#they were in a box full of.... used sketchbooks

[nebquerna]

i found my sketchbooks!

[teaboot]

When I was a kid I would take the last page of all my mom's sketchbooks and draw a screen on one side and a "keyboard" on the other, then prop it open and pretend we were both doing computer work. Laptops had become mainstream only 5 years earlier, so it was still thinner and lighter than real laptops, and my mom mostly worked on a Windows 95 with a monitor bigger than I was and a computer heavier than I was. I used to think YouTube was boring because it was just a couple hundred home videos filmed by strangers. I got my first camera when I was 12 and it held 10 pictures, or 1 full minute of video, without a memory card. On my first phone, which was a flip phone, it cost $1 minimum every time I sent a text, and you had to press numbers a specific number of times to make a letter. I brought my Walkman to school to listen to Lord of the Rings on cassette tapes. Nobody was allowed to use the phone when my Dad was working in the office. Yes, we had the dial-up noise. I got an AM/FM radio for my birthday one year. Another year, I got a whole box of CDs to listen to music. I wrote my first fan fiction on a Windows 98 that came with free Minesweeper and Solitaire. I was born before El Chupacabra. And now these things are gone. Wild

[just1cefor4ll]

Doomsday

Seok-woo x fem!reader warning. swearing, not proof read, no happy ending

A/N. rewatched train to busan a few days ago and I just thought of this and wanted to write it out!

You had worked for Seok-woo for as long as you could remember. You were probably there even before he was blessed with his beautiful little girl, Su-an. She had a way of melting your heart effortlessly, much like her father had managed to do over the years, though you'd never admit it. Not out loud, at least.

It was a shameful thing to feel. You, a grown, intelligent, and self-sufficient person, were in love with a man who has a wife. Or, well... had a wife until just a few months ago.

You'd seen how the divorce affected him, but it was Su-an who suffered the most. Her bright, contagious smile had dimmed, replaced by a sadness far too heavy for a child to carry. You tried your best to bring it back whenever she came to the office with her dad on the less hectic days. Whether it was through little jokes, snacks, or just letting her draw all over the unused papers and documents you were sure you’d never need.

Seok-woo noticed, of course. He always did. "You’re too good to us," he'd said more than once, half-smiling in that soft way that made your chest tighten.

Today was one of those days when Su-an had tagged along. She was sitting quietly in your office, flipping through the stack of magazines you kept on the coffee table for guests. Her small hands delicately turned the pages, her big eyes wide with fascination. "A little birdie told me it’s someone’s special day today," you teased with a playful smirk, pulling open your desk drawer to retrieve the small, neatly wrapped gift you had tucked away a week ago.

The girl looked up at you, curious, setting the magazine aside as you extended the gift toward her. Her wide eyes sparkled with surprise and excitement. Just as she reached for it, the door opened. “Morning,” you greeted automatically, your tone warm as Seok-woo stepped inside. His expression was a mix of relief and mild irritation, likely from rushing to drop off an urgent client file before picking Su-an up. “Morning, [Name]. I hope she wasn’t too much trouble,” he said, his voice carrying that clipped efficiency you’d come to know.

His gaze shifted to the box in Su-an’s hands, his eyebrows raising slightly. “You got her a gift?” “Of course,” you replied with a small laugh, brushing off the question as though it were nothing. “She’s been a sweetheart, as always. You know I don’t mind having her around. Though…” You glanced at Su-an with a teasing grin. “I’m not sure she’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it!” Su-an piped up, her small voice full of determination as she started tugging at the ribbon. You shared a smile with her father as you both watched her carefully unwrap the present, revealing a set of colored pencils and a thick sketchbook.

The reaction was immediate, and a bit expected. “Oh my gosh! It’s perfect!” she exclaimed, holding it up like a treasure. “Thank you so much!” “She’s been doodling on all my reports lately,” Seok-woo muttered under his breath, though there was no real bite in his words. You caught the faint twitch of a smile tugging at his lips. “She’s creative,” you quipped, ignoring the smirk he gave you. “Now she has her own space for it.”

Before Su-an could dive into her new gift, Seok-woo glanced at his watch. “We should get going. Her mother wants her by tonight. Something about her recital.” His tone was carefully neutral, but the slight stiffness in his posture was hard to miss.

Su-an’s excitement visibly faded. She clutched the sketchbook close to her chest but didn’t argue. The silence was heavy, but you stepped in, as you always did. ��Su-an,” you said softly, crouching to her level, “don’t forget to fill at least one page before you leave, okay? I want to see what you create next time.” Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she nodded. “Okay. I promise.”

Seok-woo offered a brief but genuine “Thank you” as they left your office. You watched them go, a pang in your chest you couldn’t quite ignore. You couldn’t help but worry about both of them—how fractured their lives had become and how much weight they carried in silence.

That evening, everything changed.

It started as a last-minute phone call. Seok-woo, his voice uncharacteristically urgent, asked if you could meet them at the station. “Su-an wants to take the early train to Busan,” he explained hurriedly. “Her mom’s there, and I promised I’d get her there by morning but I forgot..” You tuned out the rest of what he said, answering with no hesitation in your response. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

You arrived at the station with a bag of snacks and supplies, something told you they might need it. When you spotted Seok-woo and Su-an on the crowded platform, you waved, smiling as Su-an ran to greet you. “Are you coming with us?” she asked hopefully, clutching your hand. Seok-woo frowned slightly but didn’t protest. “It might actually be good to have you along,” he admitted after a pause. “Just in case.”

You didn’t realize how ominous those words would soon feel.

Everything spiralled into chaos, news of an outbreak causing great panic all over Korea. You were lucky enough to get away from every danger you were faced with, always having Su-an’s safety on your mind before anything else.

In a state of panic and overwhelming emotions you couldn’t quite control, you pulled Seok-woo into a hug, almost seeming desperate as you clung to him like a lost child; however to your surprise, he returned the hug with just as much desperation. Something inside you instantly clicked as you pulled him away from the little group you’ve gathered over the many carts full of infected monsters; a pregnant lady and her husband.. their names being Seong-kyeong and Sang-hwa, at least you think.

Seok-woo looked at you with confusion as you took a deep breath, your hands shaking with nervousness and especially adrenaline. “Seok-woo, I know you absolutely do not want to hear this right now but in case we don’t get o—“ He glared at you and gripped your shoulders. “There is no ‘not getting out of here’ [Name], I will get you and Su-an off this train no matter what.” Your breath was shaky, tears threatening to spill as the days events sink in. “No, Seok-woo listen to me. If we— if I don’t get out, I want to let you know that I love you. You and Su-an. Please stay— stay safe for me okay? And make sure to tell Su-an to kill that recital.” You say between sobs, Seok-woo already pulling you into a tight embrace, shushing you. “I’ll get us out.” was the only thing he said before he went back to his daughter who was patiently waiting for you all to make a move.

You felt your heart ache as your words and confession was left unheard; the three simple words slipping from your tongue and left unnoticed by the man who has had your heart in a headlock for what seemed like all eternity, but of course, love could wait— survival can’t.

The silence in the next car was suffocating. Seong-kyeong sat in a corner, her face buried in her hands as she quietly sobbed. Su-an clung to you, her small hands gripping your sleeve as if she found your embrace as some sort of escape from this absolute nightmare. Seok-woo stood near the window, staring out at the chaos with a blank expression.

But you couldn’t focus on him. Your own thoughts were spiraling. The burn in your side was impossible to ignore now. At first, you thought it was just exhaustion, maybe a bruise from the earlier bumping into seats and doors—but when you finally glanced down, your blood ran cold.

The tear in your shirt revealed jagged teeth marks. Red blossomed around the wound, dark and unmistakable. You’d been bitten. Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as you quickly covered the mark. You looked around, panic rising, but no one had noticed yet. Not Seok-woo, not Su-an.

“[Name]?” Su-an’s soft voice pulled you back. She was staring up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes. “You’re shaking. Are you okay?” You forced a smile, kneeling to her level. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you lied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just tired, that’s all.”

Seok-woo turned at her voice, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. You could tell he sensed something was wrong, but before he could speak, the train lurched violently, sending everyone stumbling. You held Su-an’s head close to your chest, trying your best to shield her as the train started to slow down.

“Attention please. Due to blockage on our track we’ve stopped at East Daegu station. We either wait for the rescue team or go to Busan by a different train. I’ll go and find a working train, if you’re alive.. please transfer safely. Godspeed.”

That was all you heard from the train operator before it went silent; only the awful sound of hissing and gurgling coming from the other cars. Your head felt heavy, and with every step you took your legs started getting heavier and heavier, sweat dripping down your neck. Everyone managed to get out, however you stopped in your tracks as you felt a sharp pain shoot through your side and body. “[Name]..” Su-an called out with worry as she stepped back into the car even after your protests. “[Name] come on, we need to go to the east track like they told us. We can’t loose time.” Seok-woo said, his tone rough yet laced with worry. You smiled with tears streaming down your face, your hands shakily taking off your ring that you got yourself not long after your first ever pay check at the company.

“I think this is my stop, yeah?” You hiccupped, caressing the little girls cheek with nothing but love. “Hold onto this for me yeah?” You placed the ring into her smaller hands, closing her palm and kissing it gently. You turned your gaze to Seok-woo who looked terrified, kneeling next to you and shoving your hand that was clutching your side away, revealing those disgusting teeth marks. “Shit. No, no… no. [Name] you— Why didn’t you say anything? I told you to stay close to me, why, why didn’t you—“ You put a finger against his lips, smiling. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going on a little trip, okay? Promise me you’ll get to Busan safely. That you will go to that recital and that you—“ You shook violently, a painful groan echoing through the car. “Seok-woo. I love you, I love you and Su-an so much.” You smiled weekly before backing away from them, stumbling towards an empty cart which you then closed.

Su-an pressed her hand against the class, screaming your name with tears flowing down her face, while all you could do while your mind was still somewhat conscious was look at her, pressing your forehead against the glass. “I love you Su-an.”

That was the last words they heard before they rushed out the car and your mind got twisted into a flesh eating monster.

— 3 years later

A memorial was held for all the people who were lost during the breakout, bodies never being collected; only burned to get rid of every trace those events had left. The memorial was held in Busan on the Haeundae beach where thousands gathered to try and put their resting loved ones to peace.

"We’ve come here to remember those we’ve lost and honor the lives they lived. Though some of us come here to remember, some might want nothing more than to forget. The world has changed, and the scars left by all we’ve suffered remain, but we gather in the hope that together, we can begin to heal.

Let us find strength in their memory and courage in one another as we face what lies ahead, carrying their legacy forward in the world we rebuild."

A roar of cheers and applause filled the area as everyone spread across the beach, lanterns in hand, ready to release them into the sky. Each glowing light was a symbol—a guide for lost souls to find their way to a better, pain-free afterlife.

Su-an clutched her father’s hand tightly. The scar left on her young heart that day was still fresh, though it was slowly healing with time. Seok-woo, however, had never truly moved on from your loss. Your office remained untouched, never given to anyone else, despite countless suggestions from others after his company started up again. It was your place, and no one else’s. Su-an still visited occasionally, sitting there to draw and talk to you—or perhaps to herself.

“Hold this for me, please,” Seok-woo said gently, handing the lantern to his daughter. He lit it carefully, just as many others around them were doing, their lanterns already rising into the dark sky. Together, they held the lantern—Su-an on one side and Seok-woo on the other. With a nod of silent agreement, they released it, watching as it drifted upward to join the hundreds of others.

Seok-woo knelt down beside his daughter, pulling her into his side as she sobbed against his shoulder. He rubbed his hands up and down her arm, trying to comfort her, though his own heart ached just as much. A small silver chain was around his neck, a ring on it like a sort of charm; the same ring you always wore until that day. He couldn’t deny the weight of his regrets. The regret of not saying goodbye. The regret of not saving you. The regret of failing to protect you.

But worst of all…

That he never said I love you back.

© URFAVLARRY

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR COPY ANY OF MY WRITING TO OTHER PLATFORMS

I DON’T CONSENT FOR MY WRITING TO BE USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫

[nomie-11]

First Call Back

masterlist! | part 1 here!

synopsis: after your impromptu move to Piltover, not all of your solutions are solved, but you're finally together again, so maybe this could work out, right?

pairings: vi x reader, powder is lowkey reader's adoptive daughter

“I’m heading out early today, so don’t look for me when you wake up. Breakfast is in the fridge, Powder is At school, and I’ve started the laundry. Don’t forget that ‘how is Powder adjusting to fancy private school meeting’ is tomorrow at 7:00. I promise I’ll shower after work so I don’t scare off the teacher. See you later. Love you, babe.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, September 3rd, 7:32 a.m.

—————

You hadn’t quite made up your mind about Piltover yet. Yes, you had already moved there, and what little belongings you had were already set and away in your new apartment, but Piltover was weird. 

You could tell Powder wasn’t entirely happy about it, too. You and Vi had lined up the move so that Powder would start fresh on her first day of her first year of high school. The two of you (and Caitlyn) had even taken Powder out to get some new clothes, and she appreciated it, but you knew when she wasn’t feeling great. 

It all came to a head when, one night for dinner, you were sitting across from Powder, Vi on your other side with her textbooks and notes spread out, headphones pulled securely down over her ears. 

