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sarah-sandwich · 3 years

Note

44?? please if you’re taking prompts

Oliver I love you ty for sending this 💗💗💗

Curative Kisses and Magical Mishaps

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Prompt 44: Kisses on each finger

Tony sets aside his sketch pencil and takes off his glasses to fix the hologram of Rhodey with a firm look. “My offer to slip an irritating but harmless virus into the Pentagon’s system still stands, platypus. Ready to deploy whenever you get tired of them yanking your chain.”

Rhodey returns a dead-eyed stare. “And I maintain that it would cause more trouble than it’s worth.”

“They’d never know it was me!”

“They already assume every benign inconvenience that crops up is you! How would you keep their suspicions off of you?”

“Are you sure they’re benign?” he asks, slipping his glasses back onto his nose with a crooked, toothy grin.

“Tones, what did you do?” His eyes flicker with realization. “Last week, with the sprinkler system. Was that—,”

“Hey now, I have no idea why the sprinklers went off at three in the afternoon every day last week, and frankly, I’m offended you would accuse me of that kind of childish prank. I’m a family man now. I’m above those things.”

Rhodey sighs and hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tony.”

“Besides,” Tony continues, rolling on his stool closer to the projection of his friend, “you thought it was funny, didn’t you?”

Rhodey keeps his head ducked, but Tony spots his lips twitch ever so slightly.

Smugly, he rolls back to his workbench and says with his arms held wide in presentation, “Happy birthday, honeybear.”

“You’re the worst.”

Tony points his pencil at him. “You love me.”

The door slides open and emits Morgan into the lab with a hair-raising wail that puts a sharp end to their banter.

Tony jumps to his feet and jogs to meet her, removing his glasses as he goes. Already his mind is spinning through everything that could have happened to her. By the time he squats in front of her, the list encapsulates everything from a stubbed toe to an insurrection and Pepper and Happy are already dead.

“What’s wrong, Magpie?” he asks gently, heart thundering hard enough that his hearing goes fuzzy.

She holds aloft both hands, one tiny fist clenched around the opposite index finger, and cries, “I h-hurt my finger!”

He breathes out slowly, willing his racing heart to slow as he sinks cross-legged to the floor in front of her. “Aww pumpkin, let me see. What happened?”

She holds out her hands and loosens her fist but keeps her fingers curled in a protective shell around the injured finger. She sniffs loudly then says, “D-don’t touch it! It hurts!”

“I won’t touch it if you don’t want me to.” A barely-there red mark mars her skin just above her lowest knuckle. “What happened?”

She sniffs again and uses her shoulder to smear her tears from her cheek then says more calmly, “My toy box. The lid fell and sh-shut on me!” Her eyes well with fresh tears of betrayal and her bottom lip quivers.

“Oh Morgeroo, I’m sorry sweetheart. I’ll fix it, okay? I should have swapped out those hinges for slow-release ones in the first place. This one’s on me.” He uses his sleeve to more effectively wipe her tears and smooths the wisps of hair that escaped her braid behind her ears.

“Okay,” she sniffs. “Can I help fix it?”

“Of course, honey. You know I never turn down your help in the lab. How would I get anything done without your expertise?”

“Okay,” she says again. She tries a hesitant smile but it fades quickly as her eyebrows pucker with concern once more. “What about my finger? It still hurts. How do we fix it?”

“I have a special tool for fixings owies,” Tony says seriously. “Do you want to see it?”

She perks up and nods, looking around the lab like she’ll spot it. “What is it?”

“I’ll show you. I have it on me right now. Let me see.”

Skeptically, she holds out her finger and watches him with an intent frown as he takes her hand and examines her finger carefully then presses a soft, feather-light kiss to the sore knuckle.

“There,” he says with satisfaction. “That should do the trick.”

“Daddy! Kisses aren’t tools!”

“Says you!” he argues. “Mine are. They’re magic kisses full of love and everybody knows love heals all wounds.”

Morgan’s eyebrows stay low over her eyes as she considers him. Finally, she says, “I guess that’s true.” Then over his shoulder she catches sight of Rhodey and brightens before skipping over, the injury already forgotten. “Uncle Rhodey! When are you coming over?” She puts her hands on hips with her chin tucked as she stares sternly up at him in her best impression of Pepper. “Dad says if you don’t come over this weekend then we’re going to go to you and it will be at a very inconvenient time.”

Tony has to look away to hide the smile that blooms across his face.

“Don’t worry, Miss Morgan,” Rhodey says with a soft smile, “I’ll be there bright and early Saturday morning. I already booked my flight.”

Morgan nods sharply then puts her nose in the air. “Good. We’re going to make strawberry cake because daddy says it’s your favorite and also he said I could put gummy bears on it.”

“I said we could put gummy bears on our slices,” he corrects as Rhodey’s expression pinches. “Mommy and Uncle Rhodey might not want them on theirs.”

“I’ll take my gummy bears on the side,” Rhodey says.

Morgan sighs her most put upon sigh and says, “Fiiine.” Then to Tony, she says, “Adults,” and rolls her eyes.

“Tell me about it,” Tony mutters back as Rhodey ducks away with a suspicious cough.

“Alright, kids,” Rhodey says, “I have to get back to work.”

“Oh!” Morgan exclaims. “Did you like your present? I helped! Daddy said you’d get to wear your swimsuit to work and—,”

Tony scrambles for the control panel, talking loud and fast, “Oh no! We’re getting signal interference! We’re gonna lose you! See you Saturday!”

“Tones,” Rhodey says, a warning in his voice, but then the projection cuts out and the call ends.

