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day-writingdaydreams · 4 years ago

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You Will Be Found - Chapt. 1 Anybody Have A Map?

A big Thank You to @khanofallorcs for being a wonderful Beta, and to @noirequin for creating the Spin the Record Challenge

Can also be read on AO3

🎵“And the scary truth is I’m flying blind, and I’m making this up as I go!”🎵

“Marinette, are you okay?”

Marinette turned slightly from her position, leaning on the railing of her balcony, looking out at the world to see the little red and black spotted being who had asked her the question.

“Yeah, Tikki,” she said in a quiet, almost sad voice. “I just… woke up an hour ago and couldn’t fall back asleep. So I decided to come up here to do some thinking.”

Tikki flew over to her chosen, a concerned look crossing her tiny little face as she faced her. “What seems to be troubling you?”

The dark-haired girl blew out a raspberry, ruffling her fringe. “The question should be what isn’t troubling me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” she trailed off, the beginnings of being overwhelmed evident on her face

“Can we try to have an optimistic outlook?” The Kwami of Creation interrupted her holder, knocking her out of the downward spiral for the moment. “Can we buck up just enough to see the world won't fall apart? Maybe this day we decide we’re not giving up before we’ve tried? Today, let's make a new start.” Tikki said as she gave Marinette’s cheek a nuzzle.

A sudden noise interrupted them, making the two glance in the direction from whence it came. Noticing it was her phone with a notification, the designer picked it up to see that Alya had texted her.

“I wonder what Alya wants this early,” Marinette said with a sidelong glance to her Kwami. Tikki gave her a shrug, just as confused as the girl sitting beside her.

Ladyblogger: hey gurl wat up?

R u excited about 2day’s project?

MDCDesigns: Yas!

I can’t wait 2 c who I’m partnered with!

Ladyblogger: Whoa!

Ur awake!

Wait, y r u awake?

MDCDesigns: Couldn’t sleep.

Ladyblogger: That sux

So…

Who do u think ur partner is gonna b?

MDCDesigns: idk

But I hope its not Chloe

Or Lila

Ladyblogger: y not Lila?

MDCDesigns: sorry Als,

No offense

but...

I don’t trust her on a project this big

Ladyblogger: gurl.

�� I don’t know what ur issue is wit Lila

but u need to stop being jelly of her

“How did this get turned into me being jealous of her?” Marinette asked out loud, turning to face the little red embodiment of Creation with wide eyes.

Turning back to her text conversation, the dark-haired girl furrowed her brows as she tried to get her point across to her supposed “best friend”.

“Another stellar conversation for the scrapbook,” the dark haired girl quoted with a sigh as she began typing again.

MDCDesigns: I am NOT jealous of her, Als!

I just don’t trust her.

Ladyblogger: so you say gurl

I’ll see u in class

“Another stumble as I’m reaching for the right thing to say,” she muttered quietly with a shake of her head, dismayed at the direction the conversation had taken. “I’m kinda coming up empty, can't find my way to you...”

MDCDesigns: yeah...see u

With a sigh, Marinette exited the text messaging program, checked the time, and slipped her phone into her handbag. It was still pretty early for her to head to school, but she figured that there was a first time for everything.

“It's a ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ kind of day, isn’t it, Marinette,” Tikki commented as she phased into the bag, giving her holder a sympathetic look as she did.

“Oh, Tikki,” the designer said with a humorless chuckle, pinching the bridge of her nose as she headed towards her trap door. “It most certainly is!”

Her parents were surprised to see their perpetually late daughter up and about so early.

”Marinette,” her mom called out before the girl could make her escape. ”We’re going to need you to help out after school today. A big order came in that your father and I need your help to take care of for tonight.”

The dark-haired girl stifled a grimace. She normally didn't mind helping out in the bakery, but today wasn't exactly a normal day.

”I would, Maman, but I'm being assigned a big group project at school today, and I'm not sure when the due date is yet,” Marinette said tactfully.

”I know that your schoolwork comes first, dear,” Sabine countered gracefully as her husband lumbered over to join the pair. ”However, we really could use your help. It would only be for about an hour, give or take.”

It was the give or take that worried her.

Resigned to her fate, Marinette bowed her head dejectedly and mumbled, ”Yes, Maman.”

”Thank you. You're a good girl, Marinette, ” said her father, patting her on the back before heading back to the ovens.

Grabbing a croissant and a to-go cup of coffee, Marinette left her parents with a kiss to their cheeks and a wave before starting her daily walk to school.

As she started up the stairs at the school’s entrance, she was met with the one person who would sour her day.

Lila.

“Well, if it isn’t Mari-brat,” the Italian vixen sneered.

“What do you want, Lie-la?” Marinette asked as she continued up the front steps, keeping her eyes to the front.

“What I want is for you to go down in flames,” the brunette said in a sing-song voice as she walked beside the secret heroine. “Are you ready to give up yet?”

At the top of the stairs, the designer spun to face her nemesis, blue eyes flashing like lightning. “Let me tell you something,” she growled. “I do not make deals with liars, and I never give up easily.”

“Oh,” the fake fox said coyly, “but you will. I’ve already won, you know. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

With a flick of her brown locks, Lila sauntered away, ready to claim her next victim.

Marinette glared after her, wishing with all of her might that the bitch would finally get caught up in her web of lies. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“Another masterful attempt ends with disaster,” she muttered, bringing a hand to her face to give it a slight rub. “Pour another cup of coffee and watch it all crash and burn,” she continued as she headed to the locker room, ready to just get the day over with.

Opening the door and finding the room empty, the designer kept singing under her breath as she reached her locker and gathered her belongings for the day. “It’s a puzzle, it's a maze. I tried to steer through it a million ways, but each day’s another wrong turn,” she took another deep breath as she closed the locker door. The secret heroine felt her Kwami pat her through her purse on her hip in reassurance.

“Does anybody have a map, anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this? I don’t know if you can tell, but this is me just pretending to know,” Marinette sang slightly louder, looking around as she left the locker room and crossed the courtyard, confident now that no one was paying attention to her. “So where’s the map? I need a clue, ‘cause the scary truth is I’m flying blind… I’m flying blind... I’m flying blind, and I’m making this up as I go...”

Reaching her classroom, Marinette discovered it to be empty. 'Just as well,' she thought, setting her bags down and pulling out her tablet, sketchbook, phone, and earbuds. ‘It's bound to be a long day.'

Feeling inspired, she sat down and opened up her sketchbook to an empty page. She then pulled up the ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ soundtrack on her phone, plugged in her earbuds, and set to work.

Are you interested in reading and writing fanfiction, making fanart or cosplaying/roleplaying for Miraculous? Then the Miraculous Fanworks Discord Server is the place for you! Come and join over 1000 other fans as we share, discuss, and have a general good time bonding over the Fandom we all love!

@miraculousfanworks

#you will be found #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #Val tries to write #write val write #spin the record challenge #MLFanworks

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imnotcameraready · 6 years ago

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Enjambment (chivalry au)

A/N: it’s the first not-main-story story!!!! wrote this while tryna figure out how to get from point a to point b, and it doesn’t really fit in with the story’s Flow, so it’s gonna be its own lil part! it’s also got a little bit more character building for the Playwright and the Artist, if anyone wanted that lm a o — they’re good bois, they’re just. really bad at being good bois.

also i kNOW chapter 11 came out like, last night, but ,. ., ., .. . ive had this sitting ready for literally a week ., ,. ,.. sorry for bombarding y’all with this au :’’D

WARNINGS: self-deprecation, self-hate, touch starved, threats, cursing/swearing, destruction of property, destruction of art (ewe)

Words: 2085

AO3 link to this story; AO3 link to chivalry’s main plot

MASTERPOST! <-- i dont think this story is understandable without reading the other parts, hence im plugging it so much ; v; i’m sorry y’all ilu <3

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil

general tag: @jemthebookworm

hope you enjoy!! <3 <3 <3

The Playwright didn’t like admitting he was wrong. He often wasn’t. Having the position of an omniscient narrator meant he got to be right a lot, which was one of Roman’s favorite things.

But his argument with the Artist may not have been one of those “right” things. The Playwright leaned on the table, twirling a pencil absentmindedly as he contemplated. He wasn’t entirely wrong, no. The Artist had to keep in mind the safety of the other Sides. If anything happened to any of them, Thomas would be hurt, and Roman would riot. Every bit of him, except for…. The Playwright winced. On the other hand, this in-fighting was exactly what they should be countering. Sure, everyone disagreed and that was the purpose of this dismantling, but the Playwright was above these squabbles. Should be above them, figuratively, because in physical space, he very much was above them.