“How was school today, baby?” you asked softly, looking up from your plate to her, sitting in the kitchen chair she had claimed as her own, her knees pulled into her chest. Her soft, violet blue eyes were rimmed red as she glanced at you. 

“It was fine,” she mumbled, using her fork to push around her food on her plate, immediately shifting her gaze back down. She hadn’t taken a single bite all night—something that used to be foreign, she always used to eat, purely off the knowledge that you had sacrificed something for her plate to be full. 

With a soft sigh, you reached across the table, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. 

“You’ll tell me when you want me to braid your hair, okay?” 

She just nodded, dropping her fork onto the plate and pushing it towards you. “Thanks for dinner.” 

—————

“Did Powder tell you what’s going on? Those fancy Piltover assholes have been bullying her—saying she’s too skinny, that her hair is weird. They took her sketchbook today and started tearing out pages. When she got home from school, she just went straight to her room, didn’t even say hi. I had to force her to tell me when she finally grabbed a snack and took one of your high protein, high calorie bars that she hates.”

—phone call from Y/n to Vi, September 28th, 4:39 p.m.

—————

The walls of the apartment were a sterile white. Powder originally was excited to decorate them with you, but the excitement had fizzled out as quickly as it came. Boxes still sat unopened in the corner of her room, her sketches and art supplies untouched. The bright posters you’d picked out to liven up the place remained rolled up on her desk. She spent most of her time curled up on her bed, headphones in, drowning out the world. 

It hurt to see her like this. Powder had always been the spark, the light in the darkest days. Now, her spark seemed dimmed, weighed down by the move, the new school, and the unfamiliar faces that didn’t bother to understand her. 

That night, as you were tidying up the kitchen, you heard her soft footsteps approach. Powder hovered at the edge of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, looking smaller than ever. 

“Hey, baby,” you said, wiping your hands on a towel. “What’s up?”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering to the floor. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Can I… can I have some juice?”

“Of course,” you replied, trying to keep your voice light as you moved to the fridge. “You want your usual cup and straw too?”

She nodded, still not meeting your eyes. You grabbed the juice in silence, the quiet punctuated only by the soft click of Powder’s favorite cup against the metal of her straw. When it was ready, you placed the cup in front of her at the table, sitting down across from her. 

For a moment, she just stared at the mug, her hands cradling it for warmth. Then, she took a shaky breath and said, “I miss home.” 

Your heart clenched. “I know, baby,” you said softly. “It’s okay to miss it. This is a big change.” 

She nodded again, her eyes glassy. “It’s just… everything’s different here. The school, the kids, they don’t get me.” 

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, reaching out to take her hand. “I”m sorry I can’t fix this for you, but you don’t have to go through this alone, okay? Me and Vi—we’re here for you. Always.” 

Powder sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. Then, out of nowhere, she murmured, “Thanks, mom.” 

The words hit you like a freight train. Your breath caught, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her. Powder didn’t even seem to realize what she’d said, her focus still on the mug in her hands. 

—————

“I don’t think she even knows she did it on purpose. But it still hit me, Y/n. Like I’ve been trying so hard to make things better, to be there, and she… she doesn’t even see me like that. I guess I deserve it. I left her.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, September 29th, 12:14 a.m.

—————

The next morning, Vi wasn’t at the breakfast table. Powder had barely touched her cereal, her spoon stirring it listlessly. You decided against pushing her to eat more; the last thing she needed was added pressure. 

“Vi’s still upset, huh?” Powder asked, her voice small. 

“She’s just tired, baby,” You said, sitting down beside her. “She loves you so much, Powder. You know that, right?” 

Powder nodded, but her eyes stayed downcast. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.” 

“I know,” you murmured, brushing a strand of her soft blue hair behind her ear. “It’s just… complicated. She’s trying to figure out how to be what you need. And sometimes, it’s easier for her to feel like she’s not enough.” 

Powder looked up at you then, eyes wide. “But she is. She’s enough.” 

“I think she needs to hear that from you,” you said gently. 

—————

“Can you come home? Powder feels like shit, and I know you said you’re going for a run and I shouldn’t wait up for you, but I need to talk to you tonight.”

—phone call from Y/n to Vi, October 12th, 11:23 p.m.

—————

Powder had already gone to bed when Vi finally came through the door, her face flushed from a run that went on for longer than was originally planned. You were sitting on the couch, nursing a cup of tea, waiting for her. 

“Hey,” you said softly. 

“Hey,” she replied, toeing off her shoes. She didn’t sit beside you, instead heading for the kitchen to grab a glass of water. 

“You can’t just keep running away,” you said, your voice calm but firm. 

Vi froze mid-pour. “I’m not running,” she said after a moment, her tone defensive. 

“Yes, you are,” you said, setting your tea down on the counter. “Powder needs you right now. She feels terrible about what happened, Vi. And honestly? So do I.”

Vi turned to face you, her jaw tight. “Why would you feel terrible? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Because I should’ve seen this coming,” you said, standing up. “I should’ve talked to you about how she sees me, about how much she relies on me when you’re not around. This wasn’t fair to either of you.” 

Vi’s shoulders slumped, her anger deflating. “I just… I wanted to fix things,” she said, her voice cracking. “I wanted her to see me as her sister again, not some stranger who shows up every now and then.” 

“She does,” you said, stepping closer, resting your hand on her arm. “But Vi, you can’t force her to heal overnight. She’s grown up. She’s changed.” 

Vi’s eyes filled with tears, and she set the glass down with a shaky hand, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face in her shoulder. “I’m not cut out for this,” she whispered. 

“You are,” you said firmly, wrapping your arms around her. “We’ll figure this out.”

—————

“I helped Powder with her art project last night. We stayed up until midnight cutting out tiny stars because Powder didn’t like how hers turned out. It was the first time I’ve seen Powder smile in weeks. I think… I think we might be okay.” 

—phone call from Vi to Caitlyn Kiramman, October 17th, 10:22 a.m.

—————

The next week, the three of you went out for ice cream. It wasn’t much—just a quick trip to a small shop down the block—but it felt like a turning point. Powder clung to Vi’s arm the whole way there, her sketchbook tucked under her other arm. Vi didn’t let go once, even holding the door open with her foot. 

As you sat at a table, Powder flipping through her drawings to show Vi her latest ideas, you caught a glimpse of the sister Vi had been before everything had fallen apart. She laughed at Powder’s jokes, teased her about her favorite colors, and even let Powder draw on her arms around her tattoos.

“Maybe you should get it tattooed,” Powder said with a smile, pulling back her marker to give you a clear view of the intricate lines of flowers crawling up Vi’s mechanical ink. 

Vi grinned. “You think so? Maybe we can get matching ones someday.” 

Powder’s eyes lit up. “Really?” 

“Totally,” Vi said, ruffling her hair. 

You watched them, your chest tight with a mix of relief and undying love. For the first time since the move, things felt… okay.

—————

“I saw Powder hug Vi today. Like, really hug her—not one of those quick, awkward ones. She clung to her, just like she used to. Vi cried when she thought I wasn’t looking.” 

—phone call from Y/n to Caitlyn Kiramman, October 28th, 7:48 p.m.

—————

Powder and Ekko had claimed the living room, their laughter spilling into the kitchen where you and Vi were cleaning up after dinner. Powder’s sketchbook and Ekko’s toolbox—filled with small scraps of metal and wires—were spread out on the coffee table, and you could hear them trading ideas for some kind of contraption they wanted to build together. 

“They’re loud, but I’m not complaining,” Vi said, drying a plate. 

“Neither am I,” you said with a soft smile, handing her another dish to dry. “She’s never had a friend like him before.”

Vi glanced over her shoulder at the two teens, her expression softening. “She deserves to have someone like him. Someone who gets it.” 

“Yeah, she does,” you agreed, turning back to the sink. “Genius and madness. Let’s just hope they don’t blow up the apartment.” 

Vi snorted, leaning on the counter beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. “If they do, at least we know Powder will find a way to fix it.” 

You chuckled, glancing over at the living room. Powder was laughing now, a real, uninhibited laugh that filled the apartment with a warmth you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. Ekko was gesturing wildly, clearly explaining some grand idea, and Powder was nodding along, her now short blue hair bobbing with enthusiasm. 

“She’s totally doing better,” Vi said quietly, her eyes on her sister. 

“She is,” you replied, reaching for her next dish. 

Vi’s hand covered yours, stilling your movement. “Thanks for sticking with us,” she said, her voice low but sincere. “I don’t say it enough, but I don’t know what we’d do without you.” 

You squeezed her hand, your heart swelling. “You don’t have to thank me, Vi. I love you both too much for you to ever have to know what you’d do without me.” 

The sound of something crashing in the living room snapped both of your heads toward the noise. Powder and Ekko froze, their eyes wide as they looked at the overturned coffee table and the scattered parts of their project. 

“Uh… we can fix it!” Powder blurted, already scrambling to gather the pieces. 

Vi groaned, running a hand over her face. “I stand by what I said. They’re definitely blowing up the apartment.”

You laughed, grabbing a towel to clean up the spilled juice. “At least they’re having fun doing it.” 

Vi smirked, shaking her head. “They’re lucky they’re cute.” 

—————

“Hey, Cait. I know I’m running late for our lab, I swear I’m on my way—I just got a little held up at home. So much is going on. Powder’s smiling more, and she’s made this friend—a kid named Ekko—just moved here from Zaun with his adoptive father. They’ve been hanging out at our place, and for once I don’t feel like I’m walking on eggshells around her. 

And Y/n just applied to Piltover University for night classes. Can you believe it? She’s so nervous, but I know she’s gonna crush it. I told her I’d help with whatever she needs. Anyways, I’m on my way! Don’t wait for me.” 

—phone call from Vi to Caitlyn Kiramman, November 4th, 11:14 a.m.

—————

The day your acceptance letter arrived, Vi practically tackled you in excitement. 

“I told you!” She crowed, spinning you around the kitchen. “I told you you’d get in!”

”Vi, put me down!” You laughed, trying to wriggle free. 

“No way! This is huge, Y/n!” She said, finally setting you down but not letting go of your hands. “You’re going to college! You’re going to kill it. I’m so proud of you.” 

You blinked back tears, your chest tightening at the pride shining in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have even applied if it wasn’t for you.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Vi said, pulling you into a hug. “You did this. And I can’t wait for study dates, and walking you to and from class, and complaining about professors together, and—”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I haven’t enrolled yet, Vi. Deep breaths.”

—————

“I booked a reservation at that fancy rooftop place Caitlyn told us about. I figured we deserve a night out, just us. Ekko’s staying over with Powder—don’t worry, Benzo is cool with it. So… wear that dress I like, okay? I want to show you off a little.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, 

—————

The rooftop restaurant was beautiful, lit by strings of fairy lights that twinkle like stars. Vi had somehow snagged a table near the edge (she name-dropped Caitlyn Kiramman and the hostess got nervous), where you could see all of Piltover stretched out below you. She looked good—too good—in her black button-up, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off her tattoos and rippling muscles. 

“You clean up nice,” you teased, sipping your wine that tasted like a week’s worth of groceries. 

“You’re one to talk,” she shot back, her eyes shamelessly roamed over you. “That dress is illegal. I should arrest you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That line’s terrible. You shouldn’t take pickup lines from an enforcer-in-training.” 

“But it worked, didn’t it?” She said with a smug grin. 

The night passed in a blur of laughter and soft touches, a reminder of the easy connection you’d had before life got so hard. For the first time since you graduated and she moved to Piltover, you felt like a couple again-not just two people trying to hold everything together. 

As you walked home, Vi slipped her hand into yours, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain from earlier in the evening. The streets were quieter now, the usual hustle of Piltover replaced by the soft hum of distant conversations and the occasional buzz of an airship overhead. 

“You know,” Vi started, her voice thoughtful, “for two kids trying to figure out how to raise another kid, we didn’t do too bad.” 

You smiled, squeezing her hand. “We did a pretty good job, actually. Powder is turning out great. She’s like this because of you, you know.” 

“Us,” she corrected, her gaze earnest. “Powder would’ve run for the hills if it was just me.” 

“You’re underselling yourself,” you said, nudging her shoulder. “You're a great big sister. She knows that now.” 

Vi’s lips quirked into a soft smile, her free hand brushing over her short hair. “I guess I’ll take the compliment. But I hope you know you’re the glue. Powder and I just cling to you.” 

The sincerity in her voice made your heart ache in the best way. “I do. I know.” 

The building loomed ahead, its familiar stone facade dimly lit under the streetlights. As you reached the doorway, Vi stopped, turning to face you fully. Her hands found your waist, pulling you just a little closer, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over the fabric of your dress. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” she murmured, her voice loud. “And I’m so proud of you. Not just for tonight—for everything. Going to college, always working so hard for Powder, you’ve been carrying all of us, and you make it look so effortless. And I don’t tell you enough how much I… love you.” 

The words were warm and steady, her familiar cadence grounding you in a way that nothing else could. “You don’t have to. I feel it every day.” 

Her smile softened, her eyes searching yours in the quiet of the moment. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing yours with a tenderness that took you back to the first time you kissed on the roof of her dad’s old apartment building. You melted into her touch, your hands sliding up to rest against her chest, to feel the steady beat of her heart beneath your fingertips. 

The kiss deepened, a slow, deliberate exchange of all the things words couldn’t express. When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, Vi rested her forehead against yours, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Let’s go home.” 

