#this artist sketches look like trash today

[thedarkartist13]

first time interacting with people on tumblr non anon but i did some drawings of first jam!

first jam belongs to the lovely allimii!!! btw your my fav artist

also this was the anon that asked for the comfort drawings so as thanks i have drawn

my sona meeting yours! @allimili

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Three

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None

Notes: So sorry last weekend’s chapter was late this week, I’m back to my regularly scheduled posting! I’m so excited so many of you like this series so far!!

Word Count: 1131

Series Masterlist

• January 25, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

My second day at Forks high school started much smoother than the first. It was pretty much uneventful until I decided to eat lunch alone outside on the picnic tables in the quad. It was an overcast day much like all the others and maybe a little chilly, but still decent enough since it wasn’t currently raining. It made for the perfect condition being that no one else really wanted to eat outside.

That is, until I spotted none other than Jasper Hale headed in my direction.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, pointing to the opposite end of the table I’m currently occupying.

“Not at all.” I respond, idly tidying my area self consciously.

“Sorry, sometimes it’s a little overwhelming inside and I come out here to get away.” He says by way of explanation, laying down the sketch pad he carried with him along with a few pencils and a smudge stick. “Mostly I just come out here to draw uninterrupted.” He sits and flips to an empty page, tilting it a little away from my view.

“I get it, large crowds aren’t my thing either. Plus in the two days I’ve known Emmett I can already tell that he probably creates a hostile drawing environment.” I finish with a light chuckle, turning my attention toward the unfinished apple in my hand.

“You draw too?” He asks, eyebrows lifting as he begins a rough sketch on the blank paper.

“Oh heck no, I don’t have any artistic abilities like that, as much as I wish I did.” I frown, taking a bite of my apple.

“I didn’t think I had it in me either, but I took some classes, watched some videos online, and doodled around a lot. Finally got the hang of it although I still don’t really think I’m that good.” He trails off, concentrating on his pencil strokes. “It helps with the stress though, especially when there’s a lot going on.”

“That is… actually kind of neat. Having an outlet that’s also inspiring, creating art and it centering you in the process.” I muse out loud, watching a face beginning to take shape on his paper.

I’m about to ask who he’s drawing when the bell signaling the end of lunch rings out in the empty air surrounding us. I gather my trash and stand while he tucks his supplies away.

“Thanks for keeping me company today.” I tell him as I gaze into his beautifully golden eyes, not quite ready to part ways with him.

“Thanks for allowing me to disturb your peace and quiet.” And as if reading my mind, “Mind if I walk you to your next class?”

“Oh um, sure.” Trying not to seem too excited by the proposition of spending more time in this gorgeous boy’s presence. I tuck some loose strands of hair behind my ear and walk towards him.

“Lead the way, darlin’.” He announces, sweeping his arm in the direction of the main school building, a smirk on his lips.

I laugh and shake my head at his antics, a blush creeping up my cheeks as I walk past him in the direction of my economics class.

Ditching my trash in the trash can as we leave the quad, I miss the way he grins at the accomplishment of making me giggle. I also fail to notice the astounded looks of his adopted siblings as we pass them unaware of their presence through the windows of the cafeteria. Faces reflecting their shocked thoughts at seeing their brother openly flirting with a female compared to his normal stoic facade.

“How did you do it?” Emmett asks, leaning against the locker next to mine.

“Could you be a little more specific?” I ask, a little confused by his blunt question.

“You’ve been here less than a week and my brother is wrapped around your little finger.” He says, holding up his pinky to wiggle in my face.

I laugh and shut my locker, “Emmett, I’ve had all of like two interactions with Jasper, you’re looking into this a little too much.”

“He usually keeps to himself, this isn't the normal Jasper we’re talking about.” He falls into step slightly behind me on my way to the last class of the day, his large build not moving through the throng of students as quickly as I am.

I turn to look at my new friend, “I literally have no clue, it’s probably nothing Em!” My heart picking up speed at just the thought of Jasper. Is he actually interested in me? Is that what Emmett is getting at?

There’s no way, beautiful people like him don’t go for people like me.

I turn and leave Emmett behind in the hallway as students finish rushing through the halls, the tardy bell ringing.

American History, the class I share with Jasper Hale and it also happens to be the last class of the day. Unfortunately though, his assigned seat is on the other side of the room. At least it’s more forward than mine, leaving me to observe him for most of the class period without him seeing.

History is also my worst subject; whether it’s world or US history, I hate it all the same. So many mistakes and atrocities, I wish I could let it flow in one ear and out the other without having to remember it for tests.

Today though, I get the sense our teacher has had a difficult day since he’s decided to let us work together freely. Seeing as I don’t really know anyone yet, I’m forced to work alone.

As if he could feel my discomfort and irritation with the assignment, Jasper Hale appears at the edge of my peripheral vision, claiming the abandoned desk next to mine and turning a few heads of our classmates.

“You’re thinking so loud I could practically hear it from across the room.” He mutters lowly without looking up from his worksheet.

“I’m thinking too loud?” I respond defensively as I cut him a look that would normally skin boys alive.

“Would you like some help or not, doll?” He asks, a grin sliding across his lips as his eyes meet mine in challenge.

“I-uh, I hate history.” I manage to blurt out, a little flustered that he so easily bypassed my frustrated facade without a blink.

“I do want that explanation eventually, but we have work to finish and only,” He breaks eye contact to glance at the clock above the board, “thirty seven minutes left before you’re on your own.”

“Alright Hale, what did you get for number four?” I deflate and accept his offer to save me from the misery of suffering through this stupid assignment alone.

Next

[moralesmilesanhour]

I saw your requests were open! I've seen in some concept art that Miles is trying out watercolor, can you (when you have the time and if you want to, ofc) please write a reader (Gn or fem) who is really good at watercolor and is a artist and teaches him? Either romantic or platonic work :D thank you, I love your work so much!!!

omg wait I used to do watercolor I still have the paints at home...hold my beer (I went with platonic)

Miles sucked his teeth as the pinks, blues, and green he had just put down ran together and formed a puddle in the middle of the paper.

No matter how many YouTube videos he sped through, he couldn't seem to grasp how the disembodied hand on his screen could lay down all that color (without the paper shriveling up like a raisin) and manage to sculpt it into something...comprehensible.

Just then, he remembered the scanned painting you had sent him the other day. It was a vibrant forest, dotted with bright neon flowers and birds dozing off in high branches. He couldn't for the life of him figure out how you managed to capture beams of sunlight in your heavy sketchbook and needed to learn your secrets, so he'd borrowed some leftover paints.

Miles had already mastered sketching, and knew his way around a box of markers. He could even command a messy can of spray paint. What's a bit of watery paint?

...A lot, it turns out. At any rate, he knew just who to call.

After a few beeps, your face appeared onscreen.

You were still in bed, surrounded by an army of stuffed animals with a sleeping mask pushed up to your forehead. Miles made a 'tsk' sound. It was two o'clock in the afternoon.

"Rise and shine, bestie!" he announced loudly into his phone speaker.

"What do you want?" you grumbled, rubbing your eyes.

"This watercolor shit is blowing my mind right now, and I need your expertise. Look!"

Miles flipped the camera to show you the blob of what was now a bright indigo pooled in the middle of his would-be masterpiece.

You squinted. "Jesus. Is that in your regular sketchbook, where you do the markers and shit?"

"Yup."

"Well, there's your first problem. You're using the wrong kinda paper."

"So that's why no one in those videos fucks it up? Noted,"

He reversed the camera again.

"What about the colors? Mine keep running together when I don't want 'em to."

This made you laugh, imagining Miles slapping a ton of different colors on top of a sketch like a child learning to paint in kindergarten for the first time, thinking that he knew what he was doing. He was never the patient type, preferring fast and loose marks with sharp edges. No piece of his was ever allowed an "ugly stage"; it either worked immediately or it would end up crumpled into a ball in the trash.

Oh boy, was he was gonna learn today.

You could see Miles pouting through the camera.

"What's so funny?"

"Miles," you snorted, "did you let the first layer dry before adding more colors?"

His eyes widened in realization, triggering more peals of laughter.

"I just wet the whole page, then started coloring! How was I supposed to know?"

"It's water, dumbass! It's not like your lil' Copic markers--"

"Prismacolor--"

"Whatever. Anyways, gimme fifteen minutes, I'm coming over to save you before you flood your entire room."

[quibbs126]

*sigh* screw it, I just want to complain more

So I’ve been trying to draw Menos (he is said favorite character above) yet again today, but it just keeps not working. I don’t really even know what I’m doing wrong, though at the same time I don’t really know how to do it right either

He’s just so difficult for me to draw for some reason. Actually no, I know the reason. It’s because he’s big and buff and has a different body shape to the rest of the main cast, and I don’t really know how to draw that. Also, there’s that godforsaken neck chain of his, that for some reason is impossible for me to draw

It doesn’t look that hard to draw in the game’s concept art, hell he doesn’t look hard to draw, especially considering his clothes are awfully simplistic compared to his companions and other characters

It’s literally just that he’s buff, I swear. But I just can’t draw him!

And this summer, I actually did somehow manage to make a sketch of a character with his body type this summer, and I keep looking at it for reference, but it just ends up looking trash

I don’t know how I did it that first time!

I know you people don’t really see my art of him that often, mostly just Ceres (though in all honesty I have been drawing a lot of her recently), but that’s because I either keep deleting it or I don’t post the never to be finished page that I drew him on, and only my Discord server that’s for Cookie Run and not this gets subjected to it. I have been trying and failing to draw him so much, including today

Speaking of today’s drawings, I actually did manage to make something halfway decent today, that being this

I’ve previously mentioned being at the dentist today, and drawing this while waiting (not entirely sure what I was waiting for, other than the thing to fill my cavities I guess? Since we were finished drilling holes in my teeth. Ah well, not important). I wanted to recreate the style drawing thing I had done above, while also maybe attempting to give them eyes closer to their canon designs

And quite honestly, I think they turned out pretty well! Maybe not the best, and I really don’t know what Ceres is doing with her arms, but it’s still not horrible

Then later today, I was trying to draw Menos similarly. And it crashed and burned (I’ve already erased what I was drawing, so I can’t show you). I’ve also been kind of trying to draw something else on the page, but it just isn’t working

I think I can only draw decently when I’m not at home, like when I’m at the dentist. Because it just isn’t working for some reason. I mean, I guess I won’t have much longer to wait, since I go back to school one week from now, and I always do my best work during lecture. Which isn’t great since I need to pay attention in lecture, but I at least will be able to draw outside of my house, and presumably do better

And yeah, I was able to draw that Dark Cacao and Choco picture yesterday, and it turned out pretty fine. And also, I’m a Cookie Run artist, I should just stop complaining about all this, making it a bigger deal than it is, and just go back to what I can do relatively well

But for one thing, I’m still stuck on this quest to draw Menos good, and I still haven’t gotten there, because I literally don’t know how to achieve it

And second, quite honestly it’s those Cookies’ fault I can’t draw these guys anymore!

I tried to learn how to draw the Cookie Run characters in a style similar to how they’re officially drawn. It took me a while, but I can pull it off I think pretty well, or at least decently (it just depends on how lazy I feel with the designs). But in the process, I have forgotten how to draw human characters properly/other beings with similar proportions. I may be able to draw them and it look semi decent by the end, but I don’t actually know what I’m doing in the sketch layer, and it feels like far more of an ordeal than it should be, and that quite honestly, I don’t have the skill anymore. I’m sure you can see it with how limited the poses of most human-ish characters I’ve drawn recently tend to be. Or at least, I’ve noticed it in drawings that I’ve done but haven’t posted because they weren’t done or I didn’t like them

And I struggle with applying what I’ve learned from Cookie Run to these human designs, because in my mind at least, they aren’t applicable here, because the proportions are all different and they have hands and necks now, and it’s all completely different so how do I apply it? Not to mention the fact that I’m semi-remembering how I used to do it and trying to copy what I used to do, but not knowing how I’m supposed to actually do it, so everything becomes a jumbled mess, and I get something that might look decent out of pure luck. I want an actual stable process for drawing human characters that looks good, but because of Cookie Run, I don’t have that anymore

And I can’t just draw in the Cookie Run style, because that’s basically like a Chibi art style, and that just wouldn’t look proper when it’s entirely different from the actual art of the game. Cookie Run you can get away with since that’s the canon art style and also just what the characters look like, being living gingerbread people. But I can’t do that with Evoland 2, it’s just not true to the game and quite frankly would just look embarrassing

What was I talking about again? Right, being unable to draw Menos. Well, that’s why you have to deal with this right now, because Cookie Run is in some way the reason that I am having this problem. Also, I really like Menos and want to draw him, but I can’t and it’s so endlessly frustrating

Yeah there’s the other characters, but I want to draw him specifically, since he’s the one on my mind most of the time, along with his family and also Velvet. It’s mostly Fina and Kuro who aren’t on my mind that often. But even then, I struggle with drawing the other characters too. Though that might be because I run out of steam by the time I decide to draw them, and so I just don’t want to draw them. I don’t know

I hate that I’m an artist who’s whole purpose is to draw, and yet I cannot draw my favorite character, who frankly isn’t that difficult to draw, all because I currently lack the ability to

[lastoneout]

Got asked if I had any tips for new artists during my stream today and I figured I'd put them here too:

Draw, seriously, just do it. This is the hardest part and also the most crucial. Just run at it screaming and refuse to back down. You just gotta do it.

Always do your wrist/arm/shoulder stretches before drawing and make sure to take breaks to stretch/re-center yourself if you've been going for a few hours or more! (Here's the stretches I do, and they help with gaming and writing and desk work too, they're just a good idea all around!)

Try to draw less from the wrist and more from the shoulder(move your arm more and your wrist less basically). That and stretches will help you avoid carpal tunnel which is never fun.

Consistency is only something you need to worry about if you're like, working in the industry/doing some types of commissions(like an twitch emote bundle or a comic book). If you're just starting out or only drawing for yourself it literally doesn't matter. Like, I don't think I've ever drawn a character exactly the same way twice, it's fine.

Don't do warm up drawings, do warm up scribbles. Doodles circles and squares and lines and swirls until you feel nice and lose, then start actually drawing.

If you're between 50-90% done with something and you REALLLY start to hate it, keep going. You just gotta power through, cuz chances are it's perfectly fine(or even really good) and your monkey brain is being a jackass coward chugging that impostor syndrome juice.

If you finish and you still hate it put it away until tomorrow or the day after and then look again. Never EVER trust your negative opinions about your art(or anything) if it's after like 8pm.

Re: the above points, as an exampke last night I HATED my new pngtuber model that I'd spent literally all day on. Went to bed and in the morning was like "oh this is good actually". Trust me, tired burnt out you is not a good judge of quality, especially the quality of something you've been staring at for like 4-5 hours.

