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twh-news · 3 years

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Interview: Makeup Artist Douglas Noe on Loki’s Looks Through the Years & Creating Anew for ‘Loki’ [EXCLUSIVE]

Douglas Noe has been in Hollywood for three decades. An award-winning makeup artist, he’s worked on projects such as World War Z, Planet of the Apes, Spider-Man 3, I Saw the Light, and Birth of a Nation. On top of these impressive credits, he’s also been Tom Hiddleston’s personal makeup artist since joining the MCU in The Avengers, designing all of the looks for Loki’s subsequent appearances.

Noe has been nominated for three Emmys with one win, and five Makeup Artist and Hairstylist (MUAHS) Awards resulting in two MUAHS awards. His skills include creating making natural and period looks, prosthetics, hair, and tattoos.

Along with being the head of the makeup department for the most recent Disney+ series Loki, Noe is also creating looks for the new Netflix comedy series True Story starring Kevin Hart and Wesley Snipes.

We had a chance to chat with Douglas Noe about his work on Loki, The Avengers, the incomparable value of teamwork on set, and most importantly, Richard E. Grant.

Nerds and Beyond: So you started your Marvel journey with The Avengers, but what drew you to your field in the first place? And how did you get your start?

Douglas Noe: Star Wars was a huge influence to me as a young boy, both sketching and drawing, and a little bit of sculpting but not much. Cut to 1983, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” comes out and I find a magazine called Fangoria on the newsstands where I can order blood and wax and pencils and fake hair. So, I started playing with these things. I was also taken with the horror movie craze that was happening in the early 80s — Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th, and others, obviously.

In High School, in 1984, I joined choir thinking I would get an easy credit, but my voice had not changed. So the choral instructor had been waiting for a boy soprano to do a theatrical opera presentation. So with that I sang the lead, I quit choir after that, because my peers were merciless, but, I learned the world of theatrical makeup which I hadn’t been introduced to.

I did years of theater. I went to a performing arts high school — it’s called Fort Hayes School for the Performing Arts in Columbus, Ohio — graduated, went to beauty school, and continued working in Ohio doing industrial, commercial, theater, and opera [makeup]. Worked for Maybelline and Revlon, got restless, worked in Cincinnati on my first film in the summer of 1990, it was July so 31 years ago, A Rage in Harlem. And my boss said you come to Los Angeles, I’ll make sure you get on your feet.

Nerds and Beyond: So you mentioned that it’s been about 31 years since your career started, what’s changed over the course of those 30 years in your field?

Douglas: How much time do we have? I’d say the biggest, biggest change would probably be the way we make these things now. Although another large change, more specific, would be the materials that we use. There’s a constant evolution and reinvention of almost all aspects of the materials that a makeup artist uses. That said, I have to shine a light on the way we do things now with the onset of digital and digital cameras. Shooting on film now has almost completely fallen by the wayside. Film was very forgiving, quite frankly, and now it’s not so forgiving. And because of that, the bar has been raised. The wonderful thing about this journey is watching my peers just get better and better and better, my colleagues rising to meet the challenge of not having anything to hide from with this new way we make films.

Nerds and Beyond: So, sometimes you kind of throw prosthetics to the wayside in favor of a more traditional makeup. How do you make that decision on which one to go with?

Douglas: That’s an excellent question. The decision is based purely on what are we going to see. That’s where I start, what is the lighting? I have a conversation with the director of photography and I find out what is the dynamic. Obviously, I know from the script whether it’s an interior or exterior, or if we’re exterior but we’re going to be on a stage, if it’s day or night. These variables all play into my decision as to whether or not I should rely on my theatrical experience and ability to paint 2D to appear 3D, or go ahead and make small prosthetics and put them where I need to put them and use actual prosthetics in lieu of paint.

That has everything to do with lighting, locations, logistics, and because most of his [Loki’s] wounds appear on his arm and some on his face in the Void, it’s all very moody and very dark. And again, the theatrical quality of the paint is not going to be altered by the changing light, it’s just going to react the same way the rest of the face is going to react. It’s purple light, it’s going to make everything have a purple hue. There was no accounting for any correction that didn’t need to be done. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. It’s real.

Nerds and Beyond: So, you did make up for not only Tom on Loki, but you helped plan out the looks for everybody?

Douglas: Yes, what I do is I surround myself with strong talent. It’s all about team. I designed Wunmi Mosaku, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Sophia DiMartino, and Tom [Hiddleston]. Regarding the rest of it, Neil Ellis, both Dennis Liddiard and I, added to the elements of his scars and wounds, which you would only see in close-ups.

The rest of it, the parameters are set — Blade Runner to Mad Men — and stay in those confines. And obviously, I choose color palettes for the women and there are parameters set for the men, but then it’s about team. I’m a big one on a team and not putting my thumbprints on other people’s work, but rather build other people up so they feel like they own what they’re doing.

My team consists of artists that also have stronger resumes and quite frankly, skills that exceed mine. It’s the mutual trust that allows us to keep a high level of artistic integrity in every aspect of the job. It also means I get the very best from my team, and it shows on the screen.

So, I didn’t have every look in my hand. Dennis Liddiard designed the Mobius character and I had Ned Neidhardt run with Gugu and turn up the volume on some of the elements that she already possesses that we can play with. Her eyes and lips, I think Ned turned the volume on both. And because we’re shooting in order, it’s a progression in the makeup you did.

Nerds and Beyond: When it came to Sylvie and Loki, when you when you’re doing those, did you try to kind of plan them both to have any similar things to give them a Loki look?

Douglas: It’s a fair question, but the answer is no. So again, I think the characteristics and traits that were going to be similar among them, aside from wardrobe and costume hints, were all character driven. And I did nothing with the makeup and hair to try to make them look or even closely resemble each other.

Nerds and Beyond: I want to kind of back up a little bit to Tom in the first Avengers film. That was by far one of his most standout looks. Can you tell me anything about what went into the creation of that absolutely tormented, haunted look that he had throughout that entire movie?

Douglas: Yeah, and that’s probably one of the elements that, because the character has evolved, we kind of left with Avengers because by the end of Avengers, and we carried it into Endgame, he does have a bit of an edgier look in Avengers, and not many people pick up on it. But the reality is he’s a little sculpted in Avengers.

I remember sculpting his cheekbones and temples, and doing a little play on his forehead for when he’s in the cell on the Helicarrier carrier with all that overhead lighting. I did like a little devil horn shadow, which is so subtle. The only person who’s going to notice is anybody who looks back at it and having read this and knows what to look for, but it is so nuanced and so subtle. And that’s the only place I think we did that. But the rest of him is very much chiseled and sculpted, but it’s a light touch.

And I think, again, as he evolved through the Marvel Universe and into the other movies that was something that was easy to leave behind, because I think that look played directly into his evil desire to rule over Earth. We rested that design element with that storyline.

Nerds and Beyond: It’s very clear too and I’ve always loved looking at that, because I’m a huge fan of the character. I’ve always loved kind of comparing how he looked in that movie to the rest of them.

Douglas: You’re on to me!

Nerds and Beyond: I’m not! I swear [laughs] So, what’s your best method for making the actors comfortable in the makeup chair? And with the final outcome?

Douglas: It’s dialogue; listening, talking to them, talking to their representation, whether it be an agent or a manager, and doing my homework and doing my due diligence to find out what’s going to make them comfortable the moment they walk through the door. I do my homework on them. It’s not just IMDb, it’s an internet search. So, I spend some time on the web and find out who these folks are, and if I find out, for example, they’re not one that likes to talk a lot, well, the writing’s on the wall, we’re not going to talk a lot, we’ll cut to the chase and get to the point. But also, it’s about building a rapport and building a relationship. Also, knowing that, I’ve said this in previous discussions, knowing it’s necessary to get out of the way.

Like if, for example, I’m not a proper fit for somebody, I have to be plugged in, I have to be aware enough to understand that it may not be working before somebody says to me, “Hey, this isn’t gonna work.” So it’s just about being open, especially as Tom’s personal on these projects and running the department, knowing that I don’t get to do everybody. I don’t get to put my thumbprint on other people’s work. Because not only is that disrespectful, it’s very often unnecessary, because I hire good people. I hire contemporaries and peers. Truly, you’re only as good as your weakest crew member. I surround myself with good people.

So, take Owen Wilson, for example, it would have been wonderful to do Owen’s makeup, but there were times when he was not going to be shooting with Tom and I was going to need to be ready for Tom or available to Tom, so it didn’t make sense. So I never touched Owen, I had Dennis Liddiard design that look and run with it. And then Ned Neidhardt took over that look when Dennis had to depart. That’s just one example of not trying to do everything.

Another one was the Classic Loki. I wanted to do Richard E. Grant’s [makeup] so bad, I can’t even tell you. I’ve been a huge fan since 1987. I wanted so badly to bring that full circle, didn’t make sense. It just didn’t make sense. So again, I never touched him. It wasn’t necessary. Ned was always there. And I think the same thing happened to me on Ragnarok reshoots, which I ran in Atlanta again with Dennis Liddiard. I wanted so badly to do Sir Anthony Hopkins makeup, but it didn’t make sense. So I was happy to hand it off to Bill Myer.

Nerds and Beyond: Oh man, I loved Richard E. Grant in this show so much.

Douglas: He’s amazing.

Nerds and Beyond: He’s so good!

Douglas: He really is. And he’s that good in person. He’s just so fun and interesting and alluring and attractive. He’s such a wonderful, wonderful person and, of course, a phenomenal actor.

Nerds and Beyond: I was watching little videos that he posted and he just seems like the warmest person.

Douglas: You know, just one last tidbit about Richard Grant is he’s got wonderful stories and as he’s telling them he’ll often stop and pause and just laugh. Just laugh, not for the sake of the stories or for anybody that he’s telling the story to, but because recounting the story brings him true joy. So he’ll stop and embrace that joy. Oh, it’s so wonderful.

Nerds and Beyond: That’s so amazing to hear. What is the most memorable job that you’ve done?

Douglas: The most memorable … That’s a tough one because I have so many fond memories of so many projects. The first Avengers film was memorable because there was a buzz, there was a vibration, a frequency, that was in the air when we were shooting that. We kind of knew we were making something big and something special. I don’t think any of us knew how big or how special it would be, but that certainly is one of the most memorable and most special projects.

I’m pretty good about focusing on the positive aspects of all these things, regardless of how difficult the project may be for whatever reason. The pros always, always heavily outweigh the cons, but I have a lot of wonderful, memorable experiences. Another one, it’s the polar opposite only because of the conditions in which we shot, but Birth of the Nation was one of the most memorable and exceptional experiences of my career. I was on the wrong side of 40, had 25 years of experience, and had still never worked so hard in my entire life. We did a 50-day shoot in 27 days. So proud of the work we did.

It was 100 degrees with 99 percent humidity, we shot it in the summer in Georgia, in Savannah, so it was hot, humid, and just getting the makeup necessary to be on individuals to stay put was its own challenge. And then the other challenges only added to that. But Nate Parker, the director, writer, producer, and lead actor, he is a special human being. And he was inspiring from start to finish. Usually, the first people in are the teamsters, transport department, and usually I’m second. He beat me in almost every single day. He’s in three hours before he needs to be. That was a very special experience.

Nerds and Beyond: Finally, are you excited about the news of Loki Season 2?

Douglas: I’m beyond thrilled! I invite being in the dark a little bit, I kind of like surprises and I like not knowing, so I suspected, but hearing the news confirmed, I was thrilled, naturally. What are they going to dream up? This is amazing. How do you top season 1 of Loki? That’s the burning question.

#loki #loki series #douglas noe #interview #article #nerds and beyond

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awilddreamermain · 3 years

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Hi, Chels! Congratulations!! I'm so happy for you! You deserve every follower and more! That is a threat, I'm holding everyone hostage 🔪

I would love to get a MHA matchup, I wanna see who you'd match me with! Got me so curious! SFW & NSFW if you'd be willing!

My name is Chloe but I prefer May, nicknames include May-May, Maybell or Chlo.

I'm 25, pronouns are she/he, Cancer Moon, Aries Sun and Virgo Rising. Quite the weird mash of zodiacs, huh?

My favorite colors are pink (that soft pastel kinda baby pink), red (especially blood/garnet red) and...can I add pink again? Any shade of pink this time. Bubblegum or hot pink.

Favorite AU's include A/B/O, Mafia, Historical, Fantasy and does Mythical Creatures count?

Oh...oh boy, I gotta look deep for some fun facts that aren't just...facts but I'll do my best!

1) My sneezes are so short and high pitched I go "chu".

2) I have vitiligo, makes me look like a dog because it's mostly around my mouth and my right eye so I have a spot!

3) I have atrocious balance, my knees and shins are always banged up because I cannot for the life of me walk correctly.

4) I have a stutter, on top of speaking so quickly it turns into a jumbled mess. So good luck understanding what I said because I have no idea either.

5) I have a growing unicorn plush collection. My favorite is Cupcake, one that's actually taller than I am. Big chunk.

My likes are pretty simple. Cute & soft sweaters, blankets, warm coffee and strawberry milk, pastries and the cold! Winter is my favorite season. History, particularly the Medieval and Victorian times.

My interests revolve around creativity and you could say they're my hobbies as well. Drawing in particular, I used to do digital but I'm stuck with traditional pencil and paper at the moment. I'm dipping my toes into painting and its very fun! Obviously writing and reading and if I'm not doing of those listed then I'm definitely playing video games.

Personality I might say I'm quite split down the middle. At first, to a complete stranger I might come across as cold, stoic, with a resting bitch face, that just wants to get whatever I'm outside for done so I can leave. I'd create a witty or sarcastic comeback if I was given sass by a Karen but with my speech issues? I'd be lucky to get one coherent word out at her...and spend the rest of the day fantasizing what could've happened. So I'm rather quiet, agoraphobia hits hard in large or crowded places so I'm an anxiety riddled mess on the verge of a panic attack. In private or with people that I'm comfortable with? Complete opposite. Happy, bubbly, cracking puns and jokes so get those groan worthy reactions. I try to be the "mom friend" and get over my issues if someone is having it worse, I'll march up to a counter and ask for ketchup if someone wanted it but was too scared to do it themselves. The shoulder to lean and cry on, I'm highly empathetic and understanding, compassionate at times. But I have to actively try and keep myself positive and say good things about myself because I do fall into the pit of self-loathing and hate.

For appearance I'd say I'm average height, pale with white splotches that are inching larger due to my vitiligo, chubby, ashy blonde, blue eyes, button nose. I'd say I'm decently cute? I don't know if I can rate myself.

Okay I know I said I'd be looking into Zodiac compatibility for this but— I literally just screamed internally "KIRISHIMA" when I was reading this. You two would be perfect omg. This Libra king would do anything for you. For this you're an artist and the daughter of a mafia boss :) I like to think of ship names sometimes so like, yours would either be like Eijmay or Mayjirou or Kiriloe— that last one and first are awful I know so lets go with the second? I can't write a proper stutter for the life of me so I tried to keep your dialogue to the minimum.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ Pairing: Eijirou Kirishima

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AU: Mafia

⠀Theme Song: You're The One That I Want - Alex & Sierra

How you meet (his point of view):

⠀⠀The gallery was full of black and white suits, tight, floor length dresses with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses meeting his ears. It was a joyous evening, celebrating the wonderful art work created by the boss's daughter. He had never met her before but he had heard whispers, all good as no one would dare slander the name of their leader's precious little girl. You were the boss's pride and joy, thus he kept you as far away from the darker side of the family business as possible.

⠀⠀Kirishima was still a new hire, a bodyguard of sorts and would consider this his first gig. He had an idea of who he was looking for as he walked further into the mass of people admiring your work but didn't expect what he would eventually come across. You were as far away from the crowd as you possibly could be, guzzling glasses of wine and over all appearing to be a deer in headlights. He couldn't fugure out for the life of him why you seemed so frightened until he watched people approach you to talk, noticing the stutter in your voice when you replied to questions and greetings,your body language telling people to stear clear of you.

⠀⠀So, he did what he was hired to do. "Kindly step away from the lady." He said with a smile, approaching with his large arms crossing over his broad chest as he towered over the guests. They looked at him as if he were a giant shark looking to devour them before scurrying away, leaving the two of you alone. He stood quietly, listening to the voices on the other side of his ear piece as his ruby eyes scanned the area around you. He made sure to not stand so close and avoided in letting his gaze wander.

⠀⠀He couldn't help but admire your skin in quick glances, finding the spot over your eye to be quite adorable. Your silky, ask blonde hair was all dolled up for the event, light make up on your face but not enough to cover the vitiligo. You were stunning and his heart hammered against his chest. So the rumors were true.

⠀⠀You thanked him, voice quiet and careful as you set down your wine glass and clasped your hands together. Out of the corner of his eye he watched you twiddle your thumbs. You didn't want to be here, did you? This obviously wasn't your idea, how could it be? A girl like you, timid as a mouse, didn't want to be surrounded by strangers. "Miss..." He began, thinking carefully because the last thing he wanted to do was piss off the boss and likely get himself killed. But this was his job wasn't it? Making sure you were happy and safe? "Would you like to leave here for a bit? We'll come back of course, but you look like you need some air."

Extra.

He ended up taking you to a drive thru restaurant and got you whatever you wanted, letting you talk about whatever you wanted or sat quietly if you chose not to talk at all If it was quiet in the suv then that was fine too, he just wanted to help you in any way he could. Eventually the silence becomes small talk and then leads to a rather deep conversation about whatever the hell was going on inside that beautiful brain of yours. Kirishima wasn't the smartest man but he wasn't stupid, he wasn't as clueless as most thought he was. You told him how your father made you do this as an attempt to get you out there, to socialize and possibly find a suitor. This was the mafia after all.

The Confession:

⠀⠀It was a tradition now, every Sunday you and Eijirou would go to your favorite café to have coffee and enjoy the early day weather before it got too hot. You sit at the same table, in the same chairs with him facing the door. You get the same drinks and food and just overall enjoy each others company. After that night at the gallery you two became fast friends, which your father obviously had to approve of but thankfully he did. Kirishima was a good man, he's trustworthy and puts you before himself.

⠀⠀The day he approached your father and asked to speak in private was the day he knew he was likely to get thrown in the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean. He has confessed his feelings for you to your old man, who listened intently with a blank face behind his desk. "Sir, I'm in love with your daughter, and with your blessing I'd like to... court her." He was utterly terrified when your father cleared his throat and sighed, shifting where he sat so he could stand and move around the desk. He reached out for a handshake which Kirishima looked up at him with a questioning look.

⠀⠀Your father gave his blessing and now... He just had to tell you, his best friend, that he loved you. God he loved you so much— "Kiri," you interrupted his thoughts, bringing him crashing back to reality," a-are you alright? You seem nervous." He swallowed hard in response but cleared his throat, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

⠀⠀"Oh yeah— definitely." He breathed with a laugh, moving a hand to the back of his neck to scratch. How was he going to say it? "So, uh—" he licked his lips, adjusting himself in his seat multiple times until he groaned and leaned forward. "Fuck, I'm just gonna say it— Maybell, I love you. I have for a long time now and I talked to your father and he said—"

⠀⠀"Said what, Eijirou?" Your eyes widened at his confession and he felt like a complete idiot. Should he had said something to you first? Was this a mistake? What if you didn't feel the same way? God his mind was going to explode—

⠀⠀"That I could... court you. With your permission." You were quick to nod and smile to his surprise, which prompted a grin if his own.

Extra.

Kirishima HAS to be facing the door in any public place you go to. I don't make the rules.

He never let's you walk close to the road, he has to be between you and it at all times when you're walking.

He oders your food and drinks for you when you can't but is there for moral support when you do. He wants you comfortable and happy. He wouldn't ever dare get in your way though, you're a lot stronger and braver than most may think you are.

The Relationship:

⠀⠀On days like this, Kirishima can't help but admire you. He catches himself staring wuite often but he just can't help it. What did he do to deserve such a beautiful partner? He looks at you and all he can think about is how much he loves you and wants to see you smile. He watched you from the kitchen island, leaning against it as you waltz around the kitchen in your pinky fuzzy slippers and one of his shirts that's much, much too big on you. He remembers your surprise when you found his clothing was actually too big on you and how happy you were.

⠀⠀"Maybell?" He hums, adjusting his stance and crossing his arms on the counter. He listened for you to him back in response, a smile on his lips. "You look so cute in my clothes.

⠀⠀You giggled, shaking your head and continued putting the dishes away until Eijirou appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and his forehead coming down on your shoulder. "Need somethin' baby?" You turned your head just slightly, a brow cocked inquisitively. He squeezed you in response, swiftly lifting you and making you squeal. Thankfully you didn't have anything in your hands at the moment. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face, setting you down only to lift you again bridal style.

⠀⠀"I've got all I need right here in my arms." He chuckled and you playfully smacked his chest, letting him carry you to your shared bedroom.

Extra.

TICKLE FIGHTS.

He thinks your sneezes are the cutest thing in the world.

He loves your god awful puns, they crack him up every time.

Adores the fact you're a nurturer, especially with your friends. He thinks you'd make a great mother but if that's something you don't want he respects that.

You take care of everyone, but who takes care of you? Eijirou is always there to be your shoulder to lean and cry on, he's your sound board and is always happy to let you talk about your feelings with him. You're allowed to not be happy and bubbly all the time, he realizes how staying positive all the time can actually do more damage than goof, especially if you bottle everything up.

If on a particular day you're struggling with your speech he's happy to be your voice as well. He understands you better than anyone, even your own father.

Speaking of your father, he can't wait to make Eijirou his son-in-law! He's a good man with a good heart and treats you right, what's not to like?