And with her hand still tightly around yours, you did. 

—————

“Hey, Pow! Don’t forget to set your alarm! I need you distracting her all day tomorrow so I can get the apartment ready. Time to propose!”

—phone call from Vi to Powder, June 13th, 1:43 a.m.

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[portraitsofguilt]

art student! ellie taking slutty polaroids of you !

i was having some thoughts about art student! ellie as i was rolling through what majors the uni i applied for was letting applications in for and this popped into my silly mind.

cw for pornography, vaginal sex, groping, strap-on use, dacryphilia

ellie who has already painted countless portraits of you sitting in the snow, in the sun, laying on the grass, reading, and any other activities you can think of. the same ellie who has sketchbooks full of you as her anatomic reference, paintings, and pencil drawings of you sleeping naked after a night of passion, hidden away in the very bottom of her school bag. but this, this was something else.

“no, no, don’t be shy baby. the camera loves you.”

her hips never stop trusting into you as she lifts up the metal box, her other hand reaching to grope the soft mound as she tries to position the camera at the right angle to take a perfect photo. you looked so cute like this, hands gripping the sheets, your legs wrapped around her waist, back arching the slightest, and eyes closed, head twitching side to side as you were nearing the edge.

you were such a needy thing, fighting her hands as she tried to position you in the prettiest way she could with her cock deep inside your pussy. you writhe so much, she can hardly keep you in your place but she only takes the picture she is going to keep in the inner pocket of her coat when you come. you still for that brief second, back lifting off the bed, the back of your palm coming to cover your eyes when the camera flashes.

but it’s not enough, there is never enough of you in ellie’s eyes and she is relentless as she chases her own high by overstimulating your already worn out walls and bundle of nerves. this once she isn’t paying attention to your needs but rather hers and all she can think of is you, you, you, your body. the way you cry that it’s enough, that you cannot take it no more, slurring your words and your weak hands try to push her off of you is just puts more onto the fire in the pits of her stomach.

ellie discards the camera your side, leaning down to hover over you with her hands gripping the sheets beside your head, keeping herself up and anchored. she takes a few ragged breaths, huffing as she tries to move despite her muscles feeling numb and pulls out of you. sweat drips from her forehead and shoulders, her whole body shining in front of your eyes before she lays next to you.

despite being out of breath, her mind still being clouded by the bliss of her orgasm she coos a few sweet thing into your ear as she covers the both of you up with a blanket, reaching for the printed polaroid from the camera on your side and showing it to you. 

“see? every color, expression, and curve of your body is perfectly embodied in this photo.”

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

Eddie munson x reader fic based on this?

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTYTgsBwR/

cute!! thank you for requesting <3

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER

Pairings: Eddie munson x fem! Summary: your best friend's little brother has a crush on you, which you use to your advantage. Warnings: a kiss

──── ୨୧ ────

you entered the Munson Trailer with a bag full of movies you rented from Family video.

it was friday night, which meant you watch shitty movies and get fat with your best friend.

you were immediately greeted with a bunch of muffled screaming from the room down the hall, Eddie's room, your best friend's little brother

although, he wasn't really little anymore, and he was only 2 years younger than you. so was he ever really little?

you frowned and looked over at your friend, Beth, wondering what was going on

"oh, yeah, Eddie invited his band over. I told them to be quiet" she sighed with a smile as you took off your jacket

"i don't think they listened" you laughed

she shook her head "no, they definitely didn't"

you got settled on the couch beside her after digging in the fridge for a drink.

"oh, yeah. i ordered Pizza but they were like, super early, the boys took it from me as soon as they smelt it. good luck if they even give you a peice, if there's any left" she snorted

she usually didn't give a fuck about her brother, unless he really pissed off or tried to get your attention during your hangouts

which raises the idea in your mind.

from the very start of your friendship, you noticed Eddie and his attempts to drag you away from Beth.

and it wasn't until you were 16 and him 14 when Beth told you he had a major crush on you

she told you the whole story of going in his room to find a drawing of you in his sketchbook while he was out.

her telling you made it so awkward when you's came over, you noticed every shy smile and glance he'd give you when he thought you weren't looking.

you'd notice when he'd go out of his way to do things for you.

when you'd come over, he would rush out of his room at the sound of your voice and offer you a drink

"Can I get you anything? we have pretzels, and coke" he'd ask

you declined every time, feeling a small pang in your chest, watching the smile of his face falter as he backed up into his room

"okay... just call out to me if you need anything!" he'd say before shutting his door

in highschool, he would go out of his way to say hi to you, but frown everytime you'd brush him off, looking at him like everyone did, like he was a freak.

Eddie gave up on liking you for a while at that point, the poor 16-year old's heart was broken, but it's not like he ever thought you'd like him back.

you were just so pretty.

he was so heartbroken he had put everything he made for you away in a box and put it under his bed, long forgotten by now.

every lyric sheet of a song he made for you, every trinket that made him think of you, everything you'd leave at the trailer that he was able to swipe before anyone noticed.

it wasn't until you graduated that you began to be nice to him again. now, 4 years later, his crush on you was known by everyone, and he knew that you knew about it.

at 20 years old he had finally grown a little more confident when around you, sending you little comments of flirtation or winking at you. though, he'd miss the way you'd blush as you rolled your eyes.

he wants you to know. he's definitely not shy about letting you know.

which is why you stand up and smile

"I have a feeling they'll let me have some" you speak confidently

you walk up to his room down the hall and knock

"first one to get me a slice of pizza gets a kiss!"

you giggle and look back at Beth when you hear screaming and rustling on the other side of the door

"BACK OFF! MOVE! GIVE ME THE PIZZA, GIVE IT!" you hear Eddie scream at the others.

it's silent after a few seconds before the door slowly opens.

Eddie's head pops out from his room and gives you a smile

he opens the door wider and bows down in front of you, presenting a paper plate with a slice of pizza on it

"One slice of pepperpni pizza for the fair lady" he smiles cheekily

you smile and take the plate

"thank you, kind sir" you curtsey and take the plate. you turn around and go to walk back to the livingroom when he clears his throat

you looked back as see him still standing there, his eyes wondering around the room, his hands behind his back as he rolls on the heels of his feet.

you blush when he puckers his his lips like a child ready to have his first kiss with his girl crush.

you roll your eyes "oh how could I forget, I apologise" you speak in the same way he did a few seconds ago

you walk back over to him and lean up on your tippy toes. he looked at you happily when he leans in.

you swerve his lips and connect you mouth with his cheek, right on his dimple, wiping your thumb over the lipstick mark as you pull away

he looks at you lazily as you back away, a dumb smile on his face as he backs up into his room

"pleasure doing business with you" he says before shutting the door.

you walked back to the livingroom, taking the pizza into your mouth, taking a bite when you see Beth roll her eyes.

as you sat down next to your best friend, you could more screaming and cheering

"he's such a dork" Beth mumbled

you look down the hall, where his bedroom door was shut and shrugged

"he's cute"

Beth's head snapped to the side to where you sat "what!?"

your eyes went wide when you realise what you said "what?"

──── ୨୧ ────

[glassrowboat]

🎲 muehehehe get diced >:3 🪐

13. Kiss to the chest.

Anatomy. Welt Yang.

Word Count: 1,500+

Thank you for the ask, Stardust <3 Now we just gotta fan over Welt together

The mattress hit your knees as you stepped backward, the cushions something you barely had the chance to register the comfort of before you were tripping over your own two feet and falling backward. The form on top of you doing little to help. Rather, it was only making it worse as Welt fell on top of you with an over exaggerated oof! Hair askew and glasses nearly falling off his nose from the game of tag you two were playing only minutes before around his room.

Having ducked around the desk, the trashcan full of crumpled up paper, a giant stuffy March gifted him as a thank you for helping her on their last shared Trailblaze mission, and lastly workout equipment.

All over one pencil.

His favorite, or so, Welt claimed. Apparently, it had the perfect grip, so it sat comfortably in his hand. To draw, it proved the best one was familiar with the materials they used. Like how every painter has a favorite medium as either watercolor, gouache, ect, seeped into the bristles of their brush.

Graphite covered the side of his hand, staining it a metallic gray you had grown accustomed to seeing in him when he slipped the gloves off and sat before the sketchbook he kept. One that was nearly falling apart now, bindings getting looser with every time he pried it open to add another drawing to the collection. If not that, to slip pages of your own horrendous attempts at doodling him away for safekeeping.

Despite your protests to simply crumple the paper up and toss it away as the garbage you saw it as, Welt insisted otherwise. Said it was something precious to keep, memories embedded in the scribbles that could barely resemble a human face. Nothing like his art. Not from what you've seen, at least.

You had seen him make circles and lines into something more than what you could see them as. A circle turned into a head, a box into a ribcage, a line, and another line paired together to make tweezers. It was only when that item was added did it click in your mind he was drawing the picture he took of you earlier that day plucking your eyebrows. For some reason.

“I believe this means you owe me my own materials back.”

“Now why would I do that?” You asked, trying to hold out your arm even further so Welt couldn't slip it out of your hold. To pluck it from your hand like one would a loose string on a shirt. Or, as is the case with the two of you, his scarf. Though, it's not like your effort could do much against the man who could, quite literally, make the item float out of your hand and back into his own.

Surely that had to be classified as cheating.

“Are you going back on your word from before, honey? I distinctly recall you saying you could wait for me to finish what I was working on.”

Yet here you are, still trying to play keep away.

“Yeah, but then I got bored.”

A sigh. One that brushed against your skin from how close he was. Like this, you could even make out the sparkle in his eyes. Or it could just be a speck of lint on his lenses. One of the two. “I suppose that's fair.”

“Exactly. So….” You trailed off. Honestly, you weren't expecting to get this far, so it wasn't a surprise you found your own words to be suddenly falling flat. “Well, if you are so intent on focusing on art, why don't you teach me something?”

There, interactive. An olive branch offered to his outstretched hand, grasping something you can do together.

“Teach you?” Welt repeated, mulling over the words as they rolled over his tongue. “I can work with that.”

The pencil was pulled from your hand before you could even whine in protest as he pulled away. Leaving you to place it on his sketchbook only to return shortly after. Mattress creaking once again as hands, now free to do as they pleased, slid along your cheek. Thumb right under your eye.

“You're a hands-on student, aren't you? If I remember correctly…”

“I am.”

Welt muttered an “excellent” as his thumb brushed through your lashes. Your eye squeezed shut on instinct, but this didn't seem to deter him at all. “Then we can start with our first lesson now.”

“That being, professor?” You didn't miss his eyebrows burrowing ever so slightly at the nickname, but still you smiled up at him like nothing was wrong.

“Basic shapes. We can start through profiles as an example.” His touch moved to the eyebags you had been sporting that morning, running along the colored hue of the skin that gave away your bad sleeping habits. Again. “The head is not perfectly rounded, but the shape that resembles the dome of the skull the best is still a circle. Eyes are round under the lid, also best drawn using a circle first.”

“I'm getting some real creepy imagery here, teach.”

“I can understand that. It might have been easier to pull up images instead to give you something to see. To lead by example.”

“But?” You asked, head tilting ever so slightly as you watched Welt silently mouth words.

“But first, let me ask you something. When I ask you to pick something round, specifically on the human body, what do you think of first?”

Well, your first thought was balls, but you were going to keep that one under a tight lid. Maybe even in a trash can. Though that does risk the chance of Stelle rummaging through and finding your secrets.

Second? Well, that was easy.

“The callous on your finger.”

Accrued from hours, days, years even of leaning over pen and paper and letting the images in his mind come to life. Something that's not perfectly round, but it always caught your attention nonetheless. Your own fingers ran over the bump anytime you hold hands.

“I think of a ring.” Before you could question him on that, Welt slid his thumb over your lips. It was second nature to press a kiss to it, just like it was second nature for him to smile at the gesture. “Or that earring you always lose and I have to find for you.”

“No need to call me out like that.”

“Ah, I apologize.” The look in Welt's eyes was enough to tell you that even if he was sorry, he still knew he had a point.

“Yeah, yeah, what else? I can't learn to draw from circles alone, professor.”

“This 'professor’ is beginning to think the student is in a rush. Now that's no good way to get A’s in my,” He took a moment to look around the room again, taking in the place you two shared and made your own on the express, “class.”

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry.”

“Your tone tells me otherwise.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop the smirk that was hoping to overcome you.

“As for more lessons, there are topics we can focus on.”

As he spoke, Welt's hand slid down your neck, tracing the hollow where the skin met your collarbone. Your shirt shifted ever so slightly out of the way, brushing against your skin the same way he was as his lips fell to meet yours.

“Anatomy, for example.”

“Now that's a big step from shapes.”

A giant leap, actually. You couldn't even draw a perfect circle, but here he is suggesting something that you've seen even him struggle with. Reference photos had been pulled up countless times as he drew. It was that, or, you'd find Welt standing before the mirror to see how his body shifts in this new pose. He's even asked you to indulge him once or twice and move along with how he places you, pen in his mouth as he chews on it to help him think. Or so he claims.

“No need to worry, we can start small. Besides, did you not just say you can't learn to draw from circles alone?”

Ahh, your own words. What a great way to turn them around and shove them back in your mouth. Something to choke on for fun.

“And what is this something small, professor?”

Fingers toyed with your shirt, unbuttoning it as Welt looked up at you, making sure this was okay. Just like he always did. With your nod, he continued, undoing the top three until the tank top you were underneath was peaking out.

