#as I’m posting this I’m remembering my bigger sketchbook | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldenlaurelleaveswrites · 1 year

Text

I posted 1,690 times in 2022

That's 562 more posts than 2021!

231 posts created (14%)

1,459 posts reblogged (86%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@quickspinner

@nerdypanda3126

@airi-p4

@verfound

@sayuri12moonlight

I tagged 1,404 of my posts in 2022

Only 17% of my posts had no tags

#pro lukamari - 471 posts

#luka couffaine - 395 posts

#endgame lukanette - 391 posts

#marinette dupain cheng - 389 posts

#art - 342 posts

#lukanette - 233 posts

#lukanette endgame - 183 posts

#juleka couffaine - 118 posts

#writing prompt - 73 posts

#👀👀👀 - 58 posts

Longest Tag: 124 characters

#💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

My Top Posts in 2022:

All it Takes to Grow

AO3

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I don’t think watering it is going to do much.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow and gave her a boyish grin as he put the cap back on the bottle. “Why’s that?”

She shrugged, shaking her head as she laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think it’s going to grow into much.”

“Well,” he shrugged as well, his smile softening, “give it time. Who knows what will grow given the right care.”

_______________________________________________________

The fresh smell of the early morning rain mingled with the scent of damp soil, tickling her nose with the promise of new growth. She sat back on her heels to check her progress so far. She had finished repotting her hydrangea into a bigger pot to accommodate for any new growth. And she had transplanted some of her irises and pruned the climbing roses. All that she had left to do was retrain some of the branches of her climbing roses to wrap around the railings of her balcony, sweep up, put fresh batteries in her fairy lights, and her balcony would be all prepped for the spring.

It wasn’t as big as the balcony of her childhood bedroom had been, but she loved every inch of it. There was room enough for her wrought iron bistro table with its two matching chairs. As well as room for several plots that held irises and miniature hydrangeas. She had even managed to fit a potted ornamental cherry tree in one of the corners. And with the climbing roses she had trained to wrap around the railings of her balcony, once everything was grown and in bloom, it would be her own little oasis.

She had really lucked out when she found this apartment; she was on the top floor of her building and at the end of the hall, which meant that there were only two balconies on this side of the building. Hers, and the one that belonged to the person across the all from her. And the balcony got the perfect amount of sun. She even had a nice view, and the area was quiet.

It really was perfect.

And it was the perfect day too. It would only take her another hour, two tops, to finish getting everything tidied up. Then maybe she would sit out here with a slice of the quiche her parents had sent home with her last night, along with a cup of coffee and her sketchbook-

“Sorry to bother you, Marinette.” She jolted at the sound of the voice, falling back off her heels and onto her rear. At the last second, she remembered not to clutch her gardening glove-clad hands to her heart. Not that It would have mattered that much, given she was in the old, worn-out clothes she reserved specifically for gardening and getting dirty. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” she cried as she stood, turning to smile at her neighbour.

“Are you ok?” Luka’s face was crinkled in concern, and she couldn’t help but flush. “You didn’t-“

“I’m fine! I’m totally fine! No bumps, no bruises. Just fine…” her rambling voice trailed off at the soft smile on his face that sent the warmth in her cheeks deepening. It took her a second—or perhaps a moment—to realize she was staring stupidly at him. “Right! You… you needed something?”

“Right,” he rubbed the back of his neck before gesturing to her hydrangea. “I was just wondering where you got all your flower pots from.”

“Oh.” She glanced around at her flowerpots; they all matched, despite their varying sizes. And while she didn’t know much about Luka, she wouldn’t have thought they were his style. They were plain, but the curved shapes, pearly white colour, and scalloped details gave them a distinctly girly vibe that she hadn’t thought Luka would go for. But then again, who was she to judge. Besides, they weren’t the only style the shop carried. “Fu’s Florals. It’s by Café Cassette.”

“Great. Thank you, Marinette.” She ignored the butterflies fluttering in her stomach at the smile he gave her.

“Yeah, no problem. Are you starting your own garden?” She nodded towards his mostly bare balcony. He had only moved in a couple of weeks ago, and save a couple of chairs and a large wooden crate that was obviously being used as a makeshift table, there was nothing on his balcony.

“Yeah. I’ve been pretty inspired by yours.” He waved to her as he headed back towards the door that led into his apartment. “Thanks again!”

“Yeah, no problem.”

***

Her work was done, she was freshly showered and in clean clothes, and she had finished her lunch. And now she was sitting on her balcony, sketchbook in hand, trying to puzzle out her new neighbour.

He had moved into the apartment across the hall from her three weeks ago, and since then, they had exchanged casual pleasantries. She had given him some recommendations for good places to eat and shop in the area. Including her parent’s bakery. And she had warned him about the old lady who lived on the second floor, who had a habit and hobby of telling young people about all the ways they did things wrong. And he had helped her carry her groceries when a seam in one of her shopping bags had split, sending her shopping spilling out all over the place.

But those favours and pleasantries and casual small talk had been the extent of their interaction. All she had learned about him from those interactions were his name and the fact that he was a sweet and helpful guy. Everything else she knew about him was from what she had noticed about him.

And he was very easy to notice.

It wasn’t just about his looks—though his whole tall, dark and handsome thing and piercing blue eyes certainly made his looks noticeable—she had managed to pick up on a few details, a few clues as to who he was.

And the first thing she knew was that he loved music. The day he had moved in, he and a parade of people had carried instrument after instrument into his unit. They had all been in cases, but she had recognized a few based on their size and shape; there had been at least three guitars and a couple of violins.

There had been more, but she hadn’t recognized their shapes and their contents were a mystery. But there was always music coming from his apartment. It was never loud—he had asked her if it had bothered her, which it most certainly hadn’t—and the genres were always varied. The instruments that played the music varied too.

See the full post

51 notes - Posted March 26, 2022

"Randomly texting a gif or emoji" - but the emoji/gif was meant for Juleka and he accidentally sent it to Marinette instead?

You already know you're getting a dammit fic out of this one, but it isn't quite finished yet! Hopefully this snipped will tide you over until then 😆🧛🏻‍♀️🦇

Based on this prompt list

AO3

She had only been out of her room for a few minutes, but when she came back, she had to stop and stare in utter bewilderment. Her phone—which she knew she had left on her desk—was sitting on a pile of scrap fabric on her floor. And it was buzzing.

Nonstop.

Who was texting her so incessantly?

Had Clara Nightingale dropped a new single she didn’t know about?

Did Jagged have a new commission request?

Her heart skipped a beat, and she could almost feel the blood draining from her face.

Had someone had an accident? Was someone hurt or sick in the hospital? Was someone-

She tripped over her feet, almost face planting into the floor, in her mad scramble to grab her phone. Her fingers shook as the clasped the still vibrating phone. They were trembling so much, she had to type her code in twice to unlock the phone because she kept pressing the wrong numbers.

But when she pulled up her text inbox, she froze.

She could only stare in complete and utter confusion. She had literally dozens of messages from a number she didn’t recognize. Had one of her friends gotten a new number and forgotten to tell her? Was someone trying to reach her using a different phone? Was this some kind of new scam?

Her phone buzzed with a notification of a new, incoming text message.

Tentatively, she tapped on the message notification to bring up the text… well, could she really call it a conversation when it was more of a barrage?

And what?

The messages were all just gifs and emojis. And weird gifs at that. They all seemed to be some puppet… puppet vampire?

What?

Was that… was that the Count? From Sesame Street? She hadn’t watched it in years—not since Manon had outgrown it—but she was pretty sure that they were gifs of the Count.

Who was sending her gifs of the Count?

And why?

And why was this person sending so many bat emojis?

She tried to scroll up to the first message that had been sent to see if there was anything that would give her any context for what was happening right now. But she never made it more than a couple scrolls up before a new message would come in, bringing the conversation back down to the newest message.

The person had moved on to sending gifs of bats—cartoon and otherwise—and more emojis.

But they were all bats and vampires.

She was just about to start typing out a message demanding to know was texting her when the person sent an ever more bewildering message.

Unknown Number: look whos joined the 21st century now!!!! 🕺👨‍🎤

What?

Unknown Number: 🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️🧛🏻‍♀️ 🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻 🧛🏻‍♂️🧛🏻‍♂️🧛🏻‍♂️

See the full post

52 notes - Posted May 28, 2022

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe ch10

Juleka vs. the Forces of Two Idiots in Love

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe (AO3)

I know it's been a hot minute since I updated, and for that, I am so sorry (especially since I didn't think it would take me this long 😬) Anyone else feel like they blinked and April was just gone? Because I do. But the good news about one of the reasons it took me so long to update is because I've been having lots of fun working on some of my other current WIPs (and there are even a few new ones 😉) But I really appreciate your patience and support everyone!! 💖 💖 💖

I'm super excited for you all to read this chapter and I think quite a few of you have been waiting for something like this (I think. I hope). I've actually had some of these scenes written since January, but obviously other things had to happen first. All that being said, I hope you enjoy!! 💖 💖 💖

___________________________________________________________

She couldn’t help but frown at the sight in front of her, despite how seemingly perfect it was. Marinette and Luka were sprawled out in two of the lounge chairs on deck; Luka with his guitar and Marinette with her knitting. And every so often, he would look at Marinette with his Marinette smile like the completely lovestruck sap he was. And every time he looked away, Marinette would look over at him with her completely lovestruck Luka smile.

But they kept missing each other. If they would just look at the same time, maybe those two idiots would see what was staring them straight in the face!

It was infuriating! If it weren’t for the fact that she had just touched up her hair colour, she would be ripping her hair out.

They said love was blind. And so too, apparently, were the two idiots who were so in love with each other.

Those two idiots were blind… but it was a good thing she wasn’t.

***

She had considered trying the subtle approach. But that hadn’t worked out in her favour with Luka so far. And given his record of being a total and complete idiot about the whole Marinette situation…

She didn’t want to give him any opportunities to weasel himself out of the talk they were about to have.

“When are you going to ask Marinette out?” she asked, plopping down onto the sofa.

Luka jumped. “Jeez, don’t sneak up on me like that!” He narrowed his eyes at her. “And what do you mean, ‘when am I going to ask Marinette out?’”

“I mean,” she said, not bothering to hide the way she rolled her eyes, “when are you going to ask Marinette out?”

“I’m not.”

“What?” She almost jumped to her feet but stopped herself at the last second. Was he still going on with the sweet but completely misguided 'not wanting to pressure her' thing? “Why in the world would you not?”

Luka seemed to sink further into the armchair as if he was trying to disappear. “I don’t see how this is your business-“

She levelled him with a glare. “Why won’t you ask her out?”

He sighed. “She doesn’t like me that way.” He said it so matter of factly. So assured in the perceived accuracy of his statement.

How could he be so stupid?

“Well, how do you know she doesn’t like you back?” Where had he gotten that ridiculous idea was beyond her.

“I told her how I feel.”

What?

“What? When?” His face was bright red, and he wouldn’t look her in the eye, even though she had practically thrown herself against the arm of the sofa in her demand for answers.

“At the TVi station,” he mumbled, still not looking up from the textbook in his lap.

So he had confessed… the same day he had been akumatized. But if he had confessed to her… how was Marinette under the impression that he didn’t like her? She needed details! She needed to know exactly what he had said!

And what Marinette had said…

See the full post

53 notes - Posted May 11, 2022

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe ch 13

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Miraculous iii

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe (AO3)

Sorry for the delay in posting this everyone! This chapter took a lot longer than I anticipated. I was had 95% of this chapter written and then I ended up hating it so I scrapped everything except one scene. Then rewriting took a long time because, well, Min said it best, "Fight scenes are to writers what hands are to artists." I struggle with fight scenes, a lot, so I really wanted to take my time with this. Also, I definitely overthought this chapter a lot 😂

A big shoutout to the LBSC crew for helping motivate me to finally get this edited, and a big thank you to Ver for listening to me whine and complain about how much this chapter was kicking my butt, and for helping me come up with the idea for All-Seer. And thank you to all of you for your patience and support.

___________________________________________________________

“Juleka Couffaine…”

She was not supposed to be seeing this.

“…this is the miraculous of the tiger.”

She was not supposed to be hearing this.

“It grants the power of stealth…”

This could not be happening.

Because she definitely was not supposed to be a hero.

There was no way. She had seen too much. She had heard too much. She knew too much.

Was witness protection still an option?

“…will you use it for the greater good?”

Ladybug held out the open box —a red and black spotted one— that contained a panjas bracelet. Her face was a mask of confidence and strength. But she could see the cracks of the facade in her eyes. She had been fighting this akuma for over an hour. Chat Noir had been fighting it too. Sort of. But his help had seemed less than helpful from what she had seen on the news…

She could see the stress and weariness in Ladybug’s eyes.

When she had told Marinette she could ask for help, this had not been what she had had in mind! She had meant that Ladybug should ask for Luka’s help! He was already Viperion! Surely he would be a better choice?

Besides, she wasn’t a hero!

But…

Her mind flicked back to their talk from last night. She had told Marinette she could—and should—ask for help. And she had…

She had called on her.

She needed her help.

And she had promised Marinette she would have her back.

And she wasn’t one to break a promise.

She reached out and took the miraculous. “You can count on me.”

***

How did Marinette do this?

How did Luka do this?

See the full post

54 notes - Posted September 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe ch 7

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Girl Squad ii

Sorry, this one is coming to you later than expected, I've been feeling a little burnt out lately. Work has been super busy so updates probably won't be as frequent as they used to be, but I promise I'm not abandoning this fic! Thanks for your patience!

This chapter is a little longer than expected, but it includes a moment I think many of you have been waiting for!

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe (AO3)

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

That wasn’t right. Marinette wasn’t supposed to be at the park with Adrien.

She knew Marinette wasn’t supposed to be there because she was supposed to be trying the new Italian place with Luka. And she knew that because she was the one who had — off-handedly and with no ulterior motive, of course—mentioned that he had been wanting to try it since it opened. And she had been there when Luka got the text from Mari asking him to try it with her.

And obviously, she had been there to give him a knowing look when he grinned at his phone like the lovesick idiot he was.

So Marinette couldn’t be here. She had to be seeing things. Unless…

Alya.

She scanned the park in search of auburn hair. It didn’t take her long to spot her friend hiding behind some bushes with Nino.

She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths as she pulled out her phone, lest she end up throwing it.

Queen of Darkness 🦇: where are you?

Idiot 🎸: home

As suspected.

Queen of Darkness 🦇: I thought you had a date tonight

Queen of Darkness 🦇: what happened?!

Idiot 🎸: 1- not a date

Idiot 🎸: 2- Alya said it was a bff emergency

Queen of Darkness 🦇: YOU DO REALIZE THATS CODE FOR AN ADRIEN PLOT RIGHT???!!!!

She didn’t know what would be worse, if he did know or if he was actually an idiot.

Idiot 🎸: yeah

Idiot 🎸: it doesnt matter

Of course, it mattered!

Idiot 🎸: it’s fine

No, it wasn’t!

Idiot 🎸: I don’t want to pressure her

She and her brother were going to have words.