Tony breathes out in relief then turns to his daughter. “Listen squirt, you’re going to get me in trouble with my soulmate,” he says, tweaking her nose.

She swats him away and says, “I thought mommy was your soulmate.”

“Who says I can’t have more than one?”

She narrows her eyes in consideration. “How many soulmates do you think I have?”

“A kid like you? At least a million.”

She grins. “Cool. Maybe one of them will eat my broccoli for me.”

“That’s the dream, kid. That’s the dream.”

After Morgan leaves, his phone vibrates.

We’ll be talking about your prank. Don’t try to avoid it.

He pulls a face but before he can respond a second text comes in.

You’re a good dad, Tones. I’m happy for you.

He pulls a different kind of face and responds.

Surprised the hell out of everyone, huh?

He sets down his phone as it vibrates again with a final text.

Not me.

~*~

“Dad!”

Tony looks up from his Stark Pad as Morgan blows into the bedroom buzzing with energy. His stomach sinks. With only twenty minutes until bedtime, it’s not ideal for her to be this wired. Unfortunately, she seems to take after him with his night owl tendencies. There’s something about the sun going down and the rest of the continent going offline that revs his engine up to full power.

Beside him, Pepper takes one look at Morgan, shoots a miserable but resigned glance at him, and goes back to reading her novel.

“Yes, my queen?” he asks as Morgan hauls herself onto the bed. She crawls onto his knees, keeping one arm curled around her stomach and he bites back a groan. At six she’s not as light as she once was and at 40-something, his knees aren’t as tolerant as he’d like.

“I need more of your magical kisses,” she demands.

Pepper glances at them quizzically but only for a moment before being pulled back into her book.

He frowns. “Are you hurt?”

“There’s no time for questions!” she exclaims. “Here! Quick! Quick!” She thrusts her hands in front of his face.

“Alright, alright!” Despite the lack of apparent wounds, he presses a light kiss to each of her fingers. “Is that—?”

“ARRRGGGGGG!”

Tony and Pepper jump as Morgan curls in on herself, clutching her stomach.

Pepper’s book hits the floor and she shifts to her knees. “What happened?” she exclaims, hovering over Morgan.

“I don’t know!” Tony says, his hands suspended over Morgan, hesitant and unsure, as she digs under her shirt like she’s scratching at something. Is she sick? Why did she scream like that? What’s happening? “Morgie, pumpkin what’s wrong? What hurts?”

She starts to roll towards the edge of the bed. He scrambles to catch her but she wiggles free and pulls her hands from under the hem of her shirt to reveal aluminum foil spikes adorning the end of each finger.

Standing now, she bellows, “Look at what your magic kisses did to me!”

Struck mute, they stare until Pepper sits back on her heels and puts her forehead in her hand, obscuring her face.

Tony blinks rapidly. “Why... They’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he says for lack of anything better. He’s still coming down from his near heart attack.

Morgan’s brow furrows. “Beautiful?”

Uh-oh, she sounds disappointed. “Like a storm!” he adds. “Terrifyingly beautiful! Awesome in power and uh, ferocity.”

She grins, baring her teeth, and flashes her homemade claws. “Grr! I’m awesome!” She turns and runs into the hall with a hunched staggering gait, claws aloft like a zombified velociraptor.

Pepper sighs and retrieves her book from the floor. “She gets this from you,” she informs him dryly, but he’s known her long enough to spot the glint in her eyes and the amused smile that she’s struggling to hold back.

A girlish shriek from down the hall tells him that Morgan managed to get the drop on Happy in the guest room. He smiles at the empty doorway as Morgan’s delighted cackle rings through their home.

There are worse things she could have gotten from him. If someone needs to take it, he’ll gladly accept the blame for this.

#ask games #mine #everyone lives everything is beautiful and nothing hurts #tony stark #james rhodes #morgan stark #pepper potts #all the family feels #tony stark is a good dad #but also #tony stark is a little shit #and #morgan stark is a little shit #it's hereditary your honor #fluff and humor #>2k #sswrites

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lostinfic · 4 years

Note

Self Indulgent prompts, huh? I love anything with artist Rose so something with that theme. I'm not picky about the Doctor- like my current obsession is Eight/Rose, but I'm perpetually in love with Nine/Rose and Ten/Rose too so whichever Doctor you're most comfortable with.

The Museum of Serendipity

Doctor x Rose, Wilf, male OC (Original Cat)

Rated E | 2300 words

Sorry this took longer than anticipated, I got sidetracked by research and 8th Doctor audio adventures ;)

I’m fulfilling your self-indulgent prompts

Of all the wonderful, celebrated museums in London, Rose’s favourite was an anarchic collection housed in a crooked Georgian house in Marylebone.

From ground floor to attic, over four storeys, shelves and frames lined the walls of every room, following a seemingly incoherent design. Part cabinet of curiosity and part celebration of beauty in all its forms, the collection was curated by an anonymous— and eccentric, Rose liked to imagine— philanthropist.

Its name, the Museum of Serendipity, summed up how the collection was put together. Or perhaps it indicated how this museum could be found: by sheer good luck, as it was not advertised anywhere. Rose herself had stumbled upon it by accident last September, when looking for a shelter from the rain. Quite a happy accident, since her art teacher had asked them to visit a gallery for their first assignment of the semester (she’d earned extra points for originality).

Despite few visitors, it remained open from morning to evening. More often than not, the elderly greeter slept in his rocking chair by the door, leaving Basil the cat in charge.

Its location near Regent’s Park, made it a perfect destination for a drawing session. On a beautiful spring day like today, Rose would walk along the paths of the park and draw the flora and fauna in her sketchbook. Then make her way towards the museum. Other days, after a long time indoors, she would enjoy the park’s fresh air and time to reflect on the latest collection piece she’d discovered.