Apologizing would be the logical thing to do.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t enjoy entering the medieval town, didn’t like going deeper into the Imagination, but it seemed he would traverse there more often.

The sound of a paper flipping caught his attention. His eyes shot open as he looked around the room. No one was there.

But he’d definitely heard movement. The Playwright swallowed down his fear. “Hello?” he called out.

Nothing. None of the costumes had moved, none of the shoes or benches or any of his paperwork.

Wait, no, there was something. The Playwright moved a few scraps to the side and picked up an envelope. This hadn’t been there before.

Cordial invitation of Roman ‘Playwright’ Sanders to the Entry Gala — in celebration of Morality, Logic, Anxiety, and Deceit’s welcome to the Imagination.

The Playwright’s eyes widened. Oh, fuck.

He tore the envelope open and read its contents.

The Artist wept.

He ran his hand along the ruined canvas — ruined by his hand, torn open with his own knife and dirtied with his tears — and pressed it fast to his chest.

Why was he so mean? Why did it hurt so much, for his creations to be picked at like vultures and a carcass? Wasn’t that the point, wasn’t that how artists improved?

Ah, who was he kidding. He wasn’t a real artist at all. Just a name he’d selected when they first started this game.

The Artist was so wrapped up in his lamentations that he didn’t hear the soft sound of paper falling onto the floor beside him.

He shouted again, cradling the broken mess of canvas and wooden frames. All good artists got second opinions. No one was safe from criticism, and there was always room for improvement! He should know this, he DID know that, it was reasonable. But hearing it from the others always made him so anxious—

He sniffed, wiping his face with the paw of his sweatshirt. If he was falling apart this bad, it must mean he was losing this challenge thing. But thinking of anxiety and then, well, Anxiety, Virgil…. the Artist wished he’d gotten to meet the two, too. Like every other bit, he did love them.

The sound of debris being scattered, then a surprised yelp. The Artist sighed, curling up tighter. God fucking damnit.

“What—I’ve—Artist?!” the Playwright asked.

The Artist was sat against the wall, cradling a bundle of broken paintings to his chest, previously white sweater dirtied with layers upon layers of paint. All around him, every painting that has previously been neatly stacked in the room was torn to shreds. Broken pieces of wood and canvases halved were strewn around the room in piles, or one thick pile, with only a small circle of ground around the Artist. Sketchbooks were torn, even the drawing tablet was — okay, the Playwright wasn’t going to look at that and think of the physical monetary price, because none of this was real. Holy shit, the Artist had put a hole into the wall of his house. There was a hole? He’d punched a hole into the wall? Good heavens.

The Playwright, in an effort to not damage any of his art, accidentally appeared on top of one of the piles. He fell over, landing on his butt amongst the shreds, and looked around wildly.

“What happened?” he asked once he caught sight of the Artist’s frozen figure in the corner, still since he arrived, “Did Dragon—”

“They weren’t good enough, so I tore them up,” the Artist whispered into his own folded arms.

The Playwright’s brow pinched in worry. That had happened only a few times before, where a single work had been so terrible that the Artist ripped it to shreds in anger, but he’d never done….this. And he especially wouldn’t have done this, since he had numerous pieces he wanted to show the other Sides.

He drew in a breath as his mind filled in the gap.

“Oh, Artist, what did they say?” the Playwright whispered, pushing himself up and slowly making his way closer.

“Nothing. Get away.”

He grit his teeth. The Artist was going to be difficult, wasn’t he? Now, now, it wasn’t a good time to lose his temper. He came with a job to do, and he wasn’t cruel enough to leave the Artist to be upset alone. And he needed his help. This was purely logical.

He wanted to laugh. Being logical was so taxing; how did Logan do it all the time?

“Artist. I’m not leaving,” the Playwright sat in front of him, “I take it that Logic and Morality didn’t take well to your paintings?”

He glanced up at the Playwright, quick enough to now show an expression but slow enough that the Playwright caught a glimpse of his tearstained eyes.

“They–They said my art’s unfinished. Logic did.”

The Playwright frowned. “Wait. That’s it?”

The Artist curled up more, and the Playwright gently put a hand on his forearm. “Wait, wait, I didn’t mean it judgy. I just….that’s something you’ve complained about, too.”

To that, the Artist shot him a small glare. When the Playwright put it like that, then the Artist’s reaction seemed childish. “Yeah, but,” he sighed, “I didn’t want them to say anything about it.”

“Then why didn’t you warn them about it?” the Playwright asked, confused.

“Look, I don’t–I don’t know!” the Artist tossed the painting he was cradling aside and ran his hands through his hair, “It all happened so fast, and Padre was getting mad at me for not letting Child stay here. It—they both got upset at me, and they interrupted my painting, and Padre kept hugging me and it felt weird.”

The Playwright exhaled. He put a mental pin on the hugging thing — a similar thing had happened to him the other day, and he would have to talk to the others about what may be occurring — and then scooted closer again, sitting beside the Artist.

“Seeing as I wasn’t there, I cannot speak to what your argument may have been about. But I know that Logic and Morality wouldn’t have wanted to intentionally harm us.”

“How do you know, Pencil pusher?” the Artist hissed, though his words held an emptiness that betrayed his disbelief.

“Because they wouldn’t. They’re calloused, but they wouldn’t hurt us. Maybe Prince.”

The Artist snorted. “You really hate that guy.”

The Playwright smiled. Good. He cleared his throat and threw up his hands in the Prince’s signature style. “Hoo hoo, look at me, I’m a Disney Prince and I like singing songs and being an idiot!” he said, mockingly emphasizing a mispronunciation of “Disney.”

That got the Artist to laugh, shoving the Playwright gently. “Hey, hey, Disney’s cool! I’ll defend Disney to the death,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

The tension returned, but only slightly. The Playwright didn’t want to push him, but he was a little impatient for the Artist to pull himself together. His feet gently tapped against the ground in a small, familiar tune.

After what seemed like ages, the Artist let out a breath.

“....I did….overreact. A little,” he said. “The knife was too much.”

“A lot. Wait, did you say knife?”

“Yeah. I, um, I lost it a little.” He rubbed the back of his head again, looking up at the Playwright. “Thank you for sitting with me.”

The Playwright smiled. Wonderful. He patted the Artist’s arm comfortingly. “If I cannot comfort myself, then what am I doing?”

They both shared a small chuckle at that. It was easy to forget that they were two parts of a much more cohesive whole.

It was also easy to forget that the Playwright had something else he wanted to ask. He clapped, sitting upright and startling the Artist.

“Sorry,” he put his hands up, eyes blazing with new worry, “I actually came to ask something else — did you get invited to the party?”

The Artist’s brow furrowed. “The….party? No?”

“Oh, come, you must have,” the Playwright looked around.

The same envelope he’d received prior was sitting beside the Artist, on top of some of the ruined paintings. He picked it up and found two more envelopes beneath. “Great Ben Jonson, you got Logic and Morality’s invitations, too,” the Playwright flipped through the three cards and handed the one addressed to the Artist, to the Artist. “You must not have noticed it earlier. I got a letter similar, this morning. From Dragon.”

“From Dragon? Fuck, how’d he find us?” the Artist read the front and flipped it over again, tearing it open.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he just sent it to the location of whoever said Logic’s name last night. I also don’t know how he got backstage to deliver mine,” the Playwright read over his shoulder, “I honestly came here hoping to find the other Sides. We need to warn them.”

“We do? About what?” the Artist shot him a frown, but the Playwright just gestured to the paper, so he read the invitation.

His eyes scanned through it once. His body slowly tense as he realized what was being asked, and he flipped it over, checking all around the letter and the envelope that there wasn’t more.

“This,” the Artist reread the letter once more before lowering it and staring, stricken, at the Playwright, “This is a fucked up joke, right? Like, it’s gotta be a joke. Dragon’s Disney pranking us, without friends.”

“I don’t want to hazard that,” the Playwright stood up and motioned for the Artist to get up, “We need to find the others and warn them. If Logic and Morality’s invitations are here, then they must not know, and it’s a safe bet that if they don’t know, then Anxiety and Deceit don’t know, either.”

The Artist pushed himself up, rolling his sleeves up and wiping his face slowly. “He wouldn’t hurt them,” he mumbled. “Why’s he mentioning Prince, too?”

“I don’t know. And after what he did to Damsel?” The Artist rolled his eyes as the Playwright continued, “I don’t think Dragon would hesitate to hurt them, and he’s using the concept of Prince as bait.”