***

See the full post

67 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

3 notes · View notes

theentertainers · 6 months

Text

Okay!! Hello again! Ever since last summer I’ve been working on a little project of mine that I’d like to show you all. It’s called The Entertainment Area(a place of wonders and youth) or simply TEA. Originally it was meant to be a webcomic but after certain mishaps (like my drawing tablet breaking down) I was unable to actually make the digital art style necessary to upload it. Instead, I decided to start it all off with a little story book in a sketchbook I have. It may take a while for me to finish but I trust myself into finishing it

*What is The Entertainment Area?*

Well like I said before, it was originally suppose to be a webcomic about a far away land of fun and joy. It’s kind of like a town and a carnival combine. In this world there are of course the citizens of the area but the main characters are also known as the Virtuosos and the owners of the place. They’re also the ones who handle all the activities there too! Considering they spend time doing activities as well

The following Virtosos are:

Adam and Eves: The wrestling virtuosos

Ace Hop: The Story virtuosos

Sally: The candy clown virtuoso

Darla: The Dance virtuoso

And Willy-Walter: The animator virtuoso

*When will the character designs be show?*

I have them already made. But an my problem is that I need colour theory and design for them. I can already tell you now that Willy-Walter is in all black and white but other than him I’m still fixing up their looks

*Is there an official release date for it?*

No not really. I’m trying to save up money to get a new tablet in order to go back to digital drawing but other than that there is no specific release date for the comic

*Is there any sensitive content?*

Nothing but a few dark jokes and a very small hint of violence. I don’t (and never will) draw Nsfw of my characters or use suggestive images as bait so please remember that :)

Anyways that’s as much as I can give you all at the moment. I Hope to grow a bigger audience by next year (at least) but for now I’ll try my best to keep posting. Stay safe out there and be nice to your neighbour. Bye bye ❤️❤️❤️

#small artist #webcomic #starting out

0 notes

wheelsup · 3 years

Text

the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

<- prev | next ->

Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon.

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you.

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger.

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week.

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept.

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling.

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you.

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!”

Your head just about exploded when she said that.

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you.

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.”

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless?

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.”

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim.

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured.

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?”

“That his girlfriend died last year.”

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there.

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit.

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…”

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.”

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from.

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not.

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made.

“There’s nothing I need from you.”

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?”

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea.

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more.

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off.

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.”

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch.

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!”

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales.

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets.

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down.

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works.

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so.

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.”

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend.

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?”

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income.

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended.

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill.

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe.

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.”

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped.

“Did you need something?”

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!”

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.”

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line.

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?”

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.”

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care.

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him.

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.”

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency.

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that.

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here.

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?”

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.”

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before.

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath.

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly.

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.”

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer.

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you.

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems.

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that.

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that.

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him.

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.”

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

thank you so much for being on my taglist 💕

if you’d like to join, the link is at the top of my masterlist

@ellesgreenaway @suburban–gothic @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @andreasworlsboring101 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @reidgifs @you-sunshine @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @altsvu @reidtheprettyboy @goose-eats-god @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @muffin-cup @amoeebaa @reidingmelodies @reidyoulikeabook @anaagraceeberr @spencerreid9 @luvofyourlifeliv @averyhotchner @spencerreidat3am @paw71211 @princesssmooshie @gubeskneescrew @gourdboy @reid-me-a-story @reidabookforonce @willowrose99 @singularityjc @spencerreid9 @miahelen @alltooreid @meganskane @multixfandomwriter @coldlilheart @lunajoyce3 @boldlyvoid @destiny-tsukino @ahhahahhh @spencers-dria @cocomoo1 @spenxerslut @thehuntresswolf @ssa-natalya-reid @the-chaotic-cow @kuolonsyoja @queenofthepouges @gublersss @username2002 @msspencerreid @itwouldburnupintheatmosphere @oeuryale @big-galaxy-chaos @reidsacademia @idonotexiste @rem-ariiana @spencerreidscumwhore @spaceapplehead @newgirlinhell @noellestrash @jswessie187 @reidaissance @violetclifford @fruitoftheweek @mystical-and-modern-marauder @ilovespencerreidmarryme @mlqcool @opheli-yeah @lytrc @youabitchhhh @spencerscumrag @dinonuggets1967 @flowerchildprotectiveservices @annalayton19 @mrsobrien888 @toast-on-t0ast @xoxospencerreid @motionlessgirl12 @bloodyxheaven @my-thoughts-are-weird @rexorangecouny @nani-2305 @measure-in-pain @donald4spiderman @mrs-dr-reid @manuosorioh @sapphic-prentiss @reid-me-a-story @reblogsoffanfics @winifrede @peoniarose @takeyourleap-of-faith @morks-watermelon @silverhetdanes @luwheezey @cc13723things @starrylang @b00b133 @kidd3ath @seastarapiaries @sergiosbae @mrsobrien888 @jesuisbenny @cocomoo1 @youabitchhhh @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @silverhetdanes @onlyhereforthefanfics @shesalatesh @amoeebaa @happymangospot @spencersrose @mugi-chwan @reidsadriana @death-becomes-her @nyx2021 @subbyspencereid @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @nomajdetective @cherriesrae @bisexual-virgin @jasminearondottir @gublur @greenrevolutionary @honeyedheartss @gspenc @sweetandsunny @the-chaotic-cow @morganwilliams @futuremrsreid @spencerreidsmommy @meanergreener

series only taglist: @madsgraygubler @manuosorioh @fanfictionfangirl04@donkeykongsmassiveballs @rexorangecouny @iwannabemorethanme@mlqcool @lightning-butterfly

new tags not working: @strawberrycherrykisses @marrymespencerreid @iilwsr @chelsea-the-enchanted @craybae1116

(and just so you don’t think i removed you from the taglist/sign up again without knowing, these tags are. also not working): @pissbit @redevil590 @kaz-2y567 @datsimplol @reid-to-me @rem-ariiana @thegirlinthedresscriedalltheway @jaddi-e @spencerswildestdreams1 @sskylarpaige26 @zbgubler @nyasiablack1899 @faithsamantha @chrisdylan17 @just_arandomwriter @peterisbetterthanpietro @thegirlinthedresscriedalltheway @jaddi-e @chloehanson

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid series #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid slow burn #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid enemies to lovers #criminal minds fic #mgg

361 notes · View notes

trashboatprince · 3 years

Text

Since I’m still in a sci-fi mood (along with, like, monsters and romance stuff too, but that’s always there), and I haven’t been able to really... make any new written content recently, I decided to rework an old one-shot I wrote for the space pirate au with how my Henry, Hugo, met Bendy in it.

I honestly don’t remember if I ever posted it here, I know I posted it on discord for my friends to read, but I’m posting up a better version here. Plus, rewriting an old drabble might help me get back into the swing of things when it comes to writing! Especially since I’ve got a zine entry to work on.

As always, Hugo is a half human/half alien (Asterian), and he’s fourteen in this. Bendy is a being from another universe or dimension, it’s unclear where Bendy’s from, but he’s a demon.

Asterians are a race of aliens that have the ability to travel through the vacuum of space with no need to breathe and have bioluminescent skin, but because Hugo is part human, he can’t last as long in space as he should.

On with the fic!

Hugo had lost count of how long he had been left on this stupid hunk of space rock, but he knew that he would probably be dead in due time.

He considered that he’s probably got about an hour or two left, and knowing the Butcher Gang, they’ll either show up last minute to watch him suffer before putting him back on the ship, or they’ll just let him perish. They’re real jackasses like that.

At least he took his sketchbook with him after they threw him off the ship for their own enjoyment, but still, not much to draw when all around him was just inky darkness and a weak light source from a distant star.

He sighed, soundless, his skin gently flashing a neon green, starting from his face down to his fingertips.

“Dat’s a real fancy trick ya can do, kid.”

Hugo’s eyes widened and he turned, shocked to have heard a voice, when he normally couldn’t hear anything in the vacuum of space. He was surprised to see something moving in the darkness of space around him. Something shifted, specks of lights moving around in front of him, before something formed. It looked like a wide, cartoon-ish smile, and from there a whiteness started to spread, forming an odd shape. Then two black, nearly full ovals, with little cuts in them, appeared in the white. It was a face!

“Hiya!” The face greeted in a childish voice, though clearly accented. The shape got closer and as it stepped onto the rock with Hugo, the half-human saw a shape form.

The darkness of space took on legs, oddly shaped, along with a long tail, them a small body that was sorta shaped like a bean. Arms with clawed hands followed, and the face seemed to have more of a head shape to it, though clearly shaped like a strange crescent form. The blackness of the body was covered in what looked like stars, twinkling and flashing, a variety of colors.

“What?” The strange creature asked. “Ya not gonna greet me?”

Hugo frowned, gesturing to his throat and then opened his mouth before shaking his head, his skin flashing involuntarily.

“Ah, right,” The creature nodded, frowning, “ya guys in dis universe can’t talk in da vacuum of space. Hold on.”

He snapped his fingers, the snap actually made a sound, and a bubble surrounded the whole rock. Hugo let out a surprised laugh, before slapping a hand over his mouth, blinking. “W-what?”

“Just a li’l trick, super easy to do!” A grin formed on the other’s face. “It’s made outta natural gases dat drift around us, can’t just make it all, ya know, willy-nilly, but it’s super simple! So, what’s yours dat mine’s Bendy!”

Hugo had to take a moment to register what this guy, Bendy, has said. “It’s, uh, it’s Hugo.” He replied, coughing, trying to sound deeper than he naturally was.

“Hugo, huh?” Bendy grinned brightly. “Nice to meet’cha! So, whatcha doin’ out here in an asteroid belt? Not really a social spot fer ya... what are you?”

“I dunno.” Hugo shrugged. “Human and somethin’ else, I reckon. What exactly are you?”

“Demon!”

“Demon? You mean, like, those human monsters?”

Bendy snorted loudly at this. “Pah-lease! Nonononononono- weeeellll... yes? No? Maybe so! Hard to tell, I mean, demons an’ angels aren’t technically natural to dis dimension, but we exist! We’ve been to Earth! I’ve been there, a number of times, really nice, an’ kinda bad, but it’s got lots of fun stuff there! Ya ever been?”

Hugo shook his head. “No, never really been in that area of the galaxy. Been, uh, stuck in situations were I don’t get to pick where I go.”

The grin slipped on Bendy’s face, as if he was reading the situation and figured out what Hugo was referring to. “Ah, I getcha. Still, maybe you’ll get to see it! It’s pretty neat!” The grin returned and cosmic eyes glanced to the sketchbook resting next to Hugo. “Oh! Ya draw?”

There was a nod, and Bendy asked to see. Hugo let him and Bendy started to look at the sketches and drawings Hugo’s done over the past few months. He seemed rather excited and giddy about them, chatting and pointing out what he loved, or pointed out what was good but could use some improvement.

It was... kinda nice, Hugo thought as he sat there, listening to Bendy ramble on and on. He hadn’t really had anyone to talk to in ages, not since his escape from his previous life and being cabin boy on the Butcher Gang’s ship didn’t give him much respect from anyone onboard, so having a strange being this excited to talk to him was like a breath of fresh air.

“So, why are ya sittin’ on this floatin’ rock, Hugo?” Bendy asked after a while, when their conversation had turned into small talk and such.

“I got left behind for no good reason by the Butcher Gang, they’re the pirates I ‘work’ for.” Hugo stuck out his tongue, making a face. “They’re a bunch of lowlife bastards, is what they are! I bet I could be a better pirate than them any day!”

“You wanna be a pirate?”

“Yeah!” Hugo got to his feet, grinning. “I wanted to be a ranger when I was a kid, but I think a pirate would be cooler! Better! I can make a name for myself, I can rule the skies in my own ship! One day, I’ll have my name known across the galaxy! People will fear the name Hugo, no more lookin’ down on me and thinkin’ I’m just some freak or useless mutt!”

Bendy stared at him for a moment, quietly, and Hugo suddenly felt self conscious, before Bendy’s grin grew even bigger than it had before, nearly face splitting. His eyes sparkled with stars, brightly, it was so strange. “That... SOUNDS AMAZIN’! Can I join!? Can I be part of yer crew, Hugo!?”

Hugo was a bit caught off-guard by this. “You... you wanna be part of my crew? Why?”

“Cause dat sounds like so much fun! Look, I’m a drifter, I explore wherever I drift to, but dat gets so borin’ after so long! An’ bein’ a space pirate sounds like a blast! I’ll help you escape, an’ you an’ I can go on a bajillion adventures together!”

Bendy shoved his hand out at Hugo, smiling. “I’ll make yer dreams come true, Hugo. If ya want mah help.”

“...” Hugo looked at the offered hand. “What do you get outta this? No offense, but from what I know about demons, they like to make deals.”

“None taken.” Bendy shrugged, casually. “I getcha, not easy to trust a demon, we do have a rep fer deals an’ da like, kinda ruins it fer the honest demons like me. But listen, all I want outta this is a fun life! An’ I think yer just da guy to make dat happen.” He winked and Hugo chuckled.

“Alright, you’ve got a deal, Bendy!” Hugo took the offered hand with manic glee.

“Wait, you just... took the deal? Just like that?” Harrison asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you not consider that it could have been a trick?”

“Honestly?” Hugo shrugged. “I considered that, yeah, but Bendy sounded honest, and somethin’ about him screamed ‘he’ll be the most important friend you’ll ever have’. And I was right.”

Hugo chuckled, rubbing at his right palm, where black mark was in his skin, like a tattoo. It was Bendy’s mark, meant for protection and connection. Harrison had asked about it, had asked how Hugo had even met Bendy, and the pirate decided to tell him.

“Do you regret it?” Harrison asked as he looked at the mark.

“Nope, never have, never will. Bendy and I are friends till the end.”

“I see... wait, how the heck did you two become father and son then?”

“Oh, see, now that’s a really funny story! So, when I was fifteen...”

It had been a slip from Bendy, by the way, he has accidentally called Hugo ‘dad’ and then it sorta just stuck around. Hugo has embraced the role of dad with his whole being, especially since he can get away with dad jokes now.

But yeah, here’s how these two met in this au!

Harrison is my friend inkspottie’s Henry, by the way.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #batim bendy #henry stein #hugo #space pirate au #john's drabbles

23 notes · View notes

broken-lycan · 4 years

Photo

Adventures in Bookbinding!! (pt. 1)

originally I wanted to learn bookbinding to make sketchbooks for myself but then I remembered reading that someone bound books of fanfic and thought it was a good idea. so here we are.

this is the first of three books (for now). it’s for a broadchurch fic called “Mr and Mrs Fawley” (link to the fic on ao3)

I made some mistakes with this one, both in layouting and in the actual binding but I had a lot of fun and learned from it.

the two biggest mistakes were using liquid glue for the endpages which cause them and the first ten or so pages of the book to get really uneven (you can see that in pic 4, 5 and 7) and not paying attention to the grain of the board I used to the cover which is why it bends weirdly. It also bends lengthwise and idk where that comes from (see pic 12) but it is still a good useable book!

Also something that proved unnecessary and even kind of irritating is putting the page numbers on every page. in the next books I only put them on every second page.

And while I love having a full printed cover, I’m not a big fan of having that kind of “rough” paper feel. Unless I can find some good way to seal bigger sheets of paper with something transparent I can’t do it this way.

under the cut are the process steps.

I can also rec some bookbinding tutorials and/or share some tips from experiences (mostly mistakes xD) I’ve made if anyone is interested.

>> next part << (here I’ll link to the next one once I’ve posted it. go back to my original post to see the link)

oh and here I am optimistically daring to tag the people who liked the post I made about finally posting my bookbinding stuff a week ago: @some-thrilling-heroics @hurtslikeyourmouth @curlycutiepetunia @mannap @hannibaelchen @clmorsefiction

step by step process:

layout the fic & design the cover

print the pages (in bundles of 16 which means 4 sheets of paper)

fold the pages and put them together in the bundles (pic 1)

cut them to the right size

sew the bundles together so they form the finished pages (called textblock) and put a layer of glue over the spine (pic 2 & 3)

glue on endpages (the blue paper with the water pattern) and the spine support paper (pics 4- 6)

cut the boards to the right size and glue the cover to the boards

glue the finished cover to the textblock

then it’s done! (pic 10- 13)

and optionally make a book sleeve (for which I used slightly thicker paper and sprayed it with spray paint) which you can see in pic 14- 15

#broadchurch #bookbinding #brokenart #i have no clue what to tag this #adventures in bookbinding

103 notes · View notes

mocnliights · 3 years

Text

hello friends !! i’m kit ( in est , using she/her pronouns ) and so flippin excited for this !! i bring you nadira , my new child who i’m still learning so ... apologies in advance for any mistakes i make about my own muse y*kes . i will add a wanted plots page here when i can get my life together a bit more to help with plotting , but for now , smash that like button and let’s get this ball rolling and i will stop with the dad cliches now bye !! ( not bye , i’m still very much here )

possible trigger warning ( all just brief mentions ! ) : cancer/illness , parental death & family estrangement . i think that’s it , but if i forgot anything , please let me know and i will add it !