He has trouble saying no to you and spoils you quite a bit.

The Fights:

...

Extra.

There's nothing, what you say goes and all he can say is "yes dear". He knows better than to argue with you, however when he's right and he knows he is, he finds a way to prove it without making you mad.

The Sex:

⠀⠀"Fuck baby—" he hissed, hands finding your hips and guiding you as you rub yourself on his cock. Your hands are on his thighs and your head is tossed back, giving him the perfect view of your tits. God he loves them, he loves the plush skin of your stomach and your thighs, your ass too, he loved seeing all of you. He was so happy that you allow him this privilege of seeing you, granted you've been dating a while now but still. Your sounds are music to his ears and all he wants is to make more, make you feel so good you're calling his name and making a mess.

He wanted— no, needed, to feel you, to feel inside your warm and wet cunt, to feel it squeeze him and milk him dry. He was quick to flip the two of you over, careful to not hurt you as he did. You gasped and giggled, reaching up to hold his face as he smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He loved your taste, he could go on and on about all the things he loved about you all day if he could. "You want it baby?" You nodded excitedly, lip caught between your teeth. He smirked and reached between the two of you, thick fingers tracing a line between your lips and slipping inside your soaked pussy.

"D-Daddy—" you whine, a slight pout on your lips as your face morphs into one of pleasure. He chuckled, pumping his fingers in and out a few times before removing them and grabbing his cock. He coated it more in your slick, guiding it between tge lips of your cunt before slowly pushing inside, groaning at how tight you are. You squeal of course, gasping for breath because Kirishima is an impressive size, you still struggled to take him sometimes but like a good girl you always managed.

"That's my good girl." He cooed, moving so his forearms were on either side of your head. He gave a couple test thrusts, waiting for you to adjust u til you nodded for him to continue.

Extra.

Terrified of activating his quirk while he's fucking you, but he keeps himself under control.

He loves his hair pulled and he loves to be bitten, he especially likes it when you scratch his back when he hits that good spot.

Eats you out for his pleasure mostly, but for yours as well. He loves when you grind on his face and moan his name when you do it. Speaking of, please sit on his face, he loves that shit. He knows how to be careful of his teeth!

If you have pets they CANNOT be in the same roon when you're doing the do, it's just weird.

He'd happily bend you over in the kitchen and do you right there. Hell, he'll fuck you anywhere you deem suitable.

He likes to do a mixture if praise and degradation with you, and edging and overstimulation is a big go-to. He just loves seeing you squirm under him, hr loves hearing you beg and say you need him.

#dreamer's 800 follower event

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musicfren · 4 years

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tend hearts to bloom (our folly exhumed) part 2

Everything takes time to grow. Some good things take so much longer than you could have ever thought possible, and the best things might never grow at all. All you can do is tend to your garden. Part 2 is HERE y’all. Me and @nottesilhouette have finished part two of our hyper-extended flower metaphor saga :P You can read part 1 here. Happy @felinettenovember y’all! May this post last you a lot longer than 3 days <3

Felix lives in a state of “too cool”: too cool to be friends with the kids at school, too cool to be friends with the teachers and faculty, too cold to be friends with anyone at all. So he’s the last to realize when a new trend finds its feverish way across the school in whispers and muffled laughter behind lockers. Normally, he wouldn’t care-- schoolyard trends are little more than the transient, ephemeral whims of children drifting on the winds of their judgement, but there’s something about the ink that peeks through the sleeves of Kim’s shirt that demands his attention.

“What is that?”

“...are you checking out my muscles, bro?” Kim is genuinely baffled, not a trace of judgement in his tone but clearly trying to slot the puzzle pieces together as to when Felix became someone who cared about brawn, either in himself or anyone else. Still, Kim is nothing if not kind, so he flexes in Felix’s direction to give him a better look.

His sleeves ride up when he does, and Felix brushes his arm over the bulge of Kim’s forearm, which probably doesn’t help the confusion. But the ink is irresistible to Felix. It’s familiar and gorgeous, sharp clean lines on Kim’s skin, and so glossy Felix worries it might smudge. It doesn’t.

There on Kim’s wrist, perfectly framed by his bulging veins, is a comically cute grey dumbbell, and a doodled little snapdragon curled around the handle of the weights.

“Oh, dude, did you mean my tattoo?” Kim is clearly relieved that his perception of Felix can remain intact, and helpfully flexes a little more. This is a much more reasonable thing for someone like Felix to find attractive. “Yeah, I finally caved and got it done, I wasn’t really sure what to get, y’know? I didn’t want to show up there like an idiot with no idea what to say or ask for, but Max told me that she was really good about just listening to you talk about what you liked and working with you to get something nice done. I like Max a lot,” he shares conspiratorially.

Felix nods, as if this makes sense, and wanders away. Show up where? Get what done? Clearly someone was drawing this on Kim. There’s no way he could’ve done it himself; it was on his right wrist and Kim is right handed, but… Felix needed to know. He just didn’t know what to ask, or whether he should ask at all.

But Felix knows how to hold his tongue, how to say the right things and keep himself safe, so he waits three days before ending up in a partner project with Max. Not by design, he plans to insist to anyone asking. No one asks.

They’re listing their skills to decide who’ll take which piece of the project when Felix makes his move. “And you draw, too, right?”

“No?” Max looks flummoxed, and Felix panics immediately.

“Oh, well… I just… you had… Kim-told-me-you-drew-a-dumbbell-for-him!” He rushes the sentence out all in one breath, and Max looks more startled at his explanation than anything else, which sends Felix spiraling even more.

But Max just takes a moment (a way too long moment) to process, and then laughs. “Is that what Kim said? He must’ve explained poorly. Nah, he got it the same place I got this.” And then Max is unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it up enough to show off the robot brushed over his abdomen, adorned with a cheerful amaryllis where its heart would be.

“Where… um, where did you get it?”

“Oh, art room after school! I’m surprised you haven’t seen the line out the door yet, it reaches well past the auditorium and I know you like to practice violin there after school. So, the project?”

Max is too focused on the work to answer anything else after that, and Felix is too afraid to try. But he does know that Alya spends ages in the art room writing up articles for her blog as she waits on Marinette.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask Alya anything, though, because Chloe derails the rest of class bragging about the shopping bags on her bicep and thoroughly avoiding the subject of the creator. Each one of them has an orange lily stamped on it in bold color, and Felix snorts. Fitting, though he’d never say it. Beautiful hatred is the modus operandi that Chloe exists on.

The day after that, he waits until Nino is busy getting lunch to corner her at a lunch table.

“Cool drawing, Alya.” Compliments are good, right? Compliments help people get what they want. And Felix wants, needs to know what this is, because there’s something so familiar, important, the way they’re tagged, and he would know it if he just had one hint, the right clue to fit into this picture--

“Thanks! My girl’s talented, don’tcha think? I love the way she let me match Nino.” She tugs down her collar to show off headphones slashed through with a pencil, and the ball of a group of sycamore flowers dangling off the end of the eraser like a pom pom.

Felix bluescreens. No, no, that’s wrong. That’s not what he’d glimpsed on Nino’s neck, and Alya said they matched, something is wrong.

“Why is that flower there?”

Alya laughs. “Well, every designer’s gotta have her tag, right? She’s a real tattoo artist, tags every piece with a flower she chooses out of nowhere. No one can work out what the pattern is, even when we cross referenced traditional flower meanings, but they’re always gorgeous and fit in so well-- have you seen Juleka’s? You’d hardly even notice, it’s so punk rock.”

Nino’s making his way back and there’s no sycamore pom pom on his pencil, just an aster on the ear of the headphones, and Felix’s mind is whirring too fast to follow but Alya is walking away and the clues are slipping away like sand between his fingers and gripping harder only makes them slip away faster and--

“That’s the wrong flower.”

“What?” Nino startles, absolutely taken aback at this out-of-character greeting. He’s used to Felix being curt, speaking out of context, but this is beyond even Nino’s ability to nod through.

“It should be a marigold, right? Creative, passionate, absolutely driven by your art and the things you love, that’s who you are, why is it an aster?”

“...what??”

Felix can do little more than point. “Alya: sycamore, curious, journalistic drive, asking questions and doing everything she can to know a person so she can take care of them. Max: amaryllis, determined and focused on the work he builds and proud of it when it works because he has every right to be. Kim: snapdragon, strong and gracious and so, so, so protective, because that’s who he is so why is yours an aster?!”

“He deserves to know he’s clever, even if he doesn’t feel it.”

Felix whirls around, and Marinette is standing there clutching her bag to her chest, trembling, but glaring at him from half a foot shorter than where he stands. She’s so strong. She’s so strong, and Felix wonders if she kept marigold for herself. She deserves to, if she wanted it.

Maybe it shows on his face, what he’s thinking, or maybe she’s just always been the kindest person he was ever dumb enough to let go, because her gaze softens, hurt and hopeful in equal, anxious measure. “You remembered.”

“...you made it hard to forget.” The way her face crumples confirms that yep, nope, Felix is an idiot. He scrambles to fix it, take it back, get it right this time no matter who’s watching. “No, no!! Like… unforgettable.” His voice is breathy on that last word, nostalgic for a childhood they barely shared, and it’s wrong and someone’s going to make fun of it but right now just for a second he doesn’t care.

“...oh.”

What people really do make fun of him for is the way he ends up apologizing, for hours, sobbing into her blazer and wiping tears from her cheeks, and still not walking into school with her art on his skin, and Felix doesn’t correct them.

He was right: there’s a marigold inked over her heart like a treasure.

There’s a butterfly inked over his, now, landing on the petals of a geranium, and they’ve talked about now. Butterflies, first of all, can live for years, so that wasn’t even true, and friendships… friendships are like flowers. They take root and they grow, and when the sun hits right their seeds will burst into petal and stem and exist, persist, against every odd and obstacle.

She has no idea how apt that butterfly is. Felix brushes his fingers over a brooch barely visible behind his tie, and feels hope blooming in his chest for the first time in years.

This time, he knows how fragile it is. This time, he vows, he’ll keep the sunlight on it, patch the soil around its roots with fertilizer and keep it safe. This time… he’ll love her the way she deserves to be, the way she wants to be loved, the way he knows he’s allowed to.

#felinete #felinette november #felinette november 2020 #felinette month 2020 #felintte month #miraculous ladybug #PV felix #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #tattoo artist #sneeky sneeky akuma reference #agressive flower metaphors #MusicFrenDoesWords

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aloesarchives · 4 years

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im sorry to hear abt ur situation! take it easy and don’t feel bad for not being able to write or post as much. that being said, do u think u could squeeze in a fluffy gaolang x fem!reader scenario where the reader is an artist and likes to use him as reference for practice? tysm!

Sure thing, Anon! Sorry if it's not as much as I usually write but I hope you enjoy.

Warning: Narrator(aka me) swearing

Having artists block is goddamn terrible. It's been like this for a month and you couldn't take it anymore. No matter how hard you tried to get inspiration, it either was an unfinished project or it wasn't enough to satisfy your artistic nature. The thing about you is you're a well-known artist that does digital but mostly traditional art. You always carry around a sketchbook where ever you go when the thought of drawing comes to mind. Besides doing commissions, you could draw something of your own free will without it looking like a bad art restoration project.

But once you’re you know once you start drawing, you'll finish at least 3 art projects in a span of 3-4days. Now you just need something to get you going, but what should it be?

While you're sitting on the couch with your sketchbook in hand and chewing your pencil/pen, the clicking of the door snapped you out of the whirlpool of thoughts.

Gaolang's home from work

Upon announcing his return, Gaolang makes his way to the living room. Placing down your stuff on the table, you greeted your beloved with a kiss while taking his blazer to be stem later.

“How's work, Gao?”

“The same as usually, nothing too eventful.”

You nod your head and went to grab your stuff from the table. While walking back, the most random but inspirational epiphany came to your mind. Why not use Gaolang as one of your projects? You always used him as a reference and he doesn't mind it as long it wasn't time consuming. You used old videos of Gaolang’s fights for reference for most of your art work and one note you can make out was that he was beautiful in them. Then again, why wouldn’t he be beautiful? Anyway, your brain went into ultra instinct mode and straight started planning out the art piece. You practically spaced out so hard that Gaolang has been calling out your name for the past minute or so. Once your brain calmed down, you were faced directly with the Thai God of War and his chest.

“(Y/N), is everything okay?”

You looked up to make eye contact towards him with soft eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine Gao...”

He raised an eyebrow at your answer indicating that he know there’s more behind your behavior. You sigh as you were there was no point in getting pass him.

“Umm, Gaolang, if it possible if I come watch you train tomorrow? I promise I won’t get in the way of your training since one of your boxing matches is coming up soon.”

Gaolang was going to ask why but after seeing the way your hand grasp your sketchbook, he put two and two together and understood what you were going to say to him. He nods his head before going into your shared bedroom to shower and change into more comfortable clothes.

As the next day rolls in, you’re sitting on a wall bench while watching Gaolang practice and train. Although his primary martial art is boxing, he still does Muay Thai training as it would be foolish to forget it. While sketching, you would occasionally stop yourself and watch his movements and strikes. It was almost mesmerizing to see, from fluid clean kicks to the firm precise strikes. It was beautiful. It was also the way Gaolang’s sweat marbled his muscles and the clear focus in his eyes was something for sore eyes. Besides getting sidetrack, you admitted from time and time again that Muay Thai is a gorgeous Martial Art and sport. After all, being the Thai God of War’s girlfriend made you appreciate the art even more.

By the time he was finished, you already had the sketch completed. Now, it just needs color and the outlining. It took some time but it was worth it, it was finally down. It wasn’t bad either too. You drew Gaolang in one of Muay Thai’s traditional poses and in the background was a roaring tiger that was surrounded by wisps of fire. It was a pretty awesome the more you looked at it. Not a lot of bright colors but the wisps of the flames are an eye catcher. You’ll probably hang it somewhere around the apartment since it looked nice. You asked Gaolang for his opinion, and he said it looks good while kissing your forehead to look at the painting. In return, you hugged his side, slightly snuggling him.

As you stayed like that with Gaolang, you can for sure know your artist block was gone(for now) as other ideas start to spur up in your creative brain. Most of them involved you and Gaolang together. Those heavenly depictions/mythical peaked your interest, along with the domestic ones as well.

Maybe one about your wedding in the near future but that’s on you to decide

#kengan ashura #kengan omega #gaolang wongsawat #kengan ashura × reader

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awkbo0b · 4 years

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Two of a Kind:1

A/N: Hey everyone, I finished Outer Banks on Netflix about a week ago and I fell in love with the Pogues. Mainly JJ. So I after reading some of there really creative writing about JJ x Reader i came across an idea for my own spin off story. the girl in the story will be named Mae Clemonds, this helps my flow with writing. Also this chapter is going to be a bit boring since i need to introduce my characters and give background on them, but once this passes it should be better and will have much more of JJ and the rest of the Pogues!

Now imagine JJ meeting a girl who is so much like him he can hardly stand her, and same goes to the girl. Can you already feel the sexual tension?

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking

As I pack my third suitcase that i have strictly made for my art supplies, I hear a knock at my door. “Hey, Mae, how is it going in here?” I turn to see my mom standing in the doorway, she has dry clay smeared across her forehead, as usual, and her curly ginger hair is somehow managed into a bun on top of her head.

“Oh you know, it’s going. Got all my water colors here,” I say as i point to them in my suit case, “and my notebooks here, and all my brushes, pencils, and pens are in the pocket.” I smile as i close the suit case and zip it up. “Now I am all set.” I glance at the other two large suitcases that are full of clothes and bathroom necessities, then up to meet my mom’s bright blue eyes. “How about you and dad?”

Mom returns a smile, “Good, your farther finished packing this morning and we just finished the piece as planed. Once I am washed up we will be ready in about thirty minutes, go ahead and load these into the car.” she responded as she pushed herself away from the door frame and began to turn away from the room. “It’s going to be a great summer, I can feel it!” mom adds as she gracefully moves down the hallway, throwing her hands in balled fist above her head as if she just won something.

A couple months ago my aunt Sadie called my mom and dad offering a once in a life time opportunity. Something that you should know about my family is that we are artist, all of us. My great grandma Allison was the one who started the line of artist. She was an amazing painter, oil was her favorite but you could give her mustard and she would still create art. Her and my great grandpa Clemonds opened up their own gallery, and it has been passed down through the generations. The artistic touch also ran through the family. Not all of us are painters, some are photographers, and others are sculptors like my mom and dad. I like to draw/sketch and use water colors. But no matter what their choice of media is, my family creates art and adds it to the gallery. The Clemonds family is widely well known in the art community.

So back to the once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity that my Aunt Sadie called my mom about a couple months ago, is the chance for them to create a series together.

About two years ago my Aunt Sadie and her family moved to the coast of North Carolina for a new scenery for their photography. Living in Chicago does give you a lot to work with but my Aunt needed something with more green and less buildings. This move included my cousin Tony, who also happens to be my best friend.

Tony said that where she lives is called Outer Banks and the elite class of the area are a different level of filthy rich. Nose up in the air, refuse to look at anyone who makes anything less that six figures a year level of filthy rich. And these people did their research on my cousin’s family the second they moved in down the street and instantly started asking for personalized art they could buy.

My Aunt agreed to set up her own business to start selling her art there without the ties of the family gallery back at home, and then one day she came up with a great idea. She wanted my mom and dad to come to North Carolina and to work with her. Neither me or Tony know what our parents had in mind but after two years I’m going to see my best friend, and the plane leaves in 2 hours.

The drive from the airport to Tony’s house felt hours, I am so excited to see her. We facetime every day but it’s not the same and seeing each other in person. Once the rental car pulls into the long driveway leading up to one of the biggest houses I have every seen, I see Tony running down the porch. Her long, wavy, blonde hair flying behind her with the biggest smile on her face.

“Dad, can you just stop right here for me, so I can get out?” I almost whine, just as happy to see Tony and as she is to see me. Dad chuckles and bring the car to a stop long enough for me to hop out.

Tony and I clash together in a clumsy hug. “Oh God Mae, I’ve missed you!” Tony squeals, hugging me a little tighter.

“Same here, dude,” I pull away to look at her face, to see she is crying. Tony and I are so different in so many ways. She is that cute soft girl who wears skirts, always her hair done, and is emotional. Where as with me and my dark brunette hair, I like to wear worn down t shirts and shoes with denim shorts that are frayed at the end. I speak everything that comes to mind, down for almost anything, and communicating emotions is my weakness.”Lets get my shit inside so you can show me around.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and we make our way to the parked car to unpack.

After unpacking Tony told me about a ‘kegger’ that was going to go down near the beach called the boneyard.

“Fuck yeah, lets do it!” I say in a loud whisper so her parents didn’t hear.

Tony laughs, “just to remind you though, remember when I told you about the rival between kooks and pogues?”

“Um, yeah vaguely, why?”

“Well I live in figure eight which is technically kook territory so when going to this party to avoid any drama we should probably stick with the kooks.” Tony’s voice got quieter at the end of that sentence. She knows when she tries to give me advice I typically tend to ignore it and cause issues.

“Well,” I begin, plopping myself onto her bed, “I guess I can try, but if I remember correctly, the kooks are the one who are in the wrong most of the time?” My parents (Tony’s parents too) raised me to not see someone as a social class, judge them on how they treat you not by how much money they have.

“Yeah, normally they talk down on the pouges because they are from much less but,-”

“But that’s not cool Tony, we both know this.” I cut her off a little more harshly than intended.

“But,” Tony’s tone is desperate for me to hear her out,”I had a lot of troubles making friends and fitting in when I first came here two years ago. And I’m just starting to not be the weird new girl who sits in the art studio all day.” Tony sits down next me. “I’m not asking you to be rude or to look down on people, just to help me keep some of the friends I have finally made here.”

I let out a long sigh, “I’ll do my best.” Tony jumped from the bed and did a little victory dance, she only did this when she got her way with me. “Well, lets start getting ready.” Tony laughs as she start going my clothes to help me find something to wear.

As we walked down a sandy pathway through the trees, a bonfire came into view, along with a large group of people around the ages of 16 to 19. The sight of the fire inspired an idea of a drawing that I will probably start tomorrow. “where should we place our cooler?” I asked Tony.

“Looks like everyone is placing theirs over by that tree, most of the time its help yourself at these things so don’t become alarmed if you see someone getting into our cooler.” Tony shakes her finger at me knowing that I wouldn’t hesitate to confront anyone. I raise my hands up in surrender.

“I’m on my best behavior tonight.” I gave my best smile, causing Tony to giggle. “Now lets start the night off right.” Once we got our cooler placed we opened it and took out a sandwich bag that contained two limes, and our small bottle of tequila. It’s tradition for us to start our nights drinking with a shot together. Once the first shot is down we drink what we want. “Cheers,” I say then take a chug from the bottle and hand it to Tony as I bite my lime, and she does the same. Then we place the tequila back and grab ourselves a beer and walk towards the crowd of people.

Tony introduces me to a couple people she has become friends with in the last school year. They all seem nice but the entitlement that radiates off of them is insane. “So, you guys are from the same family, right?” asked one of the boys who i didn’t bother to remember his name.

“I mean, that’s what cousins normally means, right?” My tone came out harsh and Tony bumped me with her hip to remind me to play nice. The guy rolled his eyes in annoyance, causing me to raise an eyebrow. “If you don’t want a sarcastic answer don’t asked a stupid question.” I finished my beer in one big gulp.

“I was just making sure because you don’t seem to be the one who lives a life like Tony’s,” I feel Tony put her arm around my shoulder to try and calm me down, but the smug express the guy had on his face pushed me over the edge.