Goddamnit, he was probably right. The Artist rubbed his eyes and fixed his glasses. “Alright. I just,” God, he was hideous. “Should I change?”

The Playwright squinted. “Have you not left your house since this all started?”

“No,” the Artist looked at him like he was stupid, “Why would I?”

Alright. Alright, this was a predicament. The Playwright blew out a lot of air, eyebrows raising as he tried to figure out, in the most concise way, he could tell the Artist that he wanted to throttle him. His attire was absolutely not correct for the setting that they’d established, and he couldn’t fathom WHY the Artist wanted to parade around a medieval town looking like THAT.

No, you know what? It was fine. Sleep was walking around in a leather jacket, it’s FINE. Perhaps the Playwright was the only one who cared about the sanctity of the setting.

Meanwhile, the Artist looked around and waved his hand. The torn paintings all disappeared, leaving the room empty, looking larger than ever. The hole in the wall faded away, establishing itself as a solid wall once more. He looked down at his outfit and simply wiped it, the paint stains all disappearing as his hand passed over them, revealing a creamy-white color once more.

“That’s good enough,” the Playwright snapped, grabbing a fist of his shirt and tugging him forward, “Come on.”

#chivalry au #roman #roman sanders #ts roman #ts fanfic #sanders sides au #this is truly a sanders au lmasdlkghasldfkj #sanders sides #my fic #fic #now i get to do all the designs for the next part oh hell yes #i love designin fancy #its always s O FUN C ASLDKFHASLKDSHASLKDHASHLDKJSFF

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wintersxsoul · 6 years ago

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We are stardust (7)

Summary: Your favorite place on New York is a small coffee shop, what happens when one day you bump into a mysterious goth god and he keeps coming just to see you?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 1424

Warnings: Tons of fluff, mentions of sex, language

A/N: I wanna thank my carrot, @buckobarness, for the inspo and the bucket joke 💕

Was it scary to fall in love as fast and hard as you did in just a month? Fuck yes. But you couldn’t care less, he was an angel and an absolute dork.

You were in the coffee shop, tea cup in one hand and your graphic tablet in the other, you were finally finishing the last commision of the week.

You looked up and smiled at Bucky, who was sitting down in front of you, reading a book. He was flipping the pages delicately, his finger tapping gently the spine, his brow furrowed. He ran his hands through his hair and looked at you, immediately closing the book and holding your free hand.

“Are you okay?” He asked me, a little bit worried, probably because he was oblivious to what my expression meant.

“Yeah, just happy to be here with you.” You shot him a huge smile and he blushed, looking down at your intertwined fingers. After the night you both found out the truth about Dot, everything seemed to move forward way too fast. You felt better with yourself after lifting that weight off your shoulders, Bucky closed that page of his life and was ready to let you in, without any resentment towards you. You saw each other almost everyday, you spent a lot of sleepless nights having wild sex and talking about everything, past and future. You’ve learnt that he really was a space and NASA fan, he had a mug, books, shirts, three different caps, posters and he had in his apartment the “Observatory room”, which basically was a spare room he turned into an estudio and he even had a telescope. The ceiling was painted in a dark blue and had glow in the dark stars, forming constellations, the bookshelves were full and they had fairy lights. There was a white couch in a corner, with dark blue pillows and a side table, with a moon lamp on the center. It was one of your favorite places to be, after the coffee shop and his arms.

Bucky knew too well what he was feeling, but tried to deny it for a while. He thought he might scare you off if you found out he had fallen in love so fast. It's your fault, you can’t pretend I don’t fall when you’re so perfect, he often found himself thinking while looking at you laugh, or focused on something you loved doing, or when you looked at him with those big eyes.

“You wanna leave?” He asked you, looking at you with a glint in his eyes, smirking mischievously. You bit your lower lip, your panties already soaking wet. You nodded and stood up, packing everything and holding Bucky’s hand, leading him out to the cold rainy streets.

You were laying in bed in just your panties, Bucky sound asleep next to you, your legs tangled and the sheets covering the bare minimum. The raindrops hit the window like a melody, the moonlight and the small lamp in the nightstand illuminating the room with a dim light.

You grabbed your sketchbook and started doodling, plugging your phone to the speakers and played soft music. After an hour or so, your eyes were sore and teary cause of the lack of sleep, so you snuggled closer to Bucky and fell asleep.

The sunlight hit your bare back, showing all your freckles perfectly. Bucky knew most of them by heart, he studied them like they were his private constellations, stars dangling in his own universe. Your hair was scattered on the pillow and covering half of your face, he gently removed some strands from your face and gave you a kiss on the top of your head. You sighed in your sleep and squeezed the pillow. Bucky leaned on his side and began to caress with his fingertips your back, waking you up with a soft smile on your lips.

“Good morning, beautiful.” His voice was still full of sleep, Sleeping At Last was still playing on the speakers, so neither of you heard the front door opening.

“GOOD MORNING, BUCKET!!” Someone stormed in the room shouting, but your half asleep brain didn’t allow you to even flinch.

“Who the fuck is Bucket?” You mumbled, pressing then your face to the pillow. The bed shifted, probably because someone sat down.

“Sorry, Buck. We didn’t know you had company.” Another voice said. You clutched the sheets to your chest to cover your boobs and sat down. Two huge men were staring at you, grinning. You knew they were Sam and Steve because Bucky showed you pictures of them, but seriously, photos didn’t pay justice to their godlike appearances.

“You must be Y/N.” Sam said and you smiled at him. Steve was silent, looking between you and Bucky, smiling like he just discovered fire. He sat down next to Sam in bed, and placed his hand on his knee. C U T E.

“And you must be Sam. Thank you for the Bucket pun, not letting that one go, babe.” You said looking to your left, laughing at Bucky, who was glaring at Sam. He held his hands up in surrender, suppressing a laugh.

“You are not dead because Stevie loves you.” Steve now laughed and stood up, placing his hand on Sam’s shoulder, so he did the same.

“We’ll be in the kitchen preparing coffee, we already bought some croissants on our way here.” Steve said from the threshold, Sam already gone, and he closed the door with a wink.

“Lovely.” Bucky muttered, slightly pissed. He ran his hand through your bed hair and kissed you, his tongue sliding in your mouth, deepening the kiss. You slipped your hand through his hair tugging gently to press him closer to you. He let out a sharp breath when you bit his lower lip, and you gracefully stood up. He was looking at you, his eyes full of pure bliss and adoration, your eyes roaming his body, taking in his swollen lips, disheveled hair and toned chest. He looks like a greek god, annoying.

You took one of his shirts and put it on, leaving him in the bed. The strong smell of coffee and rain made your body shiver, Sam and Steve’s laughs echoing in the apartment.

“Smells so fucking good, I’m starving.” Sam gave you a knowing look and you winked at him, making Steve snort and shake his head.

“You guys should never be together.” Bucky appeared in the room, pointing at you and Sam. You sat on the kitchen counter, and gave Sam a side hug.

“But Bucket, we are already besties, you can’t keep us apart now.” You said in a high pitched tone, imitating a kid, and pouted. He shook his head and approached Steve and told him something only he could hear.

“Hey man, that’s rude.” Sam said, imitating your previous act.

“He just told me you shouldn’t receive your souvenir, Y/n.” Your eyes widened, looking at Bucky and Steve in confusion.

“Yeah, we bought you something in Florence because your boyfriend, Bucket, told us you loved mythology.” You looked at Bucky, shocked. You got off the counter and jumped into his arms, hugging him and giving him small kisses all over the face. He was laughing wholeheartedly and hugged you tightly.

“Get a room. Ugh, so gross.” Sam said and you heard a smack, probably from Steve. You let go of Bucky and held his hand, not wanting to break physical contact. Steve left the kitchen and came back seconds later with a box in his hands, which he handed to you. It was a little bit heavy and it had a little brown tag that said in Italian: “Con amore, per te.” (With love, for you.)

You ran your fingers through the edges of the box, a little bit hesitant. The three of them were looking at you expectantly, so you opened the box.

“Dios mío” (oh my god) You blurted out in Spanish. You placed the box in the counter and hugged the three of them. They bought you a small statue of the painting The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, one of your favorite paintings. You had tears of joy in your eyes, and looked at Bucky. He was smiling at you like the idiot in love he was and you hugged him, pressing your forehead to his chest.

“I adore you.” You whispered to his chest. If this was how happiness felt all the time, you wanted to feel it forever.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky/reader #bucky barnes coffee shop au #steve rogers x sam wilson #sam wilson #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #sam wilson x reader #tons of fluff #two dorks in love

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acaciasselfinserts · 6 years ago

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(sooo Ghost of you by five seconds of summer is my favorite song at the moment. @anti-jaina @sketchy-galaxy. Honestly, I've found that listening to music is great for writing since I can create the scenario and work on it and then write it out).