If, after all that, you still hate it, that's okay too. It's a bummer, but don't try to force yourself to like something just cuz you spent a lot of time on it. Chalk it up to experience and move on to the next thing!

Do everything in your power to not compare yourself to others. It won't get you anywhere. Instead learn to look at other people's art and find what you like about it and try to break it down or do it that way yourself. Dont fully copy/trace ofc, but really think about how something looks and see if you can figure out why you like it and/or how it's done.

OH MY GOD USE REFERENCES. Anyone who says not to use references is talking out of their ass. You think figure drawing classes are bad?? That artists draw from life just for shits and giggles?? No, its because you need to know what shit looks like to draw it!!! USE REFERENCES!!!

Same with youtube tutorials, especially for learning to use digital art programs. Do take everything with a grain of salt ofc(we've all seen the "masculine vs feminine eyes" shit or the trash trend of "I fix my viewer's bad art uwu" ignore that crap) but you can learn all kinds of shit for free on youtube.

If you can feel yourself burning out fucking stop drawing a take a break. Even if you're in the middle of something, or part of you wants to keep drawing. Burn outs suck and it's gonna take a lot longer to get over it if you push yourself until you crash instead of just acknowledging that you're hitting your limit and stopping for a few days. The art will be there when you get back, your health should always come first!

If someone tells you thick line art or anime style or whatever is bad, ignore them. All art is subjective. Draw what you want how you want. Even if it's all thick line art or you stick to sketches or only do anime stuff or chibis or humans or furries or goddamn stick figures just draw literally whatever. If this is just a hobby for you there's no reason to push yourself. Draw what makes you happy, fuck everyone else.

Anyway that's all I've got for now, might add more tomorrow when I'm less tired(and I encourage additions for other artists as I'm self taught and had to learn most of this the hard way and thus I'm sure I've missed stuff) but yeah, just draw my dudes, this is supposed to be fun. You deserve to have fun.

[monsterenergysimp]

Permanence

corpse husband x fem!reader 

summary: you meet corpse on a stream and you’re surprised when he reaches out to you 

warnings: cursing, mentions of tattooing

word count: 1.9k

notes: This is proof read but could have missed some stuff. This is my first corpse fic and my first time writing fanfic since I posted that super cringey book on wattpad when I was like 12 or something. I’d appreciate feed back so please reach out to me :)

main blog @itsmysleepover

read part 2 here!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You were cleaning up your station so you can get home and stream. You loved your day job as a tattoo artist but you also really enjoyed streaming. It started as a way to promote yourself as an artist and the shop you worked at but it eventually became a really fun way to destress at the end of the week (or day if you were really itching to stream). “Hey Y/N was that your last client?” your boss, KC, asked as she walked to the front of the shop and put new flash drawings on the walls.

“Yes ma’am!” You said back excitedly. You finished cleaning your station and tossed your black gloves in the trash. “And you can’t trick me into staying and taking walk-ins,” you joked with her. She rolled her eyes and walked back into her office “It was one time,” she said as you slid on your jacket. As you walked out your phone buzzed in your pocket and you checked to see who had texted you. It was a message from Sean asking if you were free to play Among Us with him and some other streamers. You replied that you were on your way home right now and totally down. You were excited to see who was playing this time around since their Among Us streams are super entertaining and have gotten really popular.

On your way back you tweeted and posted to your Instagram story that you’d be streaming soon and set up all your stuff once you made it home. After a few minutes, you had a couple of thousand people watching. You entered the discord chat and Sean spoke up. “Everyone this is Y/N she’s sensitive so be gentle.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you guys and I’m not gentle, I'm ruthless,” You say into your mic and notice the chat calling you a liar. Everyone was in the lobby waiting for the game to start. “You sound way too sweet to be ruthless,” Corpse said. The countdown started and you were imposter with Charlie.

“This should be fun,” you told the stream. Yout tried playing strategically but after such a long shift your brain was mush. You saw Poki in nav and killed her then vented into shields. Not long after the body was reported and you were sure you were going to get voted out or at least sussed.

“Where was the body?” Felix asked. “Nav and I didn’t see anyone near there so whoever is imposter must have vented,” Corpse responded. Felix spoke up again. “I think I saw Y/N walk that way and I haven’t seen her since.”

Shit, shit, shit shit. “I’m in shield right now so-” you said trying to defend yourself but Charlie spoke up. “I was doing tasks with her earlier and I saw her walk into shields so she’s safe but I’m still not sure about Rae.” Everyone discussed a bit more and some people, including Corpse, voted for you but Rae got the majority vote and was ejected. You released your breath and kept playing being extra careful.  

“Okay, guys that was super close. Corpse knows and is out to get me,” you said to the chat. You were eventually voted off but one round later victory was written across your screen with your ghost and Charlie’s avatar. “Good game guys,” Corpse said.

“I told you guys I was ruthless!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You sat at your station doing nothing because a client had canceled a four-hour session. You were listening to music and sketching some stuff but you were bored out of your mind and you didn’t want to leave in case you got a walk-in. The music got quiet as you received a twitter notification saying someone had messaged you. You reached for your phone and saw you had gotten a dm from Corpse.

C: hey :)

You didn’t know what to respond. You were mostly confused as to why he decided to message you out of the blue. Did he want something? But what would he want?

Y: Hii! This is sudden

C: was i bothering you?

    shit sorry!

Y: Youre fine I wasn’t doing anything rn

C: how has your day been

    i dont usually do stuff like this

Y: Im glad you did im doing better now I was so bored

C: what were you doing that was so terrible

Y: NOTHING! thats the problem :(

C: im sure youll find something to do

You stared at his message. Unsure what to respond.

Y: Im gonna give myself a tattoo

C: what?

    NO!

You tossed the needles you used for your tattoo into the sharps box. “Oh my god you didn’t,” KC said. She noticed the wrap on your calve from the tattoo you just gave yourself out of boredom. “It’s not my fault I didn’t have anything else to do!” You said trying to defend yourself. She sighed and just shook her head. “Just go home business is slow today.” It was raining so the shop probably wasn’t going to get a walk-in anyway and you didn’t have any more clients for the day. It was only 2 pm but you drove home and after making lunch for yourself decided to stream. You weren’t expecting too many people so it was bound to be super chill. Your leg felt sore reminding you of the tattoo. You snapped a quick pic of the fresh jack-o-lantern on the side of your calve and messaged it to Corpse.

Y: [image] it came out nice!

C: thats  super cool actually

    i was concerned why you would just give yourself a tattoo but i found your instagram and       youre super talented

Y: Thank you!

For some reason, it felt strange to just have that be the end of your response.

Y: Im about to start streaming if you wanted to watch

    [link]

C: ill be watching ;)

What’s that supposed to mean?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You sat in your apartment watching tv, hand lost in a bag of Doritos, and scrolling through twitter. You had stopped paying attention to the anime playing on the screen since you’ve watched it a hundred times and knew you wouldn’t miss anything. It was Saturday and you usually take those days off. Take the time to do chores or meet up with some friends but today you felt like not doing any of those things. As you continue your endless scroll (not helping the twitter addiction you told yourself you’d try to get a handle on) you got a message from Corpse.

C: wanna talk?

You looked down at the message unsure of how to answer. It was a simple yes or no and the obvious answer was yes. You and Corpse had started talking more regularly. You still didn’t have each other’s phone numbers but it was fine. Your conversations weren’t too big-- just you sending him memes, tiktoks, and telling him how much you liked the songs he would drop. Or him complimenting a tattoo you did. Sometimes he’d message you during streams telling you funny stuff his fans would say in the chat and you’d do the same. You learned a bit about each other but nothing too deep or serious. Like how you two lived a few cities away and you both really liked Donnie Darko. When Sean first invited you to that game out of everyone else there you were most excited to meet Corpse. He’s just so sweet and funny. Of course, you’d love to talk to him but you were also itching to talk to him and the last thing you’d ever want to do was make him uncomfortable.

Y: Yeah id love to talk

Here goes nothing.

Y: Wanna facetime or something?

     No pressure or anything it could even be a regular call

     I think facetime is just my default lol

You sent those last two messages quickly after you had sent the first. You wished you could know what he was thinking. It was killing you to think you had turned him off from talking to you completely. You put your phone down on the couch and went to wash your hand of Dorito dust. When you got back from the kitchen you turned off the tv and tossed yourself onto the couch.

Still no message.

Why am I so fucking stupid?  

Just as you were standing up to stretch from sitting on the couch all day your phone buzzed. You reached for it fast and looked to see that it was him. You became super excited still not even knowing what the message said. It could have told you to never talk to him again for all you knew.

C: sure lets facetime

    xxx-xxx-xxxx

You had his phone number. You added him to your small but growing contact list and called. You sat on your couch waiting for a response when he finally picked up the screen was black. It didn’t upset you; you kind of expected it and didn’t care what he had to do to make himself more comfortable during this call.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was raspier than usual.

“Did you just wake up?” You asked and looked at the time. It was about a little past noon and you had only eaten Doritos all day. Shit, you should probably make a decent meal.

“Not that long ago but yeah,” he responded and giggled. That giggle.

“Well, I’ve eaten nothing but Doritos all day while rewatching Ouran High School Host Club, so you’re welcome to join me as I make myself something to eat.”

“Sounds like fun; what are we eating?”

“I don’t know yet,” You said as you stood up and made your way to the kitchen. You opened the pantry and looked. You noticed a can of diced tomatoes and reached for it then checked the expiration date. It was still good. On your counter were some onions and garlic. “How about some tomato soup?”

“Sounds delicious.” you smiled at Corpse and your phone screen not knowing if he was also looking at his screen or not. “You’re really pretty-- you know that?”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to--”

“I’ve already told you what an incredible artist you are so many times I bet you’re tired of hearing it, but you already know what a talented artist you are.”

“That is very kind of you Corpse,” you said to him bashfully as you chopped the onion and opened the can of tomatoes. “But once again you don’t have to reach so far to compliment me.”

“I’m not reaching you are talented and beautiful and--”

“I thought I was pretty.” You could hear him chuckle with a smile on his face. “You’re both,” he said. You could feel your face getting warm from blushing.

“Fuck you you’re making me blush. My face is all hot and stuff.”

He laughed at how flustered you got. “That’s the cutest thing ever.”

You didn’t know how to respond so you just put some olive oil in a pot and tossed in your onions. It became silent but it was a comfortable silence. You turned the stove on and watched the flame for a few seconds. “If it was dark we could pretend we were together and having a bonfire or something,” you said to the phone as you turned the camera to show him the flame (still not 100 percent sure if he was looking at you or not).

“I’ll put it on the list of things to do when you visit me someday.”

[feelingisshit]

Bunnies, Raccoons, and a Present - Bill Denbrough x Artist!Reader

Warnings - swearing, short fic, tooth-rotting sweetness

“Hey bunny, do you think you could pass me that pencil over there?” I pointed across the table while asking Bill and he just laughed. “(y/n), you h-have a pencil be-behind your ear.” I giggled and pulled the pencil out from behind my ear. “Thanks bunny!” I smile widely at him and continue working on my homework.

“Bunny!” I yelled as I jumped up and hugged him. “Maybe he should be the one calling you bunny since you always do that.” Richie pointed out in jest and I shook my head. “You don’t know shit Tozier. I gave him the nickname for a reason!” I told Richie off and he shrugged to the other losers who just rolled their eyes at him. “I should call you raccoon since you talk so much trash Tozier.” I muse while still being held up by Bill in a tight hug. He nods softly, “I think- I think s-so too (y/n).”

“Raccoon boy-” “Can you stop calling me that!” Richie pleaded and I shook my head, “Nope, bunny said it fits and everyone else seems to think so too so it's staying, sorry not sorry raccoon boy.” He sighs heavily and throws his head back against the end of the hammock. Eddie chuckles heartily “I definitely think it fits, and any who, now you know how I feel about all your nicknames towards me…” I nod slowly while going back to work on the sketch I was doing of the two sitting in the hammock across from me. Bill rests his head on mine and hums out of nowhere.

“What’s up bunny? Is something wrong?” I set my pencil down worriedly and shift my eyes to the boy resting on me. “No-not at all, I’m ju-just happy to-to be with a-all my friends.” He nuzzles farther into my hair and wraps an arm around my back. “I-it's also real-really comforting to wa-watch you dra-draw our fr-friends, espe-especially as w-well a-as you draw.” I smile shyly down at my sketchbook, looking at the almost finished pencil drawing of Richie and Eddie sitting together in the hammock. “Thank you bunny, you’re the best.”

“Bev, can you pass me the marker I just threw at raccoon boy?” she nods and tosses the marker my way. “What are you drawing anyways (y/n)?” Bev comes over after smacking Richie in the back of the head for saying something probably mean which I didn’t quite catch. I turn the book towards her and she gasps, “(y/n)! That’s amazing! Where’d you learn to draw like that?” she asked and sat down on the side that wasn’t occupied by Bill. I looked over at him and he was sleeping peacefully in my lap with his mouth partly open while he dried in the sun.

“Actually bunny was the one who taught me to begin with, then from there I taught myself by practicing drawing all of you guys!” I flipped back to a few earlier pages of drawings of the losers club to show her. “Those really are great, wait, what was that one you just skipped over?” I blushed and flipped back to it while looking away and rubbing the back of my neck embarrassed. The one she had asked about was one of Bill, one that I had done while he was laying in my lap like he was now, soft-looking parted lips, luscious lashes, and all. She placed a hand on my shoulder and got up, “That’s really good, you should show him if you haven’t yet. He’d love it!” She encouraged and I nodded along in deep thought about how that situation might go.

“H-hey, (y/n)?” Bill turned towards me with a slight frown and in turn my face fell too. “You re-remember what t-today is right?” his eyes look majorly sad but none the less I nod and in turn, his facial expression gets lighter. “It’s your birthday bunny, I’d never have forgotten that! And I’ll never pretend to forget either.” I smile and place a hand on his, rubbing my thumb back and forth over the large expanse of the back of his hand. I look away with a heated face and remove my hand from his to grab my sketchbook out of my bag. I flip through and stop at the drawing that Bev had told me to show Bill when we were at the quarry. I carefully tear the page out along the perforations. “And since it’s your birthday, I have a present just for you, bunny.” I sputter out and hand him the drawing, which is now in full color with a handwritten note on the back.