“It's simple. Simple enough that I can show you.” Welt said. His lips met your chest, heart thrumming under him, beating wildly in an attempt to escape and give him what has already been his since the moment you first saw his smile at a stupid dad joke. Of all things.

“But something tells me this will be easier to do without these clothes in the way. Do you mind, honey?”

And of course you didn't mind at all.

[meluiloth]

For @silmarillionepistolary day 7, Remembrance and New Beginnings! Artwork at the bottom.

Night has fallen. The lamps have been turned low, the house cleaned, the bedtime routine completed; all Maglor and Maedhros have left to do is tuck the twins and read them their customary story.

They look so small wrapped in the red wool blankets, like two little birds in a crimson nest. They are quiet, too, waiting patiently for Maglor to ask his routine question: “Now, what story would you like tonight? Or would you rather hear a song?”

“I want the one about the Sun and the Moon!” Elros pipes up, scrunching the blanket in his hands eagerly.

Maglor smiles. “Is that what you want as well, Elrond?”

Elrond, the quieter twin, looks bashfully down before murmuring, “I’d like to see the picture book…”

Maglor shares a confused look with Maedhros. They did not own any picture books. “What do you mean?” Maedhros asks.

Elrond tips his head. “The one in your study,” he says. “It’s got gold string around it and lots of pictures on every page.”

Maedhros frowns. “You know you are forbidden from entering my study,” he reproaches.

Elrond bites his lip. “Yes, I know … I just saw the pictures and thought they were pretty.”

Maglor sees the telltale signs of a lecture in Maedhros’s expression, so he swiftly says, “Perhaps we can excuse it this once, if you promise to ask before you touch our things.”

Both Elrond and Elros nod emphatically, and Maglor leaves the room to search for the ‘picture book’ in his brother’s study, which is packed with volumes, scrolls, and papers. Maglor thinks it will take him forever to find the book Elrond described, if it exists at all, but surprisingly he easily locates it in the first bookshelf: a worn book of red leather, tied with a fading gold ribbon. It is familiar to him, but he cannot recollect why until he brings it back into the twins’ room. Maedhros’s eyes widen when he sees it. “Grandfather’s sketchbook? I thought that was lost ages ago!”

“It was in a box in the back,” Elrond supplies.

Maglor looks down at it, a stab of nostalgia and old grief passing through him. “I thought we never even brought it,” he murmurs.

“Can we read it?” Elros asks, leaning forward curiously.

Maedhros frowns, his reluctance clear. There are many memories neither of them want to relive, the life and death of their grandfather among the most heartbreaking. But many of the memories Finwë recorded in his beloved sketchbook were his happiest, from both his life and the rest of his family’s. And the two young children looking up at Maglor are also Finwë’s family … and he wants to share something of his life that is not just the blood on his hands.

The spine of the book cracks softly as he opens it, and the yellowed paper releases a small puff of dust, but the artwork on the inside is still as lovely and life-filled as the day he penned them.

Maglor explains each piece as he showed it to the twins, and lets them look as long as they like. Even Maedhros sometimes asks him to wait a little longer on certain pages, the heavy, dark look in his eyes brightening when he remembers his childhood in Valinor.

It is well past midnight by the time they reach the last pages, and all of them are surprised to see that they are all in full color, when all the previous pages have been only graphite sketches.

“Who are they?” Elros breathes, tracing his finger delicately over the meticulously painted faces.

Maglor swallows, his throat and his eyes clogged with tears. His brother, too, is at a loss for words.

“It’s them,” Elrond says, looking up at the Fëanorians and then back down at thd drawings. “Maglor and Maedhros are right there … but Maedhros looks different …”

It was true. Maglor and Maedhros, along with all of their brothers - still alive and smiling radiantly - and their parents. On the other pages, their cousins and uncles and aunts, before any of them had suffered the horrors of Morgoth.

“That is us,” Maedhros murmurs. “That was us then. We were so happy..."

“What was it like … then?” Elros ventures.

Maglor smiles. “I will tell you.”

“Tomorrow night,” Maedhros interrupts. “It is very late, and if you are to understand a word we say, you must be well-rested.”

[sinning-23]

Blowing Bubbles Blowing ZAZA

OPLA headcannons whre y/n for some reason has an ungodly amout of ouid stashed...but always offers because sharing is caring.

Warnings: uhhh some oiud, mentions of slightly nsfw topics, uhhhh yeah thats about it.

Zoro

-Ok so.....he knows that smell, but why the hell was it coming from your room.

-He doesn't knock, just kinda cracks the door open, and there you are eyes wide like you'd been caught (technically you have) but that didn't matter.

-What DID matter was that you were smoking two blunts at once and took one out of your mouth to offer him.

-He hesitates only for a second but accepts it, closing the door behind him.

-HOT BOX HOT BOX HOT BOX

-I mean this mfs eyes are bloodshot with a satiisfies smile on his face.

-"Where did you even get this?' His voice seems slightly deeper now.

-"Stole it. Good shit tho." You sigh, the two of you laid out, staring up at the ceiling that seems to be warping before your very eyes.

-There's a silence but it's comfortable...until it's not, Zoro cutting through it

-'Do you think god stays in heaven cause he's scared of his creation?"

Sanji

-You already tried to convince him this was better than any cancer stick he's put in his body but he's not one to dabble in that.

-"You can make it butter. Infuse it. Boom edibles." you suggest, passing him the ziplock back with a wiggle of your eyebrows.

-"C'mon chef boyardee, hook it up?"

-Ok so it was far more tempting than he thought and damn did he get carried away fast. Like...way too fast.

-THIS MF COOK A FULL MEAL...ALL OF IT INFUSED. Ohhh you're all fucked up. I mean REALLLY fucked up

-Zoro is knocked out, sleeping in the most uncomfortable position. I mean he's folded like a goddamn omelet with the hilt of his sword acting as a pillow.

-Luffys got his arms stretched out in one big puddle trying to untangle them

-Nami is doing circles around the ship looking at her compass needle, trying to figure out why 'Weast" isn't labeled

-And the two of you giggle away, opening and closing the fridge to try and catch the light go off and on inside.

-It's a gawd damn mess and technically your fault for giving THE CHEF A BAG OF WEED TO USE IRRESPONSIBLY

Luffy

-He found it completely by accident and thought it was food.

-ATE THE NUG. HE. ATE. IT.

-"Well, I don't know why you keep a bag of lettuce in your room, but I was hungry so I ate it. I think it's gone bad by the way. so... you're welcome!"

-You freeze, turning got him in a way that's damn near comical.

-"YOU WHAT?!"

-Oooooh hes fucked up, it takes less than an hour for it to kick in and the whole time he's a mess of tangles, stretched-out libs, asking questions that make no sense to anyone but him.

-"If I like.....stretch my stomach can I eat more than usual or...would I have to stay stretched like that until it's digested?"

-Starts to panic just a pinch because he said his 'hands don't match'

-Que him flipping his hands back and forth for the next hour

Nami

-Only smoked because you offered...and because she hasn't in a while

-Surprizingly knows some cool tricks.

-Opts to take her rolling tray out of its hiding place. Hooray for a new smoke buddy!

-She's actually really calm and relaxed when she smokes. can hold a normal conversation, she just seems a bit sleepy.

-Already prepared with food from the kitchen cause she knows she gets the munchies and already had an incident where she tried to cook while high anddd it backfired.

-Is also very creative. She keeps a sketchbook with pages of mandalas she drew under the influence. Unfortunately, it's only a talent she possesses when high as a kite.

Usopp

-Scam or not the lady at the booth said it was a very nice vase for a unique kind of flower. The plan was to gift it to you with said flower but uhhh... he couldn't find it. That is until you spotted it in his room.

-"Yooo I didn't know you dabble uUo! I would've shared my stash sooner!"

-Whatchu talking bout Willis?

-"What? No no, the lady said this was a vase for a special kind of flower and- Ohhhhh."

-He pauses, giving a nod and clearing his throat.

-Did you just teach Usopp what a bong is and how to use it???

-He gets terrible munchies after and can't decide whether he wants something out the kitchen or to simply eat you up because you already a snack (oop girl hold on-)

-If hes not horned up he's paranoid. No inbetween. literally like, "They're in the walls!" paranoid or "I'm in your walls" just nastyyy

Shanks

-Ouid you say? Zaza? The devil's lettuce? Oh, he will be partaking.

-Will fuck up the rotation. Not on purpose tho, it's just been a while since he'd done this.

-Was kinda a pothead in his youth. These days the closest he can get is a CBD ointment he uses for soreness in his back and shoulders.

-So when he catches you with quite literally the FATTEST joint he has ever seen in his life he can't help but join in.

-"There's no way you're smoking that by yourself." He chuckles, sitting crisscross beside you as you begin to pass t back and forth

-Please don't try to outsmoke him. You will lose and green out way before he does sweetie.

-Shotgunning, that's all I have to say.

-He gets kinda freakayyyy when he's high, so just expect wandering hands and some deep, passionate kisses.

Buggy

-Oh you stole it from someone and he stole it for you because wtf? You're supposed to offer your Captain the shit you steal that totally a rule.

-You don't say anything when the bag goes missing but you do smell your precious green coming from your Captain's quarters.

-You knock, hearing a light cough, and then 'come in"

-THIS MF IS SMOKING ALL YOUR SHIT.!THE SHIT YOU WORKED HARD TO STEAL!

-"So you were gonna keep this little gem a secret from me? I'd laugh in your face right now but I feel like I'm gonna cough up a lung" He strains, very obviously holding back a series of coughs.

-He doesn't seem upset and passes the joint to you with a welcoming smile.

-Who tf else did you think Shanks would smoke with back in the day?

-For once he's not talkative, just enjoying the feeling of complete relaxation. It's like he turns his brain off for a moment. he needs it honestly.

-Is literally the BEST at rolling. Like every time it's a perfect, photo-worthy blunt.

[flowersandskeletons526]

"Get Your Colors" - Warriors Concept Album fanfic

Woe! Fox and Rembrandt angst be upon ye!

Used this as my mind break from "Put Your Gloves Up" and now I'll get back to it. Part six of that will be out soon. Until then, enjoy!

Based on @alexihollis's post

----------

“I don’t get it,” said Fox as she leaned over Rembrandt’s shoulder.

Rembrandt paused, looking between the two oil pastel colors she held in her hands. “Don’t get what?” she asked.

“Why don’t you just get the sets?” Fox picked up a beginner’s box of pastels, a rainbow of simple colors, the ones children got when they were first learning to use them. Rembrandt, however, was not first learning to use them and did not need a kit. “Isn’t that cheaper? And you get all the colors.”

“They don’t have the colors I need.”

Fox grabbed a bigger box. “What about this one?”

“That one has too many colors. And it’s too expensive. Besides, I already have some of the colors I want so I’d rather just pick out the ones I don’t have by myself. I’m not paying for something I have at home.” 

“But how do you know what colors you need?”

“I have a plan.”

“But-”

“Fox, do you trust that I know what I’m doing or not?”

“I know you know what you’re doing!” Fox huffed. “I’m just curious. Wait, why do you need four different greens?”

“Because the project I’m working on is a collection of monochromes.”

“What’s a monochrome?”

Rembrandt sighed. She loved Fox, truly, but when the younger girl asked if she could tag along on a trip to the art store, she was not expecting to give a seminar on terms and techniques. “Monochromes are pictures that only use different shades of one color. Usually it’s black and white but I think that’s boring,” she explained.

“Oh. Okay. Can I go look at the sketchbooks?”

“Sure. I’ll come find you.”

It didn’t take Rembrandt much longer to pick out her colors. Trying to balance all of them in her hands, she made her way through the cramped, quiet store to the aisle with the sketchbooks. Fox was not there. Rembrandt cursed under her breath. She hated when she wandered off like this. Walking down each aisle, pausing to look longingly at the nice, expensive spray paints in a locked case, she finally found Fox in the back corner of the store flipping through a book. Fox looked up as Rembrandt came to stand beside her. 

“What did you find?” Rembrandt asked.

Fox showed her the cover. “It’s a guidebook to drawing comic book characters.” 

Rembrandt looked at the book. She looked up at Fox, her eyes intensely focused on the book, gently thumbing the edge of the page. Rembrandt smirked. “Do you want it?”

Fox looked up, eyes wide as her expression brightened. “Really?”

“How much is it?”

“Six dollars. We don’t have the money, do we?”

“Let me check.” She picked out roughly a quarter of the oil pastels in her hands and discreetly slipped them into the inside pocket of Ajax’s leather jacket that she’d borrowed for the day. It was so loose on her that no one would notice if she hid a whole spray paint can in the pocket, let alone a few small sticks. She put a finger to her lips and smiled. “Yeah, we have the money.” 

Fox broke out in a broad grin. Rembrandt made another shut up gesture, and Fox nodded and clutched the book to her chest. They paid for the art supplies and the book - minus the ones snuck into Rembrandt’s pocket - and headed home. Once they were a few blocks away, Fox leaned down and lowered her voice. 

“How many did you swipe?”

“Four or five.”

“Nice.” Fox gasped. “Oh, shit! I don’t have any paper to draw on!”

“I have an extra little sketchbook you can take.”

“Are you sure?” Fox asked with another big smile. 