* MISHTI RAHMAN, CIS WOMAN + SHE/HER | you know NADIRA KHAN, right? they’re TWENTY-SIX, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ONE YEAR? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to GREAT ONE BY JESSIE REYEZ like, a million times this year, which makes sense, ‘cause they’ve got that whole CONSISTENT PLETHORA OF UNREAD NOTIFICATIONS, LACE LINGERIE UNDER SATIN SLIP DRESSES, UNDISTRIBUTED BEAUTIFULLY EMBOSSED BUSINESS CARDS thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 10TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( kit, 25, est, she/her )

THE BASICS .

full name : nadira sharmin khan etymology : nadira ( arabic / precious , rare ) , sharmin ( persian / shyness , modest ) nickname(s) : nadi , nadia , didi ( by amir ) birthday & birthplace : august 10, 1994 & los angeles , california sexual orientation : pansexual/romantic hometown : she moved a lot growing up , but would consider new york city & london where she spent her most formative years current residence : aquila drive in irving , north carolina immediate family ( relation / occupation ) : kashif khan ( father ( deceased ) / renowned fashion designer ) , resna khan ( mother / model , humanitarian ) , amir khan ( younger brother , 21 / student ) occupation : for show , she continues as the public face and head of her father’s brand KHAN , but for all intents and purposes , currently unemployed education : bachelor’s from columbia university , business management . took a few design classes at FIT positive personality traits : charismatic , ambitious , loyal , amiable , creative , dutiful , empathetic , honest , innovative , prudent , zealous negative personality traits : competitive , coquettish , preoccupied , materialistic , possessive , resentful , discontented , opinionated , headstrong

THE SUMMARY .

tl;dr : nadira grew up as privileged as they come , jet-setting from los angeles to new york to london to tokyo and everywhere in between for her entire life . with her parents at the heart of the fashion industry , nadira grew up with a love for the finer things and a sharp eye for her own designs . she was primped and primed to take over her father’s empire when he decided to retire to irving . she took the reigns of KHAN post-college graduation and was living her dream until it came to a screeching halt just about a year ago when her beloved father received a grim prognosis . with her mother still working ( and estranged ) and her brother younger and in school , nadira decided to step down from her hectic position and move to irving to take care of her father . now , he’s gone . for the first time in her life , she feels listless and unmotivated , so she’s still here , acting like her dad’s going to walk back through the door .

THE EXPANDED BULLETS .

on a hot august day in los angeles , nadira was born to a prominent couple in the fashion world . with a billboard of resna consequently outside the hospital , it only seemed destined that nadira would also take the fashion world by storm ... one day .

for as long as she can remember , she was always in awe of her father’s work . as much as she admired her mother , she was much more interested in the inner workings of a company and designs coming to life from a blank sheet of paper . so as kashif’s design empire expanded globally , it was only fitting nadira tagged along from city to city , even after the family essentially “settled” in new york city following amir’s birth .

her creativity was evident from a young age , producing her own mini spring collection for KHAN at sixteen . while her brother gravitated towards instruments , nadira was hooked to the cutthroat nature of the fashion industry , the constant grind to create great work , and the power of one day running the company at her father’s side .

speaking with a very faint british accent that comes and goes from her years spent in london mixed with her years in america , nadira had a taste of her dreams in college . staying close to KHAN’s headquarters meant she could step into a bigger role ( don’t we love nepotism ) while maintaining her expected 4.0 gpa at columbia .

seeing his daughter’s success and simply tired , kashif decided to retire upon nadira’s college graduation and move away from it all to irving , north carolina , a town he had discovered and frequented over the years whenever he sought the complete opposite of his everyday .

needless to say , resna was unhappy with the decision . though she had allowed his little beach escapades during their marriage , she could not understand moving there permanently when her livelihood was in new york . without officially divorcing , resna declared she was staying put , much preferring the luxuries of a ritz carlton than the laidback nature of a destination town , and kashif could do as he pleased .

nadira watched her happy , loving family crumble before her eyes , which only meant she threw herself into her work even more than she already would have . in the subsequent years of taking over KHAN , she worked constantly , resulting in her most prolific seasons and an exponential boom in sales , but also incredible burnout .

she kept it up for three years , always on a red eye or in a meeting or sat at her desk over a sketchbook . this way , she could ignore the fact that her parents were living in two different states with her brother in a third now attending college of his own ( berklee college of music , to be more specific ) . but her world came crashing down again when she received a call from her father , informing her that he had been diagnosed with lung cancer .

it felt like a sign . a terrible sign , but a sign nonetheless . she needed to stop . slow down . take a look at her family and deal with what was happening . nadira immediately stepped down , naming an interim head and creative director of KHAN while she uprooted her life to move to irving to take care of her father .

no matter her good-willed intentions when she moved , it seemed only inevitable that the young fashion star who had had it all would grow to feel trapped . she wasn’t going anywhere , not when her mother rarely came down to visit and her brother dropping out of school wasn’t even something anyone would let him consider , but she couldn’t help her growing feelings of resentment - not towards her father , just her situation .

sometimes , even when money can buy the best , it simply isn’t enough . kashif passed away in july , effectively ending nadira’s obligation to stay in irving , but she hasn’t left . she could step back into her role full time at KHAN , get back to designing and running a global powerhouse , but she fears she’s lost the ability to . for now , she doesn’t see herself going anywhere - physically , mentally , figuratively , literally - despite the growing number of sketches in the notebook she carries everywhere .

#irvingintro #cancer tw #death tw #we're just going to agree to ignore this trash right ?? Thank you #𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐤𝐡𝐚𝐧 ✩ ━━ about .

20 notes · View notes

mcrmadness · 3 years

Text

Madness draws: Behind the Scenes of the Bela/Farin: “Widumihei” comic.

A few months ago I posted here this comic:

CLICK HERE for the original post about that comic where you can see it in better and bigger size, and also reblog it ;)

And this post is just a deep dive into how I plan, do and draw my comics.

Let’s start with sketchbook things...

So every comic needs a story, right? My comics usually are born from either some dialogue I imagine in my head or by an impulsive inspiration that happens when I see something or talk with people and a random idea is triggered. I’m very good at coming up with new ideas solely based on just one word or so which is why I often ask people if they have anything they would want to see/read because I suck at coming up ideas on my own. Or I do get ideas, but not as often as I’d want to.

This particular idea was very old and I have tried but I cannot find the piece that was my inspiration but it was in some of my old German books because I remember laughing at it with either my brother or even with the German teacher in 2011 or 2012. I was only able to find my first “sketch” of the story:

This is in the notebook I used for writing down some comic ideas and even had one comic in it, plus it’s also my fanfiction writing notebook. It has no date but I know for sure it was either 2011 or 2012 because that’s when I did my last Bela/Farin comic and pretty much started my (unintentional) 6 year pause from drawing altogether.

I have always been trilingual when I do these plans for my comics, often writing the “narration” in Finnish and the dialog either in English or German because I just cannot imagine them to speaking Finnish. The translation of that text goes as:

COMIC (sarjis = sarjakuva = comic book in Finnish)

1. The phone is ringing. 2. F: “Widumihei?!” B: ? 3. B: “Farin wtf?” 4. Farin walks from another room. 5. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “It means, “will you marry me?”“ 7. B: *wtf* REPLAY:

1. Bela is sitting/laying somewhere. 2. The phone is ringing. Reached with his hand? 3. Looks at the phone, “wtf?”, a thought: “von Jan: Widumihei?!” 4. Bela: “Farin?” / “Jan?” 5. F comes from another room, looks in from behind the door frame or something. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “Widumihei: “WIllst DU MIch HEiraten”“ 7. B: “WTF”

So when I then started to draw these comics again in 2018, I kept thinking about this one too and still wanted to draw it one day. If you have read the finished comic, you may notice something different in the old plot versus new: I switched Bela’s and Farin’s roles. Back then I didn’t know too much yet but over the years I have learnt much much more about them and I just figured that asking to marry him even as a joke would be too much for Farin and that it would fit Bela’s persona much much better.

***

I had a bit of problems with getting started with this one, mainly because the last times I drew a dä comic was in June 2020, in April 2020 and before those in October 2019. Because of so long time between the comics, I just always forgot about my methods and in which order I do things and what works for me the best. So every time I started to work on a comic, I had to start completely over because all I had was blank paper and I somehow needed to get my thoughts in order and out of my head, into a physical form aka as text and images on the paper, and it’s easier said than done.

So pardon me but from this on the text is going to get a little bit confusing for a little while from now on - but it’s also a very good look over how the life with my suspected ADHD be like sometimes...

I started working on the plot once again to my sketchbook... I think it was somewhere in the beginning of 2020. Because the next idea there is from the summer. This is what the plot looked like at that point - here I had already switched their roles:

Shortly, the texts go: 1. Farin is reading a book. 2. A phone makes a noise. 3. (Farin) looks at it/read the message. / 6. B appears into the doorway. / 11. F spits out the tea.

And underneath it you can see one of the stick figure storyboards I often do in order to kinda see the text in pictures better, and I will write down or draw important aspects like expressions (Farin’s eyebrows) or things like *facepalm’* or *eyeroll* so that I remember to add them.

Next I was struggling with the era. It needed to be an era with the old mobile phones with SMS options but still not too early because I feel that Farin would have not been the first in line to buy a brand new technology object, especially not when it’s a phone. I was even googling when did Germany get their first mobile phone - I remember I got my first phone aka Nokia 5510 in 2000 or 2001 after my mom got a new one and gave her old one to me, so the story shouldn’t happen too many years before the Millenium.

Originally I planned 1997 for that - I needed to think about that based on their styles because shorter hair is harder to draw. Here’s me trying out some hairs and how they’re to draw and which era would suit my needs the best. I actually find the text hilarious altho it’s mine but this is what it’s in English:

Time period -> 1996-1997? 1998 I’ve never drawn 1999 is not that much fun to draw 2000 is already a bit too late? Bela not that much fun to draw. -2001 moustaches are not fun to draw?

I think I was struggling with my thoughts because the next thing in that sketchbook is yet another storyboard:

Or actually I think this was just to see how many sheets I’d need and how many panels I could fit on one sheet.

Anyhow, I then did other things for some time before I got back to this project this year. Including finishing with the sketchbook I had been using since 2010 (and the half of it since 2018!) and I had to get myself a new one. So when I started to think about this comic again, one night I was just thinking about some Bela/Farin scenarios as usual and suddenly I just felt that I NEED to do the comic in the 1998 style!!! So suddenly we jump from the original 1997 idea to the new era, only because of the colors.

So asap I grabbed my sketchbook and started to look for the proper colors for the hairs:

This one I posted here before too as I was struggling a lot and just felt that I didn’t know how to draw, again. Sometimes when I feel like that, I start drawing with my non-dominant aka left hand because it doesn’t have all that in muscle memory so drawing and writing with it feels more free and it feels almost like pressing a refresh button in my brain. Suddenly the right one know again how to draw because left isn’t too well in control. The below part of the image is done completely with the left hand, including the coloring.

And because I had now a new sketchbook, I somehow couldn’t... deal with the plot and plans being in a different sketchbook than everything else so I had write the plot/dialog AGAIN, into this new sketchbook, along with the storyboards and everything:

Translations: kirja = book, puhelin = phone, oviaukossa = in the doorway, teet suusta = tea(s) out of a/the mouth. “Puhelin zoom” just means “close up to the phone screen” in Madness.

You can also see that I found out that I don’t need to do the stick figure storyboards to imitate a sheet when I can just draw this rectangle and smaller rectangles inside of it and write there numbers to match the things in the dialog to make it much easier for me to plan the pages. And here’s also a small easter egg: there’s 13 panels overall in this comic :D I almost did 12 but then felt that no, I really need to do 13 because, you know, the hairs, the era, the album title. And also because I like the number so much lmao.

So from there we get to the second storyboard which is not just stick figures anymore but just me planning how I want the panels to look like. To get the imagery of the rooms and facial expressions etc. out onto the paper so that I can see them in real life instead of my shady imagination that sometimes isn’t as vivid as what I could be.

Also have you ever tried to draw a beach chair? It’s more difficult than you’d think:

I tried to draw the same thing from the same reference photos so many times and still I always felt like I was trying to draw that impossible triangle or some other illusion image. And it just went on and on here:

Originally I also had planned the second panel to be a close up of the phone so that Farin’s face would be left at the background from the frog perspective. That’s what I was trying to with that weird-ass face on the left but turned out that I have never drawn these characters from such angle and I just... couldn’t see it in my head clearly enough to be able to draw it. So I dismissed that idea and that’s why the angle changed from a phone close-up to a side view to the room and at Farin.

As I was in the middle of planning the second page, I suddenly wasn’t happy with my original plot anymore. I wasn’t sure if it would work and needed to think about it one more time. So I wrote two other dialogs here, along with a storyboards for them both. I ended up choosing B from those two options eventually.

I don’t remember anymore if I had already done the first sketch of the comics or not but at some point I just felt that I no longer knew how to draw in my style. Sometimes you just draw and learn wrong things and wrong methods that you get used to and then you have to take a break and actually do a little bit of studying over your own style to find again the way how you want to draw, and get rid of the bad habits and find the good ones again. In my case it was to draw the eyes way way too big when they originally never were THAT big, so I had to learn how to draw them small and normal again. That’s why I did these, as I really needed to pay attention to the faces and remember how to draw them again:

The front-side views were another big readong for this “study” because I have drawn that perspective only once or twice before and I needed to figure out how I want to draw that. Also, I don’t know if it’s just me but for some reason the front-side Farin reminds me of one of the parent characters from this cartoon called The Rugrats which I watched as a kid. It was totally unintentional, but you can google The Rugrats if you don’t know how the charatcers looked like in the cartoon.

The things below are just me testing something. The red Farins were just to test how the colored pencils work on each other and how the fineliners work with the colored pencils, and which way is the better way to do the shading. And the red colored pencil was the only one available at the time so that had to do.

A little bit about the heads btw: You might notice some difference between the left and right faces. It’s because I have always, always struggled with drawing anything that is looking at right. Most of the animal portraits and all I have drawn so that they look at left because I just find it so much easier to draw. I think with comics it’s because I always start with the eye (and the eyebrows if I don’t forget it) and then do the forehead, nose, mouth and chin, and after that I either continue from the hair (from the front) or do the ear first. But when I am drawing them to look at right, I have to basically draw the mirror image and starting from the hair is not the key because it can easily mess up with the perspectives. I still usually draw everything in the same order but it really is difficult because I’m doing a mirror image and my own hand is on the way, too. Basically I’m drawing from right to left instead of left to right! (I think I should try drawing those with my left hand, then...)

And from here we get to the first sketch of the comic. From here on the images are from my phone’s camera so they are sometimes illegally bad but no can do, I again didn’t think I’d post these to anywhere:

Here you can see I was mainly just focusing on the shapes and the space inside those panels. Just trying to see the perspective and how everything is. The only thing that I drew more precisely was the third panel, with the hand and phone. I had quite a nice memory of old phones in my head but I still googled for some reference photos of Nokia 5110 phones as that was my first phone (as I mentioned earlier), and I also happened to have some of my other old phones on the table nearby so I took my own hand reference photos too:

They always say there’s a little bit of the artist in their art and this one literally has that - “Farin’s” hand is actually my hand! :D And I think the size is kinda on point too because this phone was like 2-3 times smaller than Nokia 5110 and I have small hands, and I believe Farin must have much bigger hands, so the 5110 probably would have looked about the same size in his hand.