As he stared at the drawing I shifted in my seat beside him, my brain couldn’t help but remember what I had written on the back of the full-color drawing of my best friend and crush. Bunny, I know this might be a little creepy to have drawn you sleeping but you know I draw everyone in the losers club. One day you were laying in my lap in the golden sun and looked like this but more indescribable than anything else I’ve ever seen. Since that day I’ve had feelings that have only grown. I only really got the courage to admit this to you on the back of my favorite drawing because Beverly told me you would like it. (the drawing, not my confession) And after that day I colored it for you. I hope you at least enjoy the art and even if you don’t feel the same way for me I hope we can stay friends! Love, (y/n).

I prayed that Bill wouldn’t read the note on the back and rip up the drawing, I didn’t think he would but I hoped and prayed I would be right. If he didn’t feel the same way hopefully he’d just give it back or forget it ever happened or- My spiraling thoughts were halted by soft lips against mine. My eyes came back into focus and saw that it was Bill kissing me and my eyes snapped shut. I placed my hands gently on his arms and when one of his hands moved to my cheek I audibly squeaked. “(y/n)? A-are you a-a-alright? I-I’m so s-sorry I sh-should’ve asked bef-before I did that…” Bill’s stutter got worse the longer his apology got and I finally had to just shut him up by giving him a gentle peck on the lips back.

“It’s fine bunny, don’t worry about it at all!” I smile widely and grab his hand, pulling it up to my mouth to kiss.

[writings-of-a-daphodil]

A Gift

Luke x ghost!reader

Summary: It's your birthday and you wish you could spend it with your family. Luke and the band try to cheer you up (super fluffy).

Requested?: Nope

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms

A/n: This kinda came out of nowhere and once I had the idea I got carried away. I hope y'all like it!!

For you birthdays were a big thing when you were alive. You and your family would always go on a camping trip and have the time of your lives together. It wasn’t just limited to your family either, it was open to your friends too. It was your favorite tradition.

When you had met Luke, you had been looking forward to inviting him and the band, but then the fateful night at the Orpheum had happened. You and the rest of the band had died that night, now it was twenty-twenty and you were ghosts.

It had been great meeting Julie and forming a band with her, but as your birthday rolled around you were feeling immensely sad. Like Luke you had visited their family and you had seen them preparing to go on the camping trip in your honor. While it made you happy to see them keeping up the tradition, it also felt like a stab to the heart that you couldn’t be there with them.

In the days leading up to your birthday you had grown quiet and more reserved, struggling to find the energy to be happy. You couldn’t visit your family anymore, it just made you cry, but knowing that they were camping and you couldn’t be there also made you cry. It was a lose-lose.

So you had spent most of your time at the beach, watching the ocean and letting it calm you. There was something so relaxing about the way the waves moved and the push and pull of the tide. It was also nice to have privacy, just the crashing waves to keep you company.

It was inevitable that the band would notice your mood and absence of course, and notice they did.

You were at the beach, watching the ocean like normal. It was admittedly a beautiful day for your birthday. The sun was just breaking through the marine layer, creating bright orange patterns on the clouds.

Luke poofed in beside you, startling you out of your sad thoughts. The two of you had been dating since you got the band together and he was always there to comfort you.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping an arm around you. You sniffed in return.

“You didn’t think I would forget what today is, did you?” He asked, giving a small smile.

“No,” you answered, smiling a little bit.

“Good,” he stood up in front of you and grabbed your hands. “You are amazing and you are so great and understanding when it comes to me missing my parents, now it’s my turn to help you with your grief.”

You didn’t have time to respond before you felt the cold sand disappear from beneath you. The world shifted to new surroundings, ones that you definitely did not recognize.

“Luke?” You asked, letting go of his hand. You weren’t exactly in the mood for any surprises at the moment.

Luke moved back to standing in front of you. “Trust me on this, okay?”

He took your hand again and led you down a path. You looked around, trying to find anything that would clue you into where you were.

You slowly began to recognize your surroundings and you stopped walking. “What’s wrong?” Luke asked, stopping with you once he realized you weren’t moving.

“Luke, I-I’ve already visited, seeing them just makes me even sadder.”

“That isn’t why we’re here, Y/n/n. I’ve got a completely unrelated surprise for you.”

You hesitantly began to walk and Luke gave you an encouraging smile. “You are going to have a great day today. I promise.”

You gave him a weak and slightly nervous smile as you followed him. You walked over a hill and what you saw made you smile for real.

Julie and her family were setting up a campsite while the rest of the band and Flynn helped. After the whole Caleb fiasco Julie had let her family in on the ghostly little secret.

“Happy Birthday!” Luke exclaimed, gesturing excitedly at everyone.

“Happy Birthday, Y/n!” Everyone called, though Flynn, Carlos, Victoria, and Ray were a little late since they didn’t see your arrival.

You smiled at your found family. “Guys, this is so sweet.”

“Oh, this isn’t everything,” Reggie said excitedly. “Wait till you see what else we have planned.”