Since her childhood, art had been a way for Rose to travel, around the globe and across time, a way to see the world through other people’s eyes and to share her own vision. A way to exist beyond the Powell Estate. The Museum of Serendipity transported her like nothing else.

Although she enjoyed the morning sun, she didn’t linger in Regent’s Park, too eager to get there.

The elderly greeter was listening to the radio in his small front office.

“Hello, Wilf!”

He jumped to his feet with an energy that belied his years.

“Ah, Rose, luv. Alright? How’s school?”

“Got another assignment to complete for art history class. By the way, mid-term break is coming up, if you fancy a holiday, I could cover your shifts here for a few days.”

He would be doing her a favour more than the other way around.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “We got a new piece came in.”

New pieces were simply added to the exhibition wherever a space was available. As they walked to the drawing room, Rose tried to know more about the museum.

“Who brought this new piece?”

“John did, just this morning.”

“John?”

“Yeah, John McConnell , the mailman,” Wilf said. “Here it is.”

On the mantel lay an artifact shaped like a metal glove without fingertips. Or a pan flute.

“Looks like something from the future,” she joked.

“Modern art, then,” Wilf said.

He left her to look at it a while longer. The pattern that covered it, both engraved and raised all at once, looked like scales. Rose pulled her sketchbook out of her messenger bag and drew it. Texture study.

Basil, the museum’s Abyssinian cat, greeted her, rubbing himself against her legs. She petted his long ears and ruddy coat. She followed Basil out of the room, and wandered the now familiar corridors and staircases. Her hand trailed along the faded floral wallpaper and oak paneling. The smell of candle wax and pine wood polish always hung in the air.

There was one painting in particular Rose always came back to, in the third floor library, just above a loveseat that once belonged to Marie Antoinette. Ahead of her, Basil jumped on the loveseat and looked at her expectantly.

Rose pulled up a chair to sit down, the museum was almost a second home now, she had no qualms moving furniture around.

With a dreamy sigh, she let her eyes roam the large canvas. It depicted a dozen people in elegant Edwardian clothing, visiting an art exhibition. She was transported back in times, it seemed. Back to la Belle Époque. Late 19th- early 20th century, in France. Among women in high-necked waist shirts, carrying white lace parasols and men wearing mustaches and straw boating hats. The era of Moulin Rouge and absinthe, of the first movie, of bicycles and Marie Curie, just to name a few. The era of Gustav Klimt, Toulouse-Lautrec, Van Gogh and Renoir, the artists whose work Rose had first fallen in love with. The painting itself blended elements of Art Nouveau and Impressionism (as she’d described in her second assignment).

But there was one character in particular that commanded her attention again and again. There, in the upper left corner. The painter had done this trick which makes it look like the subject’s eyes are on you wherever you stand in the room. Though unnerved at first, Rose now tried to master this technique. Countless time she’d drawn his thick, curly brown hair, the soft contours of his jaw, his blue eyes, the creases that bracketed his mouth. And that smile, a Mona Lisa smile, the hardest trait to capture.

His clothes also offered many details to work on: the sheen of his satin cravat, the velvet of his jacket, the pattern of his waistcoat.

At first, she only tried to capture his likeness in various mediums, but over time she tried to sketch his profile, his back. She depicted that gentleman in various poses and actions. He had taken a life of his own. What was he doing there that day? What was his relationship with the painter? Why was he looking at her like that?

Basil meowed.

“Alright, don’t be jealous. I’ll draw you first, you beautiful boy.”

“Thanks, it’s a new jumper. Do you like the colour?” said a man with a northern accent.

Rose started. He was leaning against the door, looking at her, with the smallest hint of a smile.

He picked up Basil and sat down on the loveseat, laying the cat on his legs crossed at the knees. Rose held back a quip about the similar size of their ears.

“Well, go on, then,” he said, indicating her sketchbook with his chin.

“Hold on, are you the director of the museum? Or the curator?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

At a loss for a reply, Rose simply got to work.

If Basil wasn’t running away, then surely this man posed no threat. Just a lost, slightly odd item, like everything else in the Museum of Serendipity. Including herself.

His face offered such striking features to draw, that bold nose, those sharp cheekbones. The cropped hair revealed the shape of his skull and the collar of his sweater, a beautiful neck. A face for charcoal, she thought, to capture the lights and darks of him, in loose, almost intangible strokes. Charcoal and dry pastels, she amended, she had to recreate the infinite blue of his eyes.

They chatted about everything big and small: cats, galaxies, her doubts about art school and his hopes for the future of humanity.

Time flowed differently when she was creating. In that moment more than ever. A sort of appeasing, melodic hum filled her mind, and everything, but her subject, faded away.

When she traced his eyes, she was surprised to find in them a spark, as if he knew her.

She looked up at him, and he smiled. “Hello,” he said.

Before she could think of a good way to phrase her question, he stood up and looked at the sketch over her shoulder. He gave an appreciative nod.

“We need someone to do a painting of the museum,” he announced. “Are you free to do it?”

“A painting? Are you taking the piss?”

“I’m serious. Great big canvas. Like this one.” He pointed to her favourite painting of la Belle Époque.

“I’ll need money to buy supplies,” she said, to test his good faith.

“Of course.”

He grabbed a tin box in a nearby bookcase; it was full of cash. He handed her the stack of pound notes without counting. Almost as if he was ignorant of their value. “Will this do?”

Rose nodded dumbly. She resolved right away to only spend a reasonable sum.

“I’ll come by next Wednesday afternoon,” she said.