After the first sketch, the next step was then - the second sketch:

I also wanted to add more action to the panels so that it’s interesting to look at and not just basically the same panel over and over again with just different speech bubbles, so I came up with the idea of Farin spitting out his tea not being as cartoony as it could be and that he would have to actually clean it up instead of just leaving it there just because in cartoons/comics everything is possible. That way I got more depth into the panels and it was also interesting for me to draw because I drew lots of new postures I have never drawn before, and I’m surprised how well it went despite me not even looking for any kind of reference photos! The only things I used reference photos for were the beach chair, and the phone in a hand. (I have actually always been quite good at drawing 3D objects and spaces, especially if they are rectangular.)

So yeah, this is the phase where everything is then finished with pencil and what follows next is drawing the lines with fineliners - I use Sakura Pigma Micron fineliners for everything else, and black Promarker for doing the lines for the panels (and also if I need bigger pitch black areas done).

Here are the panel lines done but I only had a photo of this first sheet.

And here are both sheets with the finelining done and all pencil marks etc. erased. I really like this part because it looks so clean when all those sketch marks are gone. It’s also crazy to think I literally spend hours drawing something in pencil only to erase it all away later :D

And here’s one photo of the coloring process, the first one has only the base colors done but none of the shadows yet (apart from the shirts), and the second one has some of the shadows done but not everything yet.

Usually after coloring, I will then go through everything with the fineliners one more time to make sure all the lines are dark enough as it just gives everything the finished yet a bit “sketchy” look that what I really like with my comics. The actual last detail is always adding my signature along with the date or year.

And here’s the finished comic one more time for comparison:

Don’t forget to check and reblog the actual post about this comic if you read this post all the way here. I’d appreaciate that a lot since art and artist on Tumblr are not really that much appreciated.

#mcrmadness draws #mcrmadness draws: behind the scenes #my comics #dä fanart #die ärzte

9 notes · View notes

krispydefendorpolice · 5 years

Text

The Demon’s Bride (1)

So this is my first time using tumblr and my first attempt at fanfic. Any formatting or tagging advice would be appreciated.

So I fell in the sea of fanfic three years ago and the #Daminette ship was the one to pull me out and press me into labor. Good job all you wonderfully evil authors out there.

So, here’s to @ozmav and @bluerosette23 as creator and archiver of this ship. And @mindfulmagics for putting the seed of someone actually has this bug in their brain too that got me writing. I’m going to try to get as many people tagged for this story as I can, especially if I called upon your own stories for inspiration. This first chapter has a call back to @multifandomscribette because I could not imagine this story starting any other way after reading their story “Gotham for Two”. (GO read it it’s awesome).

Other sources of inspiration are @mochinek0 , @snowhirl , and @inevitableenquere . I can’t remember how but your stories have inspired me. Thank you.

Next Masterpost

_______________________

Chapter 1

The whole situation was, in the words of her old schoolyard bully, “ridiculous, utterly ridiculous”. After Lila’s return and eventual take over of the Lycée class Marinette was more of an after thought to most of her classmates. The last minute call when a banner for some competition was happening, when treats and desserts were needed for a class picnic or costumes to film the classes newest movie.

The first and last were better as her closest friends had realized what Lila was doing to Marinette a few months in. After they apologized, Marinette accepted Nino, Kim, Alix, and Max back into her circle of confidence. Juleka was the only one of her circle in the classroom that was still in the sphere of Lie-la but that was planned with Marinette. She needed to know what the liar was saying and Juleka was able to use her sweetheart, Rose, as a cover for staying close.

Two years down the line and the classroom battle field hadn’t changed. Lila had most of the class in her thrall and only Nino, Kim, Alix, and Max were on Marinette’s side with Juleka working as their deep cover spy.

Adrien had insisted Marinette take a pacifist route to the Lila problem in the beginning and “be the bigger person” in order to keep Lila from being akumatized. At least they both knew she was a liar and he was on her side, right?

And he was on her side. In secret. For a week. Then he fell to Lila’s claws and joined in with the class’s ‘attack Marinette’ mob mentality. They would send her horrible texts about how no one liked her and that she should disappear. They destroyed one of the sketchbooks that she left in her locker. Then it got physical, suddenly she was tripping over feet and books were knocked out of her hands. And she deserved it for bullying Lila.

That lasted almost two months before Nino realized what the class was doing looked a lot like bullying Marinette. And then Kim, Alix and Max remembered that it was Marinette in their last year at Ecole who knocked out that bully who was targeting the younger kids. Marinette did not like bullies.

Nino and Alya broke up over his betrayal of Lila. He and the others were ostracized from the class as well but it was Marinette who still took the brunt of their attacks.

Adrien’s bigger person approach didn’t work anyways. As it seemed Lila was either getting akumatized or the reason for someone else getting akumatized every other week. Unfortunately, even battling Akuma’s wasn’t a relief from harassment for Marinette.

Chat Noir, her supposed partner, was getting worse in his pursuit of her. He refused to take no for an answer and planned dates she would decline to go to and get angry at her when she didn’t show anyways. In retaliation he would show up later and later to battles until eventually he stopped showing up at all. Once that happened, Marinette started searching for some permanent replacement heroes with the Guardians blessing.

Master Fu had begun training her to take on the responsibility of Guardian of the Miraculous. And as a test for her suitability as guardian she was given free reign to choose the new miraculous team. The first thing she had done was to retire Alya after the Lila disaster. Nino only maintained his place as one of the temporary heroes once he had apologized and the others were also on reserve for world ending Akuma’s.

But frankly, she had no trust in her classmates to have her back in the field.

So she had looked to her family for possibilities. The first she had tapped was Kagami. When paired with Longg and the dragon miraculous, Kagami became the offensive fighter that Chat had failed to be. Luka was next, paired with Sass and the snake miraculous he became their defensive player and strategizer. He watched the possibilities unroll and guided them when they were heading for danger. Juleka was last and she took to Trixx like a fox to her den. With the regular team decided upon and the temporary heroes settled battles with Akuma started to flow much easier and faster.

Which was great when they were in Paris. But she wasn’t in Paris right now. No, right now she was in America, in a strange city. After dark. Alone. Yay.

If that wasn’t bad enough that unfamiliar city just happened to be Gotham. The crime capital of the world. And it wasn’t a nice part of the city she was in, like the financial or fashion districts. No, she was in the district better know as Crime Alley. What even, was her life?

The class had traveled there as part of their extra curricular studies. They had gotten lucky (ha, lucky charm) to be chosen as one of the classes to participate in a training seminar at Wayne Enterprises with other schools from around the world. The flight had been uneventful, just Lila boasting about her connections in Gotham. They mostly centered around the celebrities like the Wayne family or the vigilante/heroes, Batman and his clan.

Marinette and her group had rolled their eyes but mostly ignored her and her slaves. They landed safely and made it to the hotel safely. And while not in the best neighborhood it hadn’t been in Crime Alley. So why did Ms. Bustier choose to take the class to a restaurant inside Crime Alley for dinner? Who knows? Marinette certainly didn’t.

It probably wouldn’t have mattered except that while Marinette was in the restroom the rest of the class disappeared. Now here she was, walking alone in Crime Alley, with nothing but a Kwami with her for protection. A Kwami she needed to keep a secret.

She sighed as the footsteps behind her picked up speed. At this point she was simply easy prey to the predators that stalked these streets. She opened her purse and glanced down at Tikki who was looking up at her. At Tikki’s small smile she looked around to decide on a plan of action.

Seeing her chance, Marinette started running. Instead of veering to the street she aimed towards an alley ahead of her. As soon as she turned she saw a brick wall ahead of her that was the rear of a building, and with buildings on either side of her she was boxed in. Perfect, she smiled.

She dropped the smile and turned as her stalkers steps fell silent behind her. One hand was holding a gun aimed at her and the other hand was held open and gesturing to her.

“Looks like you’re boxed in pretty thing. Just give me your money and I won’t hurt you,” he said in English.

Thinking quickly Marinette ducked her head as if she were cowed into obedience by the sight of the gun. “Do you promise?” she asked in the same language.

“I’m a man of my word, pretty. Your money gets you your life.”

But doesn’t guarantee my safety, Marinette thought as she fumbled with pulling her wallet from her purse. She held it out before her and waited.

The mugger walked towards her and reached for the wallet she held. As he touched it Marinette’s free hand wrapped around the wrist and pulled. Unprepared for her move the man stumbled forward and his nose connected with the elbow she raised. Pulling back with a yelp he dropped the gun when Marinette’s second grab and subsequent nerve strike numbed the hand holding it.

He looked up at the barrel of his own weapon held in Marinette’s hand.

“What was that about my life?” She asked calmly.

Before he could answer a thud behind her had Marinette turning again.

_________________

Hopefully people actually got tagged on this. Let me know if you didn’t. Again I’m new and don’t know the tagging system yet.

Let me know what you think. As they say comments are a writers wages and if I get enough (and I finish editing chapter 2) I’ll post it tonight. Questions are appreciated though I may not answer unless it won’t pop up in story but we’ll see where I go with this.

#daminette #maribat #marinette x damian #Betrothed AU #The Demon’s Bride

744 notes · View notes

honey-harper-official · 4 years

Text

Sketches and Scars Part 2

This s a continuation on their discussion on Nova’s scars and also she gets to see the sketch. Also abuse warning.

Link to the First Part: https://honey-harper-official.tumblr.com/post/613517049128468480/sketches-and-scars

The first thing Nova did that night after she got ready for bed was place herself directly in Adrian's lap and wiggle her way through his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, a leg at either side of his hips. "You okay babe?" Adrian asked, setting whatever sketch he was working on aside to attend to her. "I'm ready to talk more about my scars," she muttered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his jaw. He seemed surprised but happy nonetheless, glad she was starting to talk more about it. They had discussed it briefly a few weeks ago when he first realized just how many there were after he got a closer look at her body for a sketch he needed to do. As Adrian had requested, she made herself bring it up with her therapist which gave her more confidence to talk to him about it. The problem wasn't that she didn't trust him in any way, she just didn't want to scare him away but not the thought of that seemed silly. They had been together for two years now, finally getting their own space a few months ago. The two of them went through hell and back early on. Nothing about her should have phased him at this point. "What about them?" He asked softly, rubbing her back and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "When I told you that they were all from training I lied," Nova admitted. A lot of them were from training but not all of them were. Her larger and more noticeable ones came from the outbursts of the Anarchists. The only people who had never caused her a scar and had never even laid a hand on her was Leroy and surprisingly, Winston. He wasn't necessarily nice to her when he was upset but he never directed his anger at her. "Sometimes when the Anarchists were upset they'd get mad and I get hurt. It usually wasn't intentional," she added. Adrian didn't appear to be mad at her for lying, but he did seem upset that those things had happened to her. "What did they do?" Adrian questioned. Nova could tell he was trying to remain calm for both of theirs's benefit and she appreciated that. When he got upset he could genuinely be terrifying as gentle and sweet as he normally was. The few times it had ever happened it had scared her. It reminded her a lot of how Ingrid and Honey and Ace could be when upset. "Well one time Ingrid got mad at me in training and she threw something sharp at my and it cut me on my shoulder," she explained, pushing her shirt off of herself a little to show him the pack of jagged white scars that covered an area of her. Adrian nodded attentively, listening patiently as she explained her bigger ones. A great deal of them were from Ingrid and Honey since she had been around them most and more were from Ingrid. She always had the worst temper ad when Honey was emotional she usually just cried. As for the ones from Phobia and Ace there were little but large. Ace's were mostly from the battle at the Cathedral and she only had a single scar from Phobia but it was the largest and most prominent. "What about the one on your stomach?" Adrian asked. Her heart plummeted. Nova knew that of all the scars, that was the one that was going to upset him most and she wasn't sure how he'd react. "When I was little Phobia got mad at me and I don't remember why but as he was disappearing he swung his arms out in frustrated and cut my with his scythe." She said nervously, taking his hand in hers and directed it over the large scar across her stomach. "Right here." Nova was hesitant to tell him about that one because she knew that Adrian blamed himself for anything that happened due to Phobia even if it wasn't his fault, especially when most of the damage went after people he loved, specifically Nova and his mom. Adrian looked as though he might cry. "Nova I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for-" "Stop," she instructed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "That wasn't your fault. You were a little kid when you made him and had no control what so ever about bringing Phobia to life. You can't blame yourself for that and for all the problems caused, it's over. It's all over and we're safe now. That's what's important." He nodded, wanting to believe that. Adrian had been getting better about it and she knew she might have just set him back. That was one of the very limited amount of problems with each other. Their mistakes unintentionally caused the trauma of the other person even though they hadn't even known each other at the time when it happened. It was a pure coincidence and one they constantly had to work through, both of them going to therapy for it. Adrian held her tighter. "I'm sorry that you had to go through any of that regardless." "I know but it's not your fault and most importantly, it's over," Nova reassured. "Have you been bringing that up with your therapist?" "Of course I have." "Just checking." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Do you want to do something to take our minds off this a little? I never did end up seeing the sketch of me you made." "I can show it to you if you want," he offered. Nova nodded. "I'd like that." Carefully, Adrian moved her off him, laying her on the bed. He left the room and came back with the sketchbook he had used for it. He flipped to the last page where it was. She whistled. "Damn I look hot. No wonder you were so nervous you had a very pretty girl undressing for you." He laughed and set the book aside in the drawer of his nightstand. "I think very pretty is an understatement," he said, laying down next to her and pressing a kiss to her neck. "You're not bad yourself" She snorted and playfully flicked his shoulder. "However you should also know that you're a flirt. But it's okay because I love you." Adrian pulled her back across his lap and kissed her. "I love you too."

#nodrian #nova artino #adrian everhart #supernova spoilers #renegades trilogy #renegades #archenemies #supernova

59 notes · View notes

omniswords · 4 years

Text

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 3

also known, in my list of docs, as “chill your chichis, luka.”

i think this might be becoming a habit

hey siri, when does a habit become a problem?

actually i don’t think i wanna know the answer to that.

Luka goes back to Tom and Sabine’s at least two more times within the week, and at least one more time after that. And every single time, the girl with the dark hair and the sketchbook and the blue, blue eyes is at the counter. Tapping that pencil, playing that tasteful music, so focused it’s almost scary. He even tries to space out his visits, just so he won’t look desperate or like he’s coming by just for her. (Even if… admittedly… part of the reason he does come by was in the hopes that she’s there.) He just happens to be, it seems, the victim of dumb good luck.

Or maybe just dumb luck.

To his credit, he carries himself pretty well whenever he talks to her. Keeps their transactions and conversations short and simple, waits for his orders in the relative quiet of the shop—mostly because he’s afraid of making a fool of himself any more than he already has. The second time, she’s already speaking with another customer; her eyes are bright, her smile just as sweet, and even though it isn’t directed at him, a part of him feels so goddamn blessed to hear her say, “Enjoy, monsieur! Have a good day!”

And then she gets to him, and her expression mellows out. “Oh, yes,” she says, her nails trailing over the spine of her trusty, mysterious sketchbook. “I remember you. What can I get for you today?”

In the moment, he doesn’t care if she doesn’t remember his name. The fact that she remembers his face is enough to quietly send him over the moon. “Just the napoleon this time,” he says, and then, after the pause when he hands her his card, “So… about that macaron.”

(He’s already kicking himself.)

The girl seems unaffected. “What macaron?”

“The first time I came,” he says. “I didn’t order one, but there was one in my box.”

“Oh, that.” She hands him back his card, along with a receipt to sign. (This time, he notices his name at the bottom.) “It was a special promo we had going. Buy five pastries, get a macaron for free.”

Luka looks up from the receipt, stomach churning, fingers twitching. “I only bought four.”

The girl seems to freeze for a moment, and this time around, the pink on her cheeks is unmistakeable. “Sorry about that, then,” she murmurs. “I guess I was just excited about it.”

It isn’t until after she’s called his name and handed him the little box, after he’s walked out of the shop with the sound of his name still ringing in his ears, that he realizes there was no promo advertised anywhere in the bakery.

It makes him consider leaving the note again.