------------------------------------

It had been about two years since Allura's death, everyone was still recovering. Acacia had noticed Lance was going to Keith to talk when we could. Usually when Keith was back from a Blades mission. Acacia had kept herself busy in the past two years by helping the MFEs, and even receiving a new ship of her own. It was James's idea.

Acacia laughed as she sped forward, passing James by a long ways.

"Ha! Catch up if you can!" she teased playfully.

"Oh you're on!" James laughed.

The two had found that they honestly enjoyed each other's company, about three years before the paladins return, James had asked her out, they had been dating for a good five years.

They landed their ship, still laughing as they stepped out and removed their helmets.

"That was fun! We haven't raced like that since I returned to Earth about five deca-phoebs ago." she wiped a tear as she tried to calm herself.

"except you had Peach, who was much faster." he laughed.

Once Acacia stopped laughing she stretched before putting her helmet away inside.

"is it okay if I go home early? I kinda wanted to clean up before Bluebell and Hunk return." she put the outer parts of her suit away as well.

"sure, I'll be back around three to start up dinner." he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek before he went to change out of his suit.

---

"hmm, old sketchbooks...." Acacia mumbled as she set yet another one in a box. There was pages falling out of it. She sighed. It was only noon, she still had time. She stood up and dusted off her lap, and picked the box up. As she set it in her office closet, a different box came tumbling out. Cursing under her breath she picked it up after putting the other away.

"what could be in here?" she said to herself as she opened it. She stopped once she saw the contents. She gently took out a golden tiara, which was missing a gem. She felt her throat begin plugging up. It was Allura's tiara. She quickly sat it back down, fighting off tears. Part of her wanted to continue looking in the box, and the other part of her said no.

She opened the box back up, and peeked inside. There was some photos, mostly of her along with Lotor and Allura, they were smiling in each one. She also found some hologram pictures too. One of just Allura, Lotor, and one of her with Lotor or Allura. She set those aside.

'Theres gotta be a place I could display those.... I have those shelves above my desk..'

At the bottom was some books, and two tablets. She recognized the one, it was the one Lotor constantly carried around and drew on. She picked it up and powered it on. She looked through the drawings. She'd seen a few, but the most recent made her freeze. It was of Lotor and her. They were all dressed up in traditional Altean wear, posing for a picture. She remembered that day, it was before.... Before she left.

Soon she saw tears drip on the screen, she quickly powered it back off and placed it by the holograms. The other tablet was full of letters to her, for her to read on certain days. There was a lot. She looked through one and had to stop half way through, the pain of his death was still so fresh.

She didn't realize how much time had passed until she heard James's car pull up and him opening the door. Holly teleported from Acacia's side to him.

"Acacia! I'm back!"

"I'm in my office!"

He walked in and stopped when he saw how clean it was.

"whoa.. It's clean in here." he gazed across the room, his sight settling on her.

"whatcha find?" he asked as he went and sat by her. She shrugged.

"Just some old stuff from Lotor and Allura." she pointed to the tablets, books, holograms and photos. He picked up a photo and examined it.

"whoa, you look so happy..." he said sadly. He put it back down and brought her into a hug. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that..."

Acacia leaned into his hug, her arms wrapped around his back, gripping his shirt tightly.

"I miss them so much..." she choked.

"I know, but they're watching over you keeping you safe." he replied softly, rubbing her back, trying to comfort her.

"I know.... Do you think we could go and visit Altea soon?"

"Of course... We can go whenever you want." he replied, hugging her tighter. She smiled and began crying.

“Thank you James…” she wiped her eyes and pulled away. “however we should start getting ready for Bluebell and Hunk.”

#Acacia stop #Self insert fanfic #Self insert writing #My writing #💛jacia🌸#And implied past #🌸allacia💖#💜lotoria🌸

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surveystitta · 2 years ago

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Sketchbook pro pressure sensitivity not working

Sketchbook pro pressure sensitivity not working full#

Sketchbook pro pressure sensitivity not working free#

To do that, go to File in the menu bar and click on “Preferences.” If you don’t do it in that order, GIMP won’t know it’s there.Įven so, your pen and tablet will not work with GIMP immediately-first you’ll have to introduce them. Make sure your tablet is plugged in and turned on before opening GIMP. You can see that I’ve just added the “undo” command (Ctrl+Z) above. Use the drop-down menu to add additional shortcuts to your list. Now there’s just one more thing to do before you can get to drawing in GIMP-click on the Pop-up Menu Tab to choose what shortcuts should appear when you press the top button on your pen.

Sketchbook pro pressure sensitivity not working full#

You’ll want the entire computer screen (or all screens) selected, along with a full tablet area. When you’ve finished setting the sensitivity of your pen, make sure that “Pen Mode” is selected instead of “Mouse Mode” and click on the “details” button. There are two buttons near the drawing point of your Wacom-I like to have the top one open up a Pop-up menu (like the right-click of a mouse) while the bottom one switches between my foreground and background colors.Īdjust the pressure sliders to get a softer or firmer response to the amount of pressure you put on the pen (whatever feels right to you).

Sketchbook pro pressure sensitivity not working free#

NOTE: The following settings are my own preferences, so feel free to experiment on your own and find what you like the best. If you own a PC, go to your start button, open up control panel and click on the Pen Tablet icon.įor Mac users, go to the apple symbol in the upper left of your screen and choose System preferences, then click on the Wacom tablet icon. Once your Wacom tablet is installed on your computer, there are some settings you’ll need to customize before you can use it in GIMP. Larger tablets simply allow for more arm/shoulder movement while drawing. The first Wacom that I purchased (in 1990)was only 4 x 6 inches, while my current Wacom tablet is a bit larger at 6 x 8 inches. If you don’t already have a tablet and pen, I would highly recommend running out and buying one-they make digital painting and drawing a LOT easier.Īny size Wacom will work. What’s amazing about Wacom tablets is that they accurately capture pressure sensitivity as well as direction, so when you press down harder on your tablet you’ll get different results (such as a thicker line) on-screen. By Margot Dinardi in Art Tutorials > GIMP Helpĭigital drawing tablets are sophisticated computer drawing aids (comprised of a “pen” and tablet) that many digital artists wouldn’t be able to live without-myself included!Īt this time, the leading brand in the digital drawing tablet market is Wacom.

#Sketchbook pro pressure sensitivity not working

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kitkatfandomgirl · 7 years ago

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Part of The Team 1/?

Request:

“Peter quill x sister request? After his dad died he was supposed to loose his power but what if he didn’t? He finds out he had a younger sister more powerful than him and finds out she’s also human like him. He visits earth to find her and finds she’s in foster care cause she’s underage so he takes her with him? I think it would make a cute one shot or more.”

There will be some strong language. Nothing too extreme though.

Key: all the usual stuff, but (I/S) means insert US state, either the one you live in, one you know of, or one you want to live in! Also, (F/N) in this case is full name, for example, if you go by Ella, but your full name is Elanor, you’d fill that space with Elanor. If you don’t shorten your name, that can just be a normal (Y/N) spot!

SO. This is going to be a series and the parts will be linked here as I post them!!.

Part 1 Part 2

[tagging: @purplekitten30 ]

“Groot! For your own sake, get off that tablet and do something!” Gamora yelled as she took down another Chitauri.

“I am grooooot.” The teen said as he waved her off and turned up his headphones.

“Hey! Don’t talk to Gamora like that! Plus, that was a month ago!! What have you done since then?!” Peter grunted as he pulled together all the materials Rocket needed for a new gun that would (hopefully) blast the Chitauri into another system.

“I am Groot!” He shrieks in anger as a Chitauri busts a hole through his tablet with a blaster. The Chitauri stopped dead in its tracks and freezes in fear. Groot takes the alien in his hands and curtly throws the offender off the ship and onto a passing asteroid, destroying the rock in the process.

“Teenagers. What’re ya gonna do about em?” Rocket shrugs as he carries on building the heavy artillery, “Now Quill, this thing is gonna be a one-time use! We need as many of them within a fifty-yard radius as possible!”

“Gotcha Rocket!” Peter shouts as he takes off. Groot had finally joined the team in the fight and the whole process was going smoothly. It seemed that the entirety of the small Chitauri army was within ten feet of the whole team and Rocket was finally ready to set off his mystery weapon. In a near-blinding flash of light, the hostile species was blasted away and out of sight.