“Perfect. See you, then, Rose Tyler.”

She spent the next few days in a state of disbelief. Her mind constantly replayed her encounter with the blue-eyed man. Several times, she opened her sketchbook to look at his portrait. The fondness it aroused in her took her breath away. She found herself doodling both him and the gentleman in the painting, over and over.

She bought a load of art supplies, but kept the receipt in a secure place in case she needed a refund.

On Wednesday, she arrived at the museum with a knot in her stomach. Wilf greeted her, as usual, but he was wearing a smart new uniform.

A moment later, the blue-eyed man skipped down the stairs, two at a time, and welcomed her with a bright smile. He introduced himself as the Doctor, just the Doctor, and Rose went along with it— after all, it wasn’t the weirdest thing about him.

He’d set up an easel and a canvas in the third floor library. She barely paid attention to his directives, she was distracted by the number of visitors in the museum, more than she had ever seen.

“Is this a prank show thing or what?” she asked.

“Why would it be a prank show?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you said it. Why a prank show?” he repeated.

“‘Cause to get that many actors and props, it’s got to be on telly.”

“That makes sense. Well done.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s not a tv show,” he said.

“But— why?”

“It’s the museum’s anniversary. We are interested in collecting unique pieces, and what’s more unique than Rose Tyler’s first commissioned artwork?”

“Maybe the last,” she mumbled.

“It won’t be,” he said, stating a fact rather than paying a compliment. “Coffee?”

The Doctor knew something she didn’t, and as irritating as it was, it incited her to stay and fulfill his request.

She laid a tarp on the floor below the easel, spread out her brushes and palette knives, picked the colours.

Basil, of course, wanted to be part of the painting. He lay down in the sunniest spot, on the window sill, looking ever so regal.

As she prepped the canvas, her brain ran ahead of her with ideas to best infuse her art with feelings this room evoked. Warm earth tones, old leather bound books, a thick Persian rug, but also glass cases to keep people away, artworks by undisclosed artists, mysteries all around. Inviting and distant all at once. Much like the Doctor.

She scanned the room for him. He stood in a corner of the library, surveying. As she traced his silhouette, she noticed the similarity, in his posture and smile, with the fascinating gentleman in the Belle Époque painting. She made a mental note to ask about that too.

Hours passed by, Wilf kept her comfortable with cups of tea, snacks, a stool, opening the window, closing the window.

Everyone had left. The sun had set. Only the Doctor and Basil remained in the room with her.

The artwork wasn’t finished, but it had everything she needed to continue another day. Yet, she didn’t leave. She didn’t want to. She stood there, wringing her paint-splattered hands waiting for something, anything, from the Doctor.

“I want to show you something,” he said. He took her hand and they both stood up on Marie Antoinette’s loveseat. “Look closely.”

Now inches from the Belle Époque painting, she saw it like she never had before. It shimmered and shifted. Like those 3D images you have to cross your eyes to see. She blinked. Looked closer. And drifted through the canvas.

Rose gripped the Doctor’s hand tighter. Behind them, there was no library, only a blue door. And in front of her, the painting had come to life. No— they weren’t in the painting, they were in Paris of the 1900s. Around her, people chatted in French, cigar smoke wafted to her nose, and through a window that wasn’t on the painting, she could see the brand new Eiffel tower.

The gentleman that had so fascinated her was there too. Thick hair, bright smile.

“Rose, we meet at last,” he said.

His voice sounded exactly like she’d imagined. She didn’t know until now that she’d imagined his voice.

“She’s all yours,” the Doctor said.

Rose didn’t let go of his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here to bring you back to your own timeline.”

He disappeared through the blue door.

The other man linked their arms together. A feeling of safety washed over her. He was a stranger and yet not at all. As if to reassure her further, an Abyssinian cat sauntered by.

“Is that Basil?” Rose asked.

“In a fashion. Cats have nine lives, as you know.”

“And you, Doctor, how many have you got?”

The Doctor smiled. “Ah, you figured it out, clever girl.”

That didn’t mean she didn’t have a ton of questions, but for now, she only wanted to soak up the magic of it all.

The Doctor showed her around the room. They mingled with the other visitors, admiring the artwork on the walls. Rose couldn’t stop grinning.

They stopped in front of a painting depicting another gallery, in another museum, in another era.

“Can we go through there too?” Rose ventured.

“Yes, but wouldn’t you like to see Paris first?”

“We can go out?”

“Of course. You know, my friend Claude has been pestering me about visiting his garden. Nice fellow, this Claude. Mind you, he’s a tad obsessed with water lilies.”

#ficandchips #Nine x Rose #Eight x Rose #artist!Rose #yes I'm still working on those #self indulgent prompts #lostinfic writes stuff #lotsofthinkythoughts

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komorebirei · 5 years

Text

The Water Was Never Afraid - Chapter 13: Dare

(AO3)

“I have a confession,” Adrien blurted out.

Kagami lifted her head from his shoulder. They were sitting on her bed, and she had been watching him pet her calico cat, Goro. Befitting to his name, he was sitting on Adrien’s lap, rumbling up a storm.

“What?”

“I got fitted for a photoshoot today,” he stated casually.

“Oh? So you’re starting modeling again?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

The air was filled with only the sound of purring for a good chunk of time while Adrien pondered how much he should say.

“Why is that a confession?” Kagami asked.

“I haven’t gotten to the confession part yet,” Adrien hedged.

Kagami stared at his profile, and he focused on stroking the smooth fur on the sides of Goro’s face, scratching him under the chin.

Now that he had alluded to it, he had no choice but to say something.