He’s been thinking about doing it since the first day—when he was waiting for his order and minding his tongue over the music—and he still can’t tell if he regrets not doing it. He’ll be the first to admit he isn’t exactly the best at speaking words, and he’d probably make an even bigger fool of himself if he whipped out his guitar and started playing all the things he felt himself wanting to say in the moment. Like a walking anyway, here’s “Wonderwall” guy in the corner of a house party.

A note, though. That feels like a happy medium. Getting the feelings out without it being too intrusive, or too much of a sentimental tryhard. It seems more and more doable with each time he stops by. And it’s really only a matter of composing the message in his head: Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, I just wanted you to know that I think you’re pretty—

Wait, no…

I wanted you to know that I couldn’t stop watching you that first day—

Oh, God, no. That actually is creepy.

Maybe this is a wild guess, but I think your name starts with an M because of the macaron, and there are lots of nice names that starts with the letter M, and whatever yours is, I’m sure it’s pretty—

Now it’s just getting worse. He’s not even totally sure about the letter M thing. For all he knows, it could stand for “macaron.” The literal thing he ate.

Why is this so much harder than actually talking to her? It’s supposed to be the other way around. It’s always been the other way around, no matter how much it looks like he can get away with it or cover it up.

He knows one thing for sure. He can’t leave his number on the note. Because leaving his number is effectively hitting on her, and he knows better than to hit on someone while they’re working. He heard it in a podcast once: never ask someone out if they don’t have a way to get away. Not to mention the fact that she’s there to do her job, not waste her time on people trying to chat her up and tie up the business line. He knows better. He knows better.

But something in him says that life is too short not to compliment people, genuinely. Life is too short to hold in your heart every nice thing you could say to someone—to lock it away where they’re guaranteed to never hear it. He’s told himself this, even tweeted it with slightly clammy hands right in the middle of refusing to take his own advice.

He figures it out eventually. It only takes days on end, but it comes to him as a flash just before work, the way the right melody tends to do. He scribbles it on a shred of paper from the lyric notebook he shares with Rose and stuffs it in his pocket before he can even give himself the opportunity to reread it or throw it away, and then he’s walking his bike down the gangplank of the Liberty and pedaling away like his life depends on it. Because if he doesn’t do it now, he never will. Because life is too short, and he’d like to get busy actually spending the rest of it.

Hey there. I don’t mean to intrude on your day or anything, and feel free to toss this if it makes you roll your eyes or whatever. I just wanted to tell you that your eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue I’ve ever seen. And that you’re incredibly pretty. That’s all. I hope you have a good rest of your day, because you deserve it.

--Luka

P.S. You already know my name. I hope one day I’ll get to know yours.

P.P.S. If that’s cool.

It’s the best he’s going to get. And it’s everything he can do not to write any more postscripts.

When he gets to Tom and Sabine’s, the shop is—as it has been the last few times he’s come by—empty except for the music and the girl. Except this time, she’s looking at him directly as soon as the bell over the door rings. Like she’s been expecting him. He won’t be so presumptuous about it, but he can’t help hoping that that might be the case. She looks curious at first, but then her expression melts into familiarity, and she closes her sketchbook. “Let me guess,” she says by way of greeting, already tightening up her apron and her high ponytail and tapping at the screen at the register. “A pear tart and a napoleon.”

Well, it’s better than what he thought she might say.

Luka heaves a nervous laugh as he approaches the register, but manages to say, “Just for that, I’m ordering a pain au chocolat.” If anything, he’ll give all the credit to his customer service experience. Knowing the worst of what’s happened to him is sometimes enough to remind him that he can get through a conversation, even with the bumps in the road.

The girl grins, her eyes sparkling. Just the eyes he wrote about—maybe doesn’t want to “Oh yeah? Keeping me on my toes, huh?”

“Someone has to,” he says; he pauses to wonder why he even said that, if they’re even friendly enough that he could say something like that. If they could even technically be friends. He gets the sense, though, that the girl can’t tell what he’s thinking, which means he’s doing all right at hiding it. He reaches for his back pocket to cover it up even more, not wanting to think about how much money he’s spent here this week.

It’s when his fingers brush against the crease of the note that his stomach twists, seems to pop open and let every ounce of adrenaline spill into him. He clutches the note, too, before he can overthink giving it away—before he can regret writing it or not handing it over. He focuses on his debit card first, lets the overhead music attempt to calm him as he goes through all the motions of paying. It happens to be from one of his favorite bands—well, technically, it’s one guy with a rotation of musicians, but it’s still a band—and he finds himself tapping his sneakers to the beat, faintly humming along. She really does have good taste…

“Here,” Luka says a little too fast when she slides a paper bag across the counter. He trades it for the note, which is a little wrinkled from being in his pocket but otherwise intact. He holds his breath, meets her eyes, the blue that’s been getting to him these days. “This is for you.” A part of him wants to say, I promise it’s not my number, but even that seems like a downward spiral of bad choices. Justifications that won’t come out quite right.

Luka takes the box and turns on his heel before he can think to take it back, or before she can say no thank you. Because hearing that means insisting in return, and he doesn’t know if he has the constitution to do that when he’s never wanted to push, when it feels like his mind is swimming and his face is burning. He already knows what he’s going to post online as soon as he gets out of here and rounds the corner: “life’s too short not to tell people you think they’re pretty,” i say, choking up and bolting out of the best bakery in paris. and then, it’s official, i can never come here again. He hasn’t decided whether he wants to tack an lmao on the end of that one, or whether that would be too cynical.

But the girl doesn’t say no thank you. In fact, she doesn’t say anything at all. There’s only the crinkle of paper as she unfolds the note behind him, which makes him pause at the door. He feigns checking the time on his phone; still half an hour before he needs to report to work. Maybe if he holds out long enough, she might call out to him or something.

But what if she tosses the note after all?

But, God, what if she doesn’t?

He can’t bear to turn around.

“Marinette!” a voice calls from the back—it’s Mr. Dupain’s, gruff but hearty and adoring, the way he seems to speak to almost everyone. Luka tries not to jolt too much in surprise. “I need some help with these baguettes!”

There’s another crinkle of paper, another snap of a notebook. “I’m coming,” the girl calls back, and Luka would swear that something about her voice sounds… sweeter. Something from the sparkle of her eyes trickled in.

He smiles to himself, and pushes the door open, and tries in vain to ease the pounding of his heart.

Marinette. What a name. It’s as beautiful as her eyes. He mouths it when he has a moment alone, because saying it out loud feels a little sacred even for someone he’s only really met a few days ago, and maybe partly because if he says it once, he won’t want to stop saying it, and someone’s bound to think he’s off his rocker if they find him like that.

Marinette. Even her name sounded like it belonged to the sea. He wants to say it to the Seine, tell it a secret the way he’s done ever since he was a kid.

Instead, he plays the song from the bakery in his head again, and savors every bite of his bread, and licks the chocolate off his thumb before he dares to pull out his phone.

okay, fine. life is too short, not to tell people they’re pretty, period.

so CBG, i don’t know if you needed to hear that or something, but i can’t say i regret telling you.

#fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng

86 notes · View notes

our-time-is-now · 4 years

Text

May 11, 2019: I have never…

(previous play)

(Joint project from @riddikulus und @shakshuka-grandpasweaters, translated from @girlwholovesagirl, @divingdeepintothewater, @m-ger and @julerocks. Here is the timeline and the link to the original blog @unsere-zeit-ist-jetzt. If you would also like to help translate, please contact one of us.)

Saturday, 12:14 pm/7:15 pm:

Matteo: *finished his coffee in the kitchen* *quickly moved the cups and the coffee to his room after that* *gets up when David comes back in* Okay... umm... make yourself at home... there's still coffee... I'll hurry... * goes to the bathroom after that and only then realizes that he didn't take any clean clothes with him* *sniffs his clothes and thinks that they're still alright* *showers in record-time because he doesn't want to leave David alone* *rubs his hair more or less dry and decides to let the air do the rest of the drying* *manages to be back in his room after 15 minutes* *notices David sitting in his armchair sipping coffee, his gaze directed toward his lap, where he must have something that Matteo can't see from his position* *only thinks how unbelievably good he looks and how unbelievably great it feels to have him still there, still waiting for him* *closes the door behind him and smiles when David looks up* Hey...

David: *took out his sketchbook after Matteo vanished into the bathroom and randomly filled a page with things that had accompanied him yesterday and today: two Dürum, the transgender-flag from the Instagram-posts, Matteo and him embracing in his sleeping bag, his and Matteo's hands, two mugs of coffee and so on* *only made rough sketches and plans to complete some of them later when he has time* *skims through some older stuff when Matteo comes back into the room* *smiles automatically when he sees him and cocks his head* Na? All cleaned up? *grins slightly*

Matteo: *grins* Yep, as clean as it gets... *drops himself on the bean bag next to him and then leans forward to refill his coffee* *sees his sketchbook and grins slightly* Did you have to process the traumatic experience with Linn?

David: *takes the mug from Matteo when he refills their coffees* Thanks... *laughs at Matteo's question and shakes his head* *Nah... I was just doodling a little... *pushes the sketchbook towards Matteo in case he wants to take a look* ... I have to finish it sometime when I have more time... *remembers something and pulls the sketchbook back toward him* *murmurs* Hang on... *removes the paper clips that hid the pages he thought were too private - obvious transgender elements, some pages on which he processed the humiliations at his old school and countless sketches of Matteo before they met and some other big and small things connected to him* *puts the book back on the armrest between them and looks at Matteo invitingly* Well, If you'd like...

Matteo: *laughs slightly* With you it's never just doodling... *Is just about to reach for the book when David pulls it back toward himself* *thinks that David remembered something he isn't supposed to see and waits for him to tear out or glue together pages* *is all the more surprised when the opposite happens and looks at him with wide eyes* Of course I'd like to... *reluctantly takes the book into his hands* Are you sure? *sees David nod and then carefully skims through the book* *reaches the pages he wasn't allowed to look at a few weeks ago* *swallows when he sees the tougher sketches* *turns the page and sees his own face, sometimes bigger, sometimes smaller, sometimes only his eyes, sometimes in profile* *two full double-pages only of him* *looks at him dumbfounded* When... when did you make these?

David: *watches as Matteo skims the book and only looks at the pages a couple of times to see what Matteo is looking at* *at Matteo's question he leans a little further toward him to see which sketches he is looking at* *grins and blushes slightly* Hmmm... if I told you it was after our first conversation, would you consider me a freak? *has actually recorded the situation or the feelings or Matteo himself after every meeting with him... and during the time they didn't have any contact he drew him again and again whenever he thought about him*

Matteo: *shakes his head* *looks back at the drawings and then back at David again* No... I'm just... flabbergasted... for only seeing me once you captured me pretty well... *clears his throat* After our first conversation I only tried to find you on Insta... *looks back towards the page* *slowly skims forward*

David: *grins slightly* Your face etched itself directly into my brain... *in his thoughts adds "and into my heart", but doesn't say it because it sounds too cheesy and because it's more true for their second meeting than their first conversation* *laughs quietly when he mentions Instagram and thinks* I don't even remember when we followed each other there... *leans forward when Matteo keeps turning pages, but finds it pretty uncomfortable having to twist like that - especially as the armchair is wide enough for both of them to fit* *shuffles to the side of the armchair, almost to the armrest, and asks* Do you maybe want to come up here? Then I can see better and don't have to twist like that... *can feel a little that he has been wearing his binder for too long but is quite relaxed at the moment and so it isn't too much of a strain, yet* *wouldn't mind being a little closer to Matteo, anyways* *glances back at the book and notices that they almost reached the "sandwich-recipe in pictures"*

Matteo: *looks at him slightly amused but also a little touched* Awwww *shrugs his shoulders* I don't either... *does remember it exactly but doesn't want to expose himself as someone who remembers stuff like that* *looks up at him when David offers the space next to him* *grins and naturally joins him there immediately* *would love to put an arm around him but leaves it for now because otherwise he wouldn't be able to turn the pages anymore* *turns the page and sees the sandwich-recipe and has to laugh out loud* This is genius! *looks at him lovingly* The drawings are all really awesome…

David: *smiles satisfied when Matteo sits down next to him, hesitates briefly but then puts an arm around him and leans against him to look into the book with him* *grins when he hears Matteo’s laugh and shrugs* At least this way we can never forget what was on them... just in case we want to prepare another feast like that* *laughs but then gets more serious again and smiles at Matteo's compliment* *hears a phone buzz and tries to fumble his phone out of his pocket* *looks at Matteo questioningly while doing so* Yours or mine? *eventually manages to get his phone out and glances at it* *shakes his head* Yours! *moves slightly away so that Matteo has enough space to grab his phone but lets his arm remain on the armrest*

Matteo: *smiles and wipes imaginary pearls of sweat off his forehead* Thank God! *also notices the vibrating and is immediately annoyed that someone is disturbing them* *gets up to take his phone out of his pocket* *sees that it's his mother and immediately feels bad* Sorry, my mum... *walks a few steps away and picks up* Hi Mama...

David: *nods when Matteo apologizes and contemplates for a moment whether he should leave Matteo alone* *decides against it because if he didn't want him to hear the conversation he probably would have left the room* *reaches for his mug and tries to look as if he wasn’t listening but still hears everything*

Matteo’s mom: *is glad that her son answers his phone; had tried calling yesterday without success and was worried after he had disappeared so suddenly the day before that* Hey, darling... I just wanted to ask if everything's alright...

Matteo: *turns slightly away from David, more as a reflex than defense* Yes, everything all right... sorry that I left... but I had to take care of something... but everything’s good now...

Matteo’s mom: Take care of what? Did it have something to do with David? I mean it's probably none of my business... anyways: It is good that everything's all right and well now. *sounds a little insecure, as if she didn't know to what extend she is allowed to ask her son about private things*

Matteo: *closes his eyes briefly* *doesn't really want to tell his mother anything but doesn't want to offend her either* Yes... it did... but... everything's fine now and we... we'll make up for the dinner, okay?

Matteo’s mom: *sounds happy* Yes, I'd love that! With David as well? When do you have time?

Matteo: *shakes his head for himself* Maybe... I don't know... *briefly looks over to David* *I'll ask him and I'll text you, ok?

Matteo’s mom: Do that! - I'm looking forward to it! *one can hear her smile* *Bye, my boy! *waits for Matteo to say goodbye and then hangs up the phone*

David: *had sipped his coffee and waited* *only looked up once when Matteo said he would ask _him_ and wondered briefly if it was about him* *watches Matteo now, after all, but thinks that he doesn't look stressed but only a little impatient* *smiles when Matteo hangs up and turns around to face him* *tilts his head questioningly* Everything all right?

Matteo: Bye, Mama *hangs up and puts the phone back into his pocket* *nods briefly and talks while he goes back to David and sits back down next to him* Yes, that was my mom... I kinda left her hanging on Thursday and well... *shrugs one shoulder* She invited us over for dinner... but I didn't agree on anything... I can go by myself...

David: *briefly thinks about what could have happened on Thursday and realizes that it was probably because Laura had told him that he hadn't come home* *feels bad for a moment but doesn't get the chance to apologize again because Matteo continues talking* *looks at him skeptically while he talks and shakes his head slightly* Um, what? She invited _us_? *for one, didn't know that Matteo came out to his mother and didn’t know that he even told her about him, either* *smiles insecurely and stammers slightly* I didn't know that you... well I thought you weren't out to her... and... she knows about me?

Matteo: *nods slowly when he asks /who/ she invited* Yes... *listens to him and instantly gets a little embarrassed* Oh... umm... yes... after I called you, when I wanted to pick you up... after that phone call I texted her... well I came out and she knows your name but not much more than that... *looks at him and puts his arm around him* And you really don't have to come if you don't want to...