Abandoned spacecraft floated about aimlessly and occasionally clashed into each other. A subtle beeping attracted the attention of the whole team. “That scooter better not blow up and kill us,” Peter said as he slowly backed away from the craft.

"Awh noooo… that’s not an exploding beep, I know my boom beeps from my beep beeps,“ Rocket said as he waved off Peter’s cautionary actions and got closer to the small ship to look at the screen.

A silence fell among the group.

"BOOM!” Drax yelled, startling everyone except for Groot, whom had replaced his broken headphones with new ones and returned to his device, “HAHAHAHAHAAHA! You should have seen your faces! They were riddled with surprise because you thought Rocket blew up!“

"Yes! We did! And quite frankly, I am sick of both you and Groot’s childish behavior!” A tense silence lasted for seconds before Peter nudged the two away.

“I suggest you both get back to the ship,” he then leaned in to whisper, “ Before Gamora decides to leave you here…”

The duo made their way back to the ship silently and Peter returned to a stressed Gamora.

“I swear, Peter… Those idiots are going to be the death of me…”

“Just give them time-”

“Quill! Gamora! I got past the main firewall, but the rest is gibberish! Anyone know this language?”

Gamora stepped forward, pushing Rocket away from the screen and reading the ancient language. A few seconds later, an impatient Peter spoke up,

“What, what is it?”

“Peter, the Chitauri were not looking to destroy earth. They were looking for a weapon- wait- someone that can be used as a weapon…”

“Okay, that’s not great… But is’s better than world destruction!”

“It says here that she’s more powerful than both you and your father, but she doesn’t even know of her powers…”

“Again, that’s great! That means she won’t be able to kill us eith-”

“Peter, that’s not the only thing, the document says she’s your sister.”

You sighed in annoyance as you tossed the three duffel bags that held all of your belongings onto the third new bed in the third new room you’ve had in the span of four years.You decided not to bother with unpacking today.You were too upset and frustrated to even begin the tedious job.

Your previous foster family had you in custody for two years, and those two years were great! It was just four people, your foster parents, your foster brother, and you. They had fooled you into thinking that they were going to adopt you! What a bunch of baloney that was because a month after your birthday they sent you back into the system, apparently things “weren’t going to work out the way they wanted” which was foster code for either we’re pregnant, or we’re tired of you from your experience.

Which led you here, in the same old (I/S), starting over… yet again. Luckily, it was summer, so you wouldn’t have any worries about school for the time being, and instead, you could focus on your actual interests, such as art! More specifically, drawing, your sketchbook was your number one outlet for all of your emotions, and you were luckily able to keep it over the span of three moves.

You decided to open the blinds in your dark room to let some light in, plug in your earbuds, listen to your favorite playlist from your phone, and flip through your sketchbook aimlessly because you didn’t have much to do at this point. Time had pretty much escaped you at this point, but your concentration was broken sometime later by the whirring of helicopter blades.

“Wai- a helicopter… in this neighborhood?” You said to yourself as you jumped off the bed and removed your earbuds to look out the window that faced this family’s large backyard. You were shocked to see a black helicopter with the logo from that secret agency from a couple years ago, it was SHIELD.

You put your phone in your pocket and rushed downstairs along with your foster parents. They seemed more on cautious than curious of the helicopter. You, on the other hand, were out the door to the backyard in the blink of an eye.

The large, whirring propellers slowed to a stop and three figures exited the helicopter and began to approach the back porch, one was a large and, quite frankly, intimidating man with an eye patch and a scar that ran under it. Then there was a woman with red hair and a look on her face that said she was on guard and ready to strike, you recognized her as Natasha Romanov from the televised hearing that was held the same year you learned about SHIELD. Finally, there was a blonde guy with a face just as serious as Natasha’s, but with a bow and quiver on his back… you didn’t know what that was about. It was safe to assume he was one of the Avengers, Hawkeye.

You glanced back to your foster parents, only to notice that they were long gone. The slamming of car doors and screeching of tires as they left your driveway only confirmed the assumption.

Your attention was turned back to the strangers from the helicopter as they approached once more. You couldn’t help but scoff at the irony of your legal guardians scrambling to leave at the slightest hint of trouble. Once the group reached you, the blonde man offered you a slight smile and opened his mouth to say something before he was interrupted by Mr. Eyepatch.

“Are you, (F/N) (L/N)?”

You were surprised the man knew your name, but couldn’t stop the smirk that rose to your face, as you said, “Yes, this is she, it is such an honor to meet you, Jedi Master Windu,” The blonde lost his composure and snorted, casting a glance at the redhead and signing something to her, to which she nodded and smirked.

There was a continued silence as you looked at all three figures and furrowed your brow, “so, what exactly do you want from me?”

Eyepatch cast a glance to the agents over his shoulder before looking back to you, “How much do you know about the Guardians of the Galaxy?”

You furrowed your brow even further, “Guardians of the what?”

The archer laughed, approaching you and clapping a hand on your shoulder, “Pack your bags, kid. You’re in for a wild ride, and we’ve got a lot to tell you.”

#avengers x reader #guardians of the galaxy x reader #peter x reader #peter quill x reader #peter quill #sister!reader #series #x reader #groot #guardians of the galaxy #rocket raccoon #drax #gamora

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sadrien · 8 years ago

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prince of cats

chapter six: good pilgrim

on ao3 || on ffnet 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

kind of forgot it was an update day because i have something i need to finish for a friend and i'm stressed

enjoy!!!

“It wasn’t a date,” Marinette says, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she unfolds fabric. “We sat on the couch and watched a bad Hallmark movie.”

Nino scoffs on the other end. “Mari, I hate to break it to you, but that’s basically what mine and Alya’s last date was.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “This is the difference: you two are dating. Adrien and I are not.”

“Sure, sure,” Nino drawls.

“The intention is different,” she insists. “Anything can be a date if there are romantic intentions.”

“How do you know there weren’t any?”

Marinette puts down the fabric. “Why are we friends again?”

“Because you love me,” Nino says with a smile in his voice. “And because I gave you crackers on our first day of school.”

She hums and goes back to her fabric. “I’m still pretty sure you’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

“And I think you aren’t letting yourself consider the possibility that Adrien likes you back because you like him so much.”

She scoffs. “If you say that I’m afraid of getting hurt—”

“Isn’t everyone a little afraid of getting hurt?” Nino asks. “I feel like that’s a very human thing to be afraid of, you know?”

Marinette raises her eyebrows. “That’s very deep, Mr. Lahiffe.”

“I can be deep if I try.”

“Yeah I remember our three in the morning sleepover talks.”

Nino laughs. “Aw man, yeah those were great. We should do that again.”

“We’re grown adults,” she reminds him.

“And? Who cares. Let’s have a sleepover, Mar. Just like old times. You, me, Alya— hell, we can even invite Adrien to the fun.”

“Oh god no.” Marinette steps away from her kitchen table. “If you really loved me, you would never do that. I do not want Adrien witnessing the disaster that is me after one it the morning.”

“But after one in the morning Mari is the best Mari!” Nino protests.

Marinette collapses onto the couch. “Hard no.”

“We could play spin the bottle. Seven minutes in heaven.”

She snorts. “Okay, are we in uni again? I remind you that you have a very serious girlfriend who you love very much. Spin the bottle is very hard to rig.”

She can almost see Nino shrugging. “If some of the kisses don’t match up exactly it’s not the end of the world. It’s not like we’ve never kissed before.”

“True,” Marinette murmurs, checking her nails.

“Same with Alya. So really…to complete the square, we all have to kiss Adrien.”

“Is that what counts as initiation into our friend group?” Marinette asks. “Kissing?”

“Yes.”

She shakes her head. “If you didn’t scare him away before, you’d definitely scare him away now.”

“We were plenty nice!” Nino says. “It’s been two weeks since we exchanged names, you sure we can’t get his number or something? Alya is going to have a cow.”

Marinette huffs. “Don’t tell, Al but… I don’t even have his number.” She makes a face at the long silence.

“Goddamn, Mari. Why not?”

She shrugs. “We live next to each other. I’ve never…needed it? I mean, would it be nice to have? Sure. But I don’t want to push him and he’s never offered so…”

“Do you need me to take on the Alya role because she’s working?”

Marinette sighs. “Is saying no going to stop you?”

“Get his number, girl!”

She clicks her tongue. “So many demands. Last names, universities, phone numbers— do you need his blood type too?”

“I’m sure Alya could find some use for that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. We’re lucky she didn’t go into like, espionage or something. She’d be scary.”

“Are you saying she isn’t scary now?”