“It’s for Marinette’s feature in the Style Queen.”

Kagami gave him a suspicious look. “That’s great for her. But I still don’t get why this is a confession.”

“I, um…” The way Adrien had felt while Marinette was fitting him made him feel guilty. He figured the one-sided knowledge of his moment of vulnerability with her as Chat Noir had just made things weird at that moment, but he feared that wasn’t all it was. Maybe what Chloé had said at the soirée had affected him more than he thought. Whatever the reason, the way he saw Marinette had shifted.

He wanted to admit it to Kagami and come clean. He’d tell her that he had no intention of doing anything and was going to steer clear of Marinette at work, once this photoshoot was over. That was a healthy and mature way of handling this, right? Full disclosure. If he could tell her, it didn’t have to mean anything, right?

But, did he dare? Telling Kagami might put a strain on their relationship. She might break up with him. Their friendship might never be the same again. She might develop a grudge against Marinette. He could think of a dozen possible consequences of telling Kagami, and none of them were good.

Except the glimmer of possibility that she would appreciate his honesty and they would grow stronger because of it.

Her scrutinizing eyes pierced him, and he felt like he could hide nothing from her. Better to tell her and apologize before she could figure out herself that he had some kind of feelings for Marinette and feel betrayed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words he wanted to say wouldn’t come out.

“I know you don’t want me spending time with Marinette,” he said, as if that were the confession. “I just wanted you to know what I was doing, so you wouldn’t find out some other way and be hurt. The photoshoot is on Wednesday, and she’ll be directing.”

Coward. You are a coward, Adrien Agreste.

Kagami reached out and stroked back a lock of hair that had fallen out of place on his forehead. “Adrien, I never said I didn’t want you spending time with her. If it’s for work, why would I mind?” She smiled. “Thank you for telling me, though.”

Adrien gave her a crooked smile back while his stomach twisted in knots. He pulled her in with one arm and planted a kiss on her head. “Thanks for understanding, Tiger.”

“Just returning the favor.”

“Hm?”

“You always understood me better than other people.” Kagami settled her head back on Adrien’s upper arm and reached out to bury her fingers in Goro’s side. His purrs reverberated in Adrien’s lap.

Adrien looked at her quizzically.

“My life has always been straightforward—make it to the top, no compromises. Ever since I was young, my mother taught me that if I considered others too much, I would end up yielding and showing weakness, even losing my position. She taught me to develop a tough skin so I wouldn’t feel guilty pushing others down to come out on top.”

Adrien rested his cheek on the top of her head, hearing her out before making any comment.

“When we first met, I lost to you, but you gave me a second chance. You saw how devastating the loss would be for me, and you spared me from disgrace. I never told you how much that meant to me.”

“… Oh.”

“You showed me that having compassion for others doesn’t always make you the weaker person. It changed my perspective… so, even though I tease you for being so nice to people, it’s actually something I admire about you, and it makes me want to change.” She smiled up at him.

Adrien melted at her words. She had never admitted as much to him before. He had honestly thought that she hated that aspect of his personality. He kissed her nose affectionately and ran a thumb along her freckled cheek.

“So,” Kagami continued, “I’ll admit, you’re right. I’m a little jealous of Marinette, and I don’t entirely believe that you never had feelings for her…”

A needle of guilt pricked Adrien’s heart.

“… so naturally, I don’t want you to spend time with her. But, I know you’re friends, and she means something to you. I know you want to help her. So, I’m going to respect that. I trust you.”

“Thanks, Kagami,” Adrien breathed, and Goro protested with a mewl as he stopped petting him to pull her close in a tight embrace.

—

The next day, Adrien had another fitting with Marinette to check the modifications, but this time, he was prepared. He was strictly professional with her and didn’t touch on any unnecessary topics of conversation. The fitting passed quickly and without incident, and Adrien went on with his day.

“Maybe I’m getting worked up about nothing,” Adrien mused, sinking into his desk chair and switching on his computer.

Plagg phased out of Adrien’s shirt to land behind a succulent pot, visible to Adrien but hidden from prying eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, I’ve been seeing her a lot lately, more than usual. Isn’t it natural to be thinking about her?”

“You’re talking about Bakery Girl again?”

Plagg’s observation made Adrien feel self-conscious. Had he been talking about her a lot recently? “I was just worried…” Adrien trailed off. Plagg would tease, and he wasn’t in the mood.

“Worried about what?”

“Fine. I was worried that I might actually like her that way. But I’m probably just working myself up by worrying about it.” He opened his email and perused the inbox for urgent matters.

Plagg shrugged tiny shoulders. “You surely wouldn’t have to think about it so hard if you felt nothing for her.”

“I don’t feel nothing, Plagg. She’s my friend.” Adrien thought about the time he had dropped in on her while she was putting together her ‘Inspiration Book,’ and how comfortable it was to just chat with her and hang out. “Oh! That reminds me…”

On a whim, he pulled out his phone and opened Marinette’s instagram, @TheRealMDC.

“Oh~ho. You’re stalking her now?”

“No,” Adrien emphasized. “She said she had an account where she posts her designs, so I’m looking for it. Detective work, not stalking.”

Her personal account clearly wasn’t it. There were no drawings—only selfies of Marinette with her friends and some random artsy pictures—a few of her balcony plants during the daytime, outfits, macarons.

He tapped a picture of Marinette wearing an above-the-knee bright yellow circle skirt, paired with a half-sleeved cropped shirt with broad black and white stripes that showed off her trim waist, and tomato red shoes. The colors reminded him a little of Chloé, though the style was quintessentially Marinette. She was posing outdoors in the Jardin des Tuileries, so she must have had a friend take the photo. She would have made a cute model.