“Oh? Because how I look really defines my social class, right?”

“Hey, we are going to take a walk.” Tony steps between me and the guy, “Enjoy your night.” she says over her should as tony pulls me from the group.

Tony and I walk toward the coolers so I can get another beer. “can’t beleive that dick head.” I utter under my breath. Tony begins to giggle, she knows there is no point in trying to lecture me, because in the end we both know I was in the right. “Seriously Tony, I’m sorry you have to be around people like that.”

“Yeah kooks are no fun,” I turn to see a blonde guy with a red baseball cap going through coolers to find a beer of his choosing. “But at least they bring good beer.” The blonde is dressed in cargo shorts and a stretched out tank top, not khakis and polo shirts like the guys Tony had just introduced you too. I notice him make his way to our cooler. He pulled out a beer, shut the lid and used it as a seat to look at you and Tony.

“Hey, lets go back to the fire, we can get a beer in a minute.” Tony’s giggling has stopped and now she’s grabbing my arm trying to pull me away.

“Ah come on princess kook, no need to be scared.” The smirk on the guys face sent excitement through me.

“Mae,” Tony started but I cut her off.

“T, you can go back. I’ll get a beer and meet you there.” I try to sound as soft as Tony does when she tries to assure me. Tony looked at the guy then back to me. She nodded and then turned to make her way back to the group of people we were just at.

“You must not be from around here, a tourist?” The blonde pulls a lighter out of his pocket and pops open they beer. “If so, I’m as local as the come and you seem to need a guide.” He then winks and take a takes a swig of the beer. I return a smirk, trying to come off as flirty and make my way towards him.

“How often does that line work for you?”

“Well, normally tourist don’t ask that question.” as I get closer I lean down to be at the same level as him, I notice the blonde look down at my lips.

“Well I dont need a guide but,” I stand up straight and take the bottle from his hand, “for a local you are a very good host, thank you for opening my beer.” I place the bottle against my lips and take a drink.

the blonde shoots up from where he was sitting and takes the bottle back from me. “Dude find your own.”

I give him an innocent smile, “Well you see, that is mine, its from my cooler.” I take the bottle back and turn on my heels, “The name is Mae, hope to see you around blondie.”

“Wished the feeling was mutual!” The blond hollers after me then I hear slight chuckles come from him. I make my way to Tony who is now with a group of girls.

A/N hey so there are probably a handful of mistakes, I was just excited to get this out. Once again, sorry for it being slow in the beginning I was trying to build Mae up so you could know her a little more. the more notes the faster the second part will come out!

UPDATE: I HAVE MOVED THIS FANFIC TO WATTPAD, HERE IS THIS LINK! LOVE YOU ALL THANK YOU FOR THE NOTES!

#jj #jj maybank #outer banks #obx #jj x #jj x reader #rudy pankow #north carolina #imagine #jj fanfiction #outer banks netflix #writng #TwoOfAKind

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sillytorch · 4 years

Text

Alright so like... since the hiatus is gonna start in February, I’m gonna make some announcements for this blog:

I will post content during the hiatus, but it’s primarily going to be my own content.

So stuff like any RWBY art or Shards & Wisps (The Roman and Neo comic). Which speaking of the latter...

I’m gonna be posting the comic throughout the hiatus. I know I set up due dates for releasing the first chapter but considering real life matters, building up my portfolio with original projects, and also the fact that I rushed into writing the story too soon, I’m gonna have to push the comic back unfortunately. I’m gonna keep on working on it throughout the hiatus. In fact, this is going to be the MAIN content you’ll see on sillytorch during the hiatus.

Aside from that comic, I DO have another RWBY stuff I’ll release hopefully before the finale:

Yup... first time doing an animatic. Got the drawing skills and the video editing skills and my new years resolution is to branch out artistically so what better way to do it than have Ruby and Neo meeting each other since the Fall of Beacon? I do have another animatic planned but I’ll save that for the hiatus. It’s Roman related (It’s from a scene from “Painting the Town”)

Next here’s a lot of RWBY sketches I never got to post at all. I was planning on digitally coloring them (one in particular) but I feel like it’ll take a lot of time lol (and I’m also trying to implement my Photoshop skills w/ my traditional art this year lol)

Lastly... oooh boy... so long story short, I had a Penny design I never finished back in November... (I was also recording it too ^,^’) so this week, I’m gonna try to finish it before the finale b/c I want a piece to dedicate for this Volume’s finale.

As for whatever video/audio shitposts I do... maybe I’ll make ONE video/audio shitpost this week. NO promises. But only cuz I love you guys and because the shitposts I’ve done so far this volume have been images and doodles so... yeah. Other than that, don’t expect much shitposts during the hiatus (aside from the Painting the Town animatic) mostly cuz I’m already swamped with a lot of projects right now and I can’t keep on adding more and more on my plate.

Anyways, TL;DR, here are my RWBY fan projects I’ll be doing from here on out as of January 26, 2020:

Ruby vs Neo Animatic

Painting the Town Animatic

RWBY Pencil Sketches (I’ll be posting today and one of them I will digitize this week)

Penny 2.0 Design/Speedpaint

Shards & Wisps comic (will be posted throughout the hiatus)

Anyways, later peoples!!

-Silly

#mine #announcement #just wanna keep you all updated on some stuff #yeah i'm signing this post cuz...#idk i wanna do it i guess?

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 5 years

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Chapter 20: I can’t come up with a clever summary for this one that doesn’t ruin the surprise of the nonsense I’ve set loose, I’m sorry, I’m tired

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

Trucy has Christmas off from school – or maybe just takes it off, Apollo doesn’t ask these questions – but it is a weekday and the office is open, so Apollo spends it with her and Vera and Phoenix nowhere to be seen. “We would make a great investigation trio,” Trucy says, adjusting the Santa hat that she has moved from her head to Charley now to her wisp so that it, invisible beneath the hat, bobs about the office as some kind of strange holiday decor. “But I also hope no one comes in today, because – spending Christmas in jail because you’re accused of murder. Can you imagine?”

“Or being murdered on Christmas,” Apollo agrees.

Having said that, he still does like to get paid.

It’s cold, fae cold, like every Christmas Apollo has experienced in Los Angeles. (Like every Christmas Apollo has experienced; they didn’t celebrate it in Khura’in. They had their own holidays, things all dimmed down in his memories.) The dusting of snow across the sidewalk melts by afternoon between the bright sun and the foot traffic through the city, but the chill remains, making Apollo infinitely grateful for his Christmas presents from Trucy, a knitted beanie and scarf, even if the colors she chose for him are pink and limey green.

“I know you won’t really get cold,” Trucy had said to Vera, “but everyone should have cute scarves and hats, so you get one, too!” The knitwear she presented to Vera was pink and bright blue, colors that much better match her typical fashion – and her fae form, when she lets her glamour drop to hold the yarn against her skin. Trucy insists on a selfie with the three of them; right before she clicks the button, Vera washes away her watercolor skin, and grinning back from the photo are three apparent humans.

“Maybe shouldn’t have photo evidence that I’m not human,” Vera says quietly, but she is already reaching for her sketchpad and scribbling a tiny self-portrait, fae ears and all, in the corner of a page. She still takes a sketchbook everywhere with her but doesn’t keep it in hand at every moment, seeming a little more able and willing to express herself with words and either of her own faces.

Trucy tells them that she has also made Ema a scarf so that she can contribute to the scientific assessment that Trucy expects of Iris’ yarn. “Daddy says that humans who spend a long time in the fae world end up with kinds of glamours, too,” she explains to Vera, after catching her up on Iris. Apollo wonders who Phoenix learned this from; if he knew that, shouldn’t he have figured out what Klavier was sooner? Or is this another fact he’s only put together after that one realization? “So we’re all wondering what properties these might have. I expect you to take notes on anything strange while you’re wearing these. Like if people start telling you you’re more attractive.”

Apollo snorts. Trucy smacks him on the arm. “This is for science, Apollo!”

“How much do you talk to Ema, again?” He can’t say that he isn’t curious – could something like this be the origin of the infamous Magic Panties? – and he can’t say that he isn’t more curious than afraid nowadays, but he also can’t say that he’s not afraid of where this curiosity will take them. Everything Clay impressed upon him for thirteen years has collapsed in eight months.

(And Dhurke – well, maybe there was a nugget or two of advice Dhurke left him, half-forgotten, but he let Apollo and Nahyuta make their mistakes, and as far as that goes, Apollo is definitely making mistakes.)

Trucy is powerful, he’ll give her that. And if anyone can turn stage magic into entertainment in a city so full and wary of real magic, it would be her. (That seems to be her latest career aspiration, the latest turn of her Youtube channel after her stint as a cover artist, but she laments that it’s hard to really perform when she knows her audience could easily believe she’s just cleverly editing her videos.)

(If he really thinks about it, he wonders if she, like Klavier, has some innate glamour, if at least some part of her force of personality and charisma and likeability is magic.)

“I have two more very important things to tell you,” she says over a late lunch of Chinese, because Eldoon’s isn’t an option with Vera and he apparently takes some holidays off anyway.

“Uh-oh,” Apollo says.

The lights blink between two stages of brightness; Apollo still can’t really say he’s used to Mia’s rare laughter. “Excuse you!” Trucy says. “I object! I am having a New Years Eve party here and was going to tell you to come and invite your friends but now you are uninvited! Polly is, anyway. Vera you’re still good.”

“You can’t blame me!” Apollo says. “The amount of strange things that happen with Mr Wright, I never know if you’re just gonna tell me that he’s – I don’t know, got summoned back to the Twilight Realm for a stint and you need to crash on my couch – or whatever.”

“Oh, Daddy’s just over at Uncle Miles’ office today,” Trucy says. “Probably not actually doing work.”

“Uncle Miles?” Vera asks the question that Apollo was about to.

“Oh – Mr Prosecutor Edgeworth. Polly, you met him, right?”

“Prosecutor Edgeworth? I – yeah.” So he and Phoenix are close, close enough that Trucy calls him family. That’s probably important to know, another piece to Phoenix’s wide and varied social circle. “Well uh, I guess it’s good that he hasn’t been disappeared by the fae or something.”

“Oh, we’d be warned if something happened,” Trucy says. The cryptic vagueness of that statement seems fitting somehow. “There’s no need to worry!”

Apollo wouldn’t say he was worried; rather more of a neutral expectation he has that Phoenix is someday going to flake in some grander way than he did setting up the Jurist System.

“Anyway, New Years,” she continues. “I’m inviting a friend from school, and Ema, and a couple other people she and I know, and you can invite Clay if you want, and I need your phone for Prosecutor Gavin’s number to invite him.” She extends her hand, palm facing upward, to him.

“Erm,” Apollo says.

“Or you can invite him yourself,” Trucy says. She draws her hand back. “Do you think he’ll be more likely to say yeah to you or me? I mean, I’m cute but you already talk to him on the regular, so it could go either way.” She claps her hands together. “Okay, we’re decided: you invite him on my behalf!”

Apollo wouldn’t say that they actually decided it so much as Trucy decreed it, but sure, he’ll go with it. “I thought you and Ema didn’t know each other at all when we first met her,” he says. The tragicomedy of the white powder ordeal is still, and always will be, fresh in his mind when he thinks about Ema. “How do you have mutual friends?”

“Oh, y’know.” Trucy shrugs. Apollo does not know. “She knew Daddy and Uncle Miles back when, Uncle Miles knows other people who I know, then she meets them, then we meet – the usual. Everyone ends up working in the legal system.” She pauses. “Except me.”

“I think you count,” Vera says.

“You’re co-counsel,” Apollo says. “You definitely count.”

“I guess you’re right,” Trucy says. “Magic just keeps ending up hand-in-hand with the law.” She sits forward conspiratorial, steepling her fingers in front of her face. “Now,” she adds, unable to stop herself from grinning, “the second thing. This is top secret, invite-from-me-only stuff. It’s a secret family tradition that I’m only inviting the two of you and Ema and Kay’s tagging along because she’s like a superspy and found out about my conversation with Ema – anyway.” Leaving Apollo with little time to parse that sentence – does he know who Kay is? Has he heard that name before? He doesn’t think so – Trucy holds up a pointer finger. “You are both cordially invited to The Gourdyversary.”

“The what?” Apollo asks.

“The Gourdyversary,” Trucy repeats, sounding very serious but still grinning all the while. “The Gourdy Anniversary. It’s a very very secret Wright-Butz friendship tradition that is also very very important for the upkeep of Gourd Lake Park.”

“You’re losing me,” Apollo says. “Also, if it’s this secret, and you’re busting it open to everyone--”

“Not everyone! I thought Ema would be super interested, and Kay was being stalky, like I said, and then the two of you are super important parts other parts of the Wright-Butz social circle, so I was allowed to invite you!” Her eyes narrow in concentration. “Also,” she says, with an air of recollecting something, “Daddy mentioned you specifically, Polly, said that he’d like to see the look on your face because you always react a lot to finding out new magic stuff.”

“Great,” Apollo mutters. “I cordially decline your invitation.” He looks at Vera, who is just as confused as him, blinking her huge eyes owlishly at Trucy. “Wait,” he says. “‘Butz’? Who’s that?”

“You know – oh!” Trucy laughs and falls further back into the couch. “You don’t! That’s Uncle Larry’s other last name, the one he had first.”

On one hand, Apollo can’t really blame someone for wanting to be rid of that surname, especially in a profession where names are as important as they are to authors. On the other hand, there’s a certain expectation that Apollo has come to have. “Is this a fae thing in some way?”

Vera is the first to nod. “Deauxnim was one of the names his mentor used.” It appears thoughtless now, both the way she starts to raise her hand to her lips and the way she puts it back down. Is another incentive for her to break her habit of chewing her nails how strange the thought must be that she also has claws in a different form? Could it be possible for her to chew her claws off? “The last name she used before… before she died. She gave it to him.” She picks at the eraser on her pencil, clearly for something to do with her hands. “He – Mr Laurice offered it to me, too. If I want – if I want to sell my art someday and use it for my career, I could be…” She frowns at her sketchbook. “Vera Deauxnim.”

“I’d do it!” Trucy says. “It’s a good name, Uncle Larry says, and Uncle Valant always told me that it’s good to have spare names in case you really need to give one away.” She frowns, too. “But he only had one name. He was only ever ‘Gramarye’.”

“I know it’s a good name,” Vera says. “Mr Laurice says it’s lucky. But I have my name already, and it’s my dad’s. I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t give that up. Should I?”

“You’re not giving up anything!” Trucy says. “You’re Vera Misham and you can be Vera Deauxnim, like I’m Trucy Wright and then Trucy Gramarye on Youtube because that’s both my family and I can be both. Like Prosecutor Gavin said about different faces.” She spreads her hands wide in the air in front of her like she’s spreading something out for them to look at. “We contain multitudes!”

That pulls a grin onto Vera’s face.

“I must’ve missed when you started going by Gramarye again,” Apollo says. She’s called herself Trucy the Enigma, which he knows is a reference to her father’s name, and that was as far as he knew.

“Yeah,” she says, stretching herself out further on the half of the couch she has claimed. “It was sometime after we talked about just – me, and magic, in general, all that. And I thought, it’s my mom’s name too, I want to keep it for her. So I’ll make it mean something good, like I think it should be. Like I used to think it was.”

He wonders if when she holds the mitamah she hears something like he heard music; he wonders if he’d hear it again if he picked it back up. Sometimes he feels drawn to that drawer of Phoenix’s desk, a compulsion to understand who she was – is? A dead body with a bullet in it but a soul that is still here glowing? – that he stifles again and again. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, knowing how hard it all hit Trucy, knowing that she still can’t always find the light behind her eyes, but she forestalls him with a red-tinted grin. (A lie. Her smile is a lie, and it’s magic, a fae blessing, that tells him this.)

“Man, names are so complicated,” she says. And Apollo sees red and oh, this is the limit of it, isn’t it? Her smile is a lie but while he’s seeing that, any words she says might be true, might be a lie, and he’s already going to be stuck on her expression.

(Who was it that gave him Truth? Which one of them thought that was the most important gift? Dhurke? Datz? Nahyuta?)

“And they’d be this complicated even without all the magic,” Trucy continues. She cranes her neck to look at Vera’s sketchbook. “Ooh, nice!”

(Complicated, nonmagic, Apollo knows that too. On his birth certificate, a forgery, his father’s name is Jay Justice because his stage name was Jangly and they didn’t know his real name and even Datz who had the papers drawn up seemed to realize that they couldn’t put that down and just the initial J was a little sparse. His mother’s name they made up entirely. Dhurke named her Hera, because he always thought he was funny. Apollo had looked it up sometime in middle school. Hera wasn’t even the mythological Apollo’s mother.)

Vera has Trucy’s phone balanced up on the piano, showing off the selfie, and she is sketching from it but for herself, pointed ears and big eyes. “So what is the, um, Gourd… Gourdversary?”

“Gourdyversary,” Trucy repeats, as though she is teaching them an actual word that they might need to know. “You know Gourd Lake Park, maybe?” Vera shakes her head. Apollo nods. It was in the vague area of Apollo and Clay’s high school and a corner of the park was the popular hangout for stoners, which meant Apollo wasn’t surprised when a lake monster was sighted there. (He was surprised that tourists and not stoned kids who first made the claim.) In their senior year, he and Clay camped out in the abandoned, allegedly-haunted, boat shack, or tried to, made it to about midnight when Clay swore he heard a voice, and then later lied about it to their friends and Clay’s siblings to claim that they totally spent the whole night there and nothing happened. Every few years there were attempts to revitalize the park and make it a real community location. Those never worked.

“Well,” Trucy continues, “always sometime after Christmas, this year, it’ll be the 27th that, we go, before dawn, to the lake, to make the annual sacrifice.”

“I don’t like the sound of this in the slightest,” Apollo says.

“We don’t sacrifice people,” Trucy says. “C’mon, Polly. Really.”

“I hate that you know exactly what I was about to ask because it is actually a reasonable question in these circumstances.” Apollo smacks his head into the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Sacrifice what, then? To what? The lake?”

“You have to come along to know,” Trucy says smugly. “Exact time and meeting location will be disseminated only to true believers.”

“Believers of what?” Apollo demands.

Vera has folded her knees up onto the couch and has her sketchbook propped against them, her dark human eyes peering out from behind the top of it, darting between Trucy and Apollo.

“You’ll see,” Trucy says.

The next morning, Phoenix enters the office and asks for Apollo’s help getting the doors so that he can carry inside a heavy grocery bag filled with twelve-packs of hot dogs. “What is this for?” Apollo asks, when he’s followed Phoenix into the kitchen (not even asking why Mia wouldn’t get the doors because he knows the answer is going to be that she rightfully thinks whatever is going on is stupid) to watch him maneuver the contents into the refrigerator.

“The Gourdyversary,” Phoenix replies. He pushes the fridge door closed only for it to pop back open and six packs spill back to the floor.

“Is this a hazing ritual?” Apollo asks. “Like, am I getting hazed?”

“Apollo, I’m pretty sure the entire Kitaki case was the universe conducting a hazing ritual on you,” Phoenix says. “Why would I bother with anything else?” He winks. “See you bright and early tomorrow, huh?”

“I haven’t agreed to this ridiculous venture,” Apollo says.

Phoenix slams the refrigerator shut with more force this time. “But are you really going to disappoint Trucy?” He manages to take one step before, in defiance, the fridge spits some of its contents back out. “Come on, seriously?” he asks, turning about in a circle and gesturing helplessly to the room at large. “Just let us do our dumb shit, Mia, c’mon.”

Apollo leaves him to fight with the ghost of his mentor, only to find that Vera has definitively declined to join in on the Gourdyversary, and consequently, Trucy is pouting at him with the most pathetic puppy eyes he has ever seen from a person.

It isn’t that – he tells her, several times, it isn’t that – which gets him, and she, seeing Truth, should know that is the truth, but she keeps proclaiming victory for her powers of persuasion – “Powers of getting people to pity you, if anything” – when he acquiesces. It’s curiosity, purely and painfully, and if it’s only painful in the moment for everything required to make it to the main gates of Gourd Lake Park at 6 am, the chances are high that it’s going to be worse next time. And there’s going to be a next time, he’s sure of it: he’s come to feel at home in an office filled with the lingering wraith of a fae queen, followed Trucy and Klavier in pursuit of grimoires and faery rings, and he’s becoming desensitized, he’s sure of it. He’s on the road to becoming a missing persons report or a cautionary folktale for future generations.

But damn if he isn’t curious as to why Phoenix “cheapskate” Wright bought more than a dozen dozens of hot dogs.

Trucy’s gifts, the scarf and hat, seem to block out the wind better than any other he can recall owning, which Apollo tells her to note down for her experimental records when he reaches the park entrance. Twilight Realm yarn, helping him resist the fae’s cold snaps. The dead brown grass is dusted with snow and a few more errant flakes drift down from the dark sky. Whenever the sun finally rises, they probably won’t see it. Trucy is waiting when he arrives, bundled up in a heavy coat and matching blue knitted hat, scarf, and gloves, and talking with two women. One is Ema, recognizable by the crinkling snack bag in her hands – “Are you aware of the time?” “Yeah, it’s snack time.” – and the dead-eyed glare from over the pink scarf Trucy apparently saddled her with.

The other, Apollo has never seen, but when she spots him, she abandons her conversation and bounds over to him, grabbing his hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “Hi!” she chirps. “I’m Kay! Kay Faraday! Super glad to finally meet you, Apollo!”

Finally?