For the first time in a while, you forgot your grief and excitement replaced it. “I can’t wait.”

~~~~

After a few incredibly fun activities, you made it back to your campsite. The sun was still up and you had a while before everyone would eat dinner.

Still hyped up you had a lot of energy and you didn’t know if you could just sit around and chat or play cards. Thankfully Carlos suggested a game of Ultimate frisbee and once the words were out of his mouth, Reggie was chanting it to. You were definitely up for a game and from there, teams were formed.

It was you, Julie, and Alex versus Luke, Reggie, Flynn, and Carlos. You may or may not have specifically engineered it to have Alex on your team, him being the tallest gave an advantage.

You took on Luke. He smirked at you as Alex threw the frisbee to Julie and Flynn intercepted. You rolled your eyes and saw Flynn get ready to throw the frisbee at Carlos. Julie was trying to guard her and Alex was on Reggie, so in a split second you ran over to Carlos. You knew you were faster than Luke so you’d be able to get to Carlos and catch the frisbee first and fortunately you were right.

You intercepted and Luke tried to guard you, giving you a pouty face when Alex caught your throw. You smirked at him, running past Alex to the area near your goal. You had barely stopped running when Alex tossed the frisbee back to you. Luke was almost to you and Julie was open. You threw it to her and smiled as she caught it, scoring a point.

“We’ll get it next time,” Luke called running off towards his team's end of the field.

“Sure!” You called back, a bright smile on your face. However, Luke was right, his team scored the next two times and your team scored the last time before dinner, leaving you at a tie.

You all made your way back to the campsite and you ghosts sat down while the ‘lifers’ got their food.

“It was interesting seeing the frisbee get caught in midair.” Ray chuckled as he took his seat, almost sitting in Reggie before Julie warned him.

“Yes, I’m glad you were having fun,” Victoria said, patting Julie. You smiled at the gesture, trying not to feel sad about your own aunts.

Dinner was full of fun chatting and Julie translating for you and the guys. After dinner the guys got their instruments out and began to sing ‘happy birthday’ to you. You sang along so everyone could see you and it turned into an impromptu concert.

As the sun disappeared and the stars came out, you and your found family sang, enjoying the moment. You would definitely treasure these memories for years to come.

After you finished singing Luke came over to you. “Just close your eyes for a second,” he said, grinning at you like an excited puppy. You did what he asked, though rather reluctantly.

“Guys, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“We wanted to,” Alex said.

You heard a lot of shuffling right in front of you and eventually Luke spoke. “Okay, open your eyes.”

In front of you was a small pile of gifts. “Guys-“

Luke cut you off before you could protest any further, “Stop, you deserve all of this and more. And don’t say you feel bad for not doing more for our birthdays, I know how long it takes you to knit those scarves.”

“Fine,” you smiled. “Which one first?”

“Ooo! Open mine!” Reggie begged, pointing at a cleanly wrapped box.” You unwrapped it, careful to make sure none of the trash went anywhere, and gasped at what you were holding. It was an incredibly detailed and beautiful sketch of a horse.

“Reggie, did you draw this?”

He nodded. “And it’s got the first country song we wrote together on it.”

You beamed at him. “We’ll get that country album some day,” you vowed, gently nudging Luke when he rolled his eyes.

“Mine next,” Alex requested, pointing to an even more elaborately wrapped box. You opened it to see Alex had decorated your old guitar strap, painting it with your favorite colors. You had been meaning to do that since you got it and you were grateful he had taken the initiative.

“I love it.”

“Good, I’m not that artistic so I didn’t know what to get you and then I remembered that you had been meaning to decorate your guitar strap since you got it, so I did it,” Alex rambled.

You laughed. “How very thoughtful of you.”

You turned your attention back to the rest of the stack, but Luke was already ready. “Here’s mine.”

“You took the small package from him and opened it. Inside was a little box and in that there was a necklace. The pendant was an old guitar pick branded with the sunset curve logo and with it was a little card in Luke’s messy handwriting: A memento of the band we started all those years ago.

“I think I’m gonna cry.” You put your hand to your mouth and Luke took the necklace from the box, putting it on you.

“I love you so much,” Luke whispered to you.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, kissing his cheek.

After admiring the necklace for a little while longer, you went to open the rest of the pile. Julie got you a gift card so you could shop together(you still only had your clothes from the nineties). Ray gave you a framed photograph of you guys at the garage party singing Edge of Great and Carlos got you a ball of yarn. Even Victoria even got you a little candle that you absolutely adored and Flynn got you a bracelet that matched one that she and Julie were wearing.

“Guys, these are all so great, I can’t thank you enough! You better bet I’ll be stepping it up for your guys’ birthdays.”

“Looking forward to it,” Carlos said, after Julie repeated what you said. He turned to his left and smiled at you and you laughed, you were sitting more to his right.

“Tell him that I can’t wait,” you requested and Julie obliged.

While she did that you got up and hugged everyone you could. “Guys, this could not have been a better day.”

“It’s not over yet. We have one last gift for you!” Reggie said excitedly and you smiled brightly, tears of joy forming in your eyes.

“You guys didn’t have to,” you protested, blushing at the kindness they had been showing you. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

“Yes we did.” Julie sat down next to you and Luke sat on the other side, with an arm around you while Reggie and Alex leaned in behind you. You tilted your head as Julie turned on her phone and went to her camera roll.

You were about to ask what was going on when she played a video. Julie and the guys appeared on screen and you saw that they were standing outside the garage.

“Happy Birthday, Y/n!” They all yelled and you smiled, expecting them to do a little birthday recording of a song for you, but instead of getting their instruments Luke spoke.

“We noticed how sad you were about your parents and we had this idea...” with that the screen shifted.

You were only more confused when you recognized the inside of your parents house. It was easy to tell that the camera was filming from just inside your old kitchen. You watched curiously as Julie and your parents stepped into the frame.

“If you could say one thing to her, what would you say?” Julie asked and you realized she was talking about you.

Your mom sniffed, tears in her eyes. “I’d let her know how much I love her and how proud we are of her. I just wish we could tell her that. She was so talented, I just wish she could have lived her dream.”

Tears welled in your eyes at what your mom said, but they started falling when your dad spoke. “I’d wish her a happy birthday and tell her that I wish she could come camping with us. We kept up our tradition and I just wish she could know how much she meant-means to us. We missed out on so much with her and though we can’t get it back I hope she knows that we love her with all of our hearts.”

The video faded into a slideshow of some pictures of you, and in the background Now or Never was playing.

A good majority of the old pictures were taken during your camping trips and it was interesting to see how you had grown. When you were twelve, guitars began to appear in the pictures and there were quite a few ones of you playing around a campfire. Everyone was laughing in those, and it made you smile to remember when they were taken.

After the pictures of your family, they faded to pictures of you with the guys. There was even one of your first gig, you recalled that your mom had taken it. Your parents had been so excited for you. You had always felt so lucky to have such supportive parents.

From there, there were the newest pictures, ones of you with Julie and even some from your current camping trip that she must have added at the last minute.

After the last picture faded away you immediately grabbed all of your friends into a group hug. You couldn’t believe they had done this for you. You felt so unbelievably honored and touched.

You sniffed. “Guys, how did you do this?”

“Well, Alex, Reggie, and I got most of the pictures, we used some cameras to sneak them,” Luke explained.

“Yeah, it was not easy. I can’t count the number of times your parents almost saw the floating cameras,” Reggie said and you laughed.

You turned to Julie. “It means the world to me that you got my parents to say that. How?”

“I told them that I was trying to get to know the old band that had once practiced in my garage and from there they told me everything.” You hugged the girl tightly.

“I can’t begin to explain how much this means to me.” You opened your mouth to explain more, but nothing came out. “Just...this is...wow, guys. I-I just, thank you? I don’t know, thank you doesn’t sound like enough.”

“You don’t have to explain, Y/n, we’re just glad you liked it,” Alex said.

“After this, I’m gonna make sure you guys have great birthdays too.” Some more tears fell. “I just, wow.”

“So you liked it?” Luke asked and you beamed at him.

“I loved it.”

****

Tada, I hope y'all enjoyed this! Once I started writing it bloomed into this and I'm happy with what it came out to be. It's also been a while since I played frisbee, so sorry if the rules are wrong. Anyways, I loved writing this and I hope y'all have a fantastically safe and wonderful day/night!

Also if you want me to do more gender neutral fics just let me know, I only do she/her because that's what I’m most comfortable with, but please let me know if you want they/them on more stuff. I want to make this blog inclusive.

P.S. I am open to requests, but I won't get to them until after Halloween :) Please check my blog for the pinned post before requesting.

P.P.S. if you want to be on my taglist for all things Julie and the Phantoms, feel free to ask. I hope it works and please message me if it doesn’t.

[starlitwhispers]

saccharine. soulsilvershipping - 2400 words A flavorless au by yours truly. happy quarter century birthday to my boo @silverbuttercups

Heat. Pounding heat. Warmth beating into his cheeks like the summer sun, except it was her instead. He can’t get it to work, he just can’t. The paints keep meshing and clumping; it’s like his sweat is mixing with the acrylics. And it’s all her fault, because she won’t get off his mind. The idea of her sits atop his head, weighing him down — it’s like he can’t breathe. The air, it’s thinning, he’s panting, the taste of her skin is flashing back into his mind — he’s panting, remembering the feeling of her panting back onto him. His mind races, his heart races, time seems like it’s elapsing faster than the speed of light —

He breaks out of his trance. The drops of sweat trickle down his scrawny biceps and a wet stain darkens the front of his dirty, yellow and faded wife-beater. He’s alone. It’s just him as he glances around his disgusting, cluttered studio. Musty, dusty, he peers at the ivory, canvas curtains by the window, and watches the specks of dirt and grime waft through the air in the beams of light peeking through the cracks. He sits in silence, redirecting his eyes to his easel once more. Trash, he thinks at first, looking at the mess of paints and lines, how there’s no depth and no character. The brown he chose doesn’t match… it’s not the right shade. Absolute trash.

Blinking, he thinks again. He does not know what day it is, or month even. Now that he no longer works in that dingy office, contact with the rest of the world has vanished. He makes his way out of the studio, trudges down the hallway and walks right past the master bedroom. The master bedroom that has been tightly shut for more than a year. All the blinds, everywhere, in every window, they are closed. Ready to-microwave meal boxes pile in the trash bin and even fleck across his kitchen floor and countertops. Not a dish in sight, except for used scotch glasses with empty bottles not too far behind. His bed, the couch, has multiple blankets sprawled across it and a coffee table in front full of trash. His eyes focus on the trash, or more specifically, the crumpled up balls of his sketch pad paper. The balls of paper could be found as far as the corners of the kitchen floor, behind the counter and by the fridge.

He has quite the arm, although he appears thin. His strength multiplies with his frustration and anger. He sits himself in a rather indented spot on the couch, less cushioned than the rest of the sofa from months of his weight pressed in this one area. His hand reaches for the remote and turns on the television, afterwards he fixes himself a glass of scotch in a used glass nearby and his fingers shimmy their way into his back pocket. From within, his index and middle fingers pull out a cigarette box. He shoves a smoke between his dry lips and lights it. Between the alcohol and the nicotine, it’s just enough.

Just enough to get the taste of her out of his mouth. For now.

He sits back as he watches the afternoon news. He stares at the journalist’s lips, sees how they curve into coy smiles as she laughs at the corny jokes the daily anchorman voices over into her ear. Just another normal girl, reporting normal things, in her normal life, he observes. Disgusting, he reflects, a normal life is disgusting.

He huffs the cigarette smoke towards the living room ceiling, shutting his eyes. Reminiscing the day he first moved into the home, how bright, clean, and airy it felt then. It’s almost as if everything else in the house is a shell of its former self… including him. A couple envelopes shoot through the golden lips of his front door — today’s mail has arrived — he thinks about the stacks of mail piling by his front door. He makes a faint guess she has not changed her mailing address on some things yet, which gives him false hope on good days or this burning misery that perhaps she has moved on in more ways than one. Changed her name? Married? Then again, she never came back for any of her other belongings. Maybe she already had a back up plan set in motion.

But the truth is, he never saw it coming. Perhaps that is what makes the stinging pain after all this time feel so fresh. What was that, she said a long time ago? That she loved him? He sniggers at himself, at his stupidity, at his unfulfilling life that he tirelessly plays out everyday. At the end of his frumpy sofa, his cellphone rings. Or, at least, he feels the vibrations.

In foolish—hopeless—optimism, he shoves his fist into the edge of the couch digging around for the device. Frantically, he drudges it up from the crevice, along with stray hairs and crumbs, and his eyes yearningly glance over the caller ID. His heart falls beneath the pits of his stomach. It’s just his PR agent. Disappointed, he declines the call and tosses his phone onto the coffee table. He stares at it, somewhat in disbelief and somewhat dismayed with himself for even hoping for it. For her.

By the moment the sun sets, he fiddles with his phone, his finger hovering over the dial button on her number… Of course, he does not call her. He shoves the device into his back pocket. Of course, by the moment the sun sets, he has finished another bottle and another pack. And he has passed out on the living room sofa, again. In a drunken stupor, he awakens, angry, and storms the hallway to his studio. Throwing a blank canvas to the easel, he begins his work once again until dawn. And in this instance, he allows the idea of her to drown him, flood his lungs like the oils and acrylics starting to spatter his body, until all he breathes is the image of her. An exposé of his love, his hatred, his loneliness. They have banned nudity everywhere except the museums.

Wasn’t that their first date? A museum? He stops mid-stroke and clutches his brush a little tighter. He tries to remember, when was the last time he was in a museum?

…Just like the day before, the sun begins to peak through his blinds, but this time, the work before him satisfies. His paint covered fingers nestle their way into his pocket, he presses the dial key and lifts the phone to his ear. The recipient of his call picks up.

The voice on the other end starts, “Hey, dude, I’ve been trying to reach you—”

“I’ve got something good,” the artists interrupts.

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?! I’ll be over later to check it out.”

----

“And, that’s all the time we have for today, love,” her producer tells her from the side as the cameraman lowers the device from his shoulder.

She sighs, scratches the back of her ear, and smiles in unison with a nod. A small drop of sweat trickles from her temple, why does she have to be the on-scene reporter today? She saunters to the news channel’s van and with its open side door, she scoops a cold water bottle from the mini cooler. The sun continues to beat down on her rose-tinted cheeks. The buzzing of cicadas whiz through her ears and into her thoughts… some guy from work had asked her out for drinks later tonight, but suddenly she’s feeling a raincheck about to be typed on her phone.

She’s not ready yet. How can she be? Her right hand absentmindedly finds its way to her other hand, brushing over her now naked ring finger. A shame, really, that it didn’t work out. She really wishes it would have.

“You can head home now, of course,” her producer begins. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No, thank you,” she respectfully declines. “I think I’ll walk home.”

The staff executive eyes her in confusion, as she clearly does not enjoy the summer heat. He shrugs his shoulders in defeat, “Whatever floats your boat, honey.”

The young brunette collects her bag from the van and stuffs her hand into it, rummaging for make-up remover wipes. She takes out her compact and begins cleansing her face. If she plans to walk home, she would rather not be recognized. However unfortunate people may see it, her occupation does come with some less than desired fans. To top off her “disguise,” she removes the hair clip, lets her hair down and places a pair of sunglasses over her eyes.

On her way home, she stops by a local café for refreshment and a boost of energy. Sitting for a moment in the air conditioned shop, she takes frequent sips of her hazelnut iced coffee.

“Have you seen the new exhibition at the museum yet?” She overhears two young students chat with each other. “It’s honestly incredible.”

“Really? I guess I’ll have to check it out later today. Who’s it by?” The other voice asks.

She finally takes the last sip through the straw, and the liquid slurps from the leftover ice.

“Oh, uh… I forget his name… He was really popular a few years ago, though,” the first voice falters.

The young reporter stands up, slugs her bag strap over her shoulder, and heads for the door.

“Uh, Silver, something?” The first voice remembers. “He’s actually supposed to be at the exhibition today, doing an expository with some press over his inspiration and meaning.”

As the bell rings with her opening the door, she throws her empty cup into the trash followed by an exuberant “thank you for coming!” from the barista behind the counter.

She did not hear the last part from the student in the café.

In her trek home, she stops in front of the museum. In the pit of her stomach, she feels bubbling. Her intestines become upset from anxiety and emotions she wished to never feel again flash back into her senses. That feeling, of dread somehow turned into addictive ecstasy, floods into her veins, and her feet compel her to enter against her better judgment.