“Looks an awful lot like stalking to me,” Plagg said right next to Adrien’s ear, making him jump in surprise.

“I like her outfit!” he insisted. “I work in the fashion industry, I am allowed to appreciate stylish clothing! Plus, it’s not stalking if she challenged me to find her!”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Plagg quoted Hamlet, polishing his whiskers.

Adrien rolled his eyes, pressed ‘back,’ and opened Marinette’s list of followers. He typed in the word ‘design’ to see if anything would come up. The list of results was so long he had to scroll. Duh, of course Marinette would be following a bunch of design accounts.

“What about that daredevil reporter girl?” Plagg suggested.

Right, Alya. Adrien pulled up her account and searched her follower list for the keyword ‘design.” Only one account came up: @DottyDesigner. He snorted at the pun—especially appropriate if this was Marinette, since polka dot patterns featured prominently in her designs.

Adrien tapped to view the profile, to be rewarded with hundreds of illustrations of various outfits. When he clicked on one, a swipe revealed the finished outfit on a dress form. These were interspersed with random sketches not paired with finished pieces.

From what Adrien had seen of Marinette’s illustration style, this was it. His hunch was confirmed when he saw that the account was following @TheRealMDC. “Gotcha,” he muttered triumphantly under his breath. He didn’t think he’d be so lucky as for his first tactic to work.

“Is that Bakery Girl’s work?” Plagg zoomed up close to the screen and tapped one with a cream-colored romper. “I like that one, it reminds me of cheese.”

“Ha! I’ve gotta tell her I found it!” Adrien was still feeling victorious as he perused the designs.

“Does that mean you’re going to visit her again?”

Adrien froze. He hadn’t decided on a course of action as Chat Noir. Steering clear of her seemed to be the obvious answer, if he were being consistent. But Marinette seemed to like and trust Chat—maybe even more than Adrien, though he couldn’t fathom why. The idea of ceasing to visit her just when their friendship was starting to pick up seemed disheartening.

If he was going to start distancing himself as Adrien—which Kagami wanted him to do anyway—then his double life shouldn’t make things so awkward.

Things were different when he was Chat. His actions were more inconsequential.

“I mean… why not? What harm could it do?” Adrien decided, still half lost in thought. He slipped his phone into his pocket and got back to work.

—

Chat Noir tossed a chunk of bark from the tree branch at Marinette’s French doors. It was already dark out, and it felt like too much of an intrusion to invite himself onto her balcony.

Moments later, she opened the door with a little smirk on her face. “Back so soon, Chaton? I hope you’re feeling better today.”

“I am, Princess!” Chat replied in a chipper tone. The branch bounced as he leapt onto her balcony and gave her an exaggerated, princely bow. “How are you this evening?”

“Very well, and you?”

“Great—I found your design Instagram!” He leaned against the railing with his arms crossed, looking as proud as a cat who’d brought home a mouse. “Your drawings look amazing.”

“Oh, really?” Marinette put her hands on her hips. “How much did you have to stalk me to find it?”

Chat Noir made an offended look. “Stalk you, Princess? I’m a gentlecat, I would never do such a thing! It wasn’t hard, actually—I know you’re friends with that Ladyblog girl, so I searched her followers list for the word ‘design,’ and the only handle that came up was following your personal account, so I figured that was you.” He smirked. “Didn’t think it would be that easy, but you’re more predictable than I thought, Princess.”

“Hmm,” Marinette hummed, coming up to Chat Noir and looking him over in a calculating way that made him feel less confident. “So you do have a good head on those shoulders, Minou.”

“Are you patronizing me?”

She snorted. “Never! It’s just… there’s one detail bothering me about your story.”

Chat Noir gulped. “What’s that, Princess?”

“How do you know about my personal account?”

“—Uh!!” Chat Noir blanched. Marinette’s design account had over ten thousand followers, so he would have had to scroll through pages upon pages of usernames to notice the private account that only a leap of faith would lead him to believe belonged to her. Her name didn’t appear anywhere, and the profile picture was an artsy shot of a model wearing one of Marinette’s pieces on the runway—not that Chat Noir would know that. Instagram had only showed him @TheRealMDC followed @DottyDesigner because Adrien was already following her account. “Umm… I…” he tried to think of a plausible excuse.

“You’re a creepy stalker.” Marinette flicked his bell.

“No, I’m not!” Chat Noir objected. “I happened to find out in a legitimate, non-creepy way!”

“I don’t believe it,” Marinette laughed, “You’re totally a creepy stalker! You shouldn’t be allowed on my balcony anymore!” She pushed his nose with a fingertip, making him lean back over the balcony rail, far enough that it would have been dangerous if he hadn’t been equipped with a super suit as a safety net.

“Hey, Princess, have mercy!” He flailed, twisting away from her finger. Since she had leaned in to push him, when he got free and rebounded onto the balcony, he ended up practically in her arms.

He edged past her and stepped away from the rail, heart pounding and face flushed, temporarily robbed of words. If he wanted to lie to himself, he would say it was due to the adrenaline of almost being pushed off the balcony, but he wasn’t so naïve anymore. This feeling was familiar.

“Sorry, Minou, I went too far.” Marinette bit her lip and, taking his arm, pulled him in the direction of her flat. “I just made banana bread, do you want some? If you prove yourself worthy tonight, maybe I’ll even let you come back another day.” She shot him a playful look over her shoulder.

“Sure, I’d love some, Princess.” He followed her, just as he followed the last girl who made him feel this way.