David: *smiles lovingly and a little proudly because he thinks it's really brave of Matteo and because it shows him once again how certain Matteo had been the entire time that he wants to be with him - if he even told his mother about him* *leans on him when he puts his arm around him and reaches for his hand* *quietly says* This was really brave! *actually thinks any kind of coming-out is really brave* *grins when he hears his next words and looks up at him provokingly* And if I want to? Would you take me with you? *would actually like to meet Matteo’s mother*

Matteo: *shrugs when he says that it was brave* Over text? I just wanted her to know... *grins at him when he says that he wants to come along* Of course I would take you with me... but I'd warn you that you can't choose your family... *hesitates briefly and gets serious again* My mother takes antidepressants... I think she's doing better now... but... it wasn't always easy with her.... and I'm used to not really knowing in what mood she's in... just so you know...

David: *thinks the way of the coming-out doesn't matter - if it's over text or in person - it's a really big step* *shrugs when he hears his warning and grinningly sighs* You don't have to tell ME about it... *thinks that one of these days they're probably going to talk about his family, too, but for now he's only curious about Matteo’s mother* *gets serious again when Matteo does and listens to him* *presses his lips together briefly and at first doesn't really know what he should say or what he's allowed to ask* *brushes his thumb over the back of Matteo's hand and eventually says* If you want to tell me more about it... about your mother or your parents you can do that anytime... doesn't have to be now... but maybe sometime... *looks up at him and gives him a brief, tender kiss on his mouth* *murmurs* I'm here, okay?

Matteo: *nods slowly* *smiles at the kiss* Okay... maybe some time... later... after you've met her... *kisses him again and automatically slides closer to him*

David: *smiles at Matteo's words and nods* Okay... *gets another kiss and feels how Matteo slides closer to him* *softly grabs his neck so that Matteo won’t release the kiss and deepens it* *runs a hand through his hair, which is still damp from the shower and then back over his neck and his cheek* *a feeling of happiness rushes through him when he thinks about the fact that he can kiss Matteo whenever he wants now*

Matteo: *makes out with David on his armchair a little longer until his stomach rumbles once again* *laughs and apologizes* *they decide to get some food and go to the kitchen to make some sandwiches, which they take back to Matteo's room* *they then move from the armchair to the bed* *at some point, Matteo puts on some quiet music and they lie there and talk* *Matteo tells him a little more about his friends, who is or was dating whom or who's crushing on whom, what they are like* *David talks a little about Laura and his godmother* *at some point in the evening they order pizza and Matteo manages to get it and be back in his room without being held up by one of his flatmates* *after eating the pizza they are more quiet and make out more than talk*

David: *really enjoyed the entire day with Matteo and felt incredibly comfortable* *found it interesting to learn more about Matteo's friends and thus more about Matteo and thinks that being with him like that has a completely different meaning now as finally nothing is standing between them anymore* *is lying on the bed with Matteo after eating the pizza - by now both of them only in their T-shirts, as sweaters and hoodies were getting too warm - and enjoys the closeness to him and that they don't need many words right now* *runs his fingers over Matteo’s neck while they kiss and can't really resist the urge to be even closer to him* *therefore deepens the kiss and moves closer to Matteo* *pushes his leg between Matteo's legs and wraps his arm around his back* *moves his arm softly up and down his back*

Matteo: *feels a pleasant shudder when David pulls him closer* *has his hand in David's hair and pushes himself even closer to David* *kisses him and notices how his entire body reacts to David* *his /entire/ body* *panics all of a sudden as he doesn't know what he should do and might do something wrong* *pulls away from David and exhales deeply* Sorry... I... *is still slightly out of breath and has to collect himself a little* Well, I... *swallows hard and then looks at him* I have never...

David: *because of the closeness to Matteo he can feel that all this making out doesn't leave Matteo unaffected either and notices that he feels the same way* *doesn't have any idea where this might lead to but is too aroused to think about this now* *lets everything happen and loses himself in this feeling and is therefore slightly confused and a little breathless when Matteo suddenly pulls away* *asks himself briefly if he did something wrong and it takes some time for Matteo's words to get through to him* *swallows and then smiles slightly when he understands what Matteo is trying to tell him* *puts a hand on his cheek and looks back at him* Me neither... *gnaws at his bottom lip and tries to sort his thoughts* *asks quietly* So you never, ever? Neither with boys nor girls? *thinks that the question sounds somewhat stupid and blushes slightly* *assumed that Matteo had slept with Sara but likes the thought that apparently that wasn't the case and that it will be the first time for both of them*

Matteo: *immediately feels stupid and thinks that he shouldn't have told him and should have just kept going* *but then he feels David's hand on his cheek and relaxes a little* *closes his eyes briefly when he says he hasn’t either and is somehow extremely relieved* *opens his eyes at his question* *can assume that David is talking about Sara and shakes his head* No... boys never offered themselves... and with girls... I didn't want to... *bites lightly on his bottom lip* So... well... it didn't come out of nowhere that she was able to put two and two together so quickly, I guess...

David: *laughs at Matteo's words and feels his heart do a little jump* *knows that it probably shouldn't matter but it still means something to him that apparently they'll make this first experience together* *thinks that right now Matteo looks so open and slightly unsure but so beautiful that he just has to lean forward to kiss him again* *searches for words and eventually says quietly* So far, that was out of question... there wasn't anybody I trusted enough that it could have even come close to that... *moves closer to him again, gets a little nervous and feels his heart jump to his throat when he whispers* But with you, I could imagine it...

Matteo: *immediately closes his eyes when David kisses him* *looks at him again when he talks and feels even the last bit of tension leave his body* *nods slightly at his words and feels his heart beat faster* I feel the same... *closes the distance between them and kisses him again* *at first softly and tenderly but then he deepens the kiss and pulls him a little closer* *is about to carefully push his hand under David's T-shirt when there is a knock on his door* *can’t even react before the door opens and Hans is standing in his room* Hello, my butterfly, Linn said... Oh! Hello! *Matteo sat up to at least attempt to shield David a little* Hans, out!

David: *almost beams when Matteo says that he feels the same, but then gets kissed and pulled closer by him* *deepens the kiss together with Matteo and quickly realizes that they pick up right where they left off earlier* *flinches when there is a knock on the door and only seconds later Hans is standing in the room* *blushes and gets flustered and is relieved when Matteo sits up to shield him a little even though he immediately misses being close to Matteo* *hears Hans laugh at Matteo's request: "Oh, you sweethearts, I didn't want to interrupt... let me know if you need anything! Keep going! Have fun"!* *blushes even more at Hans' words but actually hears the door close and then it's quiet* *lays there petrified and shocked for a moment but then he pulls Matteo back down and half on top of him* *grins slightly* You heard him… keep going... *searches for his lips again and deepens the kiss* *eventually puts a hand under Matteo's shirt and softly strokes it up and down his back* *loves how soft his skin is there and realizes that he wants to feel more of that* *at some point hears distant voices coming from the living room - Mia and Hans: "Why can't you fold your laundry in your room for a change!!? Give them some privacy!" - "But here I'm closer to the action... in case they need anything..."* *stops listening to the discussion but still feels a little under observation* *is glad when it soon gets silent again in the living room but can't quite turn off the thought that somebody is sitting there, listening to every noise coming from Matteo's room* *hears Hans laughing loudly all of a sudden and stops the kiss a little* *murmurs* We could also go to my place...

Matteo: *laughs a little when David pulls him back toward him* *manages to suppress the interruption and continues* *can also hear the voices coming from the living room and thinks that somehow this isn’t great* *sighs when he hears Hans’ laugh and pulls David back* *is really glad about his suggestion* Yes, please… *gives him another short kiss and slowly pulls away* Sorry... I never thought they'd all stay home on a Saturday night... *gets up slowly together with David* *both of them get dressed again and Matteo stops at the door* Okay... the plan is get through the living room quickly, grab jackets, bag and shoes and then we're out of here... don't give Hans any chance *grins a little*

David: *laughs quietly at Matteo's answer and grumbles a little when he slowly pulls away after the short kiss* *doesn't want to let him go at all* *shrugs at Matteo's apology, smiles and murmurs* No problem... you couldn't have known... *gets up with a sigh and puts his sweater back on* *then says* Maybe my sister will be at home, but she usually spends her evenings in her room and probably won't disturb... *at least he hopes so* *would really like to continue what they started without any interruptions* *grins at Matteo's words once they're at the door and nods* Okay - go in and win... or rather: go in and flee! *gets ready and follows Matteo when he opens the door* *has to grin when he sees Hans sitting in the living room in front of the TV with a pile of laundry and doesn't react to his comment: "Oh, do you need anything?! Are you leaving"?* *only grabs his stuff, puts on his shoes quickly and leaves the flat with Matteo* *has to laugh when the door closes behind them* Made it! *briefly pulls Matteo against him and kisses him hard but brief* And now let's hurry... I want to continue where we left off!

(next play)

#druck #og druck #davenzi #david schreibner #matteo florenzi #hans brecht #mia winter #matteo's mom #11052019 #play 19 #missing moments

14 notes · View notes

factual-fantasy · 5 years

Text

This post is basically a ramble/almost a brag about my sketch book.

Remember this post I made? I made this post on August 31 2019, sooo about like.. 2 months ago? 3 months? Anyway- This sketch book is 14 inches tall, 11 inches wide and has 110 pages.

I have been drawing in this book every. single. day. without fail since I made that post, And today I finally got to the last page.

I’m not sure why I’m making this post, I guess i’m sadly venting and being proud of myself at the same time? Anyway I have some pictures to show a bit of my sketch book and how I draw things.

Here’s the cover with my hand as a comparison! Its feels bigger in person.

When I got to the very end I wrote myself a little message in case I ever come back and look through it again. (like I do with all my sketchbooks)

When I first got the book, I was so exited that I spent an entire day drawing a full paged picture that was ink-lined and colored in. The drawing was a full body picture of Dr. Kahl's robot holding Dr. Kahl.

Now to note, I didn’t draw on the backsides of any of the pages. There’s a reason why your teachers told you never to do that. Everything ends up just smudging together!

Some of the pages were reserved only for comics. Some of my comic panels were rather large so only like 4-5 drawings could fit.

Some of my comics however were a bit smaller and I could fit more than just the one comic.

Some of my comics were ˢᵘᵖᵉʳ ᵗᶦⁿʸ and had TONS of panels on them!

My sketch book has many different subjects and types of drawings in it, HaHa! There’s even this one page that’s just Sans’ face drawn 36 times! I was struggling so hard with trying to get his face right, that I just kept drawing him until I got it right! (It still didn’t even work lol.)

Some of my “nicer looking” drawings are actually rather small. I tend to draw smaller to try and save room. Plus its easier for me to add detail when I’m working with a smaller canvas.

On the very last page however.. I had a bit of a cop-out. I was so exited to finally be done with this sketch book that I drew a HUGE drawing to fill up this big empty space.

This sketch book was quite the ride. And you probably wont believe me when I say this.. but I went back and counted, and I drew PRECISELY 100 DRAWINGS of anything Gravity Falls related. (98% of them being just Stan and/or Ford)

I don’t know if anyone cares about this but I just wanted you all to see this I guess?.. I think its a bit sad actually.. I mean.. I’m proud of myself for finally being able to commit to something and filling up such a huge sketch book.. but.. Its just a big blaring reminder of how mundane my life is right now.. I never get out anymore.. I have so much time that’s just spent cooped up in my room alone with my book and a pencil.. just.. alone.

I feel like I shouldn’t be happy about this and that its a sign of a bit problem I have. But... none the less, I never used to fill up my sketch books to completion. So now that I finally did- and to one that’s SO BIG at that! Its kind’a a cool feeling. :}

What do guys think of this post? Any thoughts? Leave them in the comments please, I’d love to read them!

#my response #not gravity falls related

92 notes · View notes

ravenbrenna09 · 4 years

Text

Unattainable - Chapter Three

AO3

...

bold = sending; italicized = receiving*

*This is more to remind me because of Tumblr only having text on the left side of the text box :)

...

Important Note from me: (and slight spoilers)

There is a scene in this chapter where they refer to this version of the ending clip from Episode 4 of Wtfock (in this case between Robbe and an original character named Nick). There are no direct references to dialogue from this scene and I do not mention what Robbe called him (however, I think it’s similar or word-for-word what Robbe said the exact same thing that he said to Sander in this clip) and I do not want to have that piece of dialogue in this story because I know that it can be triggering for some members of the LGBT community.

But, as the author of this piece and as a person who can’t imagine the pain inflicted by these words, I tried to give Robbe the ability to apologize to the person he hurt to his face (in this story) just like he was able to in the original WTFock scene with Sander. I know this scene was controversial, but I felt like Robbe needed this interaction. However, while the character is no longer angry at him, I want to stress, if you have been called those words or you have been attacked for loving who you love, you are under NO obligation to forgive that person. These words are not okay to use (as both Robbe and Nick will point out), but this situation is based solely on the experience of Nick, not anyone else’s.

The basis of this interaction is largely inspired by my own troubles with my former best-friends where I would become so angry that I would be incapable of doing basic functions. Naturally, these two are nowhere near the same (and I’m not saying that they are), but I had to learn that my anger was harmful to me and my life so I had to let go of the anger to move on with my life. This was my basis of this interaction that comes up later. I hope you guys understand (if anyone wants to talk to me about this scene, send me a DM here on Tumblr and we can talk about it).

Because of this scene, I’m actually really nervous about posting this chapter so I hope that you all enjoy!

Either way, I love all of you so much. Thank you for all the support.

...

Messages to Sander

Robbe IJzermans sent an image.

You with David Bowie.

Seriously? How did I not find you sooner?

You’re literally perfect.

Also, aren’t you supposed to be studying for your test?

No.

I am studying. I’m just taking a break.

I’m not perfect.

Besides, it’s might be a good thing that we didn’t find each other sooner.

How so?

When I was in school, I kissed a guy and I was terrified because…

Well, a lot of reasons, and so I said somethings that I regretted.

I called the guy something I shouldn’t have and accused him of something that he didn’t do.

I don’t know.

I just… I knew that it was something that I wanted.

But, my brain just… went Chernobyl and I couldn’t think straight.

I’m sorry.

Hey, don’t apologize. I just hopped in the shower.

You aren’t the same person, Robbe.

Do you feel that way with me? Like Chernobyl?

No.

Well, yes I do, but not in the same way.

See?

When’s your test?

An hour.

And you’re coming over after you meet with your friend right?

Yes?

Why are you making me worried?

It’s nothing to be worried about.

Just in the middle of unpacking.

When you get here, I want to give you my full attention ;)

You don’t have to do that.

You’re right.

But I will.

I will be more than happy to help you unpack.

Absolutely not.

My boxes can wait another day.

You can’t.

Sander.

If you do good on your test, there may be a reward.

;)

Robbe?

Sorry.

You’re distracting.

Lol, I’ll let you get back to your studying.

Good luck.

Thank you.

I’ll see you later.

…

Sander’s apartment, which was on the sixth floor of the apartment complex, was a lot like Robbe had predicted. There were moving boxes all over the living room, propped up on counters and the coffee table with large, bold letters that accompanied them to show where the contents were to go. There were a handful of pots and pans in the kitchen, plates were placed in the corner of the counter which had not found a permanent home in the cabinet, and a smaller, partially open box labeled Spices.

The only room that seemed to be completely done was the guest bedroom which Sander had turned into a makeshift art studio. There had been an easel propped up near the large window in the room, canvases and paints and charcoals placed strategically around the room. There was a small desk with a sketchbook and dozens of more art supplies that Robbe couldn’t name let alone attempt at deducing. There were large, thick black drapes that hung on either side of the window that might’ve blocked out the sunlight.

“It can double as a darkroom,” Sander supplied, his eyes watching Robbe’s features assess the room. He ran a hand through Robbe’s hair, watching gleefully as Robbe’s tilted his head towards the palm of his head. “The one at my other apartment was a little bigger. But, it’ll do just fine.” He wrapped an arm around Robbe’s shoulder, pulling him flush against his chest and closing the door with another, before pulling him further down the hallway.

“Ah, I see,” Robbe mumbled. “This was all a ploy to get me in the bedroom.”