As she passes through all the marble walls, the scent of the canvases and oil paintings make her heart race and palms sweat. She anticipates something bad will happen, as something bad always happened when they were together.

All his rough yelling, all their petty disagreements over the things she wanted and the things he did not want, all the noise of hatred bred from what she promised to be forever with him. Stopping to admire a piece, she realizes that has become far from reality. Forever with him… part of her wishes she could go back and part of her desires ever so strongly to never see him again.

In the depth of these paint strokes, she observes and ruminates. What if she were to return and to feel his cracked, warm lips against hers? The sweat of his red hairs behind his neck as they pressed their bodies together, hearing his grunts.

She swallows. She’s warm at the thought of someone she hasn’t touched in almost three years. Being his wife isn’t the worst thing she has done when she thinks about the things they have done together in bed… Her tongue wets the bottom lip and she bites down. This is wrong, she thinks to herself, she left him for a reason. A good reason.

All the miserable nights, the crying, the loneliness. She cannot see him again. If she sees him again, it might sway her. She may want him back. She cannot see him again.

She wants him back.

—--

Here he stands, a month after the original piece he produced in a drunk, inspired stupor, with a brand new exhibition. His agent clinks a glass of champagne to the drink in his own hand, a smile plastered all over his consultant’s face. Of course there is a smile all over his face, the work he has promoted to the city has doubled the money in his pockets. Although the actual artist himself could care less for the revenue. He glances around the section of the gallery that has been sectioned off for exclusively his exhibition and the expository conference.

In his mind, the worst part of this event has ended. The few cameras and interviewers have left and now only art dealers, consultants, and critics remain. The moment he realizes he can slip away to breathe on his own, without being bombarded by awful, intrusive questions he can’t be bothered to answer, he does so. The other areas of the museum are far quieter and the company of the crowd makes his scotch taste bad. As he takes small, frequent sips with each step, he would much rather be drunk at home away from all these people.

He has finally done something he promised himself he wouldn’t ever do again: create art inspired by her. That alone makes him want to become blackout wasted. Or so he thought. He stops in his tracks as he downs the last drop of his drink. I should have just grabbed the damn bottle.

Standing a couple feet from him, peering into a painting, the nightmare from hell that dragged him down under and left him there. Dropping the glass in his hand, he doesn’t think much before his body moves towards her—all the anger manifested inside of him—she quickly becomes aware of his on-coming presence, surprised by the sound of broken glass and his person, and he grabs her by the shoulders.

Forcing her against the wall, she still stares wide-eyed in shock and he does not to hesitate to press his mouth against hers with ferocity. Her eyes still agape, he slips his tongue in quickly and gruffly releases her from his grip. He stares down into her eyes with disdain and she stares back with confusion.

“Silver, I—“ she begins, her voice somewhat hoarse from surprise.

But his expression silences her. He brutishly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns away from her. He starts walking away.

In that swift instance, he realizes.

He does not want her back.

[igirisuhito]

Title: Writing down all the things gone wrong Relationship(s): Komaeda Nagito/Matsuda Yasuke Rating: Teen Summary: Upon receiving a gift from Hinata, Komaeda attempts to learn more about a student who once went to Hope's Peak academy. After a strange nightmare, he contemplates the trustworthiness of his memory. Trigger Warnings: Childhood trauma, Religious discussion (I guess?), Doctor/Patient, Medical angst, regular angst, Treatment refusal, Dementia Notes: Happy birthday Komaeda. I hope you like suffering. 

[Ao3 Link]

『••✎••』

"Hey uh, do you want this?"

Hinata's hand outstretches towards him, holding a thin paperback book between calloused fingers. It appears to be a school notebook; worn, ragged, really in a complete state of disrepair. The once white cover was now a full grey, bearing smudged writing and barely recognisable symbols. If they were symbols from any other organisation, Komaeda probably wouldn't have recognised them and asked why Hinata thought to insult him with this utter piece of trash.

"I know you like Hope's Peak memorabilia, right? This isn't really memorabilia, per say, but…" As he rambles away to himself, Hinata starts to look more and more awkward. Is he embarrassed? Ah, who wouldn't be humiliated, being seen giving such a thoughtful gift to Komaeda in an act of pity.

Before Hinata can try and make some other excuse, Komaeda reaches out, pale digits barely passing over the messy kanji. "Ry…ko… Oto…'s…"

He has to pause, squinting hard at the words. He wonders if there's a chance he's reading it wrong. "Memory notebook? Like a diary?"

Komaeda takes the notebook into his hands, accepting the gift. However, he can't suppress the grin that crosses his face as he looks back up at Hinata, the desire to tease the other just too tempting to resist. "Oh my Hinata-kun… why are you walking around with a girl's diary?"

"I-I got it from the Monomono machine, okay?!" He flushes bright red, beginning to stammer as he shoves his hands back into his pockets. "I-It could be a guy's!"

Doubtful, Komaeda flicks the crinkled pages open, carefully separating each one with his fingers. The way the ink is washed out on every page reminds him of when you would accidentally put a receipt through the wash, full of barely comprehensible writing and doodles. An overuse of love hearts and sparkles, however, proves his theory correct.

"Even if you didn't get it from somewhere weird... I'm not sure if it's really okay for me to accept this!" Sucking in a deep breath, Komaeda grips his elbows in order to calm himself. "There must be some incredibly bad luck waiting for me! For Hinata-kun to go out of his way to give me something so amazing… haha, I feel a little tingly just thinking about it!"

"Seriously, it's no big deal," it seems as though Hinata's face is just getting hotter, he must be truly embarrassed by how much of a fuss Komaeda is making over it. "Just take it, okay? We had a good time today."

"Well, thank you, Hinata-kun. It makes me unbearably happy that you would give me a gift like this!" Smile stretching impossibly wide, Komaeda holds the notebook close to his chest, careful not to crush it.

"Go home, Komaeda."

With an aggressive nod, he says his farewells, "Well then, I'll see you tomorrow, Hinata-kun."

And with that, Hinata turns away, already running off down the beach. He's sprinting like he's trying to escape something, though it wouldn't surprise Komaeda if he was just trying to run away from any possibility of them speaking again. Unfortunately for Hinata, their time on this island isn't nearly over, and he would have to face Komaeda once again tomorrow in Jabberwock Park.

A soft sigh slips past his lips with the thought. He glances towards the horizon, the glowing sea of orange as waves gently roll up on the shoreline. The sun is setting on another perfect day. A cool breeze plays at the strands of Komaeda's hair, knocking it into his eyes. He brings a hand to his face, tucking the loose white locks behind one ear as he glances back down towards the notebook in his hands.

"Memory notebook, huh?"

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

Komaeda sits himself down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, placing his gift from Hinata at his side. It has been an unbearably long day, between spending the morning working to collect resources and the afternoon making sandcastles with Hinata, he was worn to the bone.

He leans down to undo the zips on his boots before kicking them off. As he wiggles his toes, he is overcome by the unpleasant sensation of sand sticking between them. With a groan, he begrudgingly pulls off his socks too, all too aware of the sound of the grains hitting the floorboard as he does. A mess to deal with later.

Quickly dusting off his feet, then brings them up onto the bed with him, laying back on the covers. An ache immediately begins to settle in his muscles, and a yawn forces its way out of his mouth. With the warm heat of the evening, it feels as though he could fall asleep right here and now. As pleasant as that would be, he has yet to properly examine Hinata's gift. He'd been brimming with anxious excitement to look at it the whole walk back to his cabin.

Bringing the notebook up to his side, he lays his head against the pillow and flicks it open. The first page is filled with rushed writing done in black pen, ink that has since been washed away. If he squints hard enough, he can just barely make out the characters, fill in some blanks. This is definitely a notebook once belonging to somebody going to Hope's Peak Academy.

How exciting!

He turns the page. There's a two page spread of nothing but blurry sketches and doodles, and from what he can tell, they're incredibly well done. The artist obviously had quite the knack for reproducing realistic details, honing in on fine points such as the eyes and lips.

Carefully flicking to the next page, he finds more hastily scribbled notes and drawings. It's unusual, the subject is the same in almost every occasion, and with each depiction Komaeda finds himself starting to build a better image of that person in his head.

The ballpoint scribbles illustrate a young Japanese man, bearing long shoulder length hair and meticulously detailed eyelashes. His lips are thin, often turned down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The owner of the diary was very clearly infatuated with him, and he could understand why. The man was naturally gorgeous even with such a pouty face.

And somehow, he felt strikingly familiar.

Komaeda turns through a few more pages, carefully poring over the illegible kanji and fuzzy details. No matter how hard he squints, he just can't understand what the words read, as though the information is purposefully taunting him, hanging just out of reach. With a sigh, he closes the notebook and allows his eyelids to flicker shut.

"How despairing."

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

"Your dementia is progressing quickly." Crossing one leg over the other, the doctor spun around in his chair to face Komaeda.

His demeanour was… laid-back. Much too laid back for a doctor. And mean, harsh, unnecessarily cruel. It was clear on his face that he thought Komaeda was the most revolting thing he'd seen all day, and he was probably right.

"Ah, such is fate for someone as worthless as me. Perhaps I really am meant to die." He laughed softly to himself, gazing down at his lap.

"Shut up," the doctor hissed. "Are you taking your medication?"

Komaeda stared out the window, wordless in his thoughts. The sunlight streaming through the glass felt warm on his skin, unlike the chill of metal on the medical bed beneath him. It was a lovely day brimming with hope, a day he would have liked to be out there enjoying.

"It's a nice day isn't it, M̧̩̹̗͕̮̼̆̋͑a̦̮̟̠̓͜ť̇҉̺̙s̪̦̟̋ͤ̽͗͜ŭ̺͉̖̫͍̯̪ͯ̐͠d̷̬̤̹̩̱̫̻̺͊a̵̯͙͖̙̩͇͂͛̓̊-kun?"

"Huh?" The doctor blinked, before looking up from his clipboard and out the window. "What are you talking about? Answer the damn question."

He remained silent, continuing to gaze out the window at the campus below. There were students socialising, exercising, running to class. Blurs of smiling faces amongst a sea of brown, each student filled with a sense of pride. The air is filled with distant laughter and chatter. It's too quiet in the room.

"Why don't you wear the Hope's Peak Uniform?"

There was a loud clatter as the doctor's clipboard hit the floor. Before Komaeda can react, (as if he was going to), he's risen to his feet and practically pounced on the boy. The doctor's pale hands reached for his chest, securing a handful of his sweater. A soft gasp escaped his lips, being pulled forward until he came nose to nose with the doctor, warm erratic breaths coming short and fast on his lips.

His face was difficult to see when he was on the other side of the room, but Komaeda realised that distance was not the issue. Even when he was so close the details were hazy, Komaeda only barely being able to make a deep frown etched beneath his dark bangs. Every time he tried to take in more details, it was as though he were looking too closely at a painting, unable to take in the full image beyond a few brush strokes.

"I knew it. Of course you wouldn't take them." He spit, teeth bared and eyebrows furrowed. "You just think your fucking luck is going to save you, that this is all some big plan for 'hope'."

The doctor let go, allowing Komaeda to slump back into his chair. He looked distressed, unreasonably so to the point of unprofessionalism. The doctor swept back his hair, giving Komaeda a glimpse of glaring blue eyes before he pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets.

Komaeda couldn't help but chuckle to himself. And before he knew it, he was laughing. Laughing raucously, in a way that made his whole body shake with dread, his mind spin with despair. His fingers wound their way to his scalp and he gripped and pulled at his hair until he could see the doctor's horrified expression looking back at him.

"Hope?" The word dripped from his mouth like venom. "There is no hope in taking that. The disease is incurable! There's no point in messing with that fact! What hope is there in waking up every day sick as a diseased dog just so I can tack a few extra years of suffering onto my lifespan? Do you want me to suffer, is that it? Does the Ultimate Neurologist truly believe he can play God? That you can cure a terminal illness? It's embarrassing, you truly don't know when to draw the line, to give up on a piece of human garbage like-!"

"What the fuck would you know about God, you demented freak?!"

Komaeda bit his tongue, a sickening grin forming on his face.

"You think some God is going to sweep you away from this? There is no damn God!" The doctor near screams the words. "There's you, me, and a miserable little pile of pills. You're the one who refuses to see an expert, you're the one who insisted on seeing an 'Ultimate', and yet you refuse to do what you've been told. I don't know why I bother, shit, you can rot in that empty skull of yours for all I care."

By the time he was done with his rant, he'd fallen back into his chair, dejected, out of breath. Komaeda didn't miss the flush on his cheeks, the way his nails dug into his thighs. What a brash display of emotion.

"I never knew you felt so strongly about God, Matsuda-kun." Straightening out his sweater, Komaeda shot the other a wide smile. "I guess it makes sense, you are a man of science, after all."

The doctor did not raise his head, remaining in his hunched over position. He was shaking, fists scrunching the fabric of his pants as he tried to regain his composure, probably to stop himself from jumping across the room and choking Komaeda to death. He thought he would have deserved it at this point.

"Do you really not understand how privileged you are? Are you doing this just to mock me, to make me suffer? I shouldn't have expected any less from Komaeda fucking Nagito," his voice trembled and cracked. "Am I the incompetent one? Should I be coming to your dorm every night and forcing the damn things down your throat? I can't fucking listen to you, I can't stand you. Every time you look at me with that stupid fucking grin on your face it feels like you think this is all a joke. What if you do die? What do you think is gonna happen to the people who love and care about you?"

Komaeda opened his mouth to refute him, but quickly snapped it shut again when a scalpel zipped past his head, lodging itself in the wall behind him with a thwunk. The doctor had raised his head, arm poised with another scalpel in hand and eyes filled with deadly intent as he glared at Komaeda.

"Get the fuck out of my office you ugly bastard."

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

Komaeda opens his eyes suddenly, silently.

It's no dramatic waking up from a nightmare, no shooting up out of bed with his lungs burning and chest heaving. Just a sudden realisation that he is awake and that he has been dreaming. Perhaps he was kicked out of Matsuda's office, but how would he know? It was just as possible that he'd risen to his feet and beaten him senseless.

…Matsuda?

It's a familiar name, but not one that belongs to anyone Komaeda knows. "Matsuda-kun. Matsuda… Hope's Peak?"

He mumbles to himself, attempting to make sense of the information thrown at him. They say dreams are pulled from your memories, so why would he have memories from Hope's Peak? Why would he have memories of a person he has never known?

"Matsuda… I called him the Ultimate Neurologist, didn't I?" He asks the question to the darkness of his room. "I wouldn't forget somebody like that, would I?"

Komaeda sits up, pushing his hair back as he brings a hand to his forehead. "Would I?"

Eyes drifting along the covers of his bed, he spots the memory notebook. "I wonder if I should start keeping one too," he chuckles.

[gamebunny-advance]

I’m Feeling Saucy...

Time to post some *really* old NSR/Desynchronized comic sketches.

I’m putting them under a readmore because they’re *especially* bad and weren’t posted for a reason, but I feel like the only way I ever look at my old sketches is if I post them. So hopefully doing this will motivate me to actually finish one of these.

Contains Potential Spoilers For: 1010 Desynchronized

“Mug”

From a comic about Kerinting breaking one of Kliff’s mugs by mistake. I never got the layouts down for this one (that’s gonna be a running theme for most of these). I don’t think I ever finished the script for this one because I think it’s way too sappy, but I’m scrapping it anyway because I don’t want to write White as being physically abusive anymore.

Captions:

Kliff: I mean, yeah. I liked that mug, and now I have a mess to clean up.

Kliff: But I’m not going to hit you over it. It was a mistake.

Kerinting: I made a mistake... but I’m not being punished?

Kliff: Hey, this isn’t an inviation to break all my mugs. Just be careful next time.

------

“Untitled”

This is from one of the earlier rewrites of Desynchronized B Plot. Since I’m scrapping that version, I can talk about it a bit more.

Since I scrapped the original kidnapping plot for being in bad taste, the new idea was that during an unauthorized getaway into the city, Kerinting got separated from the main group and wound up in the trash (in most versions of that script, they accidentally got caught up in a fight, but since 1010s can’t retaliate against humans while in civilian mode, Kerinting became the distraction to let the others escape, but he didn’t make it out).

Coincidentally, on the same night, Kliff was coming home from a night of drunken karaoke and had noticed him in the trash. Joey (his neighbor) had forced him to go out since Kliff had gotten extremely depressed after the events of the game and had just been moping around his apartment for the past month or so.

Thinking it was just a bootleg that was tossed and against his better judgement, Kliff takes Kerinting home with the intention of gutting him for parts. The following day, Kerinting was able to reactivate himself, shocking Kliff who had no idea that Kerinting was a genuine 1010.

There are two different routes that I wrote for this version of the incident:

One was that Kliff just tells Kerinting to leave, but Kerinting refuses to since he was out past curfew: any 1010 not back home by a certain time will be destroyed, no questions asked.