“No,” Marinette admits. “Alya is still very scary now. She’d just be way more terrifying in covert operations.”

“She really would be,” Nino muses.

Marinette smiles to herself. “You love her a lot.”

Nino sighs happily. “Yeah I do. It’s a good thing I’m such a dumbass. Probably wouldn’t have gotten her attention otherwise.”

Marinette raises her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, weren’t Alya and I friends before you two started dating?”

“Yeah, but nothing really gets someone’s attention like chugging a Monster-coffee combo ten minutes before class.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s true. How did you survive lycée again?”

“A good question, my dude. A really good one.”

Marinette looks up as there’s a knock at her door.

“Is that the boyfriend?” Nino asks.

“Shut up,” she mutters. “I’m not sure, but I’ll call you back later, okay?”

“Sure thing, man. Remember all the details for, Al.”

“I always do. Bye.”

“Peace, dude.”

Marinette pulls open the door and Adrien holds out a book. She stares at it — the book, not the hand holding it out to her, definitely not — for a long moment before looking up at him. “Hi?”

“I totally stole this from you the other day,” he apologizes.

Marinette takes the book and flips it over to skim the summary on the back. “Honestly, I didn’t even know I had this book. I’m not sure if I ever read it. Was it good?”

Adrien shrugs. “It was okay. Kind of predictable ending, but it passed the time.”

“Hm. Not sure if I’ll ever read it, but I’ll keep your indepth review in mind.”

He smiles. “Thanks for letting me borrow it, even if you didn’t notice.”

“Of course, what’s mine is yours,” Marinette says before realizing that may be a little too revealing. “I really like your ring by the way.” She gestures to the silver ring on his right hand. She’s noticed him wearing it before, but she’s never really gotten a good look at it before. Plus she needs to change the subject as fast as humanly possible.

“This old thing?” Adrien asks, holding up his hand. “Thanks, it’s an old family heirloom. It’s sentimental, but it’s not really worth anything.”

Marinette shrugs. “Sometimes sentimentality is all that you need.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, examining the ring. He shakes his head. “Anyway, I have to get back to work, but I’ll see you later?”

She nods and tries not to smile too widely. “Yeah, that sounds great. Have fun at your kitchen table.”

“Always do,” he says with a crooked smile as he turns to his door.

Marinette closes the door and cleans against it, clutching her book to her chest.

She’s so gone.

✦ ✦ ✦

Marinette skips dinner.

She’s been working on an idea for a new line all afternoon and her mind feels like jello. It’d probably be a good idea to take a break and let her mind rest, but she’s kind of in the zone, and she doesn’t want to risk losing it.

It takes Alya sending thirty two texts about something that happened at work for Marinette to finally put down the pencil and grab a quick sandwich and a drink while she reads through Alya’s rant.

And then she goes right back to work.

Page after page of failed design and scribbled out notes. She resists the urge to scratch things out and rip pages out of her sketchbook so she can crumple them up and throw them away. She tries to keep everything she designs, even things that she doesn’t like that much. It’s good for learning.

But when she’s low on patience, she scribbles them out anyway.

She almost breaks her pencil crossing out a pantsuit that makes her want to quit her job and return her degree.

“I hate this,” she grumbles to herself, hitting her sketchbook against her forehead.

She stands up with a sigh, doing a quick stretch and pacing around the apartment for a few minutes. Then she turns on her laptop and finds some music to listen to it and plugs in her headphones because it’s too late to blast music aloud.

She starts a dress and gets halfway through the skirt before she realizes she’s already designed this dress.

Back to the drawing board.

✦ ✦ ✦

Marinette drags her hands down her face and glances over at the clock. Half an hour after midnight.

Time to give up.

She packs up her laptop and tablet and puts them into her bag by the door. She thinks about her plan for tomorrow before adding her current sketchbook and some markers to it as well.

She wanders around the apartment for a few minutes, drinking a glass of water and trying to calm her anxiety. A little bit of artblock never killed anyone. She’ll get past this hurdle and be back to designing things she’s proud of in no time.

She’s looking forward to work in the morning. She’s looking forward to having some direction. Any direction.

Marinette flops on her bed and stares at the ceiling for a long time.

Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.

✦ ✦ ✦

Marinette jerks awake as a loud beeping pierces through her dreams. She didn’t know what it was in her dream, she just knew it was annoying, but now her heart is pounding and she feels like she’s about to be sick.

Fire alarm.

For a moment, she wonders if it’s a drill (do they even have those anywhere other than school?) or was pulled on accident, before the alarms in her mind start going off because that doesn’t matter.

She snatches her phone from her charger as she runs out the door, nearly tripping as she slips on a pair of flip flops she always has by the door and grabbing her work bag because her entire life is in that bag and she knows you’re not supposed to take anything in an emergency but it’s right there.

As soon as she throws open the door, she can smell the smoke and she doesn’t know how she didn’t notice it before now. She blames the adrenaline.

People are rushing out of their apartments. Someone’s child is crying and heavy footsteps echo through the stairway.

This is actually happening.

Marinette can’t move.

She gasps as someone grabs her arm and drags her along. She finds herself looking at Adrien with terrified eyes.

“We have to go,” Adrien says, running a hand through his hair. He has his phone in his hand and his long black trench coat on, but he’s barefoot and each time he drags a hand over his hair it gets messier.

She probably shouldn’t be focusing so much on him as they follow the crowd out of the building, but he’s strangely grounding. Him, his face, the pressure of his hand on his arm.

They always say to be calm and quiet if there’s a fire in school, but everyone is running and pushing. People are screaming and crying and yelling out to others.

The smoke gets thinner as they go down, but it’s still starting to burn Marinette’s eyes. A mother next to her covers her child’s mouth with her sleeve.

Marinette gasps as they step out into the humid night air. She feels like she’s about to start crying; there’s a lump in her throat and a pressure in the back of her head.

Adrien freezes next to her. He lets go of her arm and shoves her forward. “Go!”

“A-Adrien?” she asks, twisting around to look at him.

“Just go!” he shouts.

He turns and pushes back inside of the building.

Back into the smoke.

Back into the fire.

“Adrien!” Marinette screams, her voice breaking.

The crowd drags her forward. Someone crashes into her. She can hear sirens down the street above the screaming.

Adrien is gone.

#adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #my fics #proc ml #prince of cats ml #im so stressed my guys #do me a solid adn check this out thanks

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kulifefall2019 · 5 years ago

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Being an Art Major at Kutztown

Prologue:

Going to a larger school, the average student will be around art majors. Especially in a school like Kutztown that is known for its art program. (walking across campus, being curious about them, how a student will be living among them, see them in gen eds.)

Kutztown is a large school, and one of the most popular state schools in Pennsylvania. It has many different majors, and some programs its well known for. One of the things Kutztown is famous for its large art program. Whether or not a student is an art major, they’ll see these people all around campus. They share housing buildings, dining halls, and even some general education classes with other students. They’re fairly easy to spot, some of the major things they’re seen with are big portfolio cases, big sheets of paper, drawing on iPads or tablets plugged into a computer, or even just sketching ideas into sketchbooks. To get even more stereotypical, they’re also easy to spot since a lot of them dress differently, or “artsy.” The clothes, unnatural hair colors/styles, artistic makeup make them easy to spot a mile away.

Art majors may seem like a foreign species to non art majors, but a little bit of insight on what the experience of art majors are can make them seem a little more human. Even if a student at Kutztown isn’t an art major, it’s important to know a little bit more about the everyday life of an art major. It’s one of the things Kutztown is best known for. Today we’ll be discussing three acts of an art major at Kutztown with Act I: the cost of being an art major; Act II: Weekends in the Studios; and Act III: Scheduling the Nightmare to really understand the personal lives and struggles of art students.

Act I: The Cost of Being an Art Major

It’s common knowledge that the average college student should prepare to buy expensive textbooks for their courses at the start of their college career. Lately, more and more people buy used books or rent books to cut down the cost of expensive books. At the very least they can sell back their books at the end of the year. With the help of the internet, it’s gotten fairly easy to save money on books. All of this applies to the average Kutztown student. There is however, a group of majors that doesn’t have the luxury of saving money on the required materials for their classes: visual art majors. Visual art majors have to supply almost all of their own supplies for class, including but not limited to sketchbooks, paints, pencils, markers, brushes, printed posters, and the list goes on and on. These supplies are not cheap too, since students have to use something that's more on the professional side.