“Yes,” Sander teased, his lips brushing against Robbe’s ear. The brunet gulped, reaching up to cling at Sander’s hand in his own. The artist willingly surrendered his hand, intertwining their fingers together flawlessly, and grinned brighter. “As long as I have the bed up, I’m able to sleep and not have to sleep beneath my desk again.” He bit down on Robbe’s ear and unexpectedly pulled back. Robbe should’ve expected it, letting out a sigh as he clung. It was so on brand. “So, what do you want to do? Watch a movie? I’ve got a little bit of everything and a Netflix account.”

Robbe groaned as Sander sat on his bed, glancing up at him expectantly. “You’re such a tease.”

A playful grin spread across Sander’s features and the gleeful glint returned to his eyes. “If you think I’m teasing, that means you’re expecting more.”

Robbe rolled his eyes because he definitely was, crossing his arms over his chest as he stepped closer to the side of the bed. Once Robbe was within an arm’s length of Sander, the latter’s hands reached out, hooking on the belt loops of his jeans and pulled him closer to him. Robbe stepped on the bed, his knees digging into the bed before he settled down on Sander’s lap. His hands settled against Robbe’s thighs, his hands warm even through the fabric of his jeans. “And, if I was?”

Sander grinned up at him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he was leaning up to press his lips against Robbe’s. Sander’s kiss was as dizzying as it had been the night before. Robbe kissed him back, digging his fingers into the soft strands of Sander’s hair, leaning over him and pushing him lightly to fall back. Sander leaned back at Robbe’s touch, bringing him over his body and coaxed younger man’s mouth open with his tongue.

Sander lifted Robbe off of him, grinning at the whine that the latter emitted. “Be patient,” the former whispered, pressing a featherlight chaste kiss to Robbe’s lips again, before sitting up and lifting Robbe off of his body. Robbe let out a groan, extending his legs over his lap, as Sander dragged one of the boxes over to his feet, rummaging through it for movies. “Come on, let’s find a movie.”

…

“Who’s your favorite actor?” Sander mumbled, his eyes half-closed as Robbe ran his fingers through the wisps of his blond hair. The use of his voice had surprised Robbe, who had presumed that he had fallen asleep, his eyes closed and being unresponsive to Robbe’s mumbled speech for about fifteen minutes. He doesn’t remember how they ended up like this, feet in opposite directions on the end of Sander’s half-finished bed, heads resting on the other’s elbows, as the movie that they had finally picked was playing on the television across the room.

“Leonardo Dicaprio,” Robbe admitted, turning towards Sander.

Sander looked at him incredulously, his fingers idly playing with the stud earring in his left ear. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Robbe admitted, smiling. Sander breathed out of his nose, a light scoff breathed out of his mouth, and Robbe rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the ceiling. “You never saw Romeo and Juliet?” Sander shook his head, staring over at him as Robbe nuzzled against the crook of Sander’s arm. “It’s fucking beautiful. My mom and I used to watch it every Friday. It’s her favorite movie.”

Sander smiled, staring back up at the ceiling. His thumb rotated Robbe’s earring in his ear and the brunet subconsciously leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. “You know,” Sander spoke up. Robbe opened his eyes to see Sander’s green ones, glancing towards the television. “Life is a bit like a movie sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Robbe questioned, turning on his side to face Sander fully.

“You’re in charge of directing your own life. Deciding what it is and what it isn’t, and what your life will become,” Sander explained. “You get to choose your own destiny, carve out what it is that you want to do with it.”

Robbe thought about it, twirling one of the longer strands of Sander’s hair around his finger. “No, I don’t believe that.”

Sander’s green eyes flickered over to him, connecting with his brown ones. “No?”

“Do you know… the multiverse theory?” Robbe questioned, nervous.

Sander raised an eyebrow. “Like in Spiderman?”

Robbe laughed, grinning at him. “The theory is based on the idea that time is just a dimension,” Robbe started, tracing patterns along Sander’s scalp. The man’s eyes fluttered shut, but Robbe knew that he was still listening. “And so, aside from this universe, there are also a bunch of other universes. Whenever you make a choice, the universe splits.”

“So, The Flash?” Sander whispered.

Robbe grinned brighter. “Did you watch The Flash?”

“Guilty pleasure from my youth,” Sander explained, waving his free hand around. For a brief moment, he sounded like a senile old man, who had just explained something about forty years ago not less than a decade old. But, Robbe presumed that Sander was an old soul trapped in a young body anyways with his love for David Bowie and leather jackets and affinities for 80s movies. Somehow, it made Robbe’s heart swell as he watched him, his nose twitch as he bumped his nose.

“But, so then, you know you can exist in every universe,” Robbe continued, realizing that Sander’s green eyes were on him. “But, it’s just slightly different each time. For example, there could be a Sander and a Robbe lying here in the exact same position that we are right now, except there’s a different poster on the wall or the curtains are a different color.”

“So, like yellow curtains?” Sander piped up, his eyes flickering over to the black curtains that were lying over a box.

“For example,” Robbe trailed off, turning towards him. “Have you never thought about that before?”

Sander sucked in a breath, his eyes trained up to the ceiling. “I have,” he admitted. “But, then, I start to feel lonely.”

“Why?” Robbe questioned, propping himself on his elbow so he could see Sander’s full face.

The man was staring off into the ceiling like he had stopped being aware that Robbe was even there. There was a dark, vulnerable look in his eyes that reminded Robbe a little of how his mother would get when she spiraled into her own thoughts, consumed by them all. Robbe ran his hands through Sander’s hair, trying to convey that he was here, that he was listening.

“Just,” Sander started, swallowing. “Doesn’t that ever happen to you, that you find yourself thinking: how come I’m thinking this exact thing? Then you go back, retrace your thoughts step-by-step, and you take a look at how one thought morphed into the next, and you’re left wondering: why does it do that? What if I’d gone from this one thought to a completely different thought, then I wouldn’t be thinking what I’m thinking right now. It just keeps going and going and going, and it doesn’t stop.”

His voice cracked.

“Hey,” Robbe spoke, hovering over Sander. He ran his hands through Sander’s hair, trailing his thumbs across the blond’s cheekbones, and his green eyes fluttered, glancing up at Robbe.

Sander paused, looking up at him with a dark look in his eyes. “You know, thoughts never stop. Not even when you’re sleeping. The only way you can stop your thoughts is by dying.”

Robbe’s stomach sunk. “That’s dark,” he whispered.

“Never thought about that before?” Sander questioned. Robbe shook his head, reaching out to take Sander’s fingers in his own. A gentle smile formed back on Sander’s face, twisting his hand so his fingers slotted together with Robbe’s. Robbe would do anything to make that smile stay on his face. “I sometimes forget how young you are.”

It’s a joke, an attempt to brush off the seriousness of what happened, but Robbe doesn’t let it phase him. He knew what he had witnessed in front of him. But, he was also aware that Sander didn’t want to talk about it and Robbe wasn’t going to bring it up unless he wanted him to. So, Robbe laughed, pretending to be offended before he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Sander’s.

Robbe tried to pour into the kiss that he was here should Sander ever need to talk. The blond was receptive of the kiss, pressing his lips back against Robbe’s, oblivious of the brunet shifting upward and moving until his legs were on either side of his hips and their lips disconnected so Robbe could fully turn around and straddle him.

Sander’s eyes watched him, playful and secretive, but he was laughing as Robbe settled on his hips and ran his hands along the length of his chest, feeling every muscle beneath the thin fabric of his David Bowie shirt. So, Robbe could deal with that for now, file the incident away for later when Sander was a bit more receptive to talking about whatever it was. “Woah, what are you planning?” Sander questioned, an inquisitive look in his green eyes as his hands gripped Robbe’s waist.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Robbe replied, settling down against his hips and swallowing Sander’s groan as he kissed him again.

…

Sander’s kisses were intoxicating.

Robbe already had a basic idea about how intoxicating they were last night. Sander had dropped him off at his apartment and gave him one long goodnight kiss that was meant to satisfy both of them until after Robbe’s test and plans with Yasmina. But, Robbe wasn’t satisfied, pulling him beneath the shadows of a tree for nearly thirty minutes, relishing in Sander’s kisses and being wound up in his arms, until they literally had to pull themselves apart. Sander had been worried that he waited too long, but his hair remained the pristine bleach-blond that it had been before their pool fiasco.

(Which was good because Robbe would’ve felt really guilty.)

But, now, lying on the bed with the movie long forgotten, his kisses were on a different level.

Maybe it was because they were in the safety and security of Sander’s room, unable to be bothered by random strangers walking by, or maybe it was because they had all the time in the world now, but Sander’s kisses were more heated than they had been last night. His lips pressed a little harder, his tongue slipped into Robbe’s mouth with more fever, and his body weight on top of Robbe’s made his head spin a little faster. Each kiss melted into the next and into the next and into the next, moving and melding together like one cohesive long kiss that made Robbe’s entire world shift on a new axis.

Sander’s hands slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt, his fingers tracing the muscles and defined abs of Robbe’s torso. Then, his hands moved upward, taking the shirt with him until it was up to their chins. Sander separated the minimum distance enough to get the fabric over Robbe’s head before his lips are back against his own, attacking his lips with much more intention than before. Robbe reached for the hem of Sander’s David Bowie shirt, pulling it up to his shoulders. As Sander separated their lips to slip it off, Robbe let his hand roam across the other’s bare chest, his finger finding the outline of black ink on his chest.

Located directly over his heart, the prominent, beautiful tattoo depicted a wolf. It looked so lifelike that Robbe wondered if he could pass it off as having been screen printed onto his skin. The wolf stared at Robbe, fierce and protective of Sander and his heart. Robbe glanced up to Sander, who was watching him closely, before reaching out to touch the tattoo gently, running his fingertips over the skin. As the tip of Robbe’s finger felt a bump amongst the tattoo, along the wolf’s face, Sander’s hand was on Robbe’s chin forcing him to look up and colliding their lips together again.

Robbe breathed deeply into the kiss, opening his mouth without Sander needing to ask. Sander reached for Robbe’s right hand, interlocking their fingers together and pinning it against the sheets of the bed. Robbe clung to his hand like a lifeline, feeling his stomach flip as Sander squeezed back. Robbe hooked his hand against Sander’s shoulder blade and his ankles on the backs of Sander’s knees, squeezing Sander’s waist with his thighs. The blond’s hand was on his chest and he dragged his lips from against Robbe’s, down the curve of his jawline, drawing a path to his throat and-

One of their phones gave a shrill ring.

Sander pulled back, letting out a deep, resigned sigh, as he dropped his head against the pillow that Robbe was half-lying on, grumbling beneath his breath. Robbe pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple and Sander leaned against his lip for half a moment before he started to sit up, twisting away from Robbe. The loss of Sander’s skin on his was too much, Robbe realized how cold the room was. He reached out to grab at Sander’s shoulder, pulling himself up from the bed.

Without thinking, Robbe scooted closer to where Sander had gone, perched on the edge of the bed. Robbe opened his legs, flanking Sander’s own legs. If Sander minded, he didn’t say anything. Robbe wrapped his arms around Sander’s chest, pulling him lightly against him, and pressed a kiss against the exposed flesh of Sander’s shoulder before resting his cheek against his flesh.

It was only when Sander lets out a frustrated sigh that Robbe glanced down at the phone.

Britt

There were several messages above it, full of angry texts back and forth, but Robbe doesn’t try to figure out the message that they hold, only spotting the red-faced emojis from Britt. He didn’t want to invade Sander’s privacy more than he already had. “I’m going to get some water,” Robbe mumbled, reluctantly detaching himself from Sander’s back and climbing off the bed. As Robbe left the bedroom, he bent down, fetching his shirt from the floor and slipping it on as he walked down the hallway.

By the time that Sander joined him in the kitchen, the blond had put his shirt back on as well. Robbe had a glass of water in his hands and his eyes were trained on the rim of the glass, having barely taken a sip of what he had gotten. Sander stepped around the kitchen counter, leaning against it with one hip and staring at Robbe. “Hey,” Sander spoke, his voice soft as he tilted Robbe’s chin up so he was forced to look at Sander’s big, confused green eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Robbe swallowed, the question knawing at the back of his head. “Why does Britt still think you’re dating?” he whispered.

“Because she’s controlling and can’t come to terms with the fact that I don’t want her,” Sander replied, instantaneous and direct. His eyes were on Robbe the entire time and that made the brunet feel like he should hide, or apologize, for doubting him. Sander reached out, taking the glass of water from his hand and placing it on the sink, before taking Robbe’s face in his hands. “She thinks that she’s the only one who can be there for me and that I’ll come crawling back to her when I need her, but I’m not.”

Robbe swallowed, leaning forward to press his forehead against Sander’s, wrapping his arms around the other man’s shoulders.

“Robbe,” Sander whispered. “Look at me.” Robbe glanced up at him, his brown eyes finding determined green eyes that were boring into his own. Sander’s thumbs trailed across his cheeks before he was placing a fleeting kiss to Robbe’s lips. “Maybe there’s a universe out there where that Sander is with that Britt, but that isn’t this one. Britt is history, okay?” Sander spoke, his voice determined and precise. “We’re the future.”

Robbe smiled, angling his face to kiss Sander again.

The blond grinned, wrapping his arms around Robbe to pull him closer, but then he halted, inches from Robbe’s lips. Robbe opened his eyes, realizing that Sander was staring at him with a smug look on his face, and let out an involuntary groan. Still on brand. “Hold on a second,” he spoke, untangling himself from Robbe’s arms and rushing off to the art room.

“Sander,” Robbe breathed out, reaching out to grab his water and take another drink.

Sander returned with his hands behind his back. “Put the drink back down,” Sander ordered. Robbe gave him a look and placed the glass back down on the counter, turning towards Sander who stepped around the counter. “Don’t freak out,” the blond whispered, reaching out to hand him a sheet of paper.

Robbe took it gingerly in his hands and stared down at the sketch on it. It was him. The sketch depicted a large heart-shaped hole with Robbe in the center. It was a beautiful sketch, one that didn’t even seem like it was him, but he felt his own heart swell in his chest. Was this how Sander saw him?

“Is this how you see me?” Robbe questioned.

Sander nodded his head, reaching out to wrap his arms around Robbe’s shoulders. He brought him against his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of Robbe’s head. “I got the idea this afternoon when you told me about Chernobyl,” Sander admitted. “I was already drawing you so it ended up working out. And, it’s not finished quite yet, but imagine it on a big wall with all these intense colors.”

Robbe twisted in Sander’s arms, cradling his head and pressing his lips against Sander’s own. It was hard to kiss with the way that Robbe was smiling from ear-to-ear, but they managed. Sander’s hands dropped down to Robbe’s waist, fisting the fabric that bunched up there, and Robbe pulled him impossibly closer, letting Sander press him against the counter.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

Sander tensed against him, nervously eyeing the door. Robbe opened his mouth to speak, but Sander shook his head, raising his hand up to press a hand against his mouth to prevent him from asking. The blond moved towards the door, stepping up against it to glance at who was outside. After a few moments, Sander let out a relieved sigh, opening the door and fishing out his wallet.

“Keep the change,” he told whoever was at the door before taking a pizza box from him. Once the pizza delivery man stepped away, Sander closed the door, swiftly locking it behind him. “I hope you like pepperoni,” the blond beamed, moving to the kitchen and placing a lingering kiss again Robbe’s lips.

But, even as Robbe kissed him back, reaching up to place his hands on Sander’s chest, he could tell that the blonde was still tense. “Is everything okay?” Robbe questioned, rubbing gently at his shoulders.

“Of course,” Sander spoke, giving him another kiss as he placed the pizza on an open spot of the kitchen counter. Sander’s hands returned to Robbe’s waist, snaking around to pull the smaller man against his chest, and Robbe laughed, snuggling into his chest. “I’ve got a handsome man in my arms,” he spoke, tilting Robbe’s head up so he could kiss him. Sander backed him up against the counter, using his hips to lock him in place, “and, a large pepperoni pizza.”

He placed a long kiss against Robbe’s lips, needier than the one before, and the latter whined when their lips separated again. “What more could I ask for?”