“Uh,” he says, allowing her to wrench his arm about, “I’m sorry, but I have no idea who you are.”

“That’s okay!” She lets go of his hand and strikes a pose, one hand in the air and the other on her hip. None of her clothing seems quite to match, a puffy pink coat with a huge dark scarf, gold hair accessories, and leather gloves that look more expensive than his life. “Kay Faraday, homicide detective, Great Thief and Mr Edgeworth’s first and best assistant, at your service.”

“You lost me at ‘thief’ right after ‘detective’,” Apollo says. He can already see why Trucy likes her, though.

“Get used to confusion,” Ema says dryly. “That’s all she does for you.”

“Rude,” Kay says. She skips back past Trucy and Ema and down the park path. “Let’s go get gourded out of our gourds already!”

“I don’t know what that means but I refuse to do that,” Ema says. She doesn’t move, watches Trucy race after Kay, and then holds out the Snackoos bag to Apollo. “Kay wasn’t even invited. She was just creeping around and was unrelenting in demanding to accompany me in finding out whatever Trucy’s on about.” Apollo declines the Snackoos and she shrugs and shoves a few more into her mouth. “That’s also how she makes friends so watch it or you’re next.”

“I see,” Apollo says, even though he isn’t sure that he does. “It sounds, uh, interesting down at the precinct.”

Ema snorts. “We’re like two steps away from being a coven at this point.”

“Prosecutor Edgeworth said something like that.”

She nods sagely. “He thinks he can stop it but I know it’s futile.” She stuffs the Snackoos into her jacket pocket and pulls her scarf up against the sudden onslaught of wind. “How’s Trucy doing?” she asks quietly, eyeing the distant backs of her and Kay. “Haven’t heard from her much since October and” – a pause, a search for a tactful phrasing that she doesn’t find – “all that shit.”

And it was, nothing but a bunch of shit, no more honest way Apollo can think to say it, Ema cutting back to the heart of the matter. “Better, I think,” he says. “We had a couple conversations about her family and er grandfather that seemed like – like she’s figuring it out.” Or just coping, but even that is harder than it sounds. “And Mr Wright is spending a lot of time looking into the mitamah thing trying to deal with that.”

“That’s good.” She sounds like she means it. “If anyone can find a way to fix it, it’ll be Mr Wright. I’m sure of it.” And on that she sounds so confident that Apollo almost believes her. Isn’t that how Trucy said magic works? And what must Phoenix have done for Ema that she still has such faith in him?

Trucy stands planted in the path ahead, fists on her hips, facing them. “Hurry up!” she calls.

“Bunch of snails!” Kay yells. Ema flips her off but above her scarf, her eyes squint up like she’s grinning.

“So clarify for me how you all know each other,” Apollo says when the four of them have reconvened. Along the edges of the path the trees thin out and he can see the dark glassy surface of the water. “Through Prosecutor Edgeworth?”

“Basically!” Kay says. “I first helped him investigate cases years ago – I saved him when he got kidnapped – then there were some international incidents – I got accused of arson once and murder twice – it was a ridiculous month. And we ran into Emmy” – Emmy? Apollo raises an eyebrow and Ema stares back with unchanging expression – “and she already knew Mr Edgeworth from stuff and she helped us out. And then later working with Mr Edgeworth, I met Mr Wright, and my little apprentice thief.” She throws her arm around Trucy’s shoulders and grins.

“I thought you were my assistant,” Trucy says.

“Anyway!” Kay barrels past that statement. Trucy sticks her tongue out at her. “Then Emmy came back to work at the precinct and hang with me again, and then she met you, and here we are!”

Apollo almost keeps pace with that. He has about half a dozen follow-up questions about the arson and murder, but they’ve come up to the biggest gathering area of the part, a few vendor’s stands unattended for the weather and time of day, and Phoenix and Larry waiting by the one bare tree in the area, the bag of hot dogs at their feet. “Hi, Mr Wright!” Kay shouts. “Hi, Mr Steel Samurai!”

“You’re never gonna let me live it down, are you?” Larry asks.

Kay swings a friendly punch at his shoulder. “Nah, but I don’t let Mr Edgeworth forget about it, either, if that helps.”

“It absolutely does,” Larry says.

“So are you gonna tell us what’s going on or drag out the mystery for a little longer?” Ema asks.

Phoenix and Larry look at each other. “I’m thinking we drag it out,” Larry says.

“I already have my reputation for being cryptic,” Phoenix says, turning his head to stare directly at Apollo, “so yeah, let’s torment the kids a little longer. And besides,” he adds, stooping and wincing as he hauls the bag back up into his arms, “we’ve still got a little further to walk. We’re heading back through the woods there – there’s a little outlet to the shore that’s a little more hidden.”

“The hot dogs are the sacrifice, right?” Apollo asks. Larry gives a thumbs-up. “So then you could just answer what we’re sacrificing to—”

“Wait.” Ema stops walking. “Trucy, you didn’t tell me there was ritual sacrifice involved. You just said ‘hey, there’s something you will want to see, scientifically speaking’ and I asked to make sure it wasn’t a hoax like the last time people said there was something cool at Gourd Lake—”

Phoenix and Larry glance at each other. Trucy looks up at them both. “No,” Ema says. “No, do not tell me that the lake monster is real.”

“You proved in court that it was a hoax,” Apollo says. “You proved that it wasn’t a real—”

“I thought I proved that,” Phoenix says, thankfully not taking any time to dwell on the fact that Apollo knows his cases well enough to know exactly when this happened. “I did prove that loud banging noises aren’t the hallmark of the monster, and that Larry was out on the lake looking for a bigass balloon he’d launched into orbit—”

“The balloon was also very real,” Larry supplies helpfully. “It was the Steel Samurai. It was pretty cool until I slipped up inflating it with the air canister. Launched that, too.”

“—but we were accidentally enlightened as to a little more, when was it – a couple days after the trial?”

“The day after,” Larry says. “And already you were moping about being lonely with Maya going back to Fairyland—”

“—so I went all the way to the bottom of my contacts list and came to hang out with you at your hot dog stand—”

“You had like, three people in your phone then. Don’t pretend like I was your last-ditch social reject friend! You’re my last-ditch reject friend!”

Ema coughs. Phoenix and Larry both clearly take the cue to continue the narrative. “We were about the only people in the park, hanging out back there.” Phoenix points back over his shoulder with his thumb. They are passing by the old boat shack now, its shattered windows and unstable rotting dock, and Apollo shudders. One step on that and it’s straight into the water. “And then, just, out of lake—” He waves vaguely and purses his lips together. “There she was.”

“And that’s why hot dogs?” Apollo asks. “Because he had a hot dog stand then?”

“Yeah.” Larry shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like hey, we didn’t know if it was gonna eat us, figured we’d throw some food that wasn’t us and hope that was enough.”

“And now we come back yearly with offerings to hopefully appease her and never find out why she was sealed away in the first place. Because as it turns out,” Phoenix continues, grinning broadly, far too amused for the fact that they are discussing the potential of some lake monster to eat people, “someone’s flyaway balloon got caught on a warding sigil and tore it off. Make a hoax monster while releasing the real monster.” His grin shrinks just a little. “We found the place where the seal originally was and went looking all over the park hoping to find it and put it back, but no such luck. Not like you can dig magic rocks out with a metal detector.”

“I cannot believe that Mr Edgeworth and I solved an entire murder conspiracy here at this lake and he never told me there’s a real monster in it!” Kay pouts. She does a good impression of a moody teenager, kicking a stray rock out of the way on the path, but she can only hold it for a few seconds.

Phoenix and Larry again exchange a look.

“He uh,” Kay says, her eyes narrowing, “does know about the lake monster, right?”

Phoenix sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. Larry elbows him in the ribs. “This one's all on you, buddy,” he says with a wicked grin. “You justify yourself.”

“Edgeworth does not know,” Phoenix says, sounding pained. Kay gasps exaggeratedly loudly. “Listen, we weren’t on as good of terms back then! He knew the part that came out in court about the hoax, and then I was not exactly sure that he would appreciate me reaching out to tell him no, there’s an entire fae monster actually there now.”

“And the ten years since then where you’ve been on very good terms?” Larry asks, still grinning.

“Fuck you,” Phoenix says to him. “I’d call it eight, also.”

“I think you should tell him,” Kay says. “He could stand to have his preconceptions shaken up every so often, that there’s more magic just chilling around than he thinks there is.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix says dryly, “until he asks me how long I’ve known and I have to figure out whether he’d believe it if I lied to him. Like logically I know the best thing to do, but at this point half of the fear of telling is the ‘why did you not mention that you knew this sooner?’ so I just drag it out even longer in the hopes that we’ll all live and die before Gourdy ever makes a situation where I’d have to mention it to him.”

“That is a very bad way of handling secrets, Daddy,” Trucy says.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart, I know.” Phoenix frowns and sighs and shakes his head. “Though this isn’t just me covering my ass right now, but I think our new Chief Prosecutor has a lot more important things to deal with.”

The path they follow through the woods is almost overgrown with the tangled underbrush and buried beneath icy dead leaves. Phoenix and Larry, when they aren’t bickering, seem to confidently know the way, leading their small troupe out onto the saddest beach Apollo has ever seen. Sand and mud mix with snow for a slick surface that slopes straight down into the water, and an old weathered sign prohibiting camping is the only apparent clue that people come out here – though why anyone would want to camp here, Apollo has no idea.

Phoenix drops the bag into the wet ground. “Oi, Gourdy!” Larry calls. His voice doesn’t echo on the open lake but seems to be swallowed up by the white fog that has begun to swirl across the surface of the water. “We’ve got your yearly sacrifices!”

“Please don’t say it like that,” Apollo says. “That makes me think you’re going to throw us into the lake.”

“If I’m throwing anyone, it’d be Larry,” Phoenix says.

Larry, standing right at the edge of the water, flips him off over his shoulder. Through the fog, Apollo can see the water rippling, before it moves, pointedly, a long white wake pushing toward the shore. Larry scrambles backwards up the slope to Phoenix and the bag of hot dogs, grabbing an entire pack but not attempting to tear it open.

At first Apollo thinks that it’s a catfish, coming up strangely above the water. Then it keeps rising out of the water, far higher than a fish could, and he sees – he doesn’t know what he sees. It has a face like a catfish with the wide, gaping mouth, the barbels, and the beady eyes at the sides of its head; but past its eyes, it has small pointed ears and an otherwise horse-like body, its skin a slimy-looking brownish-green and its mane a long tangled curtain of seaweed. “Oh,” Kay says, very softly. “Oh, geez.”

Larry tosses the pack of hot dogs, plastic wrapping and all, in an underhand arc toward the creature. It stretches its neck out and catches the hot dogs in its wide mouth, throwing its head back and appearing to swallow the package whole. “You feed it plastic?” Ema asks. “It – her?”

“I call her ‘her’,” Phoenix says, “but that’s mostly because all the most powerful and terrifying fae I’ve known have been women, and not for any actual reason. But yeah, most of the fae and fae creatures I’ve known also have not been concerned with what humans do or don’t consider edible.”

“That sounds like some people I know,” Ema says. Kay pouts, but Ema isn’t looking in her direction. Her eyes are fixed, understandably, on the horse-catfish creature.

“S’good as far as keeping litter out of the lake,” Larry says. He grabs another package to throw. Phoenix hasn’t reached for the bag but is instead grinning at the stunned expressions on their three faces. “But yeah, we just show up, feed it a couple dozen hot dogs, and then do it again next year. Simple stuff.”

“So you really did just invite us to see the looks on our faces,” Apollo says. Phoenix’s grin does not waver. Trucy grabs two packs out of the bag and tosses them each at different sides of the creature – Gourdy, they call it Gourdy, a cute name for something that is frankly terrifying – and it swings its head about, inhaling one after the other.

“Worth,” Kay says, still wide-eyed.

“You weren’t even invited,” Ema says. She frowns, staring up at Gourdy from narrowed eyes. Is this how tall horses usually are? Did it get the size right when it took this nebulously horse-like shape? “I wonder,” she mutters, more to herself than anyone. “Do you think it always looked like this, or it tried to look like things that do exist in our world as a – disguise, I guess. An attempt at one?” She glances over to Phoenix. “Because you’ve said the fae in their true forms look sort-of but not quite like humans, but that they can’t really – alter their glamoured appearances very much?”

Phoenix nods. “It’s more innate,” he says. “What, say, Mia looked like is what Mia looked like. She didn’t just decide, oh, when I pretend to be human I want brown hair. But that’s just the fae, and fae animals are an entirely other barrel of catfish.” He reaches up to adjust his beanie. “Horses. Catfish-horses.”

“Someone who can’t really draw’s idea of a horse,” Apollo offers.

“Don’t be rude!” Trucy scolds. “She’s beautiful!”

Gourdy turns one tiny beady eye on Apollo. Maybe it’s just coincidence, but he decides that he’s not going to say anything that can be perceived as insult again – he doesn’t know how smart this thing is and if it’s fae it probably has very dangerous responses to insults.

“But it’s like…” Ema pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts frantically typing something. “Was it trying to look like natural wildlife? Is it coincidence? Convergent development? How long has it been sealed here and was that before horses were introduced to North America? I have questions!”

Phoenix chuckles and Ema lowers her phone, turning her furious glare on him. “Don’t laugh!” she snaps. “This is interesting! These are real questions!”

“I knew you’d think so,” Trucy says brightly, instantly diffusing the first bits of tension. “And since I dragged you and Polly out on... “ She sighs. “You know. So I thought I’d at least drag you out to some fun magic stuff!”

She thinks she owes them, to make up for the debacle of finding her mother’s soul. Or she was hoping for something like an adventure and wanted to bring them on that. Apollo isn’t sure whether he’d count this as fun, either, learning that there’s a catfish-horse that could probably kill all of them somehow in the lake, but Trucy seems happy.

“I promise I’m not laughing at you, Ema,” Phoenix says, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate her. Apollo doesn’t see that he’s lying. “It’s just nice to see you get a bit of your spark back.”

The angry huff of her cheeks deflates instantly. “I was probably real annoying as a kid, babbling like that the whole time while you were just trying to investigate, huh?”

“Not at all,” Phoenix says, and again, he isn’t lying. “I mean, I’ll admit to having been a little terrified that if I let you out of my sight you were gonna summon something or make a bad deal trying to get more tools for investigating, but I wasn’t annoyed.”

Ema pulls her scarf back up over her nose, but Apollo catches a glimpse of the sad smile on her face as she does. Then she steps forward and grabs a pack of hot dogs, extending it in her hand to Gourdy on approach. With about a foot between its mouth and her hand, she apparently decides not to risk having her arm be swallowed, and she gives the pack a little toss to get it to its destination. “Oh,” she says, “sort of related, Lana asked about you the other day, Mr Wright. Wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“Ah.” Phoenix rubs the back of his neck. “At least with the Jurist System you’ve got something to tell her more than ‘still sucks at playing the piano’.” His sheepish expression looks a little less when he reaches the part about the piano, and Trucy laughs. Apollo again wonders why he ever bothered to get a piano for the office. “Where is she now, anyway? She got out a year or two ago, right?”

“About two years now, yeah,” Ema says. There is a rhythm to them feeding Gourdy, now, Larry, Trucy, and Ema. Phoenix seems content to hang back, and while Kay bounds forward, Apollo has no inclination to join in on this part of it. “She’s out near Reno, just wanted to get away, and she’s talking moving out to London where we’ve got some family. She’s hesitating now that I’m back, or something, but I told her just get outta here, flee the continent, go somewhere that no one knows your name, y’know?”

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix says. “I’d – had that option, honestly, but—”

“But you didn’t do anything,” Ema interrupts. “And she kinda did… most of it.”

“Do you think Gourdy would let me pet her?” Kay asks.

“I would not try it,” Phoenix says. Kay’s shoulders slump.

“She was gushing about the Jurist System when we talked about it, though,” Ema continues, with only a brief roll of her eyes at Kay’s question.

“I can’t imagine her gushing,” Phoenix says.

Ema shrugs. “It’s – a big thing, y’know, to her. To all of us, but, she’d said – she’d said that maybe it could’ve helped stop Darke, put him away before even more people died and…” She looks from her phone down to the hot dog bag. Its contents are mostly depleted but she grabs one and hurls it with a surprising amount of force. “Good for cases like that. Common sense, no evidence, maybe now justice gets served.”

Apollo can’t say why the name Lana, Lana Skye, seems familiar, but he knows with the expression on Ema and Phoenix’s faces, he’s not about to ask.

Kay whispers something to Trucy and, both giggling, Kay hefts the bag and whatever remains in it onto her shoulder and flings the entire thing at Gourdy. Its mouth doesn’t look wide enough to take in the entire bag, but it does – the bag is there and then gone with a wet sucking sound in the time it takes Apollo to blink. He suddenly wonders if when Klavier complains about Vongole eating everything he has, he means everything, takeout containers and all.

“That’s, um…” Ema taps a finger against her chin. “That’s something. Kind of impressive. Kind of horrible!”

“And scientifically fascinating?” Kay prompts.

“Absolutely!”

“That’s all we’ve got,” Larry says to the beast, showing it his empty hands, like he’s sending off a dog that has gotten its share of treats but continues begging. “Good talk as always, Gourdy. See ya next year.”

Gourdy tilts its head, seeming to carefully survey Larry. It trots forward and for a horrible moment Apollo thinks someone is going to be eaten but Gourdy bumps its square fishy head into Larry’s face and makes an arc back into the water. Its tail is the same as its mane, stringy green and brown weeds with sand and grit tangled up in them. The water around it barely ripples as it enters, doesn’t splash when the creature goes from being half-visible to gone, and the wake moving away from them is weaker than the one that arrived. The arc of its hoofprints left in the snowy sand are backwards, like it left the water where it really just entered.

“Very slimy,” Larry says, wiping his face with his jacket sleeve. “Sticky, slimy, would not headbutt again.”

“But you’re friends now!” Trucy says. “Officially!”

“You never knew what its skin was like before?” Ema asks. She has her phone out again for notes. Kay peers over her shoulder. “Or beyond what you could see that yeah it’s probably fishy. How long have you been doing this again?”

“It’s… Shit.” Phoenix shakes his head, laughing again. “Ten years, now.”

“Plenty of time to have observed and thought about some of the questions on my list.” Ema lowers her phone and stares at Phoenix. “I have questions.”

“My answer is gonna be ‘I don’t know’ to most, but go for it,” Phoenix says.

“There’s gotta be somewhere open for breakfast, right?” Larry says. “Right? Who’s up for that?”

“Eldoon’s!” Trucy says brightly.

“Oh no, no no.” Larry holds up his hands and takes a step back from her. “Eldoon’s for breakfast reminds me of being broke as hell and I’m not about that.”

“That mean you’re paying wherever we go?” Phoenix asks dryly. “Since I got the hot dogs and you’re worth your weight in faery gold now.”

Apollo looks at Ema. Ema glances out of the corner of her eyes first at Larry, then Apollo, then Kay. Kay looks back and forth between Phoenix and Larry.

“Metaphorical gold,” Larry says, jabbing a finger at Phoenix. “You can not phrase it like that, so they” – he points a thumb toward Ema and Kay – “can not be terrified.”

“I’m super down for breakfast, if nobody else is gonna say anything,” Kay chirps.

“You not gonna eat garbage for once?” Trucy asks. She says it with a grin so big that Apollo would find it impossible to take offense if she directed those words or similar at him.

“Hey!” Kay protests. “It’s cheap! It’s cost-efficient!”

“Like you have to worry about that,” Ema says, elbowing her. “Like hell won’t be frozen before Mr Edgeworth lets anyone threaten your salary.” Kay elbows her back, apparently harder, because she staggers. “Anyway,” she adds, looking more at Larry and Phoenix again, “Interrogating you both over breakfast sounds great.”

“Do you ever worry that bringing more and more people in on these secrets makes them untenable?” Apollo asks Trucy. It’s probably a better question for Phoenix, but Ema has already begun the process of cornering him. “Just – showing off magic to us all?”

Trucy shrugs. “Maybe?” she offers. She hooks one arm through Apollo’s elbow and the other through Kay’s. “You and Ema already know so much other stuff.” For a moment her eyes are sad, downcast, and then she turns a sharp look on Kay. “You, though—”

“Guilty of whatever you say,” she laughs.

Trucy shrugs again, jostling Apollo’s shoulder too. “But also we’re like family, and family should get to know some of the weird fun secrets that we have.”

Again Apollo wonders at her definition of fun. But family. Or like family. Like-family is nice to have.

Phoenix, over Ema’s head, raises an eyebrow at her. “Hey Truce,” he says. “Does that mean you’re gonna run off and tell Edgeworth without warning me?”

“I might,” Kay says, snickering and nudging Trucy, who bumps Apollo with the force of it.

Phoenix snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “I know you would, but I’m not sure he’d believe you.”

#fic: the seelie of kurain #roddy fanfics

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cali-kabi · 19 days

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~ Birds 🦢🍬💫

#my art #sydney’s art #kirby #meta knight #galacta knight #kirby fanart #posca paint markers #poscamarkers #poscapaintpens #yeah i’m a traditional artist too yeah i draw with color pencils so much back then #this is a gift for my mum for Mother’s Day yeah she loves birds and me too xD💖owls are my favorite bird and the chickadee #she has been sick for like a month and that’s making me sad lately but she’s recovering good now;w;#i don’t normally talk about irl stuff I have low self esteem and that wasn’t helping me either I’m so glad she is ok now #an ask I answered last week thanks so much for your kind words you know who u are it makes me so happy #i get like so worried and anxious whenever someone I know is hurt or very ill ><#cockatoo #birds #bird art #birbs #saw whet owl #chickadee #tree swallow #owls #galah bird #there’s actually a pink bird called the ‘Galah’ look it up I didn’t know that till months ago haha Galacta knight was probably based on thi

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thesilverdreamer · 6 years

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Roger Rabbit and the Ink Machine: Chapter 1

Read on Fanfiction.net here

Read on AO3 here

Summary: New York City, 1948. Alice Angel has gone missing. The NYPD laughed at the prospect of a Missing Toon Report, and nobody wants anything to do with Toons. Desperate, Joey turns to Eddie Valiant, the Detective Who Works for Toons. A few months out from the Marvin Acme case, Eddie quickly realizes that something funny is going on at Joey Drew Studios, and he aims to find out what.

