he knew she worked into the late hours of the night.  There were rumors of her passing out on more than one occasion.  Yet, without fail, she managed to roll out of bed each morning with a smile on her face.

He muffled a yawn in his hand as he watched the sun peek over the front gates. Sunrises were never really his thing.  He preferred the calm that came with a sunset and the promise of night.  The rich pinks and oranges of a sunset were richer than the pale hues that currently colored the sky overhead.

As he approached the town gates, he placed a hand protectively over his pocket.  The brooch shifted under his fingers as he walked.  He was only slightly embarrassed that he’d practiced what he was going to say this morning while he was getting ready.  He saw the brooch while traveling in Atara and thought it would suit her.  Simple, easy to remember, there was no way he could mess it up.

The soft, ceaseless, hum of her machines filled the air as he approached Pipes & Bricks.  Piper was currently bent over her skiver, unloading several bolts of fine leather.  Today, she’d traded her usual top knot for a simple braid.  Small wispy curls had already come loose and framed her face.  It was a surprisingly delicate look for her.  He willed his heart to stop racing as he cleared his throat.

“Good morning, Piper.”

She looked up from her machine and he noted the smudged grease across the bridge of her nose. “Gust?” The surprise on her face was quickly replaced by an amused smile.  “Do my eyes deceive me or is Mr. Clean Freak coming to my workshop of his own freewill?  Surely, the Dark Ages are back upon us.”

Gust teased his lower lip between his teeth.  This was out of character for him.  He realized that now, standing on the other side of her gate.  Her surprise was warranted.  He never went out of his way to visit anyone, yet, here he was at an ungodly hour just to give her a present.  Panic began to fester in the pit of his stomach.  He hadn’t even considered what this would look like to Piper.

If she had suspicions, she didn’t let it show as she continued, “What can I do for you?  Got a commission for me?  That’s normally why people stop by these days.”  She sighed wistfully.  “You know, I’d love it if someone stopped by just to say hello.”

“Albert and I went to Atara last week.” Gust wanted to kick himself.

Piper gave him an owlish look.  “Yeah, I know,” she said slowly, “you’ve been raving about your exhibition for months.  Did it go well?”

“It went surprisingly well,” he tried to play it cool but the excitement in his voice was undeniable, “We had a lot of interest from investors, so we’ll see what happens.”  Gust and Albert were pretty happy about this development.  Sure, Albert was still nursing the remnants of a hangover after all the schmoozing and Gust had locked himself away for a few days to recover himself.  People were draining in general, but those events always killed him.  Their hard work paid off though.  Albert had a meeting with an investor later this week.

“Well, that’s great to hear.  I told you everything would be fine.”

“I guess you were.”  He gave her a soft smile and she returned it.  “Oh right,” he tugged the brooch out of his pocket and offered it to her, “I got this.”

Piper set the bolts aside and crossed the yard to get a closer look.  Her eyes widened and there was the faintest hitch in her breath.  The panic in his chest was quickly replaced with a sense of pride.  She liked it.  He could tell by the sparkle in her eyes.  “It’s gorgeous,” she sounded breathless, “is it for Ginger?  Her birthday is coming up in a few months, isn’t it?”

Gust’s expression fell.  She thought it was for Ginger.  It was obviously for her.  The jewels matched the blue flecks in her eyes and the gold inlay complimented her sun kissed complexion.  It was practically made to be worn by her.  That’s why he bought it.

“W-What no, this isn’t herーwhy would Iー”  His brief bout of confidence was waning fast.  He hadn’t anticipated the confusion, but he could still save this.  He just needed to get the conversation back on track and stick to the facts.  “Actually, Albert gave it to me.”  The lie tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.  He sucked in his breath through gritted teeth.  Gust was a lot of things.  Crass, rude, more than a little evasive and standoffish, but he wasn’t a liar.  In fact, he considered himself truthful to a fault.  Still, he found himself lying.  The worst part, there was no need to lie in this situation, but his mouth refused to listen as he continued to spout bullshit. “I have no need for it.  So, you should take it.”  He offered it to her.  “Consider it payment for the book.”

Piper looked taken aback by his abruptness.  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she scratched sheepishly at the nape of her neck, “but you do realize the concept of a gift, right?”  Gust’s brain was short-circuiting, he tried to respond, but he could only stare at her.  This was a quickly sinking ship and he needed to get away, but his feet wouldn’t move.  He wanted to scream.  “The book I gave you was a gift,” she continued slowly, “you don’t have to pay me back.  I wanted you to have it.”

And he wanted her to have this brooch.  Wasn’t that much obvious?  He narrowed his eyes at her.  “I understand that,” he said tersely, “I’m just trying toー” He paused.  What was he trying to do?  At the moment, he was trying to end this conversation so he could go and sulk somewhere far away from her, but he couldn’t even manage that. His fingers closed around the brooch, its sharp edges digging into his palm.  “Nevermind, if you don’t want it, I’ll find someoneー”

“Woah there buddy,” Piper reached forward and wrapped her fingers around his wrist.  Her grip was surprisingly strong as she tugged him closer.  “I never said I wouldn’t take the brooch.  I just wanted to clarify that what I gave you was a gift.”  She offered him a small smile.  “I appreciate that you thought of me.  It’s beautiful, so I’d be happy to take it off your hands, as a gift.”

Gust stared at her.  She was able to say what he couldn’t.  He’d come to her workshop to give her a gift and he couldn’t even articulate his true intentions.  He’d lied to her.  Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach, but there was something else in the mix.  It was a feeling he felt in the quiet hours of the night or when one of his concepts was ripped apart by a client.  Shame.  He was ashamed of himself.  It had taken a brooch to make him see how socially stunted he’d become.  Now he really wanted to go home and sulk.

“Payment, gift, whatever.  Just take it.”

Piper plucked the brooch from his hand and fastened it to the front of her coveralls.  The jewels glistened faintly in the early morning sun. “What do you think?” her tone was bright as she placed a hand on her hip, “I think it brings out the grease stains on these things, but in a cute way, ya know?”

Gust swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in his throat.  He wanted to feel good.  He’d given her the brooch after all.  But this entire ordeal made him feel empty.  He forced a smile across his face, but he knew it came out more like a sneer.   “You’re hopeless.”  There was a brittle edge to his voice and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was calling Piper hopeless.  Or himself?  He needed to leave before he made things worse.  “I should go,” he spun on his heel and hurried back up the path, “try not to visit the office today.  You’re loud and distracting.”

“I make no promises.”

“Goodbye Piper.”

“Hey Gust.”  He paused and turned back over his shoulder.  She offered him a small wave.  “Thanks for stopping by to say hi.  Don’t be a stranger.”