“Yeah. It’s one I stole, anyway.” It actually wasn’t. She was planning on keeping it in her jacket so she could draw on the train without carrying her full sized sketchbook everywhere, but she could never say no to Fox when her face lit up like that. 

When they arrived back at the apartment, Ajax was lying on the couch watching some thriller TV show. Fox sat at the kitchen table with her book while Rembrandt stood behind the couch. Ajax sat up as Rembrandt leaned down to give her a quick kiss. “How was the art store?”

“It was good,” Rembrandt said. “Got the colors I need and Fox got a book on how to draw comic book characters.”

Ajax glanced at Fox, engrossed in the book, and sat up further to whisper to Rembrandt. “Do we have money for that?”

“I mopped a couple oil pastels and that made up for it.”

“You gotta stop doing that before you get caught.”

“And if I do, I will talk my way out of it.” 

“You’re dangerous.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Ajax pulled Rembrandt close by her waist and peppered her face and neck with kisses. Rembrandt laughed, cupping Ajax’s face and planting a long, gentle kiss on her lips. 

From the kitchen, Fox called, “Get a room!”

-----

Cowgirl fidgeted on Cleon’s couch. Rembrandt had had her sitting there for close to an hour, and, shockingly, she was almost out of things to say. Sitting in the armchair across from her, Rembrandt barely noticed. When she really got to working on a drawing, she could work through the night without realizing until Ajax woke up and gave her shit for not sleeping again. 

Cowgirl groaned and threw her head back so Rembrandt would finally look up. “Girl, how long do I have to stay like this?” she whined. 

“I’m still blocking colors,” said Rembrandt. “Calm down, I’m almost finished. I just need to get a few more shapes in and then I can do the details on my own.”

“Can I at least see it?”

“Not yet. And stop moving your hat. You change the shape of your hair when you do that.”

“None of your other drawings of me have taken this long.”

“This one is special.”

“Um, excuse me, all pictures of me are special.”

“This one’s a collection,” said Fox. Getting up from the table, she came up behind Rembrandt and put her arms around her shoulders. Rembrandt paused her drawing to squeeze Fox’s hand. “They’re monochromes. She’s doing them for all of us. We’re all different colors.”

“What color am I?” Cowgirl asked. Rembrandt lifted the royal purple oil pastel she was working with in response. “Why am I purple?”

“You feel purple,” Rembrandt said simply.

“The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means exactly what I said.” Rembrandt set aside her pastel. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Thank god.” Cowgirl stood up and stretched. “I need a drink.”

While Cowgirl headed into the kitchen, Fox reached out to touch the edge of the drawing, making sure she didn’t smudge anything. She rested her chin atop Rembrandt’s head. “Hey, what color am I?” she inquired. 

“I haven’t figured it out yet.”

-----

Shouts and screams echoed behind them. The pounding footsteps of their pursuers like a horde of nightmares. Flashing lights and police sirens in the distance, more shots as the world devolved into chaos. Rembrandt ran faster than she ever had in her life. She barely felt the burn of her lungs and her muscles. She barely heard Swan and Cochise and Ajax shouting instructions behind her. All she could focus on was the path ahead and Fox running just as fast beside her.

Fox tripped. She fucking tripped. Rembrandt almost fell herself with how hard she backpedaled. She grabbed Fox’s arm, hauling her to her feet as panicked words tumbled from the younger girl’s lips.

“We’re dead!” she cried. “We’re fucking dead! When I woke up today, I didn’t think we could die!”

“Neither did I!”

Swan shouted behind them. “The cemetery! Go to the cemetery! Go!”

Rembrandt found herself hiding behind a tombstone, pressing her back against the cold, wet rock as she tried and failed to catch her breath. Fox knelt beside her and clung to her arm. A helicopter flew overhead as lights and blaring sirens passed the cemetery. Swan stood, looking around, and motioned for everyone to stand up. “Make sure we’re okay,” she said.

“This is a graveyard,” Rembrandt said pointedly, because Swan usually wasn’t one for dumb sentences but that was fucking stupid. 

“Everybody make it?”

They’d all made it. All except Cleon. All except the best of them.

Rembrandt hadn’t been this terrified since before the Warriors found her. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely see through the rain and the tears she desperately tried to blink away. 

“What are we gon’ do?” she whispered. Fox was right there echoing her. “What are we gon’ do?”

“We get back home alive.”

-----

Rembrandt sat on the floor behind the couch in her and Ajax’s apartment. Her, Ajax, and… Fox. It used to be home, it used to be home for the three of them. She still remembered how happy Fox was when they found an apartment and she got her own room for the first time in her life, no longer on Cleon’s couch or briefly sharing Swan’s room when they decided she couldn’t just stay in the living room anymore. She remembered how excited she was to decorate it with comic book posters and all the plushies she collected from carnival games on the boardwalk. 

Hanging on the walls were the best of Rembrandt’s drawings of her. Fox loved to sit for portraits. She always said how pretty it made her feel. Even months after losing her, Rembrandt couldn’t bring herself to go into that room. Everything left of Fox was just sitting there collecting dust. Rembrandt couldn’t face that. All she could do was stare at the forever-closed door.

The front door to the apartment opened and shut. She flinched at the sharp thunk of the deadbolt, her mind throwing her back into an east village loft, sitting beside Fox on a couch, clinging to her hand and wondering how the hell she’d gotten into a situation like that. 

“Baby, I’m home!” Ajax called. Rembrandt pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. Ajax’s footsteps padded through the apartment, around the couch, and Rembrandt heard her sigh as she knelt beside her. Ajax touched her cheek, and she leaned into the contact. It was second nature at this point. “Why are you on the floor?”

Rembrandt jerked her head towards Fox’s bedroom door. Ajax exhaled sharply through her nose. Wordlessly, she sat on the floor beside Rembrandt and pulled her into her lap, holding tight as Rembrandt wrapped her arms around her neck and buried her face in the crook of her shoulder. She was so sick of crying but she couldn’t stop it, burning tears dripping down her face and soaking into Ajax’s shirt. 

“I miss her,” she whispered.

“I know,” Ajax said. “I miss her, too.”

-----

“I don’t think Rembrandt likes me,” Mercy mumbled. 

“What are you talking about?” Swan asked. “She likes you.”

Rembrandt overheard from the living room in Cleon and Swan’s apartment, which was also Mercy’s apartment now, too, she supposed. Everyone else was out at work or doing gang business and Ajax was still reluctant to leave Rembrandt alone given her mental state over the past months, so she sat with a blank sketchbook in Cleon’s living room until Ajax got back. She tried her best to ignore Swan and Mercy’s conversation but the walls were thin and she couldn’t tune it out. 

“She looks at me like she wants me dead,” Mercy continued. 

“It’s just resting bitch face. That’s how she looks at everyone she doesn’t know.”

Wow, Rembrandt thought. Thanks, Swan.

“Did she look at you like that?”

“No, but that was Rembrandt then. This is Rembrandt now, and she’s just… she’s getting used to you.”

“Everyone else did. Even Ajax doesn’t side eye me every time I walk into the room.”

“Are you mad?”

“No! No, I’m not mad. I just wanna know what I’m doing wrong.”

Rembrandt sank into the couch. She didn’t dislike Mercy and it hurt to know Mercy thought that but it just hurt so much to face her because-

“You’re… you remind her of Fox,” Swan said. “And I mean it in the best way! But Rembrandt just can’t-”

Rembrandt turned on the TV and cranked the volume until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts.

-----

Rembrandt stood over her desk in her and Ajax’s bedroom, rifling through her desk and sorting her sketchbooks and drawings. The books had begun to pile up around the room, her desk was running out of storage space, and the corner she designated for larger canvases and other projects had gone from a corner to an entire wall. Ajax hadn’t exactly asked her to clear out some of the pieces, but she always apologized profusely when she knocked over a stack of books or almost damaged a painting, so Rembrandt decided to whittle down her collection to just the best and most sentimental. 

With her desk mostly sorted, she turned to the squat filing cabinet she kept beside it. In the bottom drawer, she discovered her collection of oil pastel portraits. She found it within herself to smile as she flipped through the stiff sheets of drawing paper. She’d finished most of them a long time ago, maybe missing a detail or two here and there, and there were some parts she could go back and touch up if she really wanted. 

The first one she picked up was Ajax, her strong features highlighted in rich, deep reds, piercing eyes staring directly off the page.

There was Cochise in hunter green, a side profile, smiling softly.

Cowgirl in royal purple, adjusting the brim of her hat with a grin.

Swan’s calm, stoic face in dark night-sky blue. 

A self portrait in sunshine yellow.

Cleon in gold. Rembrandt had had to do a lot of experimenting with colors on that one to make sure the palette didn’t look too similar to her own portrait. She’d used mod podge and gold glitter in the shadows of the piece to give it that extra bit of glow Cleon always seemed to carry with her.

Rembrandt’s heart sank when she got to the last drawing.

Fox, in bright Tiffany blue. Fox with a wide grin, Fox with her sparkling eyes staring back at Rembrandt, immortalized in such a fragile fucking medium that some of the details had already begun to disappear from just sitting in a drawer. Any light touch would smudge the pigment and Rembrandt would lose more and more of her because nothing could be permanent, none of it was permanent, she tried so hard to hold on but no matter what she was just going to lose her all over again-

Rembrandt screamed and swiped half of everything off her desk. Sketchbooks and pencils and paint cans crashed to the floor, and Rembrandt fell to her knees amidst the mess, unable to look at the portrait any longer. 

When Ajax got home later, she found Rembrandt curled into a ball under her desk, still bawling her eyes out, covering her mouth to silence herself. Ajax spotted Fox’s drawing on the desk and didn’t ask what was wrong. She just sat a comfortable distance from Rembrandt and waited for her to come out. Rembrandt loved her for that.

-----

Rembrandt took a deep breath, shifting her backpack straps on her shoulders before knocking on the door to Cleon’s apartment. Mercy answered. Rembrandt knew she would. She’d planned for this, making sure to come over when she knew Mercy was home from work and Cleon and Swan had business to handle. She wanted this to just be for her and Mercy. She just… she needed it to be.

Mercy raised her eyebrows, visibly confused when she opened the door to find Rembrandt alone. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” said Rembrandt. “Can I come in?”

Mercy stepped aside hurriedly, as if she found it rude that she’d been keeping Rembrandt in the hall, even if she really wasn’t. Rembrandt took a few steps into the kitchen as Mercy closed the front door behind her. 

“Is everything okay?” Mercy asked. “Cleon and Swan are out if you need to talk to them.”

“I know. I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

Rembrandt fidgeted. She took a deep breath. “Will you sit for a portrait?”

Mercy blinked, taken aback. “Um… when?”

“Now.”

“Now?”

“It’ll take two hours at most. Probably not even that long. Please?”

“Sure. Sure, okay.”

It took closer to three hours, despite Rembrandt’s best efforts. She had Mercy sit on the couch and let her put something on TV instead of having her sit in silence, even if Rembrandt would have preferred that. It took so long because she had to scrap the start of three different versions. It had been so long since she practiced this that she kept fucking up the gradients to the point where she had to take a break and go smoke with Mercy on the stoop to avoid screaming in frustration and forgetting the whole idea. 

While trying to get the shape of Mercy’s bangs right, Rembrandt’s vision blurred. She jerked her head up just before the tears had a chance to fall on the drawing. She turned aside, scrubbing at her eyes with the hem of her sleeve, somehow managing to keep her breathing steady. 

Mercy noticed and sat up straight. “Rembrandt?” she asked, just a little panicked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m okay,” Rembrandt assured her. “It’s… I don’t know. But I’m okay. Please just move back to where you were.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m okay.”

She didn’t need too much more time after that before she was satisfied with the result. Of course, she would look at it the next day and find a million things wrong with it, but she could correct or add or remove details after the fact. As she set her oil pastel aside, her fingertips stained with the pigment, she brushed her thumb along the very edge of the page. It left a miniscule cut behind, a bead of blood staining her skin. She had a momentary flash of panic but nothing got on the paper so it was okay. She wrapped her fingers over her thumb, squeezing until it throbbed, until the bleeding stopped and the stinging disappeared. Mercy, thankfully, did not notice that.

In her peripheral vision, Mercy shifted closer to her on the couch. “Can I see it?”

Rembrandt hesitated. Normally she didn’t share portraits until they were completely finished, but…

She sat beside Mercy and passed her the drawing. “Just don’t touch it. It smudges easily.”

Mercy grinned when she saw her portrait: head resting on her hand and tilted to the side, hair delicately swept behind her ear, eyes calm and gentle, the corner of her lips lifting in just the hint of a smirk. It was all done in the softest coral pink, almost ethereal in the light. She reached over to rest a hand on Rembrandt’s forearm without looking. Rembrandt thought she might cry.

“It’s amazing,” Mercy said with a light laugh. “I don’t think I’ve seen any of your work besides the graffiti before. I didn’t know you could do this.”

“The only medium I don’t work with is oil paint,” Rembrandt said. “Maybe if I win the lottery.”

“This looks like an oil painting. It’s like something out of a museum.”

“Thanks. It’s gonna be part of a project I never finished.”

Mercy turned to her. “What is it?”

“You’ll see it when I finish it.” 

“Swan said you do that.”

“She knows me.” Rembrandt took a deep breath, her shoulders curling in as she met Mercy’s eyes. “I don’t hate you, you know.”