It’s another deflection, but Robbe let him, tilting his head up and greedily accepting Sander’s next kiss. “You know,” Robbe started. Sander glanced down at him, his bright green eyes seemed a little sad, and Robbe wanted nothing more than to kiss the sadness away. “I’m always here when you want to talk.”

Sander smiled, a small sad smile. “I know, Robbe.”

Then, they’re kissing again.

…

The iron gate shut behind him, locking in place. With one final pat-down to confirm that he had gotten all of his belongings, Robbe moved to his bike which was locked against the bike rack. After finding his own, he bent over, twisting the combination to fit his mother’s birthday, and unlocking it with a simple tug. As he wound up the lock and slipped it into his bag, he heard the sound of his own name being called out.

He turned, expecting to find Sander with something that he had inevitably forgotten about.

But, it wasn’t.

“Nick?” Robbe questioned.

There was a reason that Robbe had fallen so hard and so quickly for the black-haired man that approached him all those years ago. Even in the dimly lit street outside of the apartment complex, Nick still managed to be as handsome as he was all those years ago, back when Robbe was questioning his sexuality. He felt like throat run dry with guilt, the words that Robbe had thrown at him running through his head, bouncing around in his head as though he had just said the words yesterday.

“Hey,” Nick replied, a soft grin forming on his expression, lighting up his brown eyes.

Robbe bit down on his lip. “What are you doing here?”

Nick pointed towards the apartment complex, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I live here.”

“Oh,” Robbe exhaled.

“What are you doing here?” Nick questioned, taking a step towards him.

Robbe scratched behind his ear, avoiding Nick’s questionable gaze. “I was meeting someone,” Robbe mumbled.

“Oh,” Nick exhaled, a small grin on his face. Robbe spotted the quick look of grief that ghosted over his features. The brunet felt the pang of regret in his chest, that he had been the one to spit those words at Nick when he had given Robbe the only kiss that ever truly mattered at the time. The man stepped towards the iron gate, digging his keys out of his pockets and avoiding his gaze. “I’m glad that you managed to get past whatever was holding you back.”

“Nick,” Robbe spoke up, stepping towards him.

The man stopped, turning to stare at Robbe.

“I know that there’s absolutely nothing that I could ever do to change what I said to you and what I accused you of when you were just trying to figure out what was going on with me,” Robbe spoke, swallowing nervously as he glanced around the dimly lit road. “But, I just want you to know that I really am sorry. I was stupid and I was scared and absolutely terrified of what I was feeling. I took it out on you because it was easier to believe that was what happened than the fact that I liked guys.”

Nick turned towards him, sticking his free hand back in his pocket and staring at Robbe.

“I took it out on you because I thought that maybe you were the only guy I liked and you were the cause of it all. But, you weren’t. I liked guys well before you and that terrified me. You didn’t deserve any of what I did to you,” Robbe spoke, trying to keep his voice steady and firm. He didn’t realize how much he had kept bottled up about this, about Nick and what he had done to Nick. He had always deserved better than Robbe could’ve offered him at the time. “So, I’m sorry.”

Nick breathed.

“I know,” Nick replied. His hand that was still gripping on the iron bar of the gate dropped to rest against his side. Robbe blinked up at him, confused, as the black-haired man turned fully to stare at him. “Robbe,” he started, “You didn’t have to tell me sorry for me to know that you were. I could tell from the moment that you said the words, but that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t angry that you said what you said.”

“I know,” Robbe replied. “You have every right to be angry at me, to still be angry at me.” He bit down on his lip, looking down at his feet. “Once I talked with my friend and I realized how much I had fucked it all up, I tried to reach out to talk to you, but you had blocked me which I don’t blame you. At all.”

“Robbe,” Nick spoke up, stepping toward Robbe and effectively cutting him off. “I’m not angry at you for what you said. Not anymore at least. I spent far too long being angry at what you said and it consumed me and it wasn’t healthy. Once I let go of that anger that was holding me back, I was able to see that you were scared and that you were lashing out. But, that’s on you.”

“I know,” Robbe replied, hanging his head. “I’m still sorry though.”

Nick smiled. “I know,” Nick replied. “Maybe, at the moment, you didn’t mean to say it and that won’t change the fact that you did say those things. But, I know that you had probably internalized a lot of what your friends were joking around with, right?”

“Yeah,” Robbe replied, scratching behind his ear. “But, that doesn’t make it right.”

“You’re right,” Nick spoke, digging his hands back in his pockets. “It doesn’t make it right. But, I think both of us are acutely aware of that fact. If we keep living our lives based on something that happened years ago, all we’re going to end up doing is going in circles. So, the only thing that either one of us can really do Robbe is to remind yourself that what you said was wrong and never say that to anyone else again or else all you’re going to end up doing is drag yourself down.”

“Yeah,” Robbe mumbled. “I’m never going to say that to anyone else again and I shouldn’t have said it the first time.” Nick smiled. “Are you dating anyone?” Robbe questioned. He wanted to make sure that the man that he had hurt so much had been able to move on, find someone who wouldn’t say those words to him, and find the person that he deserved to find.

“I was, his name was Owen,” Nick admitted. “We had been dating for almost two years and broke up a couple of months ago. It just wasn’t right, you know?” Robbe did know. All of Robbe’s past relationships made him feel nearly as much as he did for Sander, Nick included. “I’m not really on the dating scene quite yet,” he admitted.

“Take your time,” Robbe replied. “You deserve it.”

Nick grinned. “Yeah, well, I hope that your,” he gestured towards the iron gate and Robbe laughed, thinking of Sander and his platinum blonde hair and heated kisses, “ends up working out for you. You deserve to be happy too. We should meet up, have a beer, catch up. You can always bring Jens and the guys. I miss hanging around them too even if our time together was brief.”

“Alright,” Robbe replied, grabbing ahold of his bike and placing it on the curb. “Thank you, Nick.”

“Have a good night, Robbe,” Nick spoke, disappearing into the shadows of the courtyard with the iron gate swinging shut behind him.

…

“Oh, you’re finally home. Where have you been, mister?”

While Jens was one of his best friends in the entire world, Robbe felt like the older man had regressed to treat him like a little brother in the years since Jens had moved out of his house. Despite the fact that Jens regularly (repeatedly) was out of the house out late or missed parties in favor of being with Lucas, the man walked into the foyer with his arms crossed and looking every bit like a disapproving older brother.

“Have you been out with your boyfriend?”

Robbe blinked, furrowing his eyebrows and getting strange flashbacks to Senne, “Uh…”

“I knew it!” Jens shouted.

“Jens,” Noor’s voice came from the kitchens. Robbe stepped towards the kitchen, searching out the woman who had long since become one of his closest friends. He found the black-haired woman sitting at the dining room table with a cup of tea, dressed in pajama pants and one of Moyo’s old shirts that she had long since claimed as her own. “You know that Moyo is meeting his mom in the morning, right?”

“Oh, sorry Moyo,” Jens whispered in the direction of Moyo’s room. There’s a muffled groan. “But, no seriously,” Jens spoke, turning back to Robbe, who sat down at the table with Noor. “Who is he? What does he do and when are we all going to meet him?”

“Who are you? My dad?”

Noor scoffed, nearly spitting tea out over the counter.

“Who is he? Is he nice? Are you being safe?”

“Need to be having sex to be playing it safe. What’s with the two-hundred questions?” Robbe countered.

“Why are you responding to all my questions with more questions?” Jens replied, his eyes narrowing at Robbe, who raised an eyebrow.

A moment later, Lucas came padding into the room, glaring at the back of Jens’ head. “Is this really why you left me in bed all by myself?” Jens paled, quickly moving to pepper kisses down the side of Lucas’ face. “You are going to have to better than that, Stoffels.” Jens pushed him back in the direction of the former’s bedroom and Lucas gave Robbe a wink over his shoulder.

Robbe was thankful.

He did not want to deal with Jens and his two-hundred questions.

“Is it serious?” Noor questioned, leaning towards him and taking a sip of her drink.

Robbe sucked in a breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I want it to be. But… I don’t know. I think he’s holding something back. I don’t think it’s anything bad like a girlfriend or boyfriend or something like that, but it’s something that he wants to keep a secret from me.”

Noor nodded her head, rubbing his shoulder and kissing his cheek as she stood up from the table to place her cup in the sink. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Noor replied. “But, you like him right?”

Robbe nodded his head. He didn’t need to think about that one.

“Then, it’s all going to work out,” she spoke. “Just give him space to think on his own. He’ll come and talk to you whenever he’s ready. If you rush it, that will only result in him pushing you away.” Robbe nodded his head, moving to stand up. Noor met him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. “Goodnight, Robbe. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Noor,” Robbe spoke, moving towards his room. Once he was inside, he dropped his bag off by the door, quickly changed his jeans for sweats, and climbed into bed. He barely managed to fire off an I made it safely home. Roommate gave me 200 questions. Goodnight text to Sander before his eyes were drooping and he was out.

In the morning, he woke up to shouts from his roommates and found:

Goodnight, angel. Sleep well.

…

The hospital had looked the same as when Robbe used to visit his mother in high school.

The receptionist was different, of course, her dark-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail on the back of her head, her black-framed glasses on her nose. She glanced up at Robbe with slight indifference, but the student spotted a textbook sitting out to her right. Oh, he thought, she was stressed about school too. When Robbe had asked what room his mom was in, the girl beamed, seeming a little bit happier, and proceeded to gush about how his mother had made sure that she keep to her studies, making sure that the receptionist took breaks so to not overwhelm her.

Robbe had smiled.

That sounded like his mother.

Luckily, his mother’s room wasn’t far, down the hallway and around the corner. By the time that Robbe had found her, his mother was standing outside her room, talking to one of the nurses that stood outside of her door about her pregnancy. The nurse in question looked like she was due any day now. Robbe smiled as he approached the two women, catching the tail end of the conversation, “-and I had cravings with Robbe up until the moment that I went into labor.”

Robbe reached out, touching his mother’s shoulder. The woman turned towards him in surprise, beaming up at him.

Marine IJzermans beamed at him, grinning from ear-to-ear in a smile that lights up her entire face. Between his parents, Robbe had gotten the majority of his features from his mother. He had gotten her narrow face, slender frame, and her nose. Another thing that he got from her was her brown hair. His mother’s hair was long, cascading past her shoulder blades when down. Currently, it was trapped up in a ponytail which was messy and slightly lopsided. Her hazel eyes twinkled at him as she gripped onto him tightly.

“Robbe!” she practically exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him tightly. “You made it!”

“Of course, Mama,” Robbe replied. “I told you I was coming.”

His mother looked bashful, pushing back a strand of her hair. “I know, I know, but I know that you’ve been stressed with school and projects. I didn’t know if you were going to be staying at home to study a little bit more.” Suddenly remembering that she had been in a conversation, the woman quickly turned back to the nurse, “Just make sure you take care of yourself, Emilie. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

“Thank you,” Emilie replied, beaming. “I’ll let you two catch up. It’s so wonderful to meet you, Robbe. Your mother talks a lot about you.”

His mother smiled, grabbing his arm and guiding him into her room.

Her room was simple. There was a single bed that was pushed up against the wall, the sheets messily folded along the corners, and her pillows haphazardly placed against the headboard. There were two notebooks on her nightstand that she seemed to be messing with endlessly. One was for her ideas, what she wanted to do with the swirling thoughts in her head, and the other was a journal that her group sessions always kept. Robbe knew that his mother never shared out her entries, but she always kept them close in case she needed them.

“You look stressed, sweetheart,” his mother noted, reaching up to press the back of her hand against his forehead.

Robbe laughed. When Robbe had gone to see Sander on Friday, the man had commented the same thing before proceeding to press kisses along Robbe’s repeated frown lines until he was giggling. “It’s just school work,” Robbe replied, running a hand through his hair. “Yasmina and I have a project coming up in one of our classes that has an essay and presentation component to it. It’s not due for another month though.”

“Sounds frightening,” his mother commented. “But, I know that you and Yasmina will get through it together. You guys always have before. I’m surprised that your teachers still let you be project partners.”

Robbe laughed.

“So, how are the rest of your classes been going? Have you made any new friends?”

“Uh,” Robbe started, but before he could even figure out what he was going to say, his phone rang shrilly in his back pocket. Robbe dug it out of his pocket, spotting the notification from Messages, and hurried moved to silence it.

“Do you need to get that, sweetheart?” his mother questioned.

“No,” Robbe replied, slipping his phone in his backpack where he would be less tempted to check it. Right now, he was his time with his mom. No phones, no friends, nothing. His roommates were already aware that he was here. They knew that their messages wouldn’t be read until Robbe left the hospital. “The boys know that I’m with you so it isn’t important.”

“Are you sure?” his mother replied. “You know that I don’t mind…”

“Mom,” Robbe spoke up. “It’s okay. They can wait a couple of hours.”

His mother listened intently as Robbe explained what he was learning in his classes. He could see the clouded look in her eyes like she couldn’t quite understand the topic of his Thursday morning class, but he could see that she was trying and listening intently, eagerly pressing Robbe to talk about it more. He told her about Sander, leaving out some of the finer details of how they got together (his mother did not need to know about him skinny-dipping in a pool that they broke into and fleeing from the nightguard), about how Robbe was worried about him and his reactions, and his mother had told him the same thing that Noor had.

“Give him time,” his mother had advised, leaning against her headboard as they shared the dinners the nurses had brought them. “If he wants to talk about it, then he’ll talk about it. There’s no reason to try and push for an explanation that he isn’t willing to give.”

“I know,” Robbe had supplied. “I just… I want to help him.”

His mother had smiled, reaching out to cup his face. “You’ve always had a gentle heart, Robbe.”

It’s only hours later when his mother’s medicine kicked in and she started to get sleepy that Robbe started to consider pulling out his phone. However, he decided against it, talking more about Yasmina’s boyfriend, who would show up between classes with coffee for Yasmina, had started regularly showing up with Robbe’s normal coffee order after Yasmina asked him to pick it up for Robbe after a tough day in class. His mother was dedicated, listening to the story for as long as she could.

But, in the end, she slipped into sleep, her breath evening out and her eyes closing. Robbe smiled, standing up to pull her blanket up around her. She snuggled into it and Robbe left a quick note for her, pinning it on the top of her notebook, before flipping off the light and leaving the apartment. Robbe left the hospital, wishing the receptionist good luck on her test and getting a grin in response. It’s only after he arrives at his bike that he remembers the text message, pulling out his phone.

His eyes found Sander’s name on the screen, sliding it open with ease, and he’s halfway through thinking about his response before his message registers in his brain.

Hey Robbe, I’m sorry but things are moving too fast. I need to take a break. I’m sorry. Forgive me.

When he gets home, trudging through the living room and making a beeline for his bedroom, his roommates noticed the change in his mood. But, no one can get out a word to question about Robbe’s depressed mood before the man was safely locked in his bedroom, throwing his backpack to the ground (and knocking over his skateboard in the process), discarding his clothes (save his briefs) onto his desk chair, and climbing into the bed, wrapping his sheets around him like a cacoon.

Finally, Jens knocked on the door. “Did something happen with your mom?”

Robbe blinked back the tears that he hadn’t formally registered against his cheeks. “No,” he replied, his voice soft and muffled by the sheets wrapped around him. He could tell that Jens was going to say something else, to ask another question. “Jens. I just need some time. Please?”

Jens was quiet. “Okay, but you know we’re always here for you, Robbe,” the black-haired man spoke. The man hesitated at the door, his shadow barely visible from the crack under the door. But, the man eventually moved off, back to the living room and leaving Robbe alone, silent, confused tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

He got an Instagram notification.

earthlingoddity has added to his story

It was a completely black photo with a simple message for the world to see, spelled out in bold white letters across the screen.

I’m sorry.

#wtfock #wtfock fic #my fic #sobbe fic #rosander fic #robbe x sander #sobbe #rosander #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #unattainable fic

36 notes · View notes