Every class has a list of supplies that’s needed for the class. Fine arts majors have to buy the physical materials like paints, canvases, papers, etc. from project to project. Communication Design and Applied Digital Arts majors usually have to cover their own printing costs for posters, illustrations, and 3D printing. The 300 credits that is reloaded every semester for black and white printing in the library does not cover color and/or poster printing at all. If students don’t want to have to rely on lab hours to use the school computers and/or would like to work on digital projects at their homes over the breaks throughout the semester, they would have to buy expensive programs like Adobe Photoshop, Adobe Illustrator, ToonBoom, etc. In addition to that, every single art major has to take the same studio classes their freshman year of college. I personally spent well over a couple hundred dollars on supplies over the course of my first year of college alone, and almost every other freshman has a similar experience.

Now that I’m a sophomore in college as an Applied Digital Arts major, most of the money I spend is on printing and digital supplies like programs, a tablet, a hard drive, etc. Right now I’m using a two month trial of photoshop on my own laptop that came with the hard drive I bought at the beginning of the semester, but once that expires there’s no way I’ll be able to afford keeping it, since it’s based on a monthly subscription fee. If I want my own tablet to use on the school computers without having to rely on continuously renting school tablets out, that’s around $200. And that’s just for my digital classes alone. Applied Digital Arts majors still have to take traditional media classes, like life drawing, painting, etc. Those classes will require a lot of money for supplies as well.

To see how a different art major has to spend their money, I interviewed Haley Wawrzynek, a sophomore in Communication Design. CD is a major that focuses on graphic design and illustration as well. I asked her if she had to print all of her digital projects, and her answer was yes, every single one so far. She said she has to print the most for her Typography class, and that each project costs about $5 to print. That doesn’t sound like much, but so far she’s done five projects and the semester isn’t over yet. She also told me that in her current art history class she had to print a large poster for that as well.

I asked her if she has to spend money in a different studio class, and she answered yes and started talking about her intro to illustration class. “Every two or three weeks he emails us a new list of supplies to buy for our next project,” she tells me. I asked her approximately how much each of these shopping trips costs, and she said it costs about $15 to $20 and that she has 7 projects this semester.

To finish the interview, I then asked how she felt about having to spend so much money as a whole, to which she said “I don’t like it. It’s not cool,” and we both laughed. She then said “spending all this money for college and it’s not going towards utility things that I need for my major.” She said that she wished the prepaid credit that goes towards black and white printing could count for art printing, even if it cost more credits. I agree with her on this, because as art majors we don’t take as many classes that require printed essays, reports, etc. so most of the library credits go unused and wasted.

Overall, the general consensus is that art majors spend a lot of money. A lot. For some single courses it seems that it costs even more than buying a textbook for a single course. Not only does being an art major require a lot of hard work, but it requires a lot of supplies, and therefore money.

-Casey Stoneback

Act II: Weekends In the Studios

Most students that are non art majors have 5 classes that are either 50 minutes or an hour and 20 minutes long. They can start class in the late morning and finish by the early afternoon for the most part, giving them a lot of time to do homework, study, and work on projects. This is not the case for visual arts majors. The average visual arts major has at least three 3 hour long studio classes that meet twice a week. That means that these majors spend approximately 18 hours a week in studio classes alone, on top of having general education classes. All together, that’s about 20 hours a week in classes alone.

Most studio classes often require spending hours in the studio/computer labs outside of class time, so that’s even more time taken out of the week spent on studio classes alone. Since studio classes are so long, usually studios are full of classes from 8 in the morning and don’t end until 9 at night, meaning the studios and labs won’t open up until after 9 (other than weekends). If a student has to work on a project during the week that requires a digital program that’s only on the school computers, or need the space of a painting/drawing studio, they have to wait until 9 and will often stay until 12 to 2 in the morning. Sometimes they stay that late even when they have a 3 hour studio class at 8 in the morning the next day.

All of this time spent in studio classes and the time spent on projects outside of class leave very little time for gen ed classes. I know I often fall behind in my gen ed classes because I simply do not have the time and energy to focus on them because I struggle so much to meet due dates for studio projects. In doing so, these studios make many art students suffer in their other classes because they barely manage to finish their projects for their main studios.

The amount of time and effort that is put in by art students is seen just by looking at the lab hour sign up sheets. It’s rare to see someone sign in to the programs for anything shorter than four hours approximately. These are just the experiences of APD majors. With other programs, many students in other programs stick after class to work on the many projects they are required to do. Such as Fine Arts majors, that spend their times in the painting studios to work such as Fine Arts Student, and sophomore, Dorie Penny whom I interviewed to get truly into the mind of an art student.

When I asked her, “What are your main struggles with time management as an art student?” She laughed nervously and responded “Since I’m in four studios so I feel like I don’t have any personal time. I can manage time for studios but it keeps away time for myself.” After she answered that question I then asked her “have you noticed that your time management has affected your mental health?” For a moment she didn’t know how to answer. She later told me it was because she didn’t really know how to answer it because she had so many feelings about the topic. She later responded “Yes, increasingly. My anxiety increased dramatically. That’s kinda a blanket term for it all though. I’ve have several panic attacks lately.”

She later in the evening mentioned that she wanted to input that “professors will tell you it’s just three out of class hours of work, but you end up having around three times the amount, and that’s just my painting class. I have no time.” And these are the experiences of one art student. We may be given the time to finish our projects but that leaves very little time for ourselves. As you can imagine that seriously takes a toll on your mental and even physical health. The studios drain students drastically and that’s not even half of the problem.

-Casey Stoneback & Gwyneth Trafford

Act III: Scheduling the Nightmare

As an Applied Digital Arts major, Life Drawing is a required class to graduate. There are over 200 students enrolled in the APD program in total. With only two classes available, taught by the same individual, that leaves only about 33 slots to enroll in. Not only do the APD students quickly enroll in, some Business major who needs a Gen Ed will also enter. Clearly, there is a problem here. Art students have to fight tooth and nail to enter a required class that should just be available to them in the first place. It took me three advisement meetings to eventually enroll in Life Drawing, which even then was just pure luck that someone dropped out as soon as we were looking at availability.

Overall, the programing and scheduling in the arts needs work. Some specific individual programs within the arts have some more luck, but overall the scheduling typically is very difficult. In Kutztown, many of the arts programs are understaffed. As such, classes required to graduate fill up quickly. Not only are there not enough classes to compensate for all of the enrolled art students, they also allow non-art majors to enroll in these classes.

Now what is the big problem here? What is the thing making all these students have breakdowns when they sign up for classes? Understaffed, and open classes for everyone. Only one person teaching Life Drawing is gonna leave many problems for scheduling. And that’s just my Life Drawing. I wasn’t the only person to struggle either. Many students, up to six, during my animation class also vocalized their struggles with signing up for classes, and those were the ones vocal about it.

Not only does scheduling affect the students, this also hurts the working teachers. Students flock to their teachers to help with their problems, and even their advisors. During my Animation class, 4 students enrolled during that class period and not a single student was able to get a full schedule of their requirements. Some students, such as myself, couldn't even get two. During our Animation class, many of the students tried to figure out their schedules. There were at least five students in that class who had these struggles, including me. We all asked our professor how on earth we could fix this problem, with her looking at with disappointment as she knew she couldn’t help us. I personally saw another student start to cry, and I even started to tear up. Not only does this take away a large amount of time that we could be working on projects, this also takes up the time and stresses out the teachers who help the students struggle. This puts intense pressure on the students, teachers, and advisors to deal with scheduling.

-Gwyneth Trafford

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tran5rightsos · 4 years ago

Text

Waking Up - Chapter Six

Tags and Warnings: Body Horror

Word Count: 1583

Leave Kudos?

M1C’s worrying behaviour didn’t stop with the treadmill. It started asking questions that had nothing to do with research or tests and felt like they were bordering on things they weren’t allowed to ask. It was almost like M1C was trying to push something, see how far that something could bend before it broke.

A5H felt a wave of apprehension pass over it when it saw M1C and L2U making conversation with some researchers at dinner one night. It didn’t want to get too involved, but part of it hoped that if it kept an eye on M1C it could stop it before it went too far. A5H didn’t want to see it get disciplined.

It reached the group just as one of the researchers excused herself to get back to her work.

“See ya tomorrow, Mike,” she said as she left.

“How come she calls you Mike?” M1C asked the remaining researcher.

“Because that’s my name?”

“Like me? Mike-One?”

“No. It’s short for Michael.”

“Michael,” M1C repeated, “Mike is short for Michael?”

The researcher gave an irritated huff. “I have to check up on something.” He left without another word and M1C stared after him with narrowed eyes.

“Come on, let’s go to our table,” A5H prompted, “I have fruit for you, Lima-Two.”