Mercy grimaced. “You heard that?”

“The walls are thin and you guys always talk right next to the door.”

“Noted.”

“For real, though. Look, I admit that I… I’m still getting used to you being here. You’re so much like her that it just throws me for a loop sometimes and I know Swan has told you I don’t like strangers and you’re really not one anymore but I…” Rembrandt’s voice broke. She turned away from Mercy, covering her mouth to keep quiet as she screwed her eyes shut. Was her heart really choosing right now to have a breakdown over this?

Mercy angled herself in and put an arm around Rembrandt. This very much broke the first rule of the “how to keep Rembrandt from freaking out” rulebook that Rembrandt knew Swan had set, but Rembrandt was glad she did it. She shifted closer, wrapping her arms loosely around Mercy’s waist as Mercy pulled her fully into a soft embrace.

Rembrandt closed her eyes and let the tears fall. Mercy didn’t say anything. She just held her.

-----

“Is it straight?” Swan asked.

Rembrandt stood back from the wall. Swan and Ajax stood on chairs, positioning a giant canvas while the other Warriors watched them. Behind Rembrandt, Mercy put her arms around her shoulders and watched over the top of the artist’s head.

“I think Swan’s side needs to come down a little bit,” said Cowgirl from where she sat in the arm chair. 

“Cowgirl, you’re holding your head at a tilt,” Rembrandt said with a wave of her hand. “Ajax, let your side come down an inch. Wait, never mind, half an inch. Yes! There! You guys can let go of it.” 

Swan and Ajax let go and got down off the chairs, stepping back to stand with the rest of the gang. 

Now hung perfectly on the living room wall was a collage of all of Rembrandt’s monochrome portraits. They were lovingly cut out and carefully arranged together, with Fox front and center and the others supporting around her. Behind them was a detailed black-and-white background of the city, enough to fill the empty canvas but not distracting from the main subjects, everything pasted down and covered with sealant so nothing could ever damage the fragile pigments again. 

All of the Warriors, immortalized. 

Cleon crossed her arms and whistled. “Damn, Rem, this is some work. How long you been hiding this?”

“It wasn’t finished,” Rembrandt said simply. “Now it is. With all of us.” 

Mercy held Rembrandt tighter. 

[buggy-samaaa]

Caught, part 16

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Word count: 512

Content: NSFW — mdni, gender neutral reader, no y/n, second person POV, voyeurism, anal, masturbation, misuse of devil’s fruit powers, man musk, pillow humping, auralism, degradation

Tag list: @hey-august, @bbnbhm, @genius---jester, @lostfirefly, @ane5e

——

You were perusing the stationery store, running a finger along the spines of the different decorative sketchbooks you could freely choose from with the money Buggy had gifted you. You were excited to pick from the nicer selection for once.

The two you chose were beautifully leatherbound with high quality, thick pages. There turned out to be a sale, so you ended up with 200 berry leftover. You used it to buy a nice pen for Buggy as thanks for his kind gesture.

After leaving the store, you decided to scout out a location for the usual Monday night party. The circus would be packing up by next week to move on to a different locale, so you thought it’d be a good idea to party somewhere new on the island and enjoy it in a last hurrah. You explored the area near the docks and found a beachfront bar with cheap booze and a menu full of greasy food. Perfect! You made your way back to the ship to propose the idea to Buggy.

Meanwhile, Buggy was getting dressed, reeling with guilt over going through your private drawings, wondering how he’d face you again. He definitely wasn’t ready to see your smiling face the moment he left his room.

“Hey, Buggy,” you said cheerfully, excited to call him by his name rather than his title. “I have a great idea for tonight.”

“O-Oh, yeah?” he said, leaning back against his door. It wasn’t shut all the way, yet, so he fell backward and caught himself, then closed the door and leaned against it again, looking supremely awkward. He cleared his throat. “Uh… what is it?”

You told him about the bar you found and how it would be perfect for the party.

“Right, the party,” Buggy replied, distracted by his thoughts.

“You alright? You look a little sweaty. You’re not feeling nauseated again, are you?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just, uh, trying to think of what I’ll wear,” he lied, “since we’ll be going onshore. Might want to dress up, you know?”

“Great, so you’re okay going to that bar! Awesome, I think it’ll be a lot of fun. Oh, before I forget, I got you this,” you said, fishing into your bag and pulling out a rectangular box with the pen you got for him. He opened the box.

“Hey… this is nice,” he said with a smile. The pen was made of red and white wood, with silver ink.

“I thought you could sign autographs with it,” you explained brightly. “Thank you for the sketchbooks, by the way.”

Buggy winced inwardly at the word sketchbooks, and his smile dropped. He put the pen back in its box. “Yeah, don’t… don’t mention it,” he said quietly. “I, um. I better change.”

“Sure, I will, too! And I’ll spread the word about where we’re going.” You waved goodbye and caught up with a few crewmates to tell them about the beach, asking them to pass it on.

Buggy re-entered his room and sighed. It was going to be a long night.

[sevenpoyo]

school headcanons for because i only got 3 more weeks

margo’s is so long even tho she got like 2 minutes of screen time bc i love her so much and she’s my gf

Margo Kess, 1610Miles, 42Miles, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar

margo kess / spiderbyte

ain’t shorty on zoom in the movie?

my girl dont attend class, she once shut down the entire blocks power so she would have an excuse to not be in class

eats in class all class everyday, only shares with you

takes really good notes and never studies them

like???? ma’am??? share???

all her electives are programming related and she pretends to busy while playing centipede all day

sends you 50 links to stuff you might like while ur in math

she got papers that let her opt out of gym

no matter how much you beg ur gonna be alone in gym and she doesn’t feel bad about it

popular with no friends type

like everyday 50 ppl stop you both and say hi

she only knows like 5 of their names she can’t stand half of them niggas

empty ass backpack like she got one notebook and one binder

all a’s and b’s like bitch how

her memory is absolutely ass but she can remember every story you told her or stuff that happened when y’all hang out

don’t ask her what she did in her class

don’t ask her if her class also has a history test

she don’t know

she don’t care

but she do know that when you were 8 your cousin burned ur thigh while y’all were playing iron vs knife fight

(u were dumb as hell for picking knife everyone knows iron always wins)

i looked it up on her word everybody uses those virtual avatars

she’ll shit on your class choices so damn hard

she just likes making fun of your choices fr

like half of ur conversation go;

damn i’m tired

u was up doing stupid shit last night you don’t get to complain

stfu that’s why ur a bitmoji

that’s why ur granny beat ur ass for something your brother did when you were 9

i hate telling u shit

then stop telling me shit

(i have no clue how accurate this is to her character but i need to write about her i’m in love but damn it’s long)

1610 miles / spider-man 2 lmao

book bag full locker full but never has a pencil

writes notes assignments and homework in paint pen ink don’t ask this nigga for notes

(he gets nigga treatment but not my queen margo bc i got favorites)

he miss mad classes but somehow still solid attendance record???

somehow always present in the record he miss 40 days and get caught on like 6 of them

unless his mom make breakfast and lunch on her day off for him he eating the most random shit from the bodega closest to visions

like what do you mean you got a cosmic brownie and a cold chopped cheese from last night ? it’s literally 7 in the morning no i don’t want none

makes you hype him up every time he slap boxes people and he’s so ass at it

he be ashy with no lotion atleast 5 times every month it’s embarrassing

he calls visions his white people school to his parents and his friends

once he said it to gwen and they sat in literal complete silence for like 10 minutes

prolly took music theory because he thought it would be easy and switched out of that shit so fast

i’d be so mean to him for enjoying physics

like this nigga trying to make something of him self

lil einstein ass nigga

he understands color theory but can’t explain it

12 half full sketchbooks but at school he literally draw on computer paper he don’t let the sketch book leave his bag

i know he’s ass at watercolor, he always spills shit, the colors always end up brown

try’s to be interested in your class choices bc he wants to know stuff he can talk about with you

when you first meet he can’t take meaner jokes bc he thinks that you mean them

but one day he’s gets comfortable, and brutal

no one in your life is safe when he looses a video game

except your mom

rio taught him better than that

42 miles / the prowler

comes to school with no school related supplies in his bag unless you count art stuff

finds a pencil on his way to class

has a change of clothes, rat tail comb, 3 bottles of water, a camera, a flashlight, lotion and cocoa butter.

like bro ur going to Ap Art not a camping trip

once he pulled out a griddle and and pancake mix and y’all started making pancakes in class

forgets his metro pass every day and gets so pissed ab it

runs into people in the hallway bc he’s never paying attention

idk if he goes to visions but if he does he calls it his white people school with his full chest to anybody even if they’re white

he be leaving halfway through the day all the time like bro you miss algebra 2 every damn day

uncle arron always talking him out of school with some bullshit reason

bro’s had his tonsils out 8 times on the school’s records

He will get ur parents to put his uncle on ur pickup list and you will be out of there with him

he will YELL if someone step on his shoes no matter what the situation like the school could be on fire and he fighting in the burning building

also his uniform is so pristine

his pants stiff

that button down is bleached ironed pressed and allat

this mfer is an online shopping addict u just know he be on amazon in class

will offer you the weirdest food combos like no i don’t want to put tajin mangoes on my beef patty i’m sick of you nigga

not school related but he’s super good with kids (both miles fr) but he’s the #1 little cousin defender and apologists

he ride for them always one of ur little cousins could sucker punch u and he be like

‘they just want u to play with them’

he takes a preforming arts class for fun prolly

loves sports but doesn’t play one understands the stats well and would help if you played one

wakes up at the asscrack of dawn on weekends

SICK ASS COSTUME FOR HOLLOWEEN IK THIS NIGGA LOVE HOLLOWEEN

plans costumes for school spirit weeks but always checks to seen if he’s gonna be the only one wearing a costume for it

never eats lunch unless his mom makes it he be hungry all day and be complaining

his socks are never in uniform (yes some uniform schools have sock rules)

gwen stacy / spider woman / ghost spider

idk what to call her

she has every snack you could ever want in her lunch bag

hates her music theory teacher

she literally has the most pristine locker with a calendar and a mirror and all that shit will write down test for you and important dates for the both of you

goes to school plays and shits on the story, like she ain’t pay 5 dollars to be there

some of her teachers hate her

like ma’am ur beefing with a whole 16 year old rn

she hate english teachers but love creative writing teachers

she keeps all her books in her locker never brings them home never brings them to class

always comes through with an extra pad no matter what

she also always has hand sanitizer

in like 4 extracurricular after school things and complains so bad

ur starting to hate that shit to ur sick of hearing it like girl quit then

10/10 cameraman she has every fight and every drama in 10khd and she will share them if you ask

she chews her pens and nails

has her drumsticks out always teachers have banned her from taking them to their classes

can watch tv on her phone but look focused you think she’s paying attention but then you look over and she’s watching good luck charlie

pavitr prabhakar / spider-man india

always late for class never in trouble

always eating and sharing food and never in trouble

how is he blessed like this? it ain’t fair

eats from the school vending machines or begs other ppl to share

will always have and share the homework answers no matter what he’s an angel

his sock always have holes in them like sir please get that shit together

gym try hard ik goes insane in football/soccer

very encouraging for shit u don’t wanna do he believes in you

you him and Gayatri talk so much shit but are somehow all well liked

he tells you what teachers are dating (he can just tell)

he has toothpaste in his bag for some reason?? i can just feel this one

his aunt will let you come over after school she’s so sweet to you.

always got a job at school assemblies

he’s reading poems or shaking hand or leading in the school pledge or something

Pav’s is short because i have no fucking clue if school in India is different form america and Barbados

[vhstown]

gwen stacy ★ general headcanons

content/warnings: mentions of underage drinking, implied & mentions of death

a/n: hey 😁 a levels beating my arse. thx 2 @qiupachups 4 helping w these 🫡 give it up for gwendy ‼️ (unedited)

Gwen is a collector — but not of collectibles. She has a secret empire of the most random things, and is thoroughly embarrassed when anyone finds it: tickets, pins, soda can tabs, cool-looking clothing tags, mismatched hair clips, paper clips, little things stolen from school, etc. Anything she things is remotely interesting has a place in a very specifically organised box under her bed, tucked away from the world and taken out occasionally to be adjusted or stared at. It's essentially the same as being a collector, right...?

She had a fashion hobby she grew out of, but it re-kindles when she has to design a suit for herself. Initially, it's made up of thermal sportswear but she comes up with actual designs at some point, modifying it overtime to include the hood and to integrate it with her ballet slippers.

When it comes to art, Gwen's style would be a lot like a fashion student's. I headcanon her to have aphantasia so her main strength is drawing clothing, and a lot of her drawings are based on herself as a reference (she can literally only draw herself well...) Rather than a sketchbook, she has a journal that's also full of photographs and writing as well as her drawings, and the occasional crumpled up drum score.

Has a knack for sewing and customises some of her clothes, though it's more personal touches and the occasional crop rather than completely overhauling a piece of clothing. Everyday items of hers have at least a little embroidery or design on them and she likes doing patterns on like bags and converse for her friends. Wants to make plushies and things but always manages to get distracted so there's a bunch of unfinished projects in her closet. (I would totally buy from her on Etsy though 😁)

Gwen did ballet as a kid and developed the enraging habit of cracking EVERY joint in her body. She's the mf that twists in the chair in front of you and stares deep into your soul while cracking her back. Cracks things you don't even know you could crack without shame my girl is a whole instrument 😭

Ballet is something her dad pushed her towards, alongside music (though he preferred she did something more traditional). Initially Gwen did feel out of place in her classes. A lot of the other children at her classes were already well-versed in it, and a lot of times she found she wanted to quit. Only after learning that her mom Helen did ballet did she willingly pick it up again at an older age, incorporating the technique into her fighting style.