For the rest of the night, his eyes were drawn to her, taking in the way her eyelids folded behind thick eyelashes when she blinked, the natural pink hue of her cheeks, the creases that appeared beside the corners of her mouth when she smiled and spoke, the way she tucked one leg under her when she sat. He got drunk on the sound of her voice, teasing her just a little more so he could hear her laugh again.

This feeling was familiar, because this was exactly how it had felt to fall for Ladybug in less than twenty-four hours.

Except, instead of a carefree student who could pursue his Lady to his heart’s content, now he was a businessman and highly public figure with a girlfriend, who was only stealing moments with a friend he wasn’t allowed to meet without the mask.

As he drank in her presence, his heart hurt.

Maybe it would be okay for him to just come and see her now and then. This didn’t have to turn into anything.

They could just be friends.

This should be fine, right?

Did he dare to keep coming back?

#MiraculousLadybug #Miraculous Ladybug #MiraculousLadybugFanfiction #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrigami #Marichat #Adrienette #Adrinette

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asofterfan · 5 years

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Winter Winds

Chapter 2: Wake Me Up When September Ends

Previous ~ Next

Summary: A new client arrives...

Warnings: None that I can think of (shocking I know)

The next morning, to absolutely no one’s surprise, Remy burst through the door of the shop at 11am.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I’m late, but it wasn’t my fault this time!” Remy panted. He was in the ragged sweatpants and baggy crop top that everyone in the shop recognized as his pajamas, a flannel wrapped hastily around his waist. Gripping his coffee and a pastry bag like a lifeline, he looked around the shop frantically, “Where’s the client, I’ll share my muffin or something to appease them.”

“Oh, their appointment isn’t for another half hour,” Ali deadpanned.

“…Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” Ali drawled with a smirk, “I had a feeling this would happen so I told you the appointment time was an hour earlier than it actually is.”

Remy sputtered indignantly, “That’s…! How dare you, I….!”

“Remy, drink your coffee,” Rafael chimed in, snickering, “Your sleepy sass sounds do not make a particularly compelling argument.”

Huffing, Remy threw his bag onto a chair in his station, “You guys are the worst. I ran here. RAN. I haven’t moved that fast since gym class in high school.”

“You expect us to believe you ran in gym?” Cass challenged.

“Exactly! You guys are literally worse than high school gym!” Remy glared at each of them in turn, shoving his muffin into his mouth angrily.

Shaking their heads fondly, the rest of the staff returned to their various tasks as Remy finished his breakfast, sipping on his coffee. The caffeine didn’t hit fast enough and he found himself yawning. “Uuuuuuuugh,” Remy groaned, throwing himself into an empty chair at the front desk and laying his head on his arms.

“Sleepyhead, don’t-” Brett began before being cut off.

“Relax, gurl, I’m just resting my eyes.”

Brett shook his head, “Famous last words.”

“Remy.”

The artist groaned, burrowing his face deeper into his arms.

“Remyyyyy.”

Someone was shaking his shoulder, but he couldn’t be bothered to do anything more than grumble. Surely whoever it was would leave him alone soon.

“REMY!”

A loud ‘BANG’ inches from his face had Remy shooting upright, sunglasses clattering onto the desk and nearly falling out of his chair as he regained his bearings, blinking rapidly. Heart still beating rapidly, he turned to glare at Cass, who was staring down at him with a smirk, her hands still on the desk where she had hit it to wake him up.

“What kind of disrespect?!” Remy exclaimed.

Cass only snickered, “Hey, we warned you not to ‘rest your eyes’, Sleepyhead,” She crossed her arms as she chastised him, “Your client is here, so look alive!”

A light chuckle came from behind her, and for the first time Remy noticed the newcomer. The man was short, standing only slightly taller than Cass’ 5’5”, but he was muscular, and he fit in perfectly with the studio. Ripped jeans and a tattered black tee shirt under a leather jacket, with tattoos poking out from the neckline. He had an undercut, short black hairs contrasting sharply with the messy red/orange gradient that fell around his face, and dark circles under his eyes. When they made eye contact, he gave Remy a crooked smirk, raising his hand lazily in greeting.

“‘Sup.”

Raising an eyebrow, Remy sighed through his nose before grabbing his sunglasses and plastering on a smile as he pushed them onto the top of his head, “Hey gurl, sorry I’m late-”

“I mean, technically you were here on time-”

“Whatever, yeah,” Remy waved his hand dismissively as he gathered his notebooks and his now cold coffee, “Alright, let’s get this appointment going,” He sauntered past the two, entering the lounge in the back, dropping into one of the couches, “Come on, chop chop, waiting on you hon.”

Shaking his head in amusement, the client followed leisurely, as Cass rolled her eyes and returned to her own station.

The lounge was situated past the entry area, and was cleaner and more professional than the staff break room in the back. Photos of the staff and framed art covered the walls, along with a copy machine in the corner, a few couches, and a large coffee table with the artists’ portfolios spread out across it. Consultations were always held in the lounge so that both the client and the artists could be comfortable as they discussed their projects.

As the man sat down, Remy held a hand out, “As you’ve probably already gathered, I’m Remy.”

“Toby,” he replied, shaking the offered hand. Remy noticed his eyes dart down to his pronoun necklace, but he didn’t make any comment.

“So,” Remy crossed his legs, getting comfortable, “let’s talk tatts. I can see you have some tattoos already, you been to our shop before?”

Toby leaned his arms against the back of the couch casually, “Nah. I lived a few hours away during college and just moved back last year. This is the first tattoo I’ve gotten since then.”

Remy nodded, “Alright, so I’ll need to get your information before you leave for our files. But first, tell me about what you’re looking to get.”