Characters: Eddie Valiant, Roger Rabbit, Joey Drew, Henry, Bendy, miscellaneous characters from Bendy and the Ink Machine

Rated T for language

From the Case Files of George K. Fowler, Office of Extranormal Affairs

June, 1947: Marvin Acme, acclaimed comedian, industrialist, and the creator of Toontown, is found dead, apparently murdered by one of the very same Toons he had been supporting for almost two decades. Maroon Cartoon’s Roger Rabbit is believed to have killed him in a fit of jealous rage after learning that his wife, Jessica Rabbit, was having an emotional affair with Acme. Detective Eddie Valiant, of Valiant & Valiant, uncovers the truth: Judge Doom of the Los Angeles Circuit killed Acme and framed Roger to gain control of Toontown. Acme’s will is found, bequeathing Toontown to the Toons. Valiant begins helping Toons again after several years’ lapse, and Roger Rabbit signs a contract with Walt Disney Productions to have his own cartoon.

New York City, 1948

Joey Drew was either out of his mind or an idiot to fly a detective from LA to New York. Eddie Valiant wasn’t complaining, his plane ticket, lodging, and time were being paid for in advance by Drew Studios, plus the job itself. (Alright, so he was complaining a little, but odds were good that this would be a simple missing toon case the NYPD wasn’t taking seriously, worse case scenario he got to see the Statue of Liberty. He was, after, all, the shmuck who agreed to come out here.)

Drew Studios was smack dab in Manhattan, at Broadway and 3rd Avenue. The building was unimpressive, but apparently it had several basement floors. Joey Drew had a reputation for being a little peculiar, even for a man who worked in cartoons. The front face of the building was dominated by a colorful sign reading, ‘JOEY DREW STUDIOS.’

Eddie breathed a long-suffering sigh, hefted his travel bag over his shoulder, and pushed through the revolving door.

The studio was alive with the sound of creators at work, and it almost sounded like home. The entrance hall had posters all the way down showing some of the characters in Drew Studios’ cartoons. Boris the Wolf (less villainous, more hungry), the Butcher Gang (a recurring group of bad guys made up of Charley, Barley, and Edgar), Alice Angel (her mediocre debut was followed up by the fantastic ‘Hell or High Water’ and her popularity exploded), and of course, studio mascot Bendy the Dancing Demon. Bendy was the big star, and had been ever since Drew Studios started getting some recognition back in ’35.

The hall opened into a lobby, and an inter-office courier nearly ran into Eddie, gave a half-hearted apology, and kept on going. There were a couple of young men bickering off to the side, and a projector played an old Bendy cartoon on a screen at the back wall.

A woman wearing a knee-length checkered skirt and red lipstick approached Eddie as he took the scene in. “Can I help you, sir?” she said. She had a distinct Jersey accent.

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got a meeting with Mr. Drew?” he said. The secretary, probably, consulted her clipboard and asked for his name. “Valiant.”

“Hm, I’m not seeing—”

A sharp whistle cut across the lobby, and a man who definitely wasn’t Joey Drew but still seemed kind of familiar strode across the room, up to Eddie and the secretary. “It’s fine, Sherry, we’re expecting Mr. Valiant,” he said. He was distinctly short, white, and slim. He looked young, without a trace of gray in his hair, and had a very thin pencil mustache. He was dressed professionally, but his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his tie was thrown over his shoulder to keep it clean. There were dark spots under his eyes.

“Alright, Mr. Hoskins,” Sherry said, and quietly made a gesture like adjusting her collar; he picked up on her meaning and quickly sorted out his tie.

Sherry fluttered away, her heels clicking on the wood floor, and Eddie forced himself to look in any other direction. “So, uh, Mr. Hoskins?”

“Please, just call me Henry.” Henry Hoskins, now that was a name that Eddie recognized from his research. Cofounder of Drew Studios, head animator for what little traditional animation they still produced. Despite his significance in the studio’s history, he stayed out of the public eye, especially compared to Drew. “Pleasure, Mr. Valiant, I’m the lead artist here.” Henry held out his hand for Eddie to shake.

‘Lead artist’ was a roundabout way of alluding to Henry’s bigger role; he was one of those rare gifted people who possessed the power to literally bring their art to life. Some called them, ‘Old Men,’ after Disney’s Nine Old Men, who had that power to a man.

Eddie shook Henry’s hand. “Eddie Valiant.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s many people in this industry who haven’t heard of you after last summer,” Henry said.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, at any rate, I’d like to talk somewhere a little more private. We’re trying to keep things quiet as long as possible.”

He led Eddie down the left wing to what was presumably Henry’s office, surprisingly small for one of the studio’s founders. There was an ordinary desk and chair, along with a light table that had been in use recently. He probably didn’t have people in his office very often, judging by how the desk and chairs were piled high with papers. As Henry moved a heavy-looking binder off of a chair, Eddie looked around a little.

Framed art covered the walls, but especially over the light table. There were character model sheets, concept art, a few posters. Some photographs had been pinned up. There was one of Henry and another man, at least a few years younger. Another was clearly a wedding portrait, showing Henry and a pretty woman with dark hair. Eddie checked surreptitiously to confirm that yes, Henry was wearing a wedding band.

Then there was another photo, this one of a little girl who couldn’t have been older than five, and right next to that photo was a child’s drawing of Bendy done in crayon.

“Your daughter?” Eddie said.

Henry swung his head around to see what Eddie was referring to, and broke into a smile. “Yeah, my little girl. Beth just turned six. Do you have any children, Mr. Valiant?”

Eddie shook his head emphatically. “No, no no, that life ain’t for me.”

“Well, it isn’t easy, I’ll say that much, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Then again, if even half of what the papers say is true, you’ve taken on some work far more difficult than raising a child.” Henry threw his hands up as the mess defeated him. “Bah. I’m sorry Joey didn’t come meet you himself, he’s scatter-brained at the best of times. I—what in the world is that noise?”

There was some kind of rustling noise coming from the coat closet. Eddie was closer, so he pulled the door open, and a puny cartoon devil came tumbling out, dramatically gasping for air.

“I thought I was a goner!” Bendy wheezed. “It smells like a sewer in there!”

“Bendy!” Henry snapped, but he didn’t look all that bothered by it, smiling as he spoke. “How long have you been in there?”

“Uh…what day is it?”

“Same as when I saw you this morning. Why aren’t you on set?”

“Cause they’re still cleanin’ up after the last take,” Bendy drawled, dropping all of the wheezing he had affected. It was a gag, between Toon and creator, maybe not exactly that situation but the format of Bendy cracking wise while Henry was the straight man was nothing new. Not for the first time Eddie reflected on just how weird artists were.

“So, this the flatfoot who’s gonna find Alice?” Bendy said, turning his attention to Eddie and sizing him up.

“I hope so,” Henry said. “Mr. Valiant, Bendy. Bendy, Eddie Valiant.”

“Hmph,” Bendy grunted, and Eddie’s response was more or less the same. He was way too used to being around Toons.

“So, Alice Angel?” Eddie said.

“Yes, that’s right,” Henry said, sobering. “Alice has been missing for a little over a week. The last time anyone saw her was the Friday before last. Joey tried to report her missing, but New York’s Finest laughed at him.” The sarcasm was practically dripping off of Henry. Bendy murmured something about, “@#&%ing pigs,” with the sound of a bike horn. Definitely a New Yorker.

“No surprise there,” Eddie said. He held up his box of cigarettes. “Alright if I smoke?”

“Sorry, I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Henry said. Eddie nodded and quietly pocketed the box. “We tried searching for her ourselves, but everyone here is so busy with work. There’s been some calls to PI’s in the area, but they didn’t want anything to do with Toons. If I’m being honest, as much as I trust Joey, I objected when he wanted to hire you, Mr. Valiant, but I think he’s panicking.”

“Well, if we’re being honest, I thought it was a little funny myself. As for your little starlet…” Eddie set his jaw. “She wouldn’t be the first to go running off into the city for a good time, but she doesn’t seem like the type. Anybody check her place?”

“Hm?” Henry blinked. “Oh, no, Alice lives here in the studio, along with Bendy and Boris.”

Well that explained some of the expansions, dorms for the Toons. It was practically unknown in Hollywood since Toontown was brought to life, and even before then it was uncommon for studios to have private housing for their ink-based stars. Toons weren’t treated well in general, but there was still some acknowledgement that they were people, human-like, and wanted to be treated like adults. Unless it was funny, of course. Hell, even Roger—

“ACHOO!”

The room went very still, as that had definitely not been either of the humans who had sneezed comically loudly, and Bendy wasn’t trying to use Henry’s shirt as a handkerchief, and also the sneeze had come from Eddie’s travel bag.

“I, uh, think your bag might have a cold,” Bendy drawled.

Eddie could feel his blood pressure rising. He dropped his bag unceremoniously to the floor, and the impact was accompanied by a yelp. Eddie roughly unzipped the bag, reached in to the elbow, and yanked out a Toon rabbit by the straps of his red overalls, wriggling as he tried to get free. “Oh, boy, is it stuffy in there! My ears were burning, was somebody talkin’ about me?”

“Roger!” Eddie snapped, as he lifted Roger Rabbit up so he could look him in the eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

Roger rambled, oblivious to Eddie’s frustration. “Well, I heard you were going to New York, and I’ve always wanted to go to New York, so I thought, why not go see New York with my best pal? Then we can solve a case together, just like the good ol’ days!”

“’The good ol’ days?’ You mean last summer, when you were framed for murdering Marvin Acme and almost got the both of us killed?”

“Yeah, just like then!” Roger said earnestly.

Eddie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and dropped Roger so he could rub his temples. Bendy looked excited, which couldn’t be good, and Henry was laughing. “Do I even want to know what you did with my spare clothes?” Eddie snapped.

Meanwhile, a ten-year-old girl in Albuquerque was very confused when she unpacked her suitcase and found a pair of men’s boxers with hearts printed on them.

“Pu-bu-bu-bu-robably not!” Roger trilled, and darted away from Eddie to avoid retaliation.

Roger stopped in front of Bendy and gasped dramatically. “Oh, boy! I never thought I’d get to meet Bendy, I just saw the last cartoon you were in! Oh, the artistry! The drama! The tragedy! It was inspired!” Roger cried, swooning.

Bendy was all too eagerly soaking up the praise. “Well, you ain’t too bad yaself, Rabbit. Put ‘er there, pal,” Bendy said. Roger happily shook his hand, and even as Roger was viciously zapped by Bendy’s joy buzzer, he shook Bendy’s hand so strongly that the little devil was lifted up off his feet and shaken up and down. By the time they were finished, Roger’s fur was singed and Bendy was dizzy and a droplet of ink fell from the edge of his widow’s peak like sweat.

“Toons,” Eddie said gruffly.

“Toons,” Henry said cheerfully.

Artists.

A knock came at the door, and a blonde kid pushed it open. “Henry, you’re needed on the sound stage. And have you seen—oh, Bendy’s right here, perfect. You should know, Mr. Drew is getting anxious.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be right there,” Henry said. “Do you mind coming downstairs, Mr. Valiant? Knowing Joey, if he doesn’t see you with his own eyes he’ll end up keeping you waiting a while.”

Eddie just gestured for Henry to lead the way.

There was a lift to the lower floors, Henry explained, but the sound stage was only one floor down. The stairs were easier. Bendy hopped up on Henry’s shoulder and Henry didn’t even blink; Roger saw this, looked at Eddie hopefully, and Eddie ignored him.

All things considered, the studio was nothing special compared to the kinds of setups you saw in LA, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Henry spoke proudly about starting the studio with Joey Drew, creating Bendy and building the studio into a strong contender, expanding the staff to a fair size, if smaller than some other studios of the same age—coming up on fifteen years.

There was one weird thing, though.

“What’s with the pipes?” Eddie said, of the clear plexiglass pipes carrying a trickle of some dark black substance. The pipes seemed to run (and drip) everywhere in the building, from the lobby to the offices to the stairwells.

Henry didn’t even need to look to know what Eddie was talking about. “Much like your being here, a result of Joey panicking. I’m still not all that sure about it myself, I was a little distracted with a newborn, but I have my suspicions. Around that time, before Bendy became real, the studio was having some trouble. We couldn’t really keep up with the larger studios out west. I’m thinking Joey got pulled in by a conman, he was desperate but it could happen to anyone—”

Bendy cut in when it was clear Henry was going to keep rambling and making excuses. “Joey wanted to try and use some hunk-a-junk ‘Old Man-in-a-Can’ to try and make me real. Not to, uh, doubt him? But let’s just say I’m real glad Henry pulled it off before the machine ever got off the ground.”

Eddie made a sour face. “Hold on, hold on, he tried to build a machine to make Toons?”

“Well, yes,” Henry said, wincing. “Don’t get me wrong, Joey’s my best friend, but he can be a little…”

“Short-sighted. Impulsive. Dumb as a box of rocks,” Bendy said.

“Anyways! It was a mess from the beginning, but it never would have worked, Joey’s Ink Machine,” Henry said. “I saw the blueprints once, most of the writing was some nonsense scribbles. He’s embarrassed by it, really. But it’d be expensive and messy to take it all apart, it’s just been left as it is.”

“A monument to stupidity,” Bendy quipped, and Henry shook his head.

Joey Drew was even more of an eccentric than rumor claimed, then. Bringing Toons to life without needing an Old Man? He wasn’t the first person to try, but there was a reason that studios still employed Old Men. The attempts ended in spectacular failure, and the failures were well-publicized. From what Eddie knew, nobody had really tried to do it in at least ten years. The general conclusion was that it was impossible to replicate an Old Man’s power. Joey must have been really desperate.

The sound stage on B1 was a raucous mess of people moving back and forth trying to get their jobs done. Above the sound crew setting up and testing mics, above artists organizing work, above the cleanup crew getting out of the way, a man’s booming voice dominated the room. “Somebody shut off that fan! I want that playback ready to go on cue this time! And where is Bendy?”

Crew moved aside as somebody pushed their way through, and there was a man Eddie recognized from his picture in the papers, looking a little red in the face from exertion and the stage lights. Joey Drew was a white man standing at about six foot tall, built sturdy. His facial hair was grown out and a little unkempt, and already light hair was shot through with gray. He had clever eyes and laugh lines.

“Finally!” Joey declared. His voice was deep and booming, filling the space he was in. He pointed a finger at Bendy as though in accusation. “Just where did you run off to? After everything that’s happened, I would think you—”

Henry grabbed Joey’s hand and forced it down. “Give it a rest, Joey. He was upstairs in my office, meeting Mr. Valiant.”

“Wait, Valiant?” Joey said, and for the first time he looked at Eddie. His face was starting to return to a healthier pallor. “Mr. Valiant!” Joey exclaimed, with no small amount of relief, and he laughed. “Goodness, I didn’t expect you here so early!” It was almost four in the afternoon. “Oh, but it is wonderful to meet you in person, put ‘er there.”

They shook hands, and Joey’s grip was firm. “Mr. Valiant, please do forgive me, but could I have just one minute and then we can go back upstairs.”

Eddie waved him along. Joey pulled Henry and Buddy up towards the sound stage, clapping Henry on the back and they chatted amiably as they went out of sight. Eddie took a few steps off to the side to lean against a wall in a mostly unoccupied corner. A janitor in denim coveralls was leaning over a trash can, rooting around in the garbage.

“Lose something?”

The janitor jumped and hit his head on the edge of the trash can and stood up straight massaging the bump. He was a young black man, in his early twenties at best. “Nope, didn’t lose nothing! I was just, uh…” He had a strong Brooklyn accent. “Definitely did not lose my keys, nosiree…”

“Don’t worry about it, kid, no skin off my nose,” Eddie said, and then he rethought it. “Just one question, though, how long have you been missing your keys?”

The janitor, his name tag said Wally, looked at Eddie funny. “Uh, I had them an hour ago? But thanks, anyways. Oh, hell, I’m outta here,” Wally said suddenly, and darted away as Joey returned.

Joey had his attention split as he opened a small vial. It looked a little like something Eddie’s girl Dolores had ordered out of the Sears catalog, some oil that was supposed to relieve stress but mostly the strong smell just gave Eddie a headache. Running a cartoon studio, though, Joey probably needed all the stress relief he could get.

Joey sniffed the contents of the vial and made a face. “Blast it, I think it’s gone bad. Mr. Valiant, does this smell like lemon to you?” Joey said as he suddenly shoved the vial in Eddie’s face. Eddie reflexively pushed it away but not fast enough to avoid catching a whiff of something that was not lemon, but smelled a lot like eggs that had been rotting for months. Eddie turned away to cough and retch.

“What the hell?” Eddie spat as Joey was laughing. Roger came closer to investigate, caught the scent directly, turned green, and dropped to the floor stiff as a board clutching a drooping flower between his hands.

“Ha-ha! Oh, dear, I just couldn’t resist!” Joey said as he wiped his eyes, tearing up from laughing so hard at Eddie. Eddie just scowled at him. “Oh, don’t be like that, Mr. Valiant, it was just a joke.” He corked the vial and replaced it in his coat pocket. The smell was still present, but Joey seemed unperturbed. He tapped a finger on the side of his nose. “Can’t smell a thing, never been able to, makes the gag just a little more convincing.”

“Yeah, well, right now I’m wishing I couldn’t smell.” Eddie really had regained his sense of humor since the Acme case, but that didn’t mean he had the patience for some guy who thought that Acme Brand Stink SyrupTM was a replacement for an actual joke.

“Oh, for the love of, I’m sorry, alright? It won’t happen again,” Joey said, and to his credit he sounded pretty genuine.

“Right, well, I’d like to get to work, if you’re done playing pranks.”

“Now hold your horses, Mr. Valiant, there’s no need to be hasty. A minute one way or the other won’t make much of a difference.”

Eddie begged to differ, but made himself shut up and stay put. It was hard when Roger was standing behind Joey waggling his finger and making faces.

“There we go. Now, Mr. Valiant, tell me, have you ever seen an Old Man use their power?”

“You kiddin’? I’m from LA, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting an Old Man.”

Joey pouted at him. “Well, I personally never get tired of watching.” He turned back toward the sound stage.

The crew was settling and clearing the space, and on the sound stage Henry was with an assistant artist on one side and the director on the other, looking over a drawing done by the assistant with Henry’s guidance and input.

There were no bright colors or auditory cues when an Old Man went to work. There was just an invisible shift in the air, like the way light passing through a gap in the curtains moved across the wall. And as Henry’s eyes passed over the empty space, the image in the drawing was reproduced in three dimensions. The floor became a city street, the back wall, a store front. A couple of lamp posts, a manhole cover, the sidewalk, all of it rounded and polished and matching the style of Drew Studios’ cartoons.

So there was still some wonder at seeing drawings come to life. Everybody was watching quietly, but nobody seemed quite as happy as Henry, even after using his power so many times. It was never mundane to him, how could it be?

As it was drawn by another artist, the set would only last a couple of hours before turning to dust. Only if Henry drew it himself would it be permanent. Nobody quite knew how that power worked, but there was a consistent set of rules to how it could be used.

When the set was completed, Henry was perspiring and grinning. The page in his hand had started spontaneously leaking ink from the center out, and by the time he was done it was soaked through with black ink.

Henry took a step back, and like that, the spell was broken, and everybody went straight back to work.

Joey clapped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie jumped. “Alright, then, let’s get to business.”

Joey’s office was three times the size of Henry’s, significantly more organized, with significantly fewer personal touches. The left wall had a bookshelf mostly filled with knick-knacks, and the right wall had a couple of newspaper clippings, a magazine cover, and a poster for the Butcher Gang. It was a little chilly, the vent was wide open. Eddie made Roger wait outside the office, which carried its own risks, but it was at least a calculated one.

“So, Henry already told you what’s happened?” Joey said as he stepped behind his desk.

“More or less. You want me to find Alice.”

“That’s exactly right, Mr. Valiant. It’s been madness this past week, I’m at my wit’s end. Speaking of, I really am sorry about the state I was in when you first came downstairs, it’s just been…difficult,” Joey said. “We’re all so worried about her, the police only mocked me, and I shudder to imagine what could have happened to her.”

“Mm-hm,. You gotta understand, Mr. Drew, you’re not giving me a lot to work off of here, and I can’t guarantee I’m gonna find her. It’s not easy to hurt a Toon, but it ain’t hard for a smart Toon to make themselves disappear.”

Joey shook his head. “I hope she isn’t hurt, but even if she did run away, she couldn’t possibly have done it without help.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just what I said. Alice, and Bendy and Boris as well, they’re all clever, but not particularly, what’s the word, worldly. They don’t really leave the studio very often, and when they do they usually have a chaperone, either myself or Henry.”

Eddie squinted at him. “No offense, Drew, but that’s a little funny to keep Toons locked up in a studio.”