Gwen used to play a few different instruments as a kid but none of them really stuck. For a while, she thought she hated music when she did piano and the recorder, but when she got her hands on a drumkit at her school and a couple lessons, she knew it was the one.

Her drumming is definitely more freestyle, and even though she's good she has a lot of problems with her high energy, spontaneous and emotive style. That means she breaks her drumsticks ALL the time. There's no way she's banging all that out on the drums without an unfortunate snap or two, so she always keeps another pair handy. She's broken her drumsticks so much that there's a collection of them torn up at the bottom of her bag (she never bothers to throw them out, and might've given herself a splinter reaching in to find something 💀)

Speaking of drumsticks, she has one lucky pair she uses for important performances, carrying them practically everywhere. They've essentially rotted in their fancy little fabric case since she'd gottem them, the custom "GWENDOLYN MAXINE STACY" imprinted on it having almost completely eroded away.

Though, she's only ever used them once; her dad had bought them for her for a school performance, which she had to bail last minute when her Spider-sense suddenly activated. Running off to fight a villain not a street away, Peter Parker follows her, and he realises just who Spider-Woman really is.

While she was planning to use them at her prom performance with her band... that never happened. After that, everything reminded her of that night, and her relationship with The Mary Janes dwindled until she quit altogether. The band only lasted a few months prior, and since they never got to perform at prom, Gwen found herself playing for no reason at all, other than to get rid of her pent-up energy and forget about the fact that she's basically a wanted criminal.

When she's living in Hobie's universe, she ends up breaking her "lucky" drumsticks and is, understandably, a little shattered by it, but Hobie gets her another pair, "GWENDY" written in mismatched letters on the side. That "G" was definitely a last-minute addition, though. He also teaches her how to stop breaking them so often. "Bit of advice — use the wrists, not just the arms."

Gwen's definitely not meant to drink, so whenever Hobie goes to the pub he makes sure not to, suggesting his friends don't get pissed out of their minds either (though she might steal a sip of something fruity now and again.)

Hobie takes her to gigs all the time, and sometimes she drums for his ones. The first time she does it, she's nervous of course, but her sound immediately gets the crowd going and it's the talk of the town for a week straight (and her drumsticks didn't break!)

There's no shortage of junk food, of course. Just like all the takeout she'd have back at home, Hobie would make sure to take her around all the local spots. Although it's not exactly the same, anything beats the plasticky cafeteria food in 2099. Stopping for a kebab or two in the middle of anomaly-hunting isn't really against the rules anyway.

Gwen is friendly with pretty much everyone in the Spider-society because everyone knows who "Gwen Stacy" is, but she never really wants to meet another version of herself (given how unsettling it is with context). Also very awkward around any MJs — or Peters. Peter B essentially being an older 65!Peter definitely freaks her out a little at first.

Misses Miles, obviously, and probably had something she wanted to make for him back in her universe that she could never retrieve. Maybe when she gets Hobie's watch she'll bring it along with her — would Miles like a knitted neckwarmer?

SO best friends with Margo. Her tech lets Gwen see into her universe sometimes (Miguel wouldn't let her 😞) and Margo is super keen on learning about her universe. They both hang out with Peni and it's a fun little girl trio (Peni totally takes them to her universe to see all the giant mechs 😁 "Girls night!" BOOM!)

Number 1 girlfail. She hasn't broken those new drumsticks yet! But drumming can wait — and all those projects at the back of her closet, and her unresolved dispute with MJ and the band, and her dad at home. Going from her small world to having an entire multiverse against her and her friends, Gwen's got one hell of a show to put on, right?

“I never found the right band to join, so I started my own, with a few old friends.”

“You want in?”

🩰🕸️💫

@phoenixinthefiles (it's cause of you im always writing hcs 😭😭😭 /pos)

hi bunklies 😁 ive been averaging like 4h of sleep cuz of skl but ill fix up soon trust... hope you are all doing okay ! ive never written anything for gwen before so i hope this is an okay start lol

atsv masterlist here! reblogs always appreciated :) see u around <3

[tealin]

Antarcticans

I may not have used my sketchbook as much as I thought I would, with regard to locations, but I did fill a few pages with one of my favourite pastimes back in The World: people sketching.

My biggest anxiety about going to McMurdo was the human factor.  Whether it was school or work, a recurring motif in my life is that I do not do well in a big box full of Americans, and that is, almost literally, exactly what McMurdo is.  Sure, the continent wants to kill you, and every way of getting to and around it comes with risk of serious accident, but the only thing I was actually afraid of was finding myself in a stressful social situation and not having any recourse to escape.  I know how to build a snow cave.  I don't know how to deflect the ire of people who've taken a set against me – and, for whatever reason, I tend to rub people in the States the wrong way.  When I was shortlisted for the placement, the person handling the admin briefed me about the process and asked me if I had any further questions, and I raised this concern.  She responded that, speaking purely from her own experience, she had never felt more comfortable being herself than when she was at McMurdo.  Not knowing who 'herself' was, I took this with a grain of salt, but it was an encouraging answer nonetheless.

It turned out that the best thing about McMurdo was, in fact, those very people I had been afraid of.  Everyone I met was absolutely splendid.  In my first days there, my supervisor joked that if you shake the world, all the best people end up at the bottom; the remainder of my time there proved how right she was.  One of the main things that attracted me to the Terra Nova story, and has kept me committed to it for so long, was how wonderful the people were – far outside what I had come to expect from humanity.  Warm, genuine, accepting of and attentive to each other, a wide range of personalities and dispositions that nevertheless got on and functioned together as a society, in the face of environmental and emotional extremes ... I needed to know such people were possible, and clung to them as an ideal.  It was a wonderful surprise to discover that they would not be out of place amongst their modern counterparts.

Is it because they're scientists, as someone theorised? But they're not – most of the people at McMurdo are support staff, working in the kitchen or waste disposal or shuttle fleet; helping the science happen, yes, but that's not necessarily why they're there, personally.  Is it because a harsh environment triggers something in the human psyche to support each other, rather than compete?  Maybe, but these people seem like they'd be solid wherever they are, and were like that before going South.  

I suspect there is an element of self-selection – something about the sort of person who would want to go to Antarctica correlates with a certain mindset, one that gels extremely well with others who share it, however different they may be in other respects.  There is no denying that everyone there is a bit odd.  They tend to be types that exist on the fringes back in The World and, like me, may struggle to conform to its values.  A few years ago, I came across this adage from an Antarctic veteran: "You go the first time for the adventure.  You go the second time to relive the first time.  You go the third time because you don't belong anywhere else."  Many of them live in remote places, or travel, or do itinerant work when not on the Ice.  There is a bit of a running gag in Where'd You Go, Bernadette? that everyone doing a mundane job in Antarctica is a high achiever in something amazing, who left it all behind – and that's not exactly untrue.  Perhaps what unites Antarcticans is an awareness of what really matters, when you get right down to it: they've played the game enough to see through it, and are done with it.  "Glory? He knew it for a bubble: he had proved himself to himself. He was not worrying about glory. Power? He had power." So Cherry wrote about Wilson in 1948, but many modern Antarcticans might sympathise.  When you come out the other side of self-aggrandisement and jockeying for status, and are happy just to be yourself and let others be themselves, you get a happy, harmonious society.  Or so it would seem.

At midnight on my last day there, I had a deep conversation with someone I'd only met in passing before, but who was totally down to have a long talk with a random stranger on a footbridge in the middle of the night. I presented her my hypothesis that no one at McMurdo was popular in high school.  No, she replied; there may be a handful who were popular in high school ... but they're not popular at McMurdo.  Maybe the secret is in there somewhere.

Anyway, I didn't do nearly as much people sketching as I'd have liked, given that the base was populated entirely by Characters, but these are the pages I did manage to get. 

Two pages of random McMurdites, likely in the Galley:

These last four are from a meeting where team leaders were presenting their projects to some high muckymucks visiting from the NSF. I was only there because my project was allotted a space in the presentation, but the main focus was the massive Thwaites Glacier project, a collaboration between the US Antarctic Program and the British Antarctic Survey to study one of the most unstable regions in Antarctica.  They quite rightly took up the whole meeting time, and the privilege of being there meant I learned a lot about the project.  My longstanding habit is to draw during meetings, so I captured some of them in my sketchbook while absorbing the science into my head.

Notable characters in my sketches include: - David Vaughan, heading up the British contingent of the Thwaites team, was quite an engaging and affable guy but had a concentration scowl that puts mine in the shade. I was shocked when I heard he died of cancer earlier this year (2023) – a great loss to BAS, glaciology, and Antarctic science generally. - When Erin Pettit isn't studying glaciers with an eye to climate change, she's taking girls on wilderness adventures to foster an interest in science and art, as well as self-confidence. - Britney Schmidt, Queen of Icefin, not only earned my profound respect but has a whole episode of PBS's Terra dedicated to her work developing sub-ice autonomous robots with the aim of exploring Europa. (Seriously, so cool.)

I could go on about Antarctic people, but there's nothing so good as showing you, and luckily I can do just that. PBS sent a small team down in 2018 to do a YouTube series, and one of their episodes is all about the cool people who call McMurdo home.  It might make my point better than all my whittering, and is certainly more fun. If you'd like to see more, Werner Herzog's film Encounters at the End of the World is much of the same, but more so.  It had been recommended to me several times, but I hadn't managed to get my hands on it until a week before I left, when it turned out a Cambridge friend had a copy and lent it to me.  'I don't know how true it is,' he said, 'but I want it to be.'  When I got back, I was happy to confirm to him that it was, indeed, exactly like that.  And I miss it so much.

[sankttealeaf]

artistic endeavours

pairing ; arthur morgan x gender neutral!reader

summary ; during a walk around Saint Denis, you find yourself drawing a rather interesting stranger's horse.

other info ; this is completely self-indulgent, because all i want to do is draw with arthur. first time doing any sort of 'x reader' and i had a lot of fun. it's so silly i love it. left the ending open ended because i thought of a part 2 if people are interested &lt;3

word count: 2.5k

psst, part two is here: masterpieces

Finding inspiration for various art projects came easy to you while living in Saint Denis - the city was full of interesting subjects to study and draw, and whenever you found yourself in a creative block it didn't take much to reignite the spark. You had signed up to paint some pieces for a new exhibition at the end of the month, “The Beauty of Saint Denis”, a love letter to the city you currently called home, and so far everything had been going smoothly. Three paintings were complete, with another needing a few finishing touches. The issue was with your main piece, a large oil painting of the Théâtre Râleur at night. Something was missing and you had no idea what it was. With a few days left to go for all submissions to be collected by the gallery, you were running out of time to make this work. You were hoping that some of these paintings would be sold during the exhibitions, and you really couldn’t afford to give up now.

The room you used as your art studio was beginning to feel stuffy and small; the ventilation was poor and you had forgotten to open a window to let some air in when you first started this morning. Perhaps that was why you were pulling your hair out, trying to get something down on the canvas - the oil paint was starting to mess with your mind. You sighed, deciding that now was the best time to go for a walk, find something for lunch and not think too much about how close you were to starting this painting from scratch, not that you had the time to do so. You packed away your sketchbook, grabbing a few charcoal pencils and crayons too in case you saw something that sparked inspiration, and left. Fresh air would do you good, you told yourself. 

The city was busier than usual today as you stepped out onto the street, the midday sun warming you up immediately. Your plan was to walk around for a bit, just to see if anything felt interesting to draw, and then grab some food. The walk and air would do you good, even if nothing was drawn. You walked around slowly, pausing every now and then to take down some notes on people’s outfits, wondering if you should add a crowd outside of the theatre to make it look busy. The more you imagined it in your head, the more you decided it wouldn't hurt to try. You quickly sketched down a few ideas, before moving on, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself from those you were drawing. The last thing you wanted was for someone to get angry that you were doing that - it had happened more times than you liked to admit. You decided to loop around the docks, and then walk back around and stop off at that bakery you frequented a lot.

The docks were busy, but there was no surprise there. People walked about, carrying boxes and bags between places. There was enough going on here to definitely spark some form of creativity, and you hoped that something would be interesting to draw. You took a moment to scan over your surroundings, trying to piece together things that could work with your painting at home when you saw something. A lone horse was hitched outside the general store, and it felt like a perfect thing to draw. 

You took out your sketchbook as you approached the horse, careful not to spook it. The pattern was something you had never seen much of before, and it stood out to you the moment you saw it. Maybe a horse was missing from your painting? You began to quickly sketch out the main shapes of the horse, keeping it loose and soft to get the basic idea of how everything fits together. Once you had filled up a page on quick drawings, moving around to get different angles, you opened to a double page and began a more detailed drawing.

“Ain’t you just the prettiest thing,” you mumbled softly, taking a small step to the side to get a better view of her head. You took more time with this drawing, making sure to capture all the details you could, from the markings to the way her mane fell to the style of the bridle. A quick look at the horse and you could tell that her owner loved her a lot, she was clean and looked well fed, and if you knew what kind of treats she liked, you would definitely give her lots of them.