The other was that Kliff physically takes Kerinting back to Barraca mansion, but gets into an argument with NJ about it, causing them both to flee back to Kliff’s place.

In either scenario, Kerinting is essentially abandoned by the others and is taken in by Kliff out of pity/spite. In most versions, this backstory was revealed through a conversation with Joey. Joey was actually a lot more prominent in earlier versions since he more or less served as the “voice of reason” to the other two’s nonsense. He might still be, but I haven’t thought of many other scenarios where he’s really “needed”.

Captions:

Joey: So... this thing...

Joey: Just lives with you now?

Kliff: Yep.

Joey: And you’re okay with that?

Kliff: It wasn’t my choice to make.

----------

“Routine”

I really liked the idea of a comic comparing and contrasting what the daily routines of the Green 1010s were now that Kerinting is living with Kliff.

Despite how bad they are, I do feel like the scribbles speak for themselves about what’s going on. But I did want to make an aside about how they sleep: In earlier drafts Kerinting just slept next to a cabinet in the living room because it’s visible and doesn’t take up much space (Kerinting used to stay in Kliff’s closet, but he kept getting scared by him). In more recent stories he sleeps in a suitcase next to the cabinet. The other 1010s sleep in what I call a “standing bed”. It’s a dock that they hook into so they can charge and upload their memories for the day. In earlier drafters this had to be done physically instead of being remotely uploaded.

----------

“Memories”

One of my “dream pieces” is to draw “Kliff’s Photo Album” where he keeps all of the pictures from his younger days. Top left would have been him and young!NJ. Bottom left is NJ recieving letters/gifts from his classmates before he gets shipped out. Top mid-right is a young!Tatiana. Below that was supposed to be Kul Fyra. Far right was a strip of one of those photobooth things with all 3 of them.

I had an idea for a comic where he takes one of those with Mayday & Zuke in one of the Sayu Photobooths as a celebration of him helping them take down one of NSR’s artists. When he came home, he would have put that one with the ones he took with Tatiana and NJ all those years ago. I might still do that one day because I still think it’s a cute idea, I just don’t think I can execute it that well XP.

----------

“Pet”

I think I’ve posted the script for this one already, though I’m not sure which one would have been the most recent iteration.

Anyway, this comic is mostly about Kliff comparing the ways that Kerinting behaves more like an animal than a full-fledged human. The 1010 AI is fairly advanced, but it’s still very predictable.

Captions:

Voiceover Kliff: It likes getting treats.

Kliff: Here, I found another mixtape for you.

Kerinting: Yay! Thank you!

Voiceover Kliff: It needs constant affection or it gets lonely.

Kliff: You did good today! *pat pat*

Kerinting: Really? I did good today?

Voiceover Kliff: It’s good at learning new tricks.

Kerinting: I cooked it just like you taught me!

Kliff: Yep. Looks good.

Voiceover Kliff: And no matter what it does, I can’t stay mad at it because it’ll hit me with those [puppy dog eyes].

Kerinting: I’m sorry. I broke it again.

----------

“Daddy”

I’m pretty sure I’ve talked about this before, but it’s a personal joke that 1010 calls anyone who even vaguely has some authority over them “Dad”, including each other. NJ is a dad for obvious reasons. DJSS is a dad because he’s dating NJ. Kliff is a dad because he helped design the MKI OS. And I don’t think I had considered it at the time of writing this one, but they call Tatiana “Dad” too because she’s NJ’s boss.

Captions:

Kliff: How many “dads” do you things even have?

White: There’s the Captain, you, DJ Subatomic Supernova, and me.

Kliff: What do you mean “me”?

White: I’m a first gen 1010, so that makes me their dad.

(White is an upgraded MKI. Red & Blue are upgraded MKIIs. Yellow & Green were born as MKIIIs.)

[hotpinkhoshi]

kiss it better | prologue

pairing: mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)

warnings: age gap (nine years), cursing, explicit sex, slow burn

summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…

✩ index here ✩

Your favorite thing about living on your own, hands down, was having the freedom to eat ice cream whenever you pleased. 

It had been a hot summer in Seoul, hot enough that you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out without being painfully aware of the sweat on the back of your neck and the space where your thighs touched each other.

Today was hotter than yesterday had been. Sticky and humid, like it needed to rain. You’d gone out with your new friend, Yiren, to shop for some new records. Well, she shopped for records—you bought a cheap ice cream bar from the convenience store around the corner. 

While waiting outside of the record store for Yiren to check out, you leaned against the side of a bench while taking in the area. 

You’d moved to Seoul at the start of the summer, and you still felt like a little fish in a big pond. The big, wide world awaited you, and you were desperate to see every inch of it. 

A couple giggled outside of a bakery next to you. You tried not to stare as the boy, tall and gangly, wrapped his arms around the female and pulled her into his chest. You wondered how it felt to be held like that. 

Across the road, a stark contrast to the pale pink and yellow scheme of the bakery, sat a tattoo shop. Paradise Tattoo, the sign read, in neon blue. A dark haired man, maybe your age or a little older, sat on the steps drinking an iced coffee while bobbing his head to whatever was playing on his earbuds. Even from afar you could make out the sleeve on his left arm, made up of swirls and lines of black ink. 

He lifted his head from his phone and caught your eye. You blinked and quickly looked away, gasping when your sudden movement caused the top scoop of your ice cream to topple onto the street.

“Noooooo,” you whined, a full pout forming on your lips. You’d barely even gotten to take a full bite. 

“Sucks,” you heard Yiren say from behind you. She had a plastic bag of records, so full you were honestly surprised she could carry it. 

You sighed, tossing the empty cone into the trash can next to you. “And I thought today would be a good day.”

Yiren laughed as she bounded up to you, linking her free arm through yours. “It is a good day. You got paid today, remember? What do you wanna do with all your cash?”

You snorted, fully prepared to make a comment about how you needed to save for a security deposit on an apartment. Your eyes drifted back to the tattoo shop, but the man sitting there was gone. You chewed your lip and glanced back at Yiren, nodding towards the shop. 

“I’ve never been in a tattoo shop before. Want to check it out?”

Yiren, as usual whenever you expressed one more thing you’d never done before, gasped dramatically. “You what?! I swear, Y/N, you should be in a museum. You’re so cute.”

When she moved to pinch your cheeks, you swatted her hands away. “Gah. Let’s just go.” 

You dragged her across the street and up the few steps that lead to the front door of the shop. You heard a ding once the door was halfway opened, signaling your entrance. The cool air of the shop comforted you immediately, offering you some relief from the sticky air outside.

It sort of looked how you’d imagined it, but brighter. There was hard metal blasting on the speakers above you, with framed drawings of all sorts of tattoo styles adorning the deep red walls. 

Doubling as a desk, on your left side was a glass jewelry display case with different earrings and bars that were used for piercings in various body parts. Sitting behind this desk was a girl with bright green hair and thick framed glasses. 

“Hi! Do you have an appointment?” she asked cheerily, her tone the complete opposite of what you’d expected. You’d never seen anyone with a neck tattoo, but she had hers proudly displayed—a snake traveling from her chest and around towards the nape of her neck, the head appearing on the other side. 

“Um,” you said, glancing towards Yiren. 

She jumped in. “No. Do you talk walk ins? My friend was thinking about getting a tattoo.” 

“I-” you started, your eyes widening at Yiren. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The girl behind the counter nodded and turned around in her swivel chair, reaching for a big black binder that was sitting upon a shelf behind her. 

“Here, we have some photos and drawings of previous tattoos our artists have done. We have five artists. Youngjae, Jackson, Mark, and Yugyeom. And me, but I mostly do piercings. Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” 

You flipped open the binder, greeted on the first page by a portrait of a very voluptuous, very naked woman that had been tattooed onto someone’s leg. It took a conscious effort not to show your shock, simply because you didn’t need Yiren cooing at you again. 

“Well, I like…” you thought about it as you continued flipping the next few pages, until you came upon a drawing of a rose, a soft pink color that reminded you of the bakery across the street. There was a series of pages full of drawings of flowers, different types and shades of the rainbow. “Who did these? These are beautiful.” 

“Ah,” the girl nodded, leaning her chin upon her hand. “That would be Mark. He’s great at flowers, they’re sort of his specialty. Youngjae does beautiful portraits. Jackson’s shading is unbelievable. And Yugyeom is new, but his lines are incredible.” 

Yiren snickered next to you. “It must be great working with all these guys.” 

The girl raised her eyebrows, an amused smirk on her lips. “Please. They’re not exactly my type.”

Just as Yiren opened her mouth for a follow up question, a male voice called from the direction of the hallway to your left. 

“Dahyun, did you get any napkins from the coffee shop? Yugyeom spilled his shit all over-” 

Looking up, you saw a guy walking towards you. Perfectly styled hair, a chiseled jawline, and tattoos covering both of his very toned arms. He stopped in his tracks, then gave you an apologetic bow.

“Sorry, I didn’t know we had a customer.”

Dahyun rolled her eyes and grabbed for a stack of napkins next to her. “Here. And tell Yugyeom he’s on mop duty tonight.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” The guy saluted Dahyun, then turned on his heel and jogged back down the hallway to one of the rooms. 

“Anyway,” Dahyun continued. “We do take walk ins. It’s been slow today, honestly, so if you wanted to get a smaller piece we could probably make it work. Youngjae’s tattooing someone right now, but other than that, it’s wide open.”

You gulped. Now that it was real, you were feeling a bit panicked. But you were drawn to the image of the pale lilac flower on the page in front of you, as if it was calling to you. As silly as it sounded, just looking at it brought you a sense of calm. 

“Could I… could I get this?” you asked meekly. 

Dahyun turned her head to view the picture, then nodded her head. “Of course. Do you know where you want it?”

You looked at Yiren, a question in your eyes. It had to be somewhere you could hide it. Your parents strongly disapproved of tattoos. To be fair, they disapproved of every aspect of your life already, so how much worse could it get? Still, you wanted the option to cover it up if you needed to. 

“You could get it on your ribs, maybe?”

Dahyun inhaled sharply. “Ah, I wouldn’t recommend that. Hurts like a bitch. Shoulders and hips are pretty painless though, that’s where a lot of newbies get their first.” 

Worrying at your lower lip, you stared down at the flower once more, then up at Dahyun. “The back of my shoulder, would that be okay?” 

“It’s your party, princess. It shouldn’t hurt too much, and if you get it small enough it’ll be over before you know it.” 

Dahyun went ahead and printed out the sketch after you told her just how big you wanted it, and modified the color to a deeper purple. She went back to talk to the artist, Mark, then returned a few minutes later and told you to follow her back. 

“He’s ready for you. We’ll go over all the aftercare and fun stuff once it’s all done, okay?” she said as she led the two of you back to Mark’s room. You stuffed your shaking hands into the pockets of your shorts, not wanting him to see how nervous you were. 

Once you came to the threshold of the room, you first noticed all of the drawings on the walls. Not just flowers, but trees, portraits, still life sketches… all of it. Apparently flowers weren’t the only thing this guy could draw. 

Mark had his back to you, sifting through a box full of colored ink bottles. You realized without even seeing his face that this was the guy you’d seen on the steps of the shop earlier. Up close, you could see more of his sleeve. Right on the back of his arm was a large tattoo of a lion’s face, jaw wide open in a roar. 

“Sorry, go ahead and sit-” he started as he turned towards you, his jaw dropping once he made eye contact. “Y/N?”

It took you a long moment to realize where you knew him from, and it wasn’t just because you’d seen him across the road earlier. You hadn’t seen him in at least six years, but you knew him right away. How could you not have recognized him before? 

You’d practically grown up with him. He’d eaten countless dinners at your family table while your mom fawned over him and pinched his cheeks, asking why your older brother couldn’t be more like him. 

The last time you’d seen him was Taehyung’s going away party just before he left for his year-long backpacking experience in Europe. You’d only been sixteen at the time, but Mark was nine years older than you. 

Besides the sleeve of tattoos and the deep red hair he was sporting, he hadn’t changed much since then.

“Mark?”

full chapter one to be posted march 17th, 7pm est

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read Into Me-Chapter 1: Wuthering Heights

Steve Harrington x Shy! Reader

CONTINUE READING THE SERIES HERE

Word Count: 2,849

Date Posted: 04/27/2020

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: We starting something newww friends! If you liked or commented on my post about this series, you’re on the tag list! If you want off lemme know, it’s seriously no big deal. I’ve been working on this one for awhile, so if you liked it, please flash me a reblog or a reply! Criticism is always appreciated!

Tag List: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @aclockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @banjino-the-hole @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unusuallchildd @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linksispink1995 @asharpknife @alex--awesome--22 @baebee35 @marvelismylifffe @lilmissperfectlyimperfect

Flowers poked up between the sidewalk cracks, little white and yellow daisies blooming skyward, their heads turning to bask in the sun. Spring was bursting all over Hawkins, making the town reborn in pastels and Easter bonnets. Babies crawled around in the parks in white outfits, their mothers not worried about grass stains and cooing over their precious bundles of joy.

You crushed the daisies under your boots on your walk to school. You made a point to. They were begging to be crushed, stamped out by your heavy black soles. You didn’t like spring, you hated babies in their grass stained diapers and drool covered cheeks. You couldn’t place why you hated the season, it wasn’t as if you hated the cold or the rain which plagued March and early April, you adored the sound of rain on the Plexiglas roof of your family’s sunroom, thunder in the distance and swirling grey clouds swarming the sky. Then again, that wasn’t what spring wanted to be. Spring wanted to be beautiful bursts of colour and birds singing from their nests, babies crying into life and everything turning green.

Your hatred might have sprung from all that green, your mother had insisted on you taking up an artistic skill, supposedly because it made young women more worldly and affable, and sat you in art classes where you painted bouquets of flowers and bowls of fruit for hours every week. You didn’t hate art; it had become a release for you, a place to vent your emotions and makes something from your mind’s spinning thoughts. You’d filled sketchbooks and canvases with images of aliens and stars and snails. You liked to doodle snails and hourglasses on the margins of your homework. But your favourite thing was to draw your classmates. You were a quiet person, a sensitive soul according to your grandmother, and so often time’s people would ignore you flat out or discount your presence. This didn’t bother you so much, it gave you the chance to look at them without anyone asking any questions, to sketch out their image in charcoal and graphite, covering your hands in black and grey smudges. Your hands were constantly stained black, up the side of your hand to the tip of your pinkie, which meant that your jeans and shirts and sweater cuffs were smudged and stained.

You were sat on the football field’s bleachers one cool April morning, your best friend Samantha Cameron sat next to you, thin headset around the back of her head. She was unable to pull the headset around her black spiked hair, purposefully ghastly pale with black lips. You could hear the muffled sound of Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees playing at top volume as her head bounced to the beat, her black high tops kicking at the seat below you. You had your sketchpad out, trying to capture the stiff movement of her hair with the graphite piece clutched in your hand.

Samantha turned to look at you with a smile “You get it right yet?” she asked. She could see the annoyance in your face as you rubbed at the drawing, trying to smudge the stray hairs trying to escape the harsh gelling she’d done that morning. Just like your drawing, you suspecting that she’d been unable to get it to do exactly as she wanted.

“It’s getting there, it’s not moving right yet…” you muttered, pulling your lip into your teeth, chewing hard on the skin.

“You have like, four of me as is, I think you’ll survive if it isn’t perfect.” Samantha chuckled, pulling her headset down around her neck, twisting her long strand of pearls around her index finger.

“And I like this one best, your hair is moving so interestingly today…” you swiped at the page, pulling the eraser gum out of the coils and rubbing out the mistake you’d made, adding more shake to the tips of the centre point.

“Besides,” you chuckled “I’m not gonna have the time to get any good sketches of you with post-its in your hair this year.” Usually, you and Samantha would try to take one class together a year, but she had to switch her English class to first semester so she could snag a gym credit to train for potential college reps. She wanted to be a Wellesley girl and get a scholarship for soccer and she needed to be a top performance to get one.

You sighed, turning away from her. “I still hate that Mr. Lawrence insists on group work…” you muttered. You understood her decision, but you felt a bit nervous about being on your own. You’d gone to school with the same kids for your whole life, but being on your own with no one to depend on socially for a whole semester scared you.

Samantha wrapped an arm around your shoulders “You’ll be fine, you know that he usually assigns partners anyway.” She said, rubbing your bare skin gently.

“I know I just really don’t want to get stuck with some nitwit.” You replied. On cue, the bell blared from the outdoor speakers and you closed up your notebook, sliding your graphite and eraser gum into the coils and shoving it into your backpack, stringing it around your shoulders.