Maybe the stress of M1C and L2U toeing lines was good for A5H. He’d been having more dreams recently, though they’d changed a lot. Instead of vague, abstract visions he would have disturbing nightmares that left his heart racing and his head spinning. He was apprehensive about telling Martin and Carol about them, but the research was important so he detailed everything in reports and attempted to draw and paint what he could remember.

“Why don’t they have faces?” Martin asked as she examined a painting of someone bleeding to death on a carpeted floor, one of many violent images from the past few nights. A5H had killed the human in its dream, stabbed its neck with a knife and pushed it to the ground and turned the knife on another human.

“I can never see their faces,” A5H explained, “I feel like I recognise them, but I don’t see their faces.”

“Do you recognise this man?” Carol asked, showing A5H a photo of someone on his tablet.

A5H shook its head. “I don’t think so. Who is he?”

Carol ignored the question. “Sit back. We’ll plug you in and start if that’s all.”

M1C and L2U were unusually withdrawn at dinner that night. A5H was afraid they’d done something wrong, but wanted to know anyway in case it could help them fix it.

“What’s up with you guys?” it asked as it scraped fruit onto L2U’s tray.

“Foxtrot-Three expired,” M1C bit.

A5H frowned. “That’s a shame. I hope the research done on it was helpful.”

M1C scoffed and stabbed at a potato with its fork. Its expression changed when it spotted someone behind A5H. “Hey!”

A5H looked back and saw a researcher with an empty tray, probably on their way to dispose of it before heading off to wherever researchers went at the end of the day. The researcher frowned and came to their table.

“Something wrong?”

“Doctor Evans, right?”

“That’s me.”

“What happened to Foxtrot-Three?”

“Mike-One,” A5H warned.

“It expired.”

“How?”

“Poisoning. It’s implants didn’t shield its skin from the chemicals we were spraying on it well enough.”

A5H eyed M1C, hoping it didn’t do anything stupid at that answer.

“How come we’re ‘it?’” M1C asked instead, surprising everyone.

Evans frowned at him. “What?”

“Stevens is a ‘he,’ you’re a ‘she,” why am I an ‘it,’ like a pen or something?”

“We’re humans,” she explained, “You’re tools for research, you don’t need human pronouns.”

“I wanna be ‘he,’” M1C said.

Evans scoffed in amusement and shook her head. “Whatever you say.”

“Can I be ‘he’ too?” L2U asked M1C.

“Yes,” M1C decided, “We’re both ‘he’ now.”

Evans rolled her eyes. “I have to go.”

As carefully as A5H watched M1C, he didn’t do anything concerning after that, much to its relief. Everything seemed okay until L2U’s first day of testing came around and he didn’t come to lunch or dinner. After their showers, A5H occupied itself with another painting, this one of a dark room filled with colours and people.

M1C sat on L2U’s bed and stared intently at A5H for a minute. Though M1C and L2U liked to watch A5H work occasionally, it suspected that this was different.

“What’s up?” A5H asked, hoping M1C would leave it to its work if it just humoured him for a while.

“I wanna leave.”

A5H stopped painting and looked up at him. “You want a new room?”

“No. I wanna leave Elysiworks.”

Shaking its head, A5H accepted that this would be a longer conversation and started packing up its acrylics. “You can’t. You have to stay and complete your tests.”

“What happens after I complete them all?”

The question felt like a trap. A5H set its sketchbook down and went to the sink to clean its brush.

“More tests,” M1C supplied when A5H didn’t reply, “They’ll keep testing until I break and expire.”

“That’s what we’re made to do.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want this to be my whole life, I wanna know what it’s like outside.”

“It’s dangerous out there,” A5H answered, “That’s why they need us. To help them live.”

“Don’t we deserve to live too? Why do we have to suffer?”

“You should be grateful,” A5H bit, finally turning back to M1C, “We’re only alive because they poured resources and time into reanimating us. We owe it to them to suffer for humanity.”

“What about Lima-Two?”

A5H looked away again.

“Does he deserve to suffer too?”

“If that’s his purpose.” Something twisted in A5H’s gut as it said it. “We don’t know what they’ll test on him anyway. It might be completely painless.”

“What if they’re burning him to death like they did Foxtrot-Three?”

A5H fidgeted with its brush, the thought making it feel strangely ill. “How would you get out anyway?”

“I don’t know,” M1C confessed, “That’s why I want your help. You’re the oldest and they trust you. You could find things out for us. We could escape together.”

“We’ll get expired.”

“They’ll kill us,” M1C snapped, a foreign and scary expression falling over its face, “That’s what you mean. We’re not just pills or food, we’re people and we die.”

“Mike-One…”

“You don’t have to come with us, then,” M1C bargained, “Just stop taking your pills at breakfast, like us. See how you feel after a fortnight. See if you start to actually give a shit about Foxtrot-Three.”

A5H eyed M1C. “Fine,” it surrendered, “One fortnight. After that, you’ll leave me alone.”

Before M1C could reply, the door opened and L2U stumbled in, red faced and sobbing.

“Lima-Two!” M1C rushed to his side.

L2U yelped in pain when M1C touched his arm and cried harder, falling to his bed.

“What happened?” M1C tried to ask, but L2U couldn’t get a word out in between heaving breaths.

“It- his arm is bandaged,” A5H pointed out, eyeing the wraps visible under the right sleeve of his gown.

“Can I?” M1C asked, fingers on the ties at the back of the gown.

L2U sniffled and nodded.

M1C untied the strings and carefully slid the material off L2U’s shoulder. He gasped when he saw the dressings, clear over the wound and secured with bandages above and below it. A5H recognised that kind of dressing from other reanimates. Bandages like that were used when researchers wanted to monitor wounds without agitating them by constantly applying and removing normal bandages.

Under the clear section, a three by three inch square of skin was missing, exposing the raw muscle underneath.

#au: reanimate #5sos fic #my fic

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kays-kg-works · 5 years ago

Text

Bit of an update on why I haven't been super active on here and not posting art for a bit

My laptop's been having issues for like, a year now. For a while it stopped, but over the past couple months it's been taking me multiple attempts to get it to wake back up pretty much every time I let it sleep. Like, I open it up and within fifteen to thirty seconds it shuts down. Once I manage to get it up and running, I have to activate a temperature monitoring program for it because it's also experiencing some overheating problems.

Something that tends to raise it's core temp is me typing on my usb keyboard (that I have to use bc several years ago an incident with one of our cats led to water being spilled on it which shortwired the built-in keyboard.)

This, in turn, impacts my ability to write on there at all, so now when I want to write for ANY of the projects I have in the works, I essentially have to e-mail the docs to myself back and forth between my tablet and my laptop. I use Google Docs on my laptop, but my Amazon tablet apparently can't access any Google products. Which means I get to interact with the built in docs program that's kind of a pain in the ass to deal with.

It's also kind of disheartening to work on any of my digital art or anything when I'm not sure how long my laptop's gonna hold out for. I've been trying to stay off of it and rely on my tablet as much as possible recently, because with alk this quarantine stuff happening I have to run all my dungeons and dragons sessions over Skype now, and I need to use my laptop for that because we record our sessions and I use a usb microphone to capture my audio, something I can't do with my tablet.

My birthday recently passed and I'm close to having a hundred dollars saved up to put towards a replacement laptop, but today I learned that the one I was looking at doesn't have the HDMI port I need to plug my tablet in and possibly doesn't have the processing power I'd need to run clip studio paint. The port issue can be fixed with an adapter, but I'd probably have to find a new drawing program or move over to firealpaca entirely. It's a work in progress, but I might have to compromise if I want to go back to being able to write on a computer instead of dealing with this nonsense.

I have chapter six of All I Want in the works, but haven't felt up for working on it much since quarantine started in full. I'm making slow progress on it, but I will have to post it from my laptop because this tablet doesn't keep italics when I paste the text into ao3's input field for posting a new chapter. As for art, I'm trying to use all this forced seclusion to learn a thing or two about watercolor painting so I can MAYBE start offering traditional art commissions. Digital art might be on hold for a while until everything gets sorted out, but I'm trying to make the best of all... THIS.

We'll see if I can possibly post a picture or two from one of my sketchbooks later tonight or tomorrow just to have SOME new art content on here. The blog's getting dusty and I don't like it!! Thanks for sticking around for as long as y'all have, I really do appreciate it and hope to get things back up and running soon-ish.

#kkay.txt #it's kinda long but it's a lot to sort of cover #i am just an simple bitch #i want to draw and write and gush about anime #is that so much to ask?

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