“Not locked up, goodness!” You make it sound like they’re here against their wills!” Joey said, visibly appalled. “But, Mr. Valiant, this isn’t Los Angeles. There isn’t a haven like Toontown here in New York, but people aren’t any kinder to Toons here than they are in California. Do you recall Fleisher Studios?”

“Sure I know ‘em. Hell, my brother and I worked for ‘em once back in the day. They, uh…” Eddie frowned as he recalled the details. Had to be spring of ’42, Fleischer Studios was going defunct. The case wasn’t actually for Max Fleischer, Valiant & Valiant were hired by Betty Boop and Bingo after the couple moved to California along with some other Fleischer Bros. Toons.

Eddie wet his lips. “Right. The stalker.”

Now it was coming back to him. Betty had a stalker who had been harassing her for some six months. The creep wasn’t subtle about it, but he was a human and she was a Toon, so the NYPD would not do a think about it, and the stalker even followed Betty and Bingo all the way across the country. They had been afraid he might try to hurt one or both of them, so Teddy got Betty and Bingo safely to Toontown while Eddie waited at the motel room and gave the stalker the scare of his life. The involvement of Valiant & Valiant did not make the papers, but word of mouth still spread the story among the Toons.

“Alright, I get what you mean.”

“Thank you, Mr. Valiant,” Joey said, relaxing a little and smiling gratefully. “It’s incidents just like that one that make me fear for the safety of my Toons. They haven’t expressed any interest in living somewhere else, so I’m only too happy to let them have a home here.”

Persuasive guy, Eddie thought. “So, whether she left of her own will or not, somebody else had to be involved. That’s definitely something to look into. Still can’t guarantee anything, but I can do some digging.”

“Fantastic,” Joey said, flashing a big grin. “About your compensation, I admit that this work is a little nebulous and the time frame is going to be uncertain.”

“At least a couple days.”

“I thought as much. We’ll stick with the daily rate we agreed upon plus expenses, yes? You do have a reputation for results, and for being a man of strong morals, so I think I can trust that you won’t sit back and do nothing.”

This was already going better than Eddie feared it would. “That sounds damn fair, Mr. Drew.”

And they shook on the agreement.

“So Alice lives here in the studio, but does she have any friends outside of it?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know, I speak with her less than I would like,” Joey said, as he went to write out a check for the first day of work.

“Then who would know?”

“Well, Henry is certainly closest with the Toons,” Joey said. “But he’s a tad busy at the moment, and rather worn out. Otherwise, she spends quite a bit of time around our Music Director, Sammy Lawrence. You’re welcome to speak to him, the lift can take you down to level B4. I only ask that you avoid going into sound stage while it is in use. Level C is under construction but the button on the lift is disabled anyways. And there is one room on this level you will pass on the way to the lift, it’s boarded up, but that is the site of a, eh, project that didn’t work out.”

“The Ink Machine?”

Joey’s lip curled. “So, Henry told you about that, did he? Wonderful. Nevertheless, I recommend staying clear. And that goes double for Roger. The last thing I need is Disney on me, on top of everything else.”

That, at least, Eddie could understand.

When Eddie went to leave, he was relieved to find Roger was just where he left him, now chatting with that same janitor from downstairs. Wally wasn’t doing his job in the slightest, but was leaning on his mop with the bucket left right where somebody could step in it.

“Wally! Perfect timing!” Joey boomed, and Wally nearly fell over in surprise, stood upright, and grinned. “You can show Mr. Valiant—”

“Show him the door! On it, boss!” Wally said, dropping his mop and pushing his sleeves up.

“Show him the lift, Wally!” Joey interjected.

“Show him the lift! On it, boss!” Wally said in the same tone, fixing his sleeves and adjusting his cap.

Joey clapped his hands together. “Well, Mr. Valiant, on behalf of every one of my employees, I wish you could luck. I believe in you, Eddie, and with the power of belief, nothing is impossible.” He was beaming, and there was a twinkle in his eye.

Eddie nodded and touched the brim of his hat. “Let’s get going, Roger.”

The door closed loudly behind them.

“So, you find your keys?” Eddie said.

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Wally said, and kept on walking as he fished out a keyring and jangled it. Roger was intensely fascinated by the keys. “And now I get why you were so curious about when I lost ‘em, if they’d been lost a while somebody might’ve used them to break in.”

“Smart kid,” Eddie said dryly. It really had been his concern.

“Don’t think it’s that much. Aw, geez, Eddie Valiant. My aunt’s wild about that true crime stuff. Uh! Not that I’m gonna mention anything about it until after you’re done,” Wally added quickly. Again, smarter than some of the people Eddie had worked for in the past. “You are here to find Alice, right? She’s quite a gal, just hope she’s alright.”

Wally took Eddie down a hall, past administrative offices, and down a small flight of stairs to a break room. In the back corner was the lift Joey told him about.

“Hey, so, I couldn’t help but overhear a little,” Wally said. “You’re gonna go talk to Mr. Lawrence?”

“’Overheard,’ huh?” Eddie said doubtfully. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” Wally crossed his arms and slouched. “Sammy’s pretty much always angry at everybody, and it’s easy to cheese him off. He’s just damn good at makin’ music so everybody puts up with him. But, if you want to start out on his good side, offer him a cigarette. He’ll probably turn you down, but he’ll be a little easier to talk to.”

And that was why you were polite to the janitors: they had the dirt on everyone. “Offer him a cigarette, huh? I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, kid.”

“Yeah, well, no problem, Mr. Valiant,” Wally said. He held out his hand. Eddie frowned, but he shook the proffered hand. “Good luck finding Alice.”

“…Yeah.”

Weird kid, but Eddie had met weirder in just the last hour. Eddie pushed his hands into his pockets.

The lift was a little rickety and very slow, but better than too fast. Eddie pulled the grate shut, and Roger insisted on pushing the button, but at least he didn’t push all the buttons.

As the lift slowly descended, Eddie lit a cigarette. He set his jaw, and noticed Roger looking at him eagerly. “What?”

“I know that face, that’s the Eddie Valiant Thinkin’ Face!”

The worst part was that Roger wasn’t wrong. He really had been thinking.

Eddie tapped his cigarette and said, “You ever see an Old Man work, Roger?”

Roger perked up. “Oh, sure plenty of times! Not as much at Disney, but at Maroon Cartoons, all the time!”

“So, you know what it looks like and you saw when Henry made the set a bit ago. You notice anything weird about it?”

“Huh, weird?” Roger said, and he tapped his chin in thought. “Well, now that you mention it…” He tilted his head to the side. “I ain’t never seen an animator get so tired after Old-Manning. It’s usually easy for ‘em, right? But Henry looked like he was gonna pass out by the end of it.”

Ignoring the interesting turn of phrase, Eddie nodded. “What else?”

“Uh, oh, yeah, and the paper he was using!” Roger exclaimed. “It got all gross and inky, made a whole big mess! I’ve never seen anything like that happen before?”

“Me neither. I already felt like something was up, but now I’m sure of it.” Eddie pulled out the paper that Wally had quietly given him while they shook hands and held the note up to Roger. “Something stinks at this studio.”

Written in a heavy hand were the words:

DON’T TRUST JOEY DREW

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #who framed roger rabbit #wfrr #roger rabbit and the ink machine #rratim #fanfiction

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abandonedblog980 · 6 years

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30 Questions for Artists

I saw @saawek doing this and I didn’t get tagged but god I love these so much so i’m busting in and doing this

Rules: there are no rules! Tag whomever you want if you choose to answer the questions

Do you prefer traditional drawing, or digital? I feel like I get a more polished product out of digital, and it tends to look more like what I’m going for. So I’ll say digital : )

How long have you been drawing? basically always as a kid but you know, everyone scribbles when they’re a kid. I guess I started getting serious about art around 4th or 5th grade.

How many classes have you taken? required elementary ones, one optional middle school one, and two college courses (2D design and drawing I)

Do you have a DeviantArt, personal website, or art blog? right here : )

What’s your favorite thing to draw? probably Castiel.

What’s your least favorite thing to draw? uhhhhh feet

How often do you use references? basically every single day

Do you draw professionally, or just for fun? i’m actually just starting to come back to my (very casual) concept art job. it’s very rough but yeah

How much time do you spend drawing on an average day? maybe two hours or less? unless it’s a special occasion. i’ve been super busy with school.

Are you confident about your art? i’m the most confident with my art i’ve ever been. I still want to loosen up my painting and do more creative things but i’m slowly getting to it as it’s not too much of a priority now.

How many art-related blogs do you follow? I follow a lot of artists (especially of the supernatural type), but I follow a few ref and misc art blogs too

Is it okay for people to ask you about your process? I literally love posting process shots with portraits and if you ask me how I draw things it is the utmost honor.

Do you prefer to keep your art personal, or do you like drawing things for other people? if I think it’s kinda ugly, I might keep it to myself or just show it to my close friends in person. usually though, I absolutely love attention. oddly though i get uncomfortable when people gush over my art like it’s weird

Do you ever collaborate with others? i wish : (

How long does an average piece take you to complete? my digital portraits (or realistic busts or whatever) almost always take me 10+ hours. on paper though,

Do you draw more today than you did in the past, or do you draw less? definitely less. I used to doodle a lot in middle school, so now that I actually have to pay good attention, that’s gone.

Do you think you’re justified in giving other people art advice? i’ve taken a few art courses at college so kinda? I still feel like i’m presenting a pompous attitude when I give people my age/older than me advice.

What are you currently trying to improve on? being more creative, thinking outside the box, experimenting

What is the most difficult thing for you to draw? abstraction and legs

What is the easiest thing for you to draw? profile busts or front facing busts 😂

Do you like to challenge yourself? uhhhhh it’s really hard but it pays off so sure

Are you confident that you’re improving steadily? I hit a rut of no improvement or enjoyment after january that went on and off in february, and hit full force the first half of march, but now i’m finally starting to get consistent again.

Do you draw more fanart, or more original art? probably more art of my original characters lately. i haven’t shown it much though because they’re just small sketches.

Do you feel jealous when you see other people’s art, or inspired? (Be honest!) absolutely of course both. more inspired, but i’m lazy and barely ever act on it.

Do you like to draw in silence, or with music? I like music on as a lot of my actual drawings are inspired by songs, but I get distracted really easily. I also listen to a lot of YouTube but that’s even worse as you gotta keep clicking on new vids.

For digital artists: what program(s) do you use? Paint Tool Sai

For digital artists: how many layers does a typical piece require? hmmm on my last digital piece, I had one main layer and mostly drew on that, but when the brushes weren’t being cooperative or I wanted to ensure that I wouldn’t screw up the whole thing, I added a new layer on top and merged them later. probably less than 20 in the end?

For traditional artists: what medium do you like most? (Pencil, charcoals, etc) visually I love the look of oil paints and gouache, but i’ve never tried them out. of what I have, probably copic markers.

For traditional artists: How do you usually start on a big piece? (Light sketch, colored lead, sketchpaper, etc) I jump head first into it and pray

What inspires you to not just make art, but to be a better artist? absolutely my job as a concept artist. not sure how much I can say about that, but as someone who is the youngest in the company and one of the youngest in the industry, I’m constantly seeing my coworkers and others’ art. they’re all adults and they more about how art and the world works. and i wanna be up to par and speed with them.

i’m not really sure of which of my mutuals/followers are artists so just do this if you want!

#ask games #about me

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the-prince-of-professors · 6 years

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30 Questions for Artists

Tagged by @xbooksandtea - Why, thank you! I... certainly don’t consider myself an artist (not in that sense of the word anyway), but since I’ve done some stuff just for fun lately I’ll answer these just for fun as well! (and for the chance of tagging some artists ^^). So uhm... here we go x) Enjoy my very amateurish answers!

Rules: Rules: there are no rules! Tag whomever you want if you choose to answer the questions

Do you prefer traditional drawing, or digital? Digital, I suppose. That’s what I’ve been doing lately - I’ve never really had the patience for working with paint on paper and such, but I’ve found working on the computer a lot of fun.

How long have you been drawing? Uhm... depends on what you mean x) Since I was like, one year old? I don’t really consider myself having had a point when I started “seriously” drawing? So, yeah.

How many classes have you taken? None, except for in school (and I was never very successful - getting an assignment and having the pressure to finish it in a certain amount of time was never my thing)

Do you have a DeviantArt, personal website, or art blog? No x)

What’s your favorite thing to draw? Holmes and Watson I suppose?

What’s your least favorite thing to draw? I don’t know? If I don’t like it, I probably won’t do it.

How often do you use references? Often! I’ve actually found that to be a lot of fun - to go “oh, I want to draw this but what the hell does it actually look like?” and then look at some pictures and sorta... get a new understanding for something? Since I really don’t know much about drawing I have to figure it out as I go along, and I find that very stimulating actually!

Do you draw professionally, or just for fun? Pffft.... for fun!

How much time do you spend drawing on an average day? Oh, that varies a lot... I don’t do it that often, but if I start on something I tend to go on for a few hours perhaps? (I find it hard to stop once I’ve started)

Are you confident about your art? Hehehe... well, since I really just do it for the fun of it, I suppose that I am!

How many art-related blogs do you follow? A few, but most of them are mixed with “ordinary” content? I’m not sure.

Is it okay for people to ask you about your process? Yes, if you find that interesting x)

Do you prefer to keep your art personal, or do you like drawing things for other people? Oh well... both? I do it for myself, but I like to share it! And I loved doing those personalized Pride Flags in June, and can’t wait for it to be Pride Month again so that I can do it again!

Do you ever collaborate with others? Me and my best friend spent many French lessons passing a notebook back and forth doodling and making comics. And Natural Sciences classes. And Social Sciences. And History. We would have done it in Gym class too, but there was no paper.

How long does an average piece take you to complete? Uhm, I suppose anything from an hour to a few days? I haven’t really counted.

Do you draw more today than you did in the past, or do you draw less? More now, definitely.

Do you think you’re justified in giving other people art advice? No xD

What are you currently trying to improve on? Everything?

What is the most difficult thing for you to draw? People... with eyes.

What is the easiest thing for you to draw? Things that have simple geometric shapes, such as doors and windows.

Do you like to challenge yourself? Yes! It’s fun to get an idea in your head and then see if you can do it :)

Are you confident that you’re improving steadily? I am, yes! I always learn something new.

Do you draw more fanart, or more original art? Fan art, I suppose. But I’ve been thinking about making personalized birthday cards for my friends and family this year :)

Do you feel jealous when you see other people’s art, or inspired? (Be honest!) More like, in awe. Thinking “how they do that??”

Do you like to draw in silence, or with music? I tend to listen to music A LOT, all the time, so yes I like to have music on while drawing! I often use music for inspiration as well, for anything I do so...

For digital artists: what program(s) do you use? ... Paint.

For digital artists: how many layers does a typical piece require? I don’t work with layers...

For traditional artists: what medium do you like most? (Pencil, charcoals, etc) I do find it rather stimulating doodling with a pencil

For traditional artists: How do you usually start on a big piece? (Light sketch, colored lead, sketchpaper, etc) I have never done anything of the sort... x)

What inspires you to not just make art, but to be a better artist? Okay, I feel like I can actually answer this question though, considering “art” can include many different mediums. Except for using art as a way of expressing myself (which is rewarding and therapeutic in itself), I have always been fascinated by the power art can have when it comes to affecting and reflecting and commenting upon the society we live in, as well as inspiring and helping people in so many different ways. There is something amazing in the way we communicate through art, be it painting or music or theatre or film or dance or literature... It’s a Universal language, and there are no limits to what it can do. So because of that I want to be the best I can be - get the tools and learn how to use them, in my areas of artistry - so that I can use art to affect the world and hopefully make it a better place.

Tagging: @granada-brett-crumbs @idonttrustbees @tremendousdetectivetheorist @thediogenes @ghostbees - if you want to, no pressure!

#i'm kinda patting myself on the shoulder rn going 'whatever makes you happy' while chuckling to myself #but it is fun!#and there are so many amazing artists out there! and here! on tumblr!#i'm constantly amazed!!#seriously you guys rock #art #painting #digital art #tag game

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twilightvolt · 6 years

Photo

A 3 month late art summary featuring art that i haven’t uploaded here due to my absence. unless i randomly feel like it, i don’t think i’m gonna go back and upload them here. if you wanna see them, though, they’re all on my DA.

I know i've pretty much said all the important bits in A Sacrifice for the Wind, but i figure i reiterate everything said along with expanding upon everything that occurred during 2017. piece by piece. and yes, i did intend to make an art joke. So, to get it outta the way, 2017 stunk more than a dead fish on a city bus. i lost a lot during that year. i lost the will to believe in whatever the future had in store for me, i almost lost a few friends, i lost my motivation to work on my projects and above all...i lost the smile i've always kept on every year before that. never have i been so emotionally damaged in all 5 years of my artist life leading up to this point. But, i can't say it was completely terrible. as much as i bashed it, art wise, 2017 was a very progressive year. looking at every wedge on the clock, i can't stop staring at how far i've come since the end of 2016. after being stripped of my tablet at the end, i've even learned how to not be afraid of making permanent mistakes. But yeah, let's begin. by turning the clock all the way back to January. when things were much simpler.... January: Hukaro Nakawa ~Final Mix Yeah, this was done in October, but i uploaded it in January for Moon's birthday. plus, there was nothing noteworthy this month. i still remember all the nice comments i got. this was the beginning of a year that i ran right in and yelled "LET'S SHOW THIS WORLD THAT WE WON'T STAND FOR ANOTHER 2016!" Oh how naive i was... February: The Beast Inside Remember when i played a lot of League in my free time? i sure do. anyway, this was my next attempt after Hukaro to continue doing my "Squeenix Cinematic Style." this time on the, at the time, new revamp for Warwick. needless to say, i still think i did a better job on Hukaro. BUT, this was still pretty good. it was during these first few months when things were really lookin' up for me. i was continually working on things cuz i really wanted to make something and school was pretty cool too. March: Digimon ZX Cover ZX ISN'T DEAD I SWEAR! *ahem* I MEAN....hai. owo As we march on into March, i think R2 of Digimon Temporal Jump was going on at the time. we were going through our story entries and things were pretty great being with my best buds. i also began doing art streams i'm pretty sure, with this drawing in particular being done during two days of streaming. i'm being serious, by the way. ZX is not dead. i've been typing up the story on my phone, so look forward to those chapters sometime soon! April: Are You Ready? Yup. in anticipation for Digidestined.Com, i decided to start seriously developing Digimon Unchained ahead of time so people would be able to get to know Yuki beforehand. unfortunately, i didn't actually get to start the story until much later, but that was just me being a lazy bum. i was hangin' out on Discord and stuff, talking about how excited i was for what was to come. we all know what happened, but at the time, being able to go back to the world i once knew with Luneth was a big deal for me. it's like i was going back to the beginning. And fear not, peeps! i've been working on Unchained for quite awhile. you'd be surprised how much i've worked on it with Gao. ^w^ May: Bits n' Bytes Ultima Vocal Collection Oh yeah, i did a birthday gift for Fire too! just so you know, i do still wanna make OSTs for my other Digimon adventures, but without my tablet i can't really do them right now. this month was pretty alright if i remember. making new friends and strengthening bonds with old friends. things were pretty fun in the sun cuz y'know......summer was coming. June: Connection Flow in Ice and Snow AWWW YEEEAAAAH, LET'S KICK IT!!! *Another Way by Girugamesh plays at full blast* (if .Com had a vocal OST, that would be opening.....3 if i remember the list i made. would've been the final opening i think. it's been awhile since i looked at the files.) Now that .Com finally began, i was on the hype train to the sun as i feverishly worked hard on my .Com stuff. this poster was one of my proudest works this year tbh. i promised i would make something great outta this story. this would be the closure that Luneth and Vivi so desperately needed, and Yuki and Arcus would be the ones to save them and close their book for good. not only that, but i was also graduating high school. after throwing my cap in the air, i said my heartfelt goodbyes to all the friends i've known since elementary and middle school including the close friends in my AP Art Squad. Team AP Art Will Never be Apart! honestly, things couldn't be any more exciting for me. Gee, it would be a shame if something were to happen that would trigger a chain of events that would divide my friends forever and send me down a spiraling pain train to the void known as crippling depression. July: DigiJuly Day 5: V-Mon (Vivi) This drawing was done to commemorate three years of adventures with Luneth and Vivi. this was during DigiJuly, when i was doing Digimon doodles nonstop for the duration of the month. What was once a hype train became a train wreck once July came around. things were ok until DTJ burned down in a raging fire and that set the stage for the rest of the year. i literally wouldn't be able to overcome any of this until November or so. i don't wanna dwell on it anymore since i'd be sounding like a broken record at this point. August: D3P: D-Sona 3 Portable Not a lot of art this month either. can you believe that? XD Hoo boy. August. need i say anything more about this month? we thought things settled down after DTJ shut down, but something was amiss.... This was the month that it happened. the climax of the story best left untold....even though i told it a hundred times already. >_>' Outside of the incident, time was running short for our stay at our current home and we were thinking of our next move. i began to worry about college as steep student debt caused us to have a change of plans on where to go. i was beginning to doubt if i even had a future to believe in. i was running out of options, and i was running out of hope. And trust me, it only gets worse from here. September: The Next Generation After awhile, things were still going on outside my realm of knowledge. it only made me feel worse seeing everything transpire long after the initial conflict. with this stigma hanging over me, i finally decided to pack my bags and leave the Digimon group era of my artist life. it was a pretty sour note to end it on, but let's be real here, there was no way i could wait any longer for things to get better. granted, my birthday was awesome, and i couldn't thank everyone enough for coming together to try to bring my spirit back. unfortunately, my bout with depression was just beginning. it was so bad, i pretty much stopped taking care of myself, which would lead to a few days ago when i'd end up with one less tooth in my mouth. i swear i won't let it get that bad again. With everything plummeting down to the dark abyss, i said goodbye to the life i once knew. from here on, things were about to change. i wasn't gonna end here. not now. October: Howling in the Shadows From this month forth, my family had no idea where we were going. the beginning of the tale of the borderline homeless that still continues to this day. Packing away my computer and drawing tablet for what feels like an eternity, i was moving out of my current home that we rented for the duration of my senior year and into grandma's house......in a raging storm. i'm not kidding. the rain was so bad that when we got there, our clothes were completely soaked and we couldn't even see 5 feet ahead of us outside that night. i knew immediately that it was some sort of ill omen for what was to transpire in the coming months. in fact, i even had dreams of the aftermath of what might happen. Now that i was stripped of my digital art abilities, i had to think of something else to do. so, i decided to dedicate myself to going back to traditional art. Boy, did i have fun. November: Return to the Realm of Sleep Now, this was the only thing i was able to crank out in November. BUT, that doesn't mean i didn't draw. i drew stuff, but nothing noteworthy enough to upload here. i'm gonna tell it to you straight now. Arcus will return. With my mental health still kicking me in the butt (it hit me so hard i had a panic attack one day.), i wasn't really motivated to draw much. in fact, i even hid myself away from the internet for quite awhile. without my friends or my sense of purpose, i felt like i had nothing and i was pretty under the weather for a majority of this month. that being said, i snapped myself out of it by force. it was stupid that i still felt the way i did months after what happened. sure, it was horrible, and i wish i could forget everything. but i can't stay stuck in the past. And so, i picked up my colored pencils and other such tools, and began my journey to recovery. December: Lexicon (Lex) and A Sacrifice for the Wind I got the hang of drawing traditionally pretty quickly. throughout the month, i was on fire, drawing masterstroke after masterstroke. (at least, in my opinion. XD) Making my new home in the mobile communities of Amino, it was a nice change of pace from the big screen of my computer. i made a bunch of new friends (to the staff of the Aminos i'm in and the rest of the crew in our Digimon Discord server, you guys are the best and thank you for healing the pain of yesteryear!) and had a grand old time making new OCs, Lex being one of them. i honestly luv Appmon and i wish we got more, but i'm content with what we got tbh. it'll live on in Seikatsu and his friends. be ready to see them once again in the near future! And so, in the wake of destruction as the world continues to change around me, i chopped off my signature anime emo locks, revamped my wardrobe and set my sights toward the future. Nowadays, i've completely moved on from the pain, but that doesn't change the fact that it still happened. overall, 2017 was a complete pile of poopoo garbage and i'm glad the nightmare is finally over. Even if i can't completely write it off as bad, there's just way too many negatives that weigh down the rest of the year for me personally. it's March now and things are pretty hectic, but i've got newfound courage and i know this year will be better than the last. time for me to get back up and charge forth to a better tomorrow!