Mr. Lawrence’s hair had gone white long before he’d begun to show to process of aging on his face. His only wrinkles were from tension on his forehead and around his mouth.  His white hair was a sort of burst of smoke around his head, always puffed up around his head and never fully settled into a style. You smiled when you walked into his classroom, taking a seat in the far back corner. You’d already gotten a sketch of his puffy cloud hair, so you left your notebook closed.  The rest of the class trickled in, clumped in their little groups and chattering loudly, taking up the seats around you. Nobody paid much attention to you, which didn’t bother you as much as it used to. It still left a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. You wished that you had your headset, so you could block out the sound from your peers.

You hoped that the seat next to you would stay empty, that people would avoid you and let you sit quietly. It hadn’t before the break, but the room had been set up in little table groups of four. Now, the room was set up in three rows, two desks pushed next to each other all the way down. Mr. Lawrence had already had to yell twice for people to not move the desks, a sign of little cliques forming. Vicki Clarke had tried to pull the desk next to you over to turn the end of the middle row into a fire hazard, causing Mr. Lawrence to yell out for a third time. Vicki rolled her eyes, but released the desk, taking the desk next to the free one, leaving a clear space between her and you. You didn’t mind; Vicki always smelt like artificial apples, from the cheap body spray she slathered herself in at her locker and the scent gave you a headache.

Tina Martins practically ran to Vicki as the bell rang out, immediately calling to Vicki “Move that desk over!”

Mr. Lawrence rolled his eyes “Miss Martins we are not moving any desks in this room. Take a seat.” He announced. Tina’s shoulders sunk, but she obeyed without an argument, taking the seat to Vicki’s right. Then, the reason for all the commotion walked in, late slip in hand.

Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington was still something to talk about, even after being horrifically dumped by Nancy Wheeler, he was still a hot object around the school, especially for girls burned by the newest small town hottie Billy Hargrove. Vicki and Tina were two primed recent burn victims, Tina having tried and tragically failed to get Billy’s attention at her own house party and Vicki being the first ‘hump and dump’ victim of the notorious man whore. Steve’s sad boy behaviour had attracted the attention of many bleeding hearts throughout the school, letting themselves get their hearts drained by his succubus heartache. And here he was, puffed up like a robin, his bright red member’s only jacket mimicking the red breast on the bird, his hair perfectly coiffed and glinting in the florescent lights. Heartbreak had done his ego good, teaching him that girls were a dime a dozen if you were hot and sad. The concept of preying on vulnerable girls made you sick to your stomach.

Steve handed his late slip off to Mr. Lawrence and he stamped it with the date punch he kept on his desk. “Welcome Mr. Harrington, please take a seat so we can begin.” He said, his rectangular glasses sliding off his nose as he spoke.

Suddenly, the energy in the room changed. It was then that you realized the class was mostly girls and every single girl in the room was staring at Steve. It was obvious to you in an instant: they wanted Steve to sit next to them and they were all out of luck, sat next to friends or other girls desperate for the same attention. The bargaining began, girls whispering to the person next to them to move, sliding cool erasers or lipsticks over onto the other desk, peace offerings they hoped someone would take. Mr. Lawrence’s classroom had fallen to jailhouse rules and you sat wondering when the first person would pull their shank. No one moved as Steve made his way to the back of the class. Then, another thing became clear-you were the only person with a free desk next to them. Vicki waved shyly to Steve as he took the seat and you tried to disappear. The whole room’s eyes were now on you and unlike Steve you absolutely hated it. You wanted to disappear. Now, you were enemy number one to every girl in the room.

“Alright, let’s begin then, yes?” Mr. Lawrence clapped once and commenced the lesson “Welcome to your last two months of English! I’m passing around the breakdown for your final assignment and copies of our last reading for the course, Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights.” The class groaned. You’d been hoping for a lighter, more modern read, something at least from that century. But you knew that Mr. Lawrence loved a classic and had to follow the suggested readings for your grade dictating by the state. You took your tattered copy and wordlessly handed the pile off to Steve, who didn’t notice that it had landed on his desk until Vicki pointed it out with a giggle.

“Now, everyone turn to their desk mate. He or she will be your editor and writing partner for the final essay of the year!” your heart dropped. You were stuck with Steve. And he was an idiot. Every stupid thing you’d heard uttered from a classmate’s mouth had always been from his. He once asked who the US was fighting in World War two. He spent one class arguing with a teacher that Beth didn’t die in Little Women, not believing it even when the teacher sourced the exact page when Alcott revealed it. He once failed a health assignment because he mixed up the names for the parts of the male and female. Literally mixed them up, your seventh grade health teacher had provided them for the worksheets and told the class to cut the out and glue them on and he mixed up all the words into a pile. He was an idiot!

Tina’s hand shot up fast and Mr. Lawrence called on her. “Mr. Lawrence, can we be a threesome with Steve?” She asked loudly, smirking over at you. Vicki giggled at the word ‘threesome’, hands clutched over her mouth.

“But then what will Y/N do? She won’t have a partner.” Mr. Lawrence flashed you a small smile and you just about threw up. This was all too much for you, too much attention, too many people looking at you.

You raised your hand timidly “I’ll be fine if that’s what they want to do. I don’t mind working on my own…” you said, your eyes locked on the course breakdown.

“See, Y/N can handle herself.” Tina said. If you knew Tina to be anything other than mean and condescending, you would’ve taken that as a compliment.

“I want every student to have work edited and reviewed by a classmate before I look at it. I’m sorry, but I’m not making exceptions to the rule. If your desk mate wants to switch with Steve, then that’s another thing entirely, but you cannot be a group of three.” Mr. Lawrence laid down the law on that and moved on with the lesson. While Tina and Vicki attempt to convince one another to switch seats and let the other have Steve, neither would budge and Steve seemed utterly uninterested in their spat. To be fair, he didn’t seem interested in the lesson either. He had taken to drawing on the surface of his desk, scratching his initials into the wood.

“Now, for your first assignment back, I’d like you to write me a piece on your spring break. Nothing fancy, just one page typed. We’ll write the first draft today and exchange it with our partners to be edited and rewritten for Friday.” He announced “When you’re done, read chapters one through three of Wuthering Heights.”

With that, the semester had begun again and everyone went to work. Voices took over the room, people chattering around you. You felt a pair of eyes on you, but you flipped open your binder to a clean sheet of paper and began writing out your simple description of your break. You knew that Mr. Lawrence didn’t actually care about what you had done or had to say, only that you’d done the work and had proof of editing for it. This was a practise for the main event. Still, you could make a page out of art classes and driving to Carmel with Samantha to see some random band in the basement of a dive bar. You could even make it interesting for him. But, something still made your stomach churn. You didn’t want Harrington looking at your writing. You didn’t consider yourself the next Hemingway, but you could write an essay. What worried you wasn’t being told that you were wrong. It was letting him into your mind at all. You didn’t know Steve and he didn’t know you, what if he didn’t understand you? He wouldn’t understand you.

You looked up from your work to see Steve looking blankly at you. You met his eye, raising your brow at him. He looked away fast. You didn’t know what it was about, your hands came up to your face, wiping at your cheeks and mouth. Maybe there was something on your face. Maybe your hair looked silly. Maybe he was making fun of you. That had to be it. He was making fun of you. Vicki and Tina were always bugging you and Samantha, maybe he was joining in. It wasn’t your fault that Mr. Lawrence had forced you two to be partners. You pulled your body away from his, curling into yourself.

When the bell rang, you pulled your work into your bag, making a break for the door. You had your free period next and were desperate to finish your drawing of Samantha. You didn’t need to have her in front of you to catch the right details; you’d drawn her a million times.

You had barely made it into the hallway when Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you back with a cocky grin “Whoa, slow your roll there kiddo,” he chuckled. Your skin prickled under his hand and you wanted nothing more than to disappear. You stopped dead in your tracks, pulling away from his hand carefully.

“So, how’re we doing this?” he asked, his attention moving from you to the yelp of Tommy Hanson. You didn’t need to look to know that Carol Perkins was beating him with her bag again. That was a weekly occurrence.

“Write your stuff and hand it off to me in class. I’ll edit anything up till forty-eight hours before it’s due. I’ll give you my stuff when you give me yours.” You said quickly, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

“Sounds cool,” Another cry from Tommy, this one more directed at Steve, drew his attention fully “Alright, I’m coming Hanson! See ya around.” He directed the farewell to you, bounding off towards the source of the sound. Even when his presence was gone, you still felt his fingertips on your arm.

Samantha threw her arm around your shoulders, rebooting your systems again. “Hey, what was that about?” she asked, leading you away from Mr. Lawrence’s classroom and towards the gym, her next destination.

“That was because you fucked me over.” You sighed. It was going to be a long month.

[animebaby00]

I Want You to Draw Me Like One of Your Swimmer Boys ( Rin Matsuoka x Artist ! Reader ) - One-shot

(Inspired by the iconic scene from the movie 𝘛𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤)

"Hmmm...no that's not right. Maybe...this ?"

You made quick, tiny sketch lines across your pad of paper with furrowed eyebrows, the tip of your tongue sticking out of your otherwise closed lips. 

After another few seconds, you pulled your face back to give a full look at what you had drawn.

A sigh left your lips, "No...that's not right either."

Oh the struggles of being an artist.

While you loved to draw and come up with ideas to create beautiful pieces of art...sometimes you would wake up with your brain empty of ideas.

And today just so happened to be one of those days. 

You ripped off the piece of paper from the pad, crumpled it up, and threw it in the general direction of a trash bin that was already filled to the brim with paper that you had thrown out in the last 15 minutes.

You sighed and, for the millionth time, admired the room you were in and the things around you

 Nothing stopped you from thinking about how much you loved your art studio.

 What was once an old, unused office, was now a bright, supply filled room that your parents had magically transformed for you on your 15th birthday.

You had paper, pencils, both plain and colored, crayons, paints, chalk, pens, brushes...and not one ounce of inspiration.

You hardly ever got artist's block, so when you did, you got it BAD.

"Ugghhh….why can't I think of anythingggggg?" You groaned, tossing your head back dramatically against the back frame of your wooden chair that you currently resided on.

…

…

...

"You know you've wasted like a whole tree right ?"

Your head snapped back up and turned to the direction of your doorway. 

An individual stood there with lightly tanned skin, maroon hair and eyes, a fantastic ( and sexy ) physique, and a small smirk that showed off his pointy, shark-like teeth. 

Your eyes lit up, " Rin !" 

He chuckled as you bounced up from where you were sitting, practically sprinting into his open arms. 

You giggled, " What are you doing here ? I thought you were gonna hang with Sousuke."

"That was the plan, but he called and said he forgot he had an appointment with his physical therapist so today got moved to next week."

"Oh…" You had forgotten about his shoulder injury. Staring up at Rin, your eyes were filled with concern, " Is he okay ?"

Rin chuckled and ruffled your hair, " Don't worry, he's fine. He's actually getting better. A lot better than how he was before…"

Rin set his tote bag down on the ground next to your giant cupboard stocked with acrylic paints, " So since I had nothing else to do, I thought I'd come and see you. But you seemed kind of... frustrated when I came in. Everything okay ?"

You puffed out air from between your lips while lazily moving away from Rin to sit back on your wooden chair next to your easel, "Yeah... everything's fine. Just some stupid artist's block."

Rin's eyebrows knotted in confusion,"What the hell is that ?"

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees and cheeks on the open palms of your hand, "It's just a time period when I sometimes don't have inspiration to draw or paint. No ideas come to mind. It's nothing bad it's just…" you paused, trying to find the right word, "...annoying."

Rin nodded slowly in understanding, looking once again at the mountain of crumpled paper sitting in the trash bin whilst pursing his lips to the side. He took a step towards you, placing a large, warm hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, how about you use me ?"

You looked at him, "Huh ?"

He smiled, " I'll be your inspiration. It can't be that hard. You've done portraits before right ?"

You blinked "Well, yea but…"

Such a hesitant reply caused Rin to frown

"But what ?" He questioned, squatting down to meet you at eye level

You bit your lip, "You'd...really do that for me ?"

He smiled,"Of course I would ! Besides, I think it'll be fun."

Rin stood up and walked to the black cushioned love seat in the back of your studio. He sat down and maneuvered his body at an angle, his arm resting on the head rest with a closed knuckle supporting his fist. He brought one knee up on the sofa while the other leg lay completely flat. Then he gazed at you with a sultry expression, his eyes half lidded.

You raised your eyebrow.

What the hell was he trying to pull ?

Rin cleared his throat, using his other hand to run his fingers slowly through his hair, as if he was taunting you.

Attractive was right...but you didn't miss the cheeky grin that laced his lips and exposed his pointy teeth.

 "I want you to draw me...like one of your French men."

Silence.

More silence.

But then you snickered

And then you couldn't help but let out a full blown snort of laughter. 

An iconic line from one of your favorite movies and Rin butchered the meaning behind it and the line itself absolutely flawlessly. 

The list of things he was able to do to put a smile on your face, whether good or absolutely, cringy, horrible were endless. 

Even after a good minute, you were still laughing and it hadn't ceased in the slightest.

This caused Rin to snicker, almost letting out loud bouts of laughter himself.

"God Y/N, breathe ! You're gonna pass out if you keep laughing that hard."

At this point you were hugging your stomach, your body bent and almost on the floor.

"Haha !...I...oh god I'm sorry !" You exclaimed, wiping a tear from your eye, "I just...ah, holy crap."

Laughing so hard had caused your stomach to cramp and your cheeks to ache, but it was a good pain that had seemed to kind of spark something within you as your "high"died down.

Rin was still staring at you, a smirk tugging at his lips as if proud of his work.

You spun on your heel to grab your sketch pad and a freshly sharpened pencil, a smile still evident on your face.

Rin had positioned himself in a more solid form with a gentle expression on his face as you dragged your chair to sit closer to him.

Your hand smoothed over the surface of the fresh, white sheet of paper that now sat in your lap, pencil resting on top of your index finger, held in place by your thumb.

"Thank you for doing this Rin. Really. It means a lot." 

"Hey think nothing of it." He grinned,"You've helped me COUNTLESS times. Being your model is the least I could do.Now come on, let's get some artsy spunk back into that brain of yours."

You nodded eagerly and began to sketch Rin's features in soft, angled strokes, looking up every so often with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

".....so serious." he said huskily.

And all you did was smile.

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Hi! I saw you had request open, so I was wondering if you could write Bucky reacting to overhearing someone tell his starving artist friend that their work doesn't mean anything? It can be in head canon style or an actual fic, whichever you prefer. Thank you!

The Artist and the Baker

Pairing: baker!Bucky x artist!Reader

Word Count: 2601 words

Warnings: This is fluff. Mutual pining, that sorta thing, guys.

A/N: I honestly really love this request especially with everything going on. I think it’s very common for people to take artists and creators for granted and I have certainly been on the receiving end of that treatment. 

I hope you like this. It was fun to make, but I’m sorry if it wasn’t quite what you were looking for.

-.-.-.-

Becca’s Needs for the Soul – a two story creation that was well-loved and adored by anyone who passed through the splatter painted door. Most people never understood the name, not even her brother, Bucky. Until Rebecca asked him to co-own and start working at the establishment. His little sister, always full of dramatics, had created something for everybody.

It was a coffee shop and a bakery.

A bookstore and a gallery.

They even had nights where people came in to perform music, standup, anything the heart desired. There were other days where artists from around would come and paint, sometimes provide lessons for kids, and other days there was simply nothing but quiet.

It took no time for Rebecca’s little hole in the wall to become one of the community’s favorites. Especially when her brother and his two friends came on. They had gotten it down to a science really.

Rebecca would come in, organizing the bookstore, managing everything behind the scenes, and setting up any special events that would come up. Whenever it was time to decorate the store for holidays? Or even something seasonal that came to mind? She spent even more time out with the customers instead of behind the scenes.

And when she brought in her brother and two hunks to keep people company? It was a genius plan on her part. Especially when female customers spiked. But she would never admit that maybe that had been a smidgen of the plan all along. No, her real reasoning was for the boys. They needed something simple after returning from their second and final tour.

So she stuck two of them behind the counter. Her older brother often spent most days tucked back in the kitchen creating God knows what, but it always smelled wonderful. Any time he came out of his little hole, it was usually to help man the register while Sam slacked because he was flirting with too many customers.

But that was to be expected when Sam was the coffee guy. He was always creating new Holiday specials, deciding the best coffee beans for purchase, and trying something different. No one ever knew what it would be, but normally the smell of coffee and something filled the store.