You found yourself getting lost in the piece, now moving on to giving it pops of colour. Your charcoal pencil was tucked behind your ear, and you switched out between two colours to try and match the shade of its coat. The more you thought about it, the more it would fit well in the painting of the theatre. You were excited to go back home to add her in.

"If you're goin' to steal her, you might wanna be a bit quicker at it next time." A voice spoke, taking you by surprise. You quickly turned around to see the owner of it - a tall, rather rugged looking man. The guns at his side made you weary, and you closed your sketchbook, holding it closer to you.

"Oh, no, I ain't in the horse stealing business, sir," you said quickly, taking a step back to put some distance between you, him, and the horse. "But if I was, your horse would be one I'd steal." The words left your mouth before your mind could tell you that it probably wasn't the best way to compliment someone's horse.

The stranger raised his eyebrow at you, giving you a once over. "Sounds like somethin’ a horse thief would say.” He let out a small chuckle to himself, and then shrugged. “You don’t look like much of one, anyway.”

He wasn’t wrong, you definitely didn't give off the same vibes as a horse thief, though you didn't know many to compare yourself to. You watched as he gave you a nod, walking around to the opposite side of the horse. 

"Definitely not going to steal her." You looked down at your sketchbook, giving it a small wave in his direction. "Just drawing her, if that's alright. She looked really interesting, and I've been facing a real bad block lately."

“Saint Denis seems to have a lot of you artsy folk around, huh?” He asked, as you nodded.

“It’s a unique city. I find that there are a lot of things to draw here,” you replied, opening up back to the page you were just on. “Lots of horses, too. None as good as yours, though.”

“You sure you ain’t trying to steal her?” He raised an eyebrow, and you were quick to shake your head again.

“I promise I’m not!”

“I’m just messing with you.” He gave you a smile. “You're some kind of artist, then?”

You nodded. “It’s one of the only things I’ve got going for me right now. I came to Saint Denis to capture its beauty, and haven’t left since.”

“Beauty is a strong word for this place,” he replied, scrunching his nose up as he spoke, and you tilted your head to the side in confusion.

“You don’t like it?”

“Too crowded. Too… city-like.”

You let out a laugh. “Funny that, considerin’ it is a city.” You turned to a new page, deciding to get a closer sketch of the horse’s head. “I hope I ain’t keeping you or anything.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” he said, and you looked up to see him take out a brush from his bag, giving his horse a quick brush down. “I know how frustrating it can be when the thing you’re drawing leaves too soon.”

“You’re an artist, too?” You stopped, giving him a look up and down. He didn't seem like the artistic type from the outside, but you supposed looks could be deceiving. He looked to be the kind of person you would bump into late at night, looking for trouble. The guns on his sides didn't help with that much, but he didn't appear to be threatening. The way he looked at his horse was anything but threatening.

“I draw. Not a proper artist or anythin’.” He looked at you, and you gave him a small smile.

“I think anyone who draws can be considered a proper artist,” you said, as he shrugged in response.

You watched him for a few moments, before going back to your sketch, smoothing some lines out to give the impression of shadows and depth. It wasn’t your best work, but for a fast sketch, it was decent. The stranger had moved during your sketch session, and was now leaning up against one of the wooden poles that held up one of the various awnings on the store, hat tipped in front of his face. You paused for a moment, your pencil hovering over the page before the horse’s head. With a deep breath, you began to very loosely draw the man. You had drawn other people that day, so there was nothing weird about doing it again. But with the person so close, you could feel your cheeks warm up from embarrassment - all he needed to do was look up and catch you drawing him. But he didn't. 

You kept things simple, using few lines to give the impression of features, smudging other lines to use as shadows. A quick line behind him, and you had a very rough outline. You took a mental note of the colours he was wearing - a dark red shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the well worn jeans, the dark boots. He looked like trouble, and yet here he was, letting you draw his horse without a complaint.

The sudden rumble from your stomach brought you out from your drawing session, and you knew you had enough to use as a reference for your painting now. You did feel a little bad for keeping him waiting, and looked down at your drawing of his horse’s head. You didn't have any change you could give him to thank him for your time, but you did have art… With one quick movement, you ripped out the page. Closing your sketchbook and shoving it back into your bag, you approached where he was leaning.

“Sorry for keeping you around,” you said, as he tipped his hat back, looking at you. He straightened up, giving you a nonchalant wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s easier to draw things when they’re still,” he said. “You done?”

“Yes. Thank you. Uh, here-” You held out the drawing for him with a smile. “It’s not much, and you don’t have to take it, but… a token of gratitude, if you will.”

He looked down at the paper, gently taking it from you. You watched as he held it up to where his horse was, looking between them. “‘Ain’t much’? I can’t even tell the difference between the drawin’ and her!” He looked at you with a smile. “Thanks, uh…?”

You told him your name quickly, holding out a hand for him to shake. Between all the art, you had completely forgotten to introduce yourself. 

He took your hand in his, giving it a firm shake. “Arthur Morgan.”

“Thank you, Arthur, for letting me draw your horse,” you said, taking a small step back once you let go of his hand. You wondered if it would be weird to invite him along to the opening night of the exhibition, as you felt pretty confident now that you’d be able to finish the piece. You knew what it was missing now, after all. He carefully placed your drawing in his satchel, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. You rarely share your art with anyone, let alone hand someone a piece for free, and you weren’t too sure what had gotten into you to do that. There was something about Arthur that made you feel like you could share it easily. You stepped aside to allow him to walk by you to his horse.

Arthur gave you a nod, as he walked to his horse, unhitching the reins from the post. He turned to look at you. “There’s a lot of good places outside Saint Denis to draw at,” he said, pulling the reins over his horse’s head. “Lots of animals, too. Even more horses.”

“Maybe I’ll have to branch out one day,” you replied with a laugh. “Take a week long trip out to New Hanover, I’ve heard a lot about the landscape there.”

He seemed like a well travelled man to you, and you could easily see yourself going around to different places to draw landscapes and animals and people. Horses were expensive, so you would have to travel by train, and then find somewhere to stay… Maybe you would take his recommendation. You could always do with new focuses to paint whenever you got bored of Saint Denis.

You hadn’t told many people that your art was going to be displayed yet, and Arthur seemed interested enough in art. It wouldn't hurt to drop the suggestion, right? You searched through your bag for a small card that held the information for the exhibition on it. Your brain was telling you that it was strange to ask him to come along, but you pushed the thought away. It’s a public event, anyone could come, it didn't mean anything if you asked him to drop by. He turned to mount his horse, and you spoke up.

“If you’re in the area at the end of the month-” you started, making him look back at you. You took another deep breath to get you through this, holding out the business card to him, “the gallery downtown is hosting an exhibition, and I should have some art up on display there…” You hoped he understood what you were hinting at, as the thought of asking this stranger to see your artwork was causing a bubble of anxiety to rise in you. “Opening night is when I’ll be there, but it’ll be up for a week after that if you're still in the city.”

He took the business card from you, reading it and flipping it over in his hand. “I’ll drop by if I can,” he said with a smile, and you felt your anxieties leave you. With a smile, he nodded at you, before pulling himself up onto his horse. “Been nice talkin’ to you.”

“You too, Arthur.” You gave him a small wave. “If you ever need a drawing partner, be sure to let me know!”

“I might just take you up on that offer,” he laughed, and you watched as he left, walking off down the street. 

Nothing would come of it, most likely, but the idea of going around with someone and drawing together filled your mind. Especially with the idea of travelling - maybe this was your calling? To travel and paint together with someone. You pushed that thought away, not wanting to get too attached to the idea, however lovely it may be.

You began your walk back home, eager to get out the paints. This was going to be one of your best pieces ever, and you were now looking forward to the exhibition instead of dreading it.

[kittykitts]

(My [He]ART Spirit 1/2) Fantasy/Non-Driver!AU Charles Leclerc

[12/26/24 edit! more grammar errors and typos were corrected - thanks Grammarly], **NEW TITLE**

[12/25/24 edit! Small typos corrected]

Just a small idea I had last night. I don't know if I'll continue but I hope so because I liked a lot of this. Saddly I am not good to make a full story in English, it's not my first language. Sorry for any typos and grammar errors. Hope you enjoy it.

"Hi! My name is Charles Leclerc, and I am a Fine Arts student, but no one knows anything about me: I SEE HAUNTING SPIRITS!! Since childhood, my mom told me this world there are spirits, some are good and some are evil. And every time I try to go to my classes...

– AH!! NOT AGAIN!! – it happens. – Why I can't have a normal day like the other guys!? Shit! – and this is me running from a Nightmare spirit, in the shape of a mare, and an imp saying "I am stupid" while poking my head with a nail.

I don't know why spirits try to pursue me, except when in my house or classes. But when I was eight years old, I saw a bloody kid in my front. I can't remember his face, but... He was protecting me. He was older than me. That day, I found a red and yellow bracelet in my room and a note written "I will see you in some years".

I think it was just an illusion from my head, but always I use the bracelet fewer evil spirits try to annoy me. I am sitting under a three and there are no spirits around. I have a final work for my drawing class today, but I have a smaaaall problem..."

– I NEED A PERSON TO BE MY MODEL! – Charles put his hands on his head and started to press his fingers in the hair. Sitting on a concrete bench – Damn! I can't find someone. Maybe I should call Lando or Max. They'll mock me because I need a nude model... – he sighs while typing Lando's phone number.

– Hello? Charles?

– Lando! I need your help! I need a model for my final work in drawing class.

– Oh! I can help you I think. What do I need to do?

– Errm... – Charles tries to think the best words to explain – You need... Hmm... Do you have problems with being nude?

Dramatic silence for some minutes.

– YOU WHAT!? – Lando starts to laugh in a mix of nervous and mocking. His voice starts to be far because is rolling on the floor.

– C'mon, Lando! I need help!

– Sorry, Charles... – the younger Brit tries to talk while inhaling deeply to calm himself – I can't. Don't you have a friend or other classmate to help you?

– We need someone who isn't from the drawing class. It's a challenge from our teacher. And I am not near Monaco now. Do you know if Max knows someone?

– Max!? I think he doesn't know too. Well, I need to go now. Alex is waiting for me. Good luck with your work!

– Ok, Lando. Thanks... – his sad and fading voice resumes his dissapointness. The call is finished.

Without anyone to help him, the young Monegasque stops for a time to relax his mind. He put his phones and started to draw the university landscape. Students, birds, some clouds, and the piano beats playing. When is not drawing, he's used to playing piano. The bag with sketchbooks and several art materials like Artistic Anatomy books, box of soft pencils, and professional ink pens, was near his feet. Lines and geometric forms are continuous without lifting the graphite point.

The drawing was near to finish and one of his small sketchbooks fell from the bag revealing some sketches of his classmates and close friends. A not-familiar hand takes it and starts to look page by page. Charles notices and immediately takes off the phones, drops down the material he was using, and grabs the object with a big blushed face. The other guy just smiles and giggles.

– You can't look a sketchbook without asking the artist! Geez, my things are falling...

– Let me help you, sweetie. – the pair of hairy hands starts to collect the pens and graphite refill. His voice has a strong Latino accent.

– Don't call me sweetie. It's rude. My portfolio is a mess.

– You should buy a new one now. This one has a big rip in the folder because of the overfill of sheets. And it's heavy too. Your back will hurt if continue walking with this. Also, your drawings are good. Are you from Arts classes? - asked the guy.

– Umm, yes... I am. I was trying to chill. My drawing class teacher created a challenge for us: we need to make studies with a model that is not from the class, but... - the bluish eyes down shy and embarrassed to continue.

– But...?

– I need a nude model. – he hides the blushed face in the back of the sketchbook.

– Oh! That's why you were speaking loudly early on your cell phone! I was walking to the library and heard a voice asking for help. – soft giggles start again with a smirk – Well, well, well... May I help you?

– Huh? You what? – the Monegasque eyes lift with a small glow in the golden-ringed pupils. – Help me?

– Why not? I see in your face you are desperate. But first, we need to introduce ourselves. You first, sweetie.

– I said don't call me sweetie! Ahem! – the sketchbook is put into the bag, with the art materials. – My name is Charles Leclerc. And I am near to finish the last year of Arts classes. Now it's your turn.

– My name is Carlos Sainz Jr. Last year or Art History and Criticism. – when he did the introduction, a strange wind flew into them. Charles felt his wrist burn a little and his spine freezes. Like some spirit had vanished near him.

"I... Know him? His eyes..."

– Charles? Are you ok?

– Uh!? – the mind returns to reality after a quick flashback from the bloody kid. – Sorry... It was nothing. So... Are you free in the evening?

– Sure! Where can we meet?

– I think one of the studios will be empty so we can meet there.

– Great! – the palms of Spaniard clap – So see you later, Charles! Hope you draw me like you French maids! – again, the face of the Monegasque guy becomes red like a bell pepper trying to avoid the image.

– STOP! OH MY GOD! – Carlos left the place laughing. The young artist sighs and walks to his residence on campus. Charles lives with his friends Lando, Alex, and George.

With Carlos helping him, his mind was quiet. All the fears and haunting voices around him were gone. For a moment, he felt a glimpse of that kid. Carlos’s face was like that kid's.

(End of part one, I think?)