#digital art #traditional art #summary of art #2017 summary of art #i'm still proud of all the ones featured here #now updated to show the full story from the DA version

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megaphonemonday · 7 years

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If you're taking requests, can I please get a fic of Ginny where she's Mike's daughter's kindergarten teacher?

oh, geez, Joudie. Do you see what you’ve made me do? I am tied up in all these feelings about Mike as a single dad now. Like 8000 words later and I’m still not over it.

anyway, i hope this makes you smile!

easy as 1, 2, 3 | ao3

“Daddy, look!”

Obediently, Mike stopped, one of Maddie’s little hands still curled in his. The other pointed up, towards a wall of artwork. (Well, calling it “art” was maybe generous, but the kids were five and six. He could cut them a little slack.) He tried to follow the line of her tiny finger, but wasn’t sure what she wanted him to see.

“What am I looking at, Mads?” he asked with a frown.

Impatiently, she raised her arms, the imperious “Up!” left unsaid.

With a groan—his girl was getting too big or his knees were aging too fast for this—Mike hauled her up onto his hip so she could point with more accuracy. Apparently, now that she had a better vantage, pointing wasn’t enough. Instead, she curled her fingers into his beard and tugged, like it was a set of reins and he was her noble steed.

He really needed to stop letting the guys give her “horsey rides” if this was what he got out of it.

“Ow! Mads, gentle,” he reminded her, still moving to the right. The way she’d wanted. Geez, that was effective.

Satisfied he was doing as she wanted, and—unfortunately—probably not because it was the right thing to do, she released her grip on him. She reached out and smacked her hand against one of the pictures. Immediately, his eyes zeroed in on the familiar, slightly shaky, handwriting of his daughter in the bottom corner. In painstaking letters, she’d spelled out “Madeline Lawson,” each letter a different color.

Honestly, how he’d missed it before was beyond him.

“It’s our family!” she announced brightly, not that Mike really needed the update.

Right in the middle, shorter than everyone else, was Maddie. He could tell it was Maddie because she’d painstakingly drawn herself in her favorite outfit, bright yellow overalls. There were four contingency pairs hidden in his closet. When it became clear how much she loved them, Mike went right out and bought an emergency stash. And a good thing, too. There had been five contingency pairs, but after he accidentally bleached the originals, they’d moved onto pair number two.

Beside her, much taller, that had to be him. At five, Maddie hadn’t yet learned artistic subtlety, so he was marked by both his beard, far bushier than he ever let it grow, and a baseball hat.

Some of the other figures, though, required a bit more thought. It didn’t help that Maddie’s understanding of family wasn’t quite... traditional.

Off to the side, with a gut and mop of gray hair, that had to be Skip, or Grandpa Al as his daughter had learned to call his longtime manager. Blip and Evelyn, along with Gabe and Marcus, were also included in Maddie’s vision of their family. Even Jedi, standing next to Maddie, though Mike doubted the little girl remembered the dog who’d died when she was three, was represented.

As conspicuous as the odd additions to their family tree was the glaring absence. There was no Rachel, which made Mike’s heart pang, just a little. But looking down at how proud his daughter was of her drawing, and how happy she’d made everyone in it look, he told himself again that Maddie couldn’t miss what she didn’t remember.

That only left one thing unexplained.

“Who’s this?” Mike asked, tapping the remaining woman in the picture. Well, he thought it was a woman. She was wearing a dress and had long hair. Then again, Maddie’d seen what the team made rookies wear during September hazing, so it was best to check.

“That’s Miss Baker,” Maddie replied, as if it required no further explanation.

Mike stared at the curly-haired figure. He had yet to meet Maddie’s new teacher. It was why they were here, in fact. When her original kindergarten teacher went on maternity leave early in the school year, Miss Baker had been hired to replace her. He knew that Maddie loved the woman, had come home with stars in her eyes the first day with her and breathed, “Daddy, she’s the best.” But between post season press obligations and trying to make sure there would be more than enough money to send his daughter to college, he hadn’t gotten a chance to meet the new teacher.

Which was really the only reason he’d signed up for a parent-teacher conference. It was kindergarten for Christ’s sake. What could there be to conference about? And barely six weeks into the year?

“Sweetheart, you know that Miss Baker’s not part of our family, right?”

Maddie shrugged in his arms, clearly uninterested in the conversation, looking down the hall towards her classroom.

Mike chuckled and dropped the subject. Miss Baker was surely waiting.

The closer they got, the more Maddie began to wriggle, nearly bouncing in his arms. She really was excited to be see her teacher. When he’d told her she didn’t have school today, she’d pouted for nearly an hour until Mike finally caved and told her about the conference. He wasn’t actually sure if he was supposed to bring Maddie along, though he was positive he’d never gone to a conference with his mom. Not unless the principal called her in and he was already waiting in the office.

But who was he to tell his baby girl that she couldn’t go to school if she wanted?

God, where did she get it from? Certainly not Mike, who’d only graduated because he couldn’t play ball if he didn’t.

He set Maddie down and watched as she dashed ahead into her classroom. He rounded the corner just in time to see her run to her teacher, who crouched down to greet the girl with a high five. She listened as Maddie prattled on and on, her focus not once wavering from her student. It wasn’t until his daughter pointed back towards him that she stood, looking towards the door.

For a moment, everything slowed. Her curly hair, tossed casually over her shoulder, seemed to float, unaffected by gravity. Sparkling brown eyes met his own and Mike would swear that his heart flipped in his chest.

Miss Baker blinked, shaking herself a little, before smiling warmly—had he ever been so affected by dimples before?—and extending her hand.

Mike blinked back, reaching out to shake automatically.

“Mr. Lawson? Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ginny Baker.”

(Preposterously, the first thing to cross his mind was Maddie’s picture out in the hallway. Not even two minutes ago, he’d thought it was weird for his kid to include a woman she’d only known a matter of weeks in her family portrait.

Now, he was beginning to think Maddie’d been onto something.)

If, after finally meeting the illustrious Miss Baker, Mike made a point of being a more visibly hands on parent, especially around school, he told himself he was just taking advantage of the off season to hang out more with his kid, which hadn’t been much of an issue when she was in pre-K. She was growing up so fast, he could hardly stand it.

And it wasn’t even a lie. He hadn’t actually realized there were so many volunteer jobs in Maddie’s classroom. Things had definitely changed since he was in school.

Which didn’t make him feel old. At all.

What did get to him was being surrounded by a bunch of kindergartners and their energetic 24-year-old leader. How she managed to keep up with the twenty-odd hell-raisers was a mystery, especially when his one morning a week left him nearly as drained as catching nine innings.

It helped that it was the most fun he’d had in a long time, though.

Maybe he would’ve liked school more if his teachers had looked like Miss Baker, or Ginny as she’d insisted when he showed up for the second time this week. He’d immediately reciprocated, because while he usually got a kick out of people calling him Mr. Lawson, from Ginny it just made him feel even more like a dad.

The way she’d grinned and nodded, testing out his name, well, that had definitely been a different kind of kick.

A kick that he had to ignore for the benefit of the small children around him.

Children that had just headed off to lunch.

“Bye, daddy!” his little girl called down the hallway, waving madly. “Bye, Miss Baker!”

Ginny and Mike stood at the door to her classroom, waving until the line of kindergartners disappeared around the hall. Once they were out of sight, Ginny sighed, slumping against the doorframe.

So she wasn’t a boundless well of energy.

The thought was oddly comforting.

“Long day at the office?” he joked weakly, a little too distracted by the dark sweep of her eyelashes against her cheekbones.

She snorted anyway, tossing him a grin as she turned back into the room, heading towards her desk.

Mike followed along, feeling more flustered around a pretty girl than he’d been in a long time. A pretty girl who happened to be his young daughter’s teacher.

Pulling himself out of that train of thought, he cast his attention elsewhere. Specifically, the little Padres pennant poking out of her pencil cup.

He flicked it with a finger, watching it flutter. “You a fan?”

“Yeah.” She smiled sheepishly, looking up at him through her lashes as she straightened her desk. “I actually didn’t realize that you were Maddie’s dad until you walked in for her conference.”

He grinned at that. “What, you don’t memorize all your students’ family trees?”

“Ah, I knew I’d forgotten something when I took over!”

Mike laughed, not because it was a particularly good joke, but because he liked the way it sounded when their chuckles blended together.

“I mean,” she continued, “she told me you played baseball, but I kind of figured she meant in a summer league or something? It’s funny what kids fixate on about their parents. Like Jack M? He told me his mom’s job was playing with water guns.”

“And what does she actually do?”

“She’s a firefighter.”

Mike chuckled appreciatively. “That’s not surprising. It took a long time to explain to Maddie that my job was just playing a game.”

Ginny smiled and nodded, a little rueful. “I get that. My dad actually used to play. In the minors. He retired before I was ever born, but I always told people that he was a baseball player.”

“Oh, what was his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”

She shot him a look that said she knew he was just being polite, and her lips quirked. “I doubt it. I’m sure he was before even your time.”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a disbelieving laugh bursting from his chest. Miss Baker’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d said and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t—”

He just chuckled, waving her off. “It’s all right. I am the oldest guy on the team now that Hunter retired.” He waited until she gave him a tentative smile back to look away. His gaze landed on the clock. With a start, he rapped his knuckles on her desk. “I should get outta your hair. Let you enjoy your peace and quiet while you have it.”

“I don’t mind,” she replied, still looking a little shy, though Mike was sure that was just left over embarrassment. Just like he was sure she was just being polite when she said she didn’t mind him hanging out.

It probably was safest to believe that. No, it definitely was safest to believe that.

“You say that now, but I can’t have you getting too sick of me. I’m signed up to be the Classroom Helper every Tuesday for the rest of the semester. Imagine how awkward it’ll be in December if you get sick of me now.”

The amusement on Ginny’s face was well worth losing a few of his cool points. They grinned at each other for a long moment, only breaking eye contact when she blinked and looked down.

When she peeked up again, though, she said, “Well, I guess I’ll have to look forward to next Tuesday, then.”

When he finally left the school, he had a grin on his face and a bounce in his step.

Mike, of course, because he didn’t do well with taking it easy or playing it cool, didn’t limit himself to his Tuesday morning duties as Classroom Helper. When Miss Baker’s class went on a field trip to a children’s music concert, he signed up as a chaperone. When the call went out for extra volunteers to help out with the kindergarten Halloween Party, Mike responded almost immediately. When the weekly story time volunteer had to cancel, Mike stepped in, and even consulted Ginny on kindergarten-appropriate reading material. (She laughed when he brought up “Casey at the Bat,” but suggested something with a happier ending.

Her laugh, as always, stayed with him for days.)

Which was why he finally admitted that, okay, he had a thing for Maddie’s teacher.

Not that he was going to do anything about it. Because aside from the age difference—she’d graduated from NC State two years ago and Mike could barely remember what high school had been like outside of the baseball team—and the fact that she was really and truly out of his league, Ginny Baker was his daughter’s teacher. There had to be some kind of rule or code against teachers dating parents.

He knew it. He accepted it, even.

But it didn’t keep him from sticking his nose where it probably didn’t belong.

Case in point: he invited her to Thanksgiving.

When he swung by the school to drop off Maddie’s forgotten lunchbox, he definitely hadn’t intended to invite the woman that he was harboring a monster crush on to Thanksgiving dinner, but it wasn’t as if he’d intended to develop that crush in the first place, either. Some things just happened.

The class was out at morning recess, so he didn’t bother going to the classroom. Instead, he made his way to the fenced in playground, sure that Ginny would be supervising her group of hellions there. When he arrived, though, the place was a ghost town.

Frowning, he circled, searching for the missing class, when the shrill shriek of little voices reached his ears.

He followed the sound to the flat expanse of grass around the back corner of the school, and was confronted by a tiny, makeshift baseball diamond swarming with small children. At the epicenter, a lightning rod compared to the munchkins surrounding her, was Ginny holding a big, red ball.

So, not baseball, then. Kickball.

When she caught sight of him, she smiled and waved, handing the ball off to the shy little boy next to her. She pointed and mimed rolling the ball to the next kicker in line before jogging up to Mike.

“Your daughter is kicking butts and taking names today,” she said in lieu of a real greeting.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, finding Maddie out on second base, a determined glint in her eye.

For a moment, they stood watching the game, which seemed to go fairly smoothly even without a teacher’s guiding hand. Satisfied that all wouldn’t descend into chaos, Ginny returned her attention to Mike. Her head tilted slightly to the side, eyeing him. “Did I miss that you were volunteering today?”

Mike held up Maddie’s sparkly purple lunchbox. “Nope. Just making sure my kid won’t starve.”

“You know they’ll give her lunch if they find out she forgot it.”

“I do,” he replied easily, “but I also know she probably won’t eat it. How I ended up with the pickiest eater on the planet is beyond me.”

Ginny laughed. “I’m sure there are worse. The other kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Wallis, told me she once had a boy who only ate dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. And when she got his sister the next year…” she trailed off, biting her lip and clearly trying to hold in laughter.

“Don’t leave me in suspense, Baker. What was it?”

“Spongebob mac and cheese.”

Mike chuckled at the absurdity of those poor parents stocking up on Kraft mac and cheese and chicken nuggets. “Maddie would love if I only made her chicken nuggets and mac and cheese,” he admitted. “But she is pretty excited for Thanksgiving. It’s the one meal she doesn’t ask questions.”

Ginny hummed in response and refocused her attention on the kids. One of them had taken a spill and she was waiting to see if she needed help or would get up on their own. When the girl pushed to her feet again, she turned back to Mike.

“So you don’t try and slip weird stuff by her then? My mom used to do that. Tell my brother and I that tuna fish casserole was traditional to get us to eat it.”

“No, but I might have to try it if her hatred of green beans goes any further.”

She shook her head ruefully before turning back to watch the game.

Mike did his best not to fidget at her side.

God, had he ever felt this awkward with a woman he’d been interested in? Probably not, if only because he could count on hand the number of women he’d been as interested in as Ginny and none of them were off limits.

“So,” he began, unsure of where to go. “Are you excited to go home for Thanksgiving?”

That was safe enough, right? It was this week, after all, with a shortened school week to celebrate; just Monday and Tuesday for both Ginny and the kids, and the rest off for an extra long weekend.

“Oh, I’m not.”

“Excited or going home?”

She frowned a little. “Both I guess? I couldn’t quite justify the ticket home when I also need to pay rent, so there’s not much to be excited for. It’ll probably be me, a pizza, and the Macy’s Parade.” Ginny’s drawl was good-humored, but it still unsettled something in Mike.

He remembered always being jealous of classmates who got to go to big Thanksgiving celebrations with all their cousins and grandparents, not to mention their moms and dads. While he’d never gotten that, and couldn’t really give it to Maddie, either, he sure as hell would share what he did have.

“Seriously? That sounds terrible.” he snorted, earning an indignant scoff from Ginny. “If that’s all you plan on doing, you should come to our Thanksgiving.”

“Yours and Maddie’s?” she replied, her tone hard to read.

Which gave Mike pause. What had he just done? “Well, yeah, but a few other people, too. It’s honestly a pretty motley crew that shows up, but I don’t have a lot of family and I’d hate if Maddie grew up without—”

“I understand,” she said, cutting him off with a hand to his arm. When had he started gesturing so wildly? He let her guide his arm back to his side, trying not to start babbling again. Luckily Ginny continued, “I’d love to come. Let me know what I can bring.”

Come Thursday afternoon, Mike wouldn’t say he was frazzled, per se, but between trying to keep Maddie, Gabe, and Marcus—not to mention Robles, Duarte, and Voorhies—entertained, shooing Al away from the already seasoned turkey (”Not everything needs more garlic, Skip!”), and squabbling with Evelyn over the finer points of entertaining, he probably wasn’t quite at his best when he opened the door to Ginny.

But the way her eyes trailed up from his bare feet to the novelty apron he suddenly wished he’d burned to the bit of flour stuck to his cheek was probably worth whatever craziness he’d been put through. Especially when she reached up, unthinking, to brush the powder away. When she realized what she’d done, her eyes went wide and a little embarrassed.

What did she have to be embarrassed about? was all he could think, trying to rein in the goofy grin that wanted to break over his face.

“Hi,” he greeted, a little breathier than was appropriate, even with the face touching. He cleared his throat, frowning. “Come on in.”

She stepped inside, smiling shyly. Dressed more casually than he was used to, Ginny still managed to make athletic leggings look like the height of fashion, though maybe that was just the way they put her long, lean legs on display. He was glad she’d taken him at his word about how casual this affair was. Livan was wearing some Ed Hardy knock off, for God’s sake.

Toeing off her sneakers, she said, “I know you said not to bring anything, but I was informed tha it’s rude to show up without some kind of gift, so here’s wine and sparkling cider for the kids.” Then, sheepishly, she admitted, “I don’t actually know anything about wine, but I do remember liking the cider when I was growing up.”

He took both bottles off her, ushering her towards the living room where most everyone else was gathered. “Thanks, Ginny.” He didn’t know why, but her name felt more significant in his mouth here. In his house. Mike shook off the errant thought and continued, “You’ve already put the guys to shame. They just showed up and asked, ‘When do we eat?’”

“The guys?”

They turned the last corner and Ginny froze at the sight of three San Diego Padres lounging on Mike’s sectional like they owned the thing. It wasn’t just their presence that made her stop in her tracks, though.

No, that was probably down to the fact that Maddie had used each one as her own personal mannequin and none of them had the heart (or brains) to say no.

Voorhies was decked out with a hot pink boa and a pair of Hello Kitty sun glasses, Livan had escaped with just the bright blue wig from Maddie’s Halloween costume fitted on his gigantic head, but it was poor Omar who’d suffered the most. Perched atop his head and shedding more glitter than Mike had believed possible was the tiara he was sure he’d hidden last year. Of course Maddie’d managed to find it and save it for a special occasion. That wasn’t all, though. No, his daughter had managed to immobilize the man by trying to pull her tutu up his legs, and failing that, stripped him of his socks so she could paint his toenails.

If Omar looked pained before, the sudden appearance of his captain and a pretty girl probably made him want to die. Especially when said pretty girl’s shoulders started shaking, her hand over her mouth failing to hide her amusement.

Because Mike wasn’t a perfect person, he fished out his phone and snapped a picture of all three men and their stylist, beaming with pride.

That done, he turned his attention back to his daughter.

“Mads, did you ask Omar if you could do that?”

“Uh huh,” she responded, not bothering to look up from her work.

“You know you didn’t have to let her, right?” he asked, this time focusing on his utility infielder.

“Uhh.”

Whether Omar’s indecision came from not actually knowing he was allowed to tell Maddie “no” or from Ginny’s presence and continued amusement, Mike couldn’t say. But the way his eyes darted between both suggested it was maybe both.