And Steve? Well, he was one of the store’s more popular artists. He didn’t “officially” work for them, but he spent enough time there where people started nicknaming him the “curator”. He was the one who usually brought in new artists.

That was how Y/N had become part of their little group.

She was a photographer, but Bucky would always say it was more than that. For those who hired her, she found a way to make sure they were comfortable in front of the camera. Y/N always said she understood being nervous because of her own curvy figure, but Bucky just saw how she glowed. And her work that she put here? It wasn’t just portraits or landscapes. She had a way of combining paint and photos to create a way of reminding the world that imagination and reality were always linked. While Sam and Steve teased her for focusing on events to pay the bills, Bucky was the one who asked about which works she had planned.

With a smile and paint in her hair or staining her nails, she would tell him. Her eyes would sparkle with excitement that could only come from being an artist. She was so animated with her words, hands flying about and often looking like she belonged in some sort of cartoon. Her cheeks would always flush when she would realize how fast she was talking or how much louder she spoke.

But he never minded.

He liked having a friend who got so excited about her work. It was a different sort of excitement than Steve. The blonde was always smiling and had that same spark, but he was infinitely calmer compared to Y/N. Their artwork matched their personalities. Steve’s were extravagant and beautiful pencil sketches of people – raw and honest and revealing something that no one else could see but him. Y/N’s were stunning and extraordinary paint and photos – raw in a way that reminded the world to see what they were missing.

Their creations often balanced the walls of Rebecca’s shop. At least they did during the times Steve’s work wasn’t flying off the walls. It was that popularity that had him drawing at the shop. He often invited Y/N, telling her that people not only wanted to buy their work, but they wanted to watch their creativity.

Still, her best work came from the privacy of her own home.

Every week she brought in something new. Something special.

And today was no different.

The rules for artists selling their work were simple. They decided the prices. They worked the transactions. The shop itself provided a place to see the work, but took no percentage. They didn’t interfere.

These were unspoken rules that everyone managed to follow because…well, it made sense.

Until this guy – arrogant and irritating and looking to buy art. Sam had nicknamed him “Sweater vest.”

He had come in like any other day, ordering some tea before complaining that it was “too hot” and “too watered down”. It made Sam’s blood boil not because it was a complaint, but because it was the same order and same complaint every time. And every time, it was those complaints that kept him from tipping anything.

Even if he finished his tea and stuck around for a couple hours every damn time, admiring the artwork, fingering through books, but never buying anything other than his “not good enough” tea.

Sam’s too-big smile was still in place as he watched Sweater vest take a seat next to Y/N’s newest work. Both men glanced at the painting, but for entirely different reasons. Sam did because he couldn’t wait for Bucky to see it. Sweater vest did because today was going to be his first official purchase. And Sam hated that the artwork on the wall had to go to -

“Sweater vest is back.” Sam spat as the kitchen door closed behind him.

Bucky looked up, setting down the dozen cookies that had just come out of the oven. He knew exactly which customer Sam was griping about, always finding it entertaining that someone had managed to get under his skin. “And?”

“And he’s buying Y/N’s new painting,” Sam harrumphed, leaning against the nearest counter as Bucky started decorating a cake.

Bucky paused when he heard that, cursing when he messed up the piping. Setting the instrument aside, he carefully wiped away his mistake and glanced at Sam. Oh, he wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face. “You’re point?”

“Nothing. I’m just surprised you haven’t gone and looked at it yet.”

“I’ve been a little busy,” Bucky said, gesturing to the creations that covered the counters.

Sam bit his tongue, barely able to hide his laugh. So that’s why there was so much flour on Bucky’s cheeks and in his hair. “Trade ya.”

“Your hands are too shaky. You’d screw these up.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever, but – “

Sam’s sentence died on his lips when he heard shouting coming from the front. Bucky glanced up, ears recognizing Y/N’s voice. The two men shared a look, muttering, “Sweater vest,” before rushing out of the kitchen.

Y/N’s new painting was off the wall and at her feet, tucked behind her as if she was a mama bear protecting her cub. They’d never seen Y/N angry before. Passionate, sure, but never angry. Anger was something she never seemed to reach.

Until today.

“The painting is decent, but it doesn’t mean anything. And I’m not paying three hundred bucks for something that has no meaning.”

“Then why the fuck did you waste my time asking about it?”

“Because I thought you would come to your senses and accept a more reasonable offer.”

“And what do you think would be a reasonable offer?”

“Fifty sounds more than reasonable. And I would be doing you a favor with my connections.”

“Fifty bucks and exposure?”

Bucky and Sam moved fast, knowing that tone of venom and irritation. Sam grabbed the painting, moving it out of the way as Y/N launched herself at Sweater vest, ready to tear him a new one. Bucky wrapped his arm around her waist, putting himself between her and the idiot. “Y/N, breathe…”

“Let me tell you this,” Y/N snapped at Sweater vest, pointing at him around Bucky’s arm. “I would rather never sell another piece of work than listen to your drivel for another moment!”

Sam placed a hand on her arm, tugging her back. “Y/N, let’s go to the kitchen,” he told her, talking to her as if she was a small child that needed to be calmed. He steered her behind the counter as he assured her, “Bucky just finished making some cookies. I’m sure we can steal a couple while he takes out the trash.” Sam glanced over his shoulder, giving Bucky a thumbs up of encouragement.

While Y/N might be completely oblivious to Bucky’s feelings for her, Sam was far from it. And he was completely sure that Bucky would have no problem fixing this situation. He just wished he had a camera to record everything.

Maybe he could borrow the security footage from Rebecca’s cameras.

When the kitchen door closed again, Bucky turned to Sweater vest. He straightened, coming to his full height and towering over the man. It seemed his large build was a firm reminder that Rebecca had ex-military working here because Sweater vest calmed rather quickly.

“I’m so sorry for disturbing the establishment. Artists tend to be a little soft-hearted when it comes to critiques.”

“Not if the critique is asked for,” Bucky told him, taking a step forward as Sweater vest took a step back. Though everyone had avoided looking at Y/N’s and Sweater vest’s argument, all eyes were curiously watching the baker that was often far more quiet than he was now. “Y/N is one of our favorite artists. Her work and company are always welcome in our establishment.”

“O – Our? I thought this shop was owned by a woman…a Ms. Rebecca Barnes.”

“It’s co-owned,” Bucky assured him, offering his best customer service smile.

“By…?”

“Her brother.” He held out his hand. “James Barnes.”

Sweater vest swallowed thickly, throat bobbing nervously as he took Bucky’s hand. The strength in Bucky’s handshake was enough to make him wince, barely able to withhold a cry of pain. Bucky’s other hand, a heavy and metal prosthetic, squeezed his shoulder and earned a cringe.

“While Becca’s Needs for the Soul is open to anyone, we take great pride in reminding our artists that this is their community first and foremost. So you? Are banned.”

Another step and Sweater vest was stumbling through the front door, his shoulder and hand released. “I – “

“Have a nice day.”

The door clanged shut with a ring from the bell. Bucky watched Sweater vest recover, smoothing himself out and making himself presentable once again before he turned and walked away. Bucky shook his head, turning back to the rest of the shop. They all stared at him as if he had grown a second head, never having seen Bucky so outspoken or protective before.

“Show’s over.” Everyone looked back at Sam who was standing in the kitchen doorway. It seemed that was all that was needed for everyone to go back to what they were doing. Sam grinned, asking, “So I could’ve had Sweater vest banned weeks ago if I just…”

“Shut up.” Bucky walked back to Y/N’s painting, picking it up and finally looking at it for the first time. He was…shocked.

It was a full painting – Y/N’s first.

The person was solid black, a shadow with only their eyes visible to the viewer. What he guessed was blue watercolor filled the subject’s irises. Around the person’s outline, breaking through its barrier – endless skies, constellations, galaxies – all messy and brilliant and bold. The paint was thicker, heavier there. He could make out every thick stroke of the person’s figure, of the world around it. Deeper blues, yellows, purples, greens – colors no one would expect to see from a night sky…were there. It was fathomless, endless, and the longer he looked, the more he found something new. She wasn’t connecting the mind, but the eyes, the soul, to the rest of the world.

And that idiot had the balls to say there was no meaning to this?

“I wonder who her inspiration was,” Sam teased, leaning against the counter as Bucky looked over his shoulder.

Bucky stayed silent, hanging the painting back where it belonged. Instead of commenting or over thinking it, he went back into the kitchen. There, sitting on the counter, was Y/N with a cup of coffee and a couple cookies. An apologetic smile curled her lips as she set the plate and mug down.

“Thank you for…that,” she finished lamely, gesturing to the door.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s no problem. You’re my friend.”

Y/N smiled hearing that. She had always wondered if Bucky looked at her as a friend and hearing that he did, it made her heart flutter in a weird sort of way. “Do you…need me to go?”

He shook his head, already returning to the cake he was decorating. The sooner he finished it, the sooner he could put it out to sell. He stood close to her; his eyes focused intently on his creation as Y/N watched him. She loved seeing him in his element. Though he would never admit it, his own creations were art. He poured so much of himself and his love in each dessert.

And it was adorable. But friends didn’t say things like that, so Y/N stayed silent. She was content with this, happy.

Silence fell so easily between them. There was a level of comfort in this moment that couldn’t be replicated by her friendships with Sam or Steve or Rebecca. It was Bucky being Bucky and Y/N being Y/N. Exactly what the other needed.

And neither had any sort of idea that Sam and Steve were watching them through the kitchen door.

Sam looked over at Steve, returning to the register as Steve went to his proper side of the counter. “Think either of them will ever admit it?”

Steve glanced at the glass case that held all of Bucky’s sweets. The first one was a customer-favorite at the shop. A creation that was made of fresh fruit and sweets – something that Bucky had spent all night making the day after he met Y/N. His eyes then shifted to Y/N’s painting, knowing very well who inspired what he believed to be her best creation. Shrugging, he leaned on the counter. “Out loud? Probably not. But there’s always a weird sort of meaning that comes from an artist’s work. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

Sam glanced back at the kitchen when he heard Bucky laugh. No doubt Y/N had done something. “Well, I hope they hurry it up. It’s getting to be a damn romantic comedy around here. And not one of the good ones.”

Steve laughed. Though he’d never admit it out loud, there was a bit of truth to Sam’s words. There always was.

[mhdiaries]

Haunted – Student Spirits Porter “Paintergeist” Geiss Diary

5/10

I’m in grave trouble again. I was spraying lockers, and the Hall Moan-itors caught me. I thought I had time for the ghost paint to vanish before I got die-tected. I can usually get past Past, and sometimes outsmart Present, but how’s a ghost supposed to stay invisible to Future? That Moan-itor has a knack for predicting what graffiti I’m going to paint - and where - even before I do! I was protesting the detention chains - the Hall Moan-itors and Miss Revenant are so unfair! And now I’m wearing more chains because I protested them. You’ve gotta appreciate the irony. Or should I say, “iron-y”, because that’s more fitting to the weight of my mood now. 

5/11

Ugh. I just mopped floors during my entire study howl period. Never knew how much I’d miss doing foulgebra homework, even under the wraithful gaze of the driver’s deaducation teacher. But mostly I miss sketching in the margins of my textbook. I love drawing my friends, like Vandala sailing the deep boo sea or Kiyomi changing colors to complement one of my graffiti pieces. And it’s nice to just sit and chill, not feel the constant tug of heavy chains tethering me to the ground. Mopping while chained is even more unpleasant than, well, mopping while not chained! Sloshing the water around to the steady rhythm of clanging. I tried to pretend it was a new dance I was making up... even sang a few bars of ch-ch-chain of ghouls! That was fun ‘til the li-bury-an popped her head out and shushed me. But at least I worked off one of my chains. Just several more to go...

5/12

I’ve already earned additional chains. 3x more! I couldn’t resist ghost-spray-painting the howlway where I spent study howl cleaning. I designed an image of a mop wrapped in chains, and the mop was trying to sweep away the 3 Hall Moan-itors. Not to beast, but I thought it was phantastic! When an idea come to me, I have to paint it. It’s instinctive. They don’t call me Paintergesit for nothing! But those 3 Moan-itors have no appreciation for art, and no sense of humor, so they each gave me chains. It bites, but I think receiving triple the chains all at once is a new school record, so at least I have that. Always look on the fright side, ya know? 

5/13

DON’T H8, LEVIT8!

I’M A LEVIT8R NOT A H8R!

Working out some new slogans for my next piece. I was fanging out with River Styxx in the creepateria. For the daughter of the Grim Reaper, she can make light of anything. She’s planning a party for all the students chained to Haunted High, since they can’t get out to her yacht on the river between the Ghost World and the non-Ghost World. She’s thinking everyone can use their chains decoratively. Ya know, like belts or jewelry. Of course, that’ll be easier for those who only have 1 or 2. I have so many, I could use them to tow her yacht to the schoolyard - then we can still hold the party there. Now that’s an ectoplasmic idea! 

5/14

Huebert is being clawsome today! This is why we get along so well - we both enjoy a little harmless mischief-making. The Hall Moan-itors said I could work off a detention chain by picking up its equal weight in garbage in the creepateria. The more I pick up, the more chains come off. Well, Hubert likes garbage as much as any racoon, so after I picked up what was already scattered around, he got inside a full can and tossed trash to me. I caught it and tossed it into an empty can. It was so much fun, and totally worked. The chains fell off me, and I got lighter and lighter! In no time, I was feeling my old floaty self and I could move and catch faster as I zipped around the creepateria. Maybe I should join the casketball team.

5/15

Something scary-cool just happened! I was painting inside my locker - even the Hall Moan-itors can’t be too fangry about that - and I glanced in the mirror on the back of the door. I’m fearly sure I saw a dude wearing sunglasses bouncing a casketball down the hall behind me! I turned around, but there was no one there! The eerie thing is that he wasn’t transparent at all. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was... solid!?!

5/15 Cont. 

I’ve been thinking about solids. Most of us in the Ghost World have never seen a solid, because haunting is forbidden. And we’re always told that they are monsters who want to destroy all ghosts and our way of un-life. But I’ve heard gore-ies about ghosts living in the solid world, so how can it be true that solids and ghosts can’t get along? It’s weird that I’ve never questioned it before, because I pride myself on being a free-spirit. I’ll have to think about this more. But first, I have an idea for a ghost-painting that will look spooktacular in the clawditorium...

5/16

When attempting mad séance experiments, never expect the same results twice. I tried to recreate that phenomenon at my locker yesterday. When no one was around, I painted the inside of my locker again. This time when I looked in the mirror, I only saw my own reflection. But out of the corner of my eye I die-tected... pink. Lots of pink! I’m an artist, so I happen to love pink. All colors, really. The world would be a deadful place if I had to give up any of them. Still, less is sometimes more. But as I was blinking into the locker, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, I realized that something else was blinking back! I concentrated until I made it out, and, boo, was it a shriek! It was a bat dressed in a poofy, pinktastic skirt! Not sure if he saw me, but just before he vanished, I noticed his cheeks turned as pink as the bow on his head. Can bats blush?

5/17

I watched Kiyomi Haunterly in the creepateria today. As an artist, I try to be observant of everyone and everything around me, because you never know where inspiration will come from. When I saw her, it struck me that she held her head higher than usual, and she floated around the room like a social battyfly. She’s always been a friendly ghoul, just kind of shy, and since she is a faceless ghost, she has a more difficult time than most making eye contact. I was impressed by her newfound aura. She even dressed more stylish than she used to. An eye catching outfit can be as creative as good graffiti, ya know? Her overall look today screams confidence. That gives me an idea for a painting. I think the wall behind the condismemberments bar will be perfect. I hope the Hall Moan-itors are in the teacher’s lounge...

5/18

My freedom from chains didn’t last long, but my painting in the creepateria was totally worth it! Now I’m just haunting the li-bury, which is kind of boo-ring, but at least I can browse the inter-die-mensional internet. I came across an interesting blog by a ghost ghoul named Spectra Vondergeist. It’s mostly paranormal teen drama: who is seeing who, who has a crush on who, who broke up with who, etc. It’s beast-zarre that I don’t know any of the students she’s written about. The ghouls are going to meet me here later - I’ll ask if they know them. We’re going to have a makeshift scare-venger hunt. We were going to have on on the Salty Spectre, but I can’t leave the grounds again. At least this way Vandala can’t get seasick!

5/19

Went to do a little touch up on my mural in the creepateria. And by touch-up I mean re-do, since the ghost paint from yesterday evaporated, well, yesterday. I was really getting into the grave, splashing and spraying the wall with precision... but then the Hall Moan-itors caught me before I could add the finishing touches. I can’t remember the last time I got to sign my work! But as I was trying to dodge them - who knew the creepateria was such an orbstacle course!?! - a ghoul manifested right in front of me, and I ended up crashing into her! So now, thanks to her, I’m weighed down with more chains. But... she was kind of cute! I hope that’s not the last time she appears around here...