Nodding, Toby pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, smoothing it out as he handed it to the artist with a grin, “I want to get this quote in the center of my back, with some kind of border around it.”

“Well that’s not vague at all,” Remy drawled, taking the page and looking down at the quote.

“Ha! I know, I know,” Toby rubbed at his neck, grinning sheepishly, “I guess I was kind of thinking maybe like, branches, or leaves or something. But honestly I’m open to anything if you’ve got any ideas.

Remy hummed noncommittally. Maybe it was because he was still a little drowsy, but he couldn’t think of anything other than the usual cliches. Virgil might be able to come up with something. “This is a pretty long quote. How big did you want this?”

“I don’t have any tattoos on my back, so I’m cool with it taking up as much space as you think it needs.”

“How do you feel about editing this quote down a little? Just to give some more room for the design.”

Tilting his head, Toby thought about it for a moment, “I think that’d be fine. Could I edit it down myself and email it to you once I’ve worked out what I want?”

“Yeah girl, ain’t no thing,” taking a long sip of his coffee, he leaned back against the couch, “Now, a tattoo this big isn’t going to be cheap, or quick. Obviously what you choose for the final design for the border will effect it, but if I had to guesstimate I’d say you’re looking at probably a four hour session. We could also break it into two session if you wanted.”

“Cool, that’s about what I expected,” he grinned, “Don’t worry, I’ve been saving for this.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worried,” Remy raised an eyebrow, “We get your card information before we start inking. I ain’t letting anyone tatt and dash.”

Toby barked out a laugh, “That’s a good system.”

“Mmhmm,” Remy nodded, making a few quick notes in his notebook, “Alright. I’mma need to photocopy your ID and have you fill out some paperwork while we work out a date for you.”

Nodding, Toby pulled out a beat up leather wallet, pulling out his driver’s license to give to the artist. Remy took it and stood to go to the copy machine when he suddenly froze, staring down at the plastic card.

“Toby, huh?” Smirking teasingly, Remy waved the card in front of him, “Cause this says your name is October.”

Raising an eyebrow, the man in question grinned, “Who doesn’t love October?”

“I’m not a fan,” Remy deadpanned. It was a total lie, of course, October was objectively the best month, “Besides, if that’s the case why go by Toby? Honestly if no one calls you Doc Oct then what’s the point?” Suddenly he gasped, “Wait. Hold up. Girrrrrrrl why do I suspect you have too many autumn tatts?”

“I have exactly the right amount of autumn tatts.”

Looking back down at the license, Remy burst into giggles, “And your birthday is October 1st?? This is too much, like, I am unprepared for this situation.”

“Falling for me already?” Toby leaned forward, eyes bright and wearing playful grin.

Shaking their head, Remy pulled out a form from one of the drawers in the coffee table, “Tsk, I’m surprised it took you that long to bust out a pun,” he handed the paper to him.

“I try to ease people into the fact that I’m both hot and witty,” he grabbed a pen from the coffee table and began filling in his information.

“And modest, too,” Remy leaned against the copy machine as he waited for it to finish printing.

“What can I say, I’ve got it all.”

“Except height.”

Toby gasped dramatically, putting a hand over his heart in mock offense, “Low blow!”

“Any higher and it’d go over your head,” Remy grinned, tossing his ID onto the coffee table and setting the photocopy aside.

Chuckling, the man returned to filling out the form, “Don’t think I didn’t notice the heels on those boots. You can’t be that much taller than me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Remy took out his phone, leaning against the wall as he flipped through his calendar, “Alright, so as far as setting you up with an appointment. I’ll need some time to get the design drawn up and approved by you. Plus I’m pretty booked, so next available time slot I could fit you in would be next month on the 18th at noon.”

“What day of the week is that?”

“Wednesday.”

“Hm, no go. Do you have anything on Thursday? The 19th?”

Remy scrolled down the page before nodding, “Yeah, that day is clear. You can pick the time.”

“Let’s do 1pm, I am not a morning person,” Toby looked up and smirked, holding out the completed form to Remy.

“Mood,” Remy grinned back, looking over the page to double check everything looked good before grabbing a stapler from next to the copy machine to attach the photocopy of Toby’s ID. “Alright then, I think you’re set.”

“Aw, getting rid of me already?” Toby leaned forward, chin in hand and he smiled up at the artist, “But we’re having so much fun.”

“So let’s quit while we’re ahead, mmkay?” Tossing his hair back, he picked up his notebook from the table, “I’ll email you once I have a sketch of the design to get your opinion or whatev.”

“I look forward to it,” he stood with a wink.

Remy deadpanned, “Well that makes one of us.”

“So cold,” Toby shook his head with a laugh, “Alright, thanks for everything. We’ll talk soon.”

“Uh huh, byeeee,” Remy waved his fingers as Toby finally left the shop. He barely made it to his station to put his things away and start preparing for his next appointment when Cass’ face peaked above the wall dividing their stations.

“Soooo,” She grinned teasingly, “You two seemed to get along.”

“Ali said I have to have some level of professional courtesy with the clients,” Remy raised an eyebrow.

Cass rolled her eyes, “Oh come on, you were both sassing easy as breathing! He’s the first person I’ve seen in a long time, if ever, that could keep up with you.”

“Oh my God, so what? Witty banter happens, it’s all around us, be more chill, girl.”

“You have his number~” she sing-songed, pointing to the form Remy was putting into his client drawer.

“Yeah, I needed his contact info. He’s my client.”

“Oh come on, we’re not doctors or anything, there’s no rule against artist/canvas relationships.”

“‘Relationships’? Ew.”

Cass laughed, “Alright, maybe not a relationship, but there’s nothing stopping you