Taking pity on the man—he’d been laughed at by Ginny on more than one occasion and knew it stung the pride—Mike said, “Maddie, why don’t you put that away and come say hi to Miss Baker?”

His daughter’s head shot up at that, her little face lighting up. Somehow, she managed to avoid spilling her nail polish as she rocketed to her teacher’s side, practically bouncing with excitement.

Ginny smiled, getting down on Maddie’s level, but she still threw a few curious glances at the ballplayers in the room. The ballplayers were much less polite, staring openly at her. Like they’d never seen a beautiful woman before.

Their attention made Mike’s hackles rise because he was apparently no better than an animal when it came to hopeless infatuation, but he managed to keep his cool.

Taking a breath, he asked the hostess of the evening (not that he’d ever tell Evelyn that), “Do you want to introduce Miss Baker to everyone or should I?”

“I’ll do it!” Maddie exclaimed, grabbing Ginny’s hand and tugging her along. She went without protest, just throwing a quick grin over her shoulder to Mike.

His daughter took her role very seriously for all her enthusiasm. She pulled Ginny over to Dusty first.

“Miss Baker, this is Dusty. He plays baseball with daddy. Dusty, this is Miss Baker. She’s my teacher.”

“Hi,” Voorhies said with a little wave.

Maddie stomped her foot. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say!” she scolded, making the man rock back. Ginny choked on a laugh, her hand coming up to cover her mouth again.

“It’s not?”

“No! You say, ‘Nice to meet you,’ and shake hands. Right, Miss Baker?”

Ginny nodded, her lips pressed together to keep from laughing. Her eyes sparkled, though, telling Mike everything he needed to know about how much she wanted to let loose.

“We learned all about it in school,” Maddie continued, nodding wisely. “They’re called manners.”

Despite her best efforts, an odd, choked up sound escaped Ginny at that. Mike only barely managed to hold in his, but Livan didn’t even bother. He laughed long and hard, through Dusty’s correction and Omar’s mumbled greetings. He only sobered when Maddie and Ginny stopped in front of them, smirking up at them from his spot on the couch.

He waited long enough for Maddie to make it through his introduction before taking Ginny’s offered hand. Rather than shaking, though, he laid a kiss against her knuckles, murmuring something in Spanish.

When Ginny replied, only slightly hesitant, in the same tongue, that smirk deepened, less shit-eating and more intrigued.

Which was more than enough of that.

“Why don’t you go find Uncle Blip and the boys, kid? Take Miss Baker with you and make sure to introduce her to Aunt Ev and Grandpa Al, okay?”

Once they were gone, he turned back to his teammates, leveling them with an unimpressed stare.

“You holdin’ out on us, Lawson?” Livan goaded, not bothering to remove the stupid wig, though both Omar and Dusty had already ditched their costumes.

Mike didn’t dignify that with a response, just said, “If you offend my kid’s teacher and she flunks Maddie out of school, just know I will hold you personally responsible.” He crossed his arms, frowning as forbiddingly as he knew how. Which was pretty fucking forbidding, for all that he didn’t get to use it that often. He’d learned his lesson the first time he accidentally made Maddie cry trying to get her to confess to spilling her paint set.

As it turned out, though, the guys were not the ones that he should’ve been worried about.

Evelyn Sanders just loved to turn expectations on their heads.

Which was exactly what she did when she sidled up to him at the kitchen sink as he rinsed off dinner plates before getting the pies set up for dessert.

“Why didn’t I know about this?” she demanded, though she sounded more excited than annoyed, which was always a good thing when Evelyn was demanding something. If he knew what she was demanding, though, he’d have been even happier.

“Know about what?”

“Miss Baker!”

“Uh,” Mike hedged, having a terrible feeling he knew too well what Evelyn was talking about now. Had he given himself away at dinner? Laughed too much at her jokes? Been too obvious about keeping Livan from flirting across the table? (He had broken out his awful Spanish to head off any repeat performances of their introduction, which was anything but subtle.) It was only coincidence that they ended up sitting next to each other; every other seat was taken by the time he finally came out to the dining room. Still, he was going to play dumb as long as Evelyn let him. “Yeah, Mrs. Colton had to go on maternity leave early, so Miss Baker took over Maddie’s class.”

“You know very well that’s not what I’m talking about, Michael Lawson,” Evelyn scolded with a huff. So, not long at all. “I’m talking about the fact that you have been seriously dating Miss Baker. So seriously, in fact, that you’re going to propose!”

Mike sputtered. If he’d been drinking, there would have been a spit take of epic proportions. “I’m what?”

“The boys told me that Maddie told them,” here, Evelyn began to frown, considering her sources, “that you and Ginny are going to get married and she’s going to have a new mom.”

There wasn’t a lot he could do in the face of that information aside from let the tap run and wash over his hands.

God, he’d known Maddie liked Ginny, had been overjoyed when he told her her teacher was coming over for Thanksgiving dinner, but he hadn’t realized just how much.

Gingerly, Evelyn reached over to shut off the tap. It took another beat for Mike to set down the plate he’d been rinsing and reach for a hand towel. Unsure of what else to do, he huffed out a disbelieving laugh, scrubbing at his face and hoping he’d wake up from this fever dream.

He knew, without looking, that something was on the tip of Evelyn’s tongue. She was itching to say something, give him advice, though whether it was advice about Maddie or Ginny was a toss up.

Before she could, though, they were interrupted.

“All right, all right!” Ginny laughed over her shoulder before turning to Mike and Evelyn at the sink. Her laugh was still written all over her face, dimples fully on display and eyes dancing. “I’ve been sent to check on the progress of dessert.”

Evelyn was aghast. “Did Gabe and Marcus make you get up just for that? Gabriel! Marcus!”

“Oh, it wasn’t the kids,” Ginny replied dryly.

“I want pie!” Voorhies shouted from the dining room.

“Pie! Pie! Pie!” came an echoing chant, the high treble of his daughter just barely audible over everyone else.

Mike just shook his head, muttering, “Animals. I’m saddled with animals.” Still, he turned to the fridge and pulled out the waiting desserts while Evelyn went to restore order. Four entire pies that Mike was sure would be gone before the evening was over.

“Need a hand?” came a voice from right beside him. It wasn’t a surprise, though. All evening, he’d been almost unnaturally aware of just where Ginny was in relation to him. He did faintly wonder when he’d developed that ability, but also didn’t think that was really a rabbit hole he could afford to go down. Not with the revelation Evelyn had just dumped on him.

He turned towards Ginny and found her with her head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. She smiled, as bright and open as ever and Mike had to blink to get over just how much she blew him away.

“Uh, yeah,” he finally managed. “Grab the little plates for me?”

They walked back into dining room, only to be greeted with raucous cheers (for the pies, of course). When they took their seats again, Ginny’s arm brushed up against his. She glanced at him for a moment, but aside a little quirk of her lips, didn’t acknowledge the contact. Still, she didn’t move away, not when she fell into conversation with Al on her other side and not while she demolished three slices of pie on her own. She didn’t move away until everyone left the table, and then, she leaned into him, more than just a sway to help heave herself up, before she went.

After she, and the rest of his guests, left, all Mike could think was that he definitely understood why Maddie was reluctant to admit that Miss Baker wouldn’t be in their life forever.

Arguably, it took Mike too long to set Maddie straight on the whole new mom thing. On Thanksgiving, she passed out before everyone had left, not even stirring when Mike picked her up from the couch and transferred her into her bed. Friday, Mike hadn’t quite figured out how to broach the subject, and Saturday, she spent most of the day with the Sanders boys.

It wasn’t until Sunday evening, the day before she was supposed to go back to school, that Mike was able to sit down with his little girl.

They’d just finished dinner and Maddie’d asked to be excused—she really had learned some manners.

“Actually, Mads, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

She shrugged, turning her trusting little face up to him. And why wouldn’t she trust him? He’d vowed to be the best dad possible, and he thought he’d done an okay job of it for not having any real example to follow.

“Okay, daddy,” she replied, folding her little hands on the table, elbows stuck out to the sides.

He smiled, utterly charmed by the picture she painted. Her little feet were probably swinging away under the table, too. Still, he couldn’t put this conversation off again. So, he took a deep breath and began, “Sweetheart, you know Miss Baker?”

Solemnly, she nodded, her attention unwavering. What he wouldn’t do for something to set off her short attention span. Something to distract her and send her careening away from the table. He could shrug and say he’d tried. Hope it all worked out for the best.

No such luck.

“Well,” he paused and had to will himself to barrel forward, “I wanted to know why you think Miss Baker and I are going to get married.”

All of a sudden, it was like Mike didn’t exist. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, no matter how low Mike hunched to get in her line of sight. Maddie was, at least, still single-minded in her intensity. “Can I go play?” she asked, edging off her chair.

“When we’re done talking.”

“There, you finished!”

“Mads,” he groaned, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

His little girl pouted, slumping in her chair.

“Now, please tell me why you think Miss Baker is going to marry me.”

“Because she is.”

“That’s not a reason, kid. You—” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face “—you know we’re not really getting married, right? That’s just pretend?”

Maddie’s chin tipped up stubbornly. Still, Mike could see her lip begin to quiver. “It’s not pretend. You’re getting married and she’s going to be my new mommy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s not true.”

Her shoulders began to shake and Mike felt like his own heart was breaking at the sight of the fat teardrops pooling in her eyes. He’d done that. Well, he and the the truth. Knowing he had about three seconds until a total meltdown, he slid around the table and gathered Maddie into his arms.

He’d just barely got his ass in the seat when the wailing started. Honestly, Mike wasn’t sure where his daughter learned to cry quite so theatrically, but it was impressive. He rubbed up and down her shuddering back, cradling her in his lap and not caring that she was definitely smearing snot and tears all over his shoulder. If she needed to cry this one out, he wasn’t about to stop her.

When the wailing died down, replaced mostly by sad little sniffles, Mike risked a question. “Which part is making you sad?”

He expected any number of replies. That they weren’t getting married. That Ginny wouldn’t be her mom. That she didn’t have a mom at all.

He didn’t think he could possibly have guessed her real answer in a million years.

Maddie peered up at him. Her little face was crumpled and red, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She took two, deep, juttery breaths, practically wheezing with the effort. Mike waited patiently, continuing to rub her back. Finally though, she managed to get out, “I don’t want Miss Baker to marry Jacob C’s uncle!”

“What?” Mike sputtered. He’d gotten pretty good at following the leaps in Maddie’s thought processes, but he was at a loss here.

“I told Jacob C. that his uncle can’t marry Miss Baker because she’s already going to marry you! But you say she’s not, so that means she has to marry him!” she collapsed, sobbing and drained, back against his shoulder.

Mike rubbed her back, soothing, but trying not to laugh at kindergarten logic. If this was all Maddie was worked up about, he felt just a tiny little bit less bad. Until he realized, Christ, he’d raised his kid to be as possessive as he was.

“Maddie, Miss Baker’s not going to marry anyone if she doesn’t want to.”

“But she wants to marry him!”

“Doesn’t that mean she probably doesn’t want to marry me, then?”

“She wants to marry you, too!” she mumbled stubbornly.

“What makes you think that, Mads?” he sighed, knowing it was pointless to just tell her she was wrong. His daughter was stubborn as hell. Mike wondered who she got it from…

She just shook her head, clinging tightly to his neck. Finally, after much coaxing, he got her to mutter something into his shirt.

“She smiles at us?” he checked, sure that couldn’t be right.

Maddie nodded, though, misery clinging to every inch of her tiny frame.

Again, Mike had to struggle to hold in a chuckle. His daughter the drama queen.

“You smile at Marcus and Gabe and all of your classmates. Does that mean you’re going to marry them?” A hesitant, short shake. “Okay. And how about me? I smile at lots of people. Your Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Blip, sometimes even at people I don’t know. Do you think I’m going to marry them?”

“No,” she admitted reluctantly, finally sitting up to frown at him. “But it’s different, daddy. She smiles different at you and Uncle Noah.”

Mike wasn’t sure how he felt about his kid calling some random man her uncle, but he got her point.

Strangely enough, it gave him hope, even if it should maybe have kickstarted that jealous streak. Just Livan saying a few words to her in Spanish had managed to set it off. Odd as it was, this news about a potential other guy in the picture didn’t really bother him in the least because maybe Mike had a shot with her. If Ginny liked him enough that even his kid could see it, maybe he hadn’t been imagining things. Maybe he hadn’t been getting his hopes up for nothing.

He didn’t tell Maddie, though. While he could handle dashed dreams—in fact, did every baseball season—he wasn’t going to risk subjecting his daughter to this heartache again.

Not until he knew for sure how Ginny felt, at least.

It was all well and good to resolve to have a grown up conversation with the woman he was rapidly developing feelings for. But, as anyone could tell you come February, it was one thing to resolve to do something and an entirely different thing to actually do it.

Which was how Mike made it to the middle of December, only a few days to go before winter break, without making any kind of headway. This was his last day volunteering of the semester.

Which was why he was still lingering in Ginny’s room as his daughter and her classmates ate in the cafeteria. He was supposed to go when they filed out for lunch, but Ginny hadn’t kicked him out and Mike wasn’t leaving until she did or he figured out what to do.

Urgency and a general lack of a game plan, unfortunately, hadn’t yet made for a winning combination, and now was no different.

“My daughter tells me I should be congratulating you.”

Ginny looked up from where she was organizing a stack of artwork to send home, a confused frown furrowing her brow. Mike could’ve kicked himself, but he’d already sunk this far, might as well keep digging.

“She’s under the impression that you’re marrying Jacob Casey’s uncle.”

“Ah,” she laughed, a muted flush darkening her cheek. “That’s the news on the kindergarten grapevine these days, huh?”

“So I hear.”

She busied herself straightening the stack, but peeked up at him, uncharacteristically shy. Cute as she was, Mike kind of missed her giving him shit.

“Noah Casey is a perfectly nice guy,” she said, standing from her desk and picking up the pile of drawings.

“I sense a but,” Mike said, not at all hopefully.

“But,” she continued, casting him an exasperated glance. “he’s not really my type. Now help me put these in the cubbies, and stop fishing for gossip.”

Mike could take a hint. He also took half the pile off Ginny’s hands and started divvying artwork into the appropriate cubbies. Some of it was suspect to say the least. He knew these were just kindergartners, but geez, how did Ginny manage to stay so positive with them?

“Oh!” she exclaimed, brandishing a familiar drawing at him. “Here’s Maddie’s family portrait. She showed you, didn’t she?”

“She did,” he assured, his attention caught on the curly haired figure standing next to the bearded one. Was this how long Maddie had been thinking Ginny would join their family? Sweet Jesus.

“It was nice getting to put faces to—well, drawings, I guess. At Thanksgiving. I thanked you for inviting me, didn’t I?”

She had. Mike had walked her to the door and wished her a safe drive home. She’d straightened from pulling on her sneakers and smiled at him, rocking forward on her toes and wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a quick hug, murmuring her thank you in his ear before she pulled away.

It was a miracle he’d managed to see her out without incident. Or without the snickers that broke out as soon as the door swung closed blowing his cover.

Without turning to Blip—because who else would it have been?—he’d muttered, “Shut up,” and gone to haul Maddie upstairs to her bedroom.

“You know that one’s supposed to be you, right?” he blurted rather than respond to her question. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. It was turning into something of a theme today.

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling fondly down at the picture. “Maddie was so excited, she got out of her seat and ran up to my desk to show me. She told me that you were going to marry me and—”

“She what?” Mike sputtered, thrown for a loop.

“Oh,” she said, the picture of innocence. If he hadn’t spent the past three months getting to know her, he would’ve believed it, but the glimmer in her eye told Mike that Ginny knew exactly what she’d done. “Has she not told you this plan?”

“No, she has,” he wheezed. “I didn’t realize that she started with you, though.”

“It’s not so weird,” Ginny assured him, mischief melting into something softer. “Apparently, lots of kids with single dads think that about their teachers. I’ll take it as a compliment. I mean, I thought my kindergarten teacher was a witch all year. I still think that actually.”

Mike couldn’t help but laugh. It was laugh or worry himself sick over the fact that his five-year-old had decided to become his wingman.

“Well, I’m sorry if my daughter sexually harassed you on my account.”

That horsey laugh he’d become so fond of made an appearance. Ginny had to brace herself on her knees from the force of it. When she peeked up at him, her face red and eyes sparkling, Mike had to swallow down a few truly stupid urges.

Finally, she straightened, still giggling a little. “No, no! She actually made some solid arguments in your favor.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah. She said that you have a pool and you know how to make the best blanket forts and usually, you take just her to all the baseball games during the summer, but she was sure I could come, too.” Mike laughed a little disbelievingly at that, and Ginny joined in. “To be fair, I hadn’t realized you were an actual player at that point, so I just thought she might not realize how season tickets work.”

“She definitely doesn’t.”

“Well, either way, it was clear how much she loves you. Maddie would be a shark in sales.”

Mike blinked, wondering if he was reading too much into that. Had his kid sold her on him before they even met? And if she’d liked him to begin with, what did she think now that they actually knew each other?

“Would she?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, but unable to keep his head from tilting to the side, giving away his curiosity.

Ginny’s attention slid over to him. For a long moment, she studied him out of the corner of her eye before going back to distributing the last pieces of art into the correct cubbies.

Just when he’d given up on getting a response, she murmured, “Well, I guess it’s not such a hard sell.”

It took every ounce of Mike’s willpower not to whirl on her at that. Instead, he calmly slid Emily P’s family portrait into her mailbox and turned calmly, sedately even, to face the teacher, his hands finally empty. Ginny was definitely blushing now, the high arches of her cheeks rosier than they had been before. Studiously, she kept her focus off of him, up until she, too, ran out of art to occupy her focus.

When her hands were empty, too, she dared a peek up at him and gulped when she saw Mike’s attention squarely on her. Only then did Mike ask, “Oh really?”

Her flush darkened and she swallowed. To her credit, though, she didn’t allow herself to look away, and even turned to face him head on.

In spite of her blush, her embarrassment, Ginny shrugged, almost managing nonchalance. “I mean, in spite of the fact that you’re constantly rolling your eyes at me and you’re really way too grumpy for someone who plays a kid’s game for a living and you refuse to put that creature on your face out of its misery, yeah, Mike. It’s not that hard to sell someone on you.”

His grin threatened to split his face in half it was so wide.

“You know,” he said, taking a step towards her and not bothering to tamp down on that wild grin, not even a little bit, “I think Maddie was trying to talk you up, too.”

Her head tipped back so she could keep her eyes firmly on his, but she didn’t back up. Not when it was her turn to ask, “Oh really?”

“Yep. She told me that you knew all the best games and read stories with the right voices and have a secret candy stash. And even though now I know you’re only in the teaching game so you can raise your own, mini feminist army—”

“Feminist army?” she laughed.

“And you just love to interrupt me,” he continued, grin still in place, “and are lying through your teeth about my beard, I can see that Maddie was maybe onto something.”

“Something, huh?” Ginny took her own step forward, the toes of her sneakers nearly bumping against Mike’s boots. Her face tilted up to his, dimples fully on display as she practically beamed up at him. The last time they’d been this close, Ginny’d hugged him and Mike hadn’t known what to do with himself. He still didn’t know what to do with himself, but he intended to get more than a hug.

As long as she was okay with it.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he warned, lips mere inches from hers, hands settling on her waist.

“You better,” she breathed, her own hands landing on his chest and sliding appreciatively up to his shoulders.

Agreement secured, Mike leaned in and sealed his mouth over hers.

He was fully aware, even as he pulled Ginny closer and nipped at her full bottom lip, that he really shouldn’t be making out with his daughter’s teacher in his daughter’s classroom during school hours. Anyone, from another teacher to the principal to, oh yeah, his daughter, could walk in on them. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care, though. Not with Ginny’s fingers stroking against his beard as she cradled his face. Especially not when she sighed into him, opening her mouth to his. Their tongues tangled together, neither a contest of wills nor a conquest, just gentle, curious exploration.

When they finally broke apart, Ginny hid her face in his chest, giggling a little helplessly as she caught her breath. He understood the feeling; he was pretty overwhelmed, too. Mike’s thumbs rubbed small circles into her sides, just below her rib cage, both to comfort and because he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Her giggles died away, but she didn’t emerge from the front of his shirt. He leaned back to try and get some view of her face, but she rocked with him. It was his turn to chuckle. In retaliation, Ginny stepped on his foot.

“Hey!” he protested, not that she’d actually hurt him. “If that’s how it’s gonna be, then maybe I shouldn’t ask you out to dinner over the break.”

That finally got her to look up. It’d hardly been five minutes, but seeing her face again was such a relief. What kind of magic was that?

“After that,” she countered through swollen lips, leaving no doubt to what she meant, “you better.”

It took a few years, but Mike eventually paid her back for that.

In the space between the officiant asking, “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” and Ginny’s response he mouthed the words back at her.

You better.

Even with all the time between that day and this, all the memories they’d created together, Mike watched the recollection click and her smile grow even wider.

Eyes sparkling as brightly as the day he met her—as stunned as he’d been that day, it had nothing on the depth of his feelings now—Ginny responded, nearly overflowing with joy, “I do.”

This time, Mike wasn’t going to wait to be told he could kiss her. Instead, he drew his wife—his wife!—forward and was well ahead of the curve by the time he heard, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Judging by the way Ginny laughed into his mouth, she didn’t mind one bit.

#mindykahling #Bawson #Bawson fic #Pitch #Pitch fic #this is the fluffiest #seriously i gave myself a toothache #and i loved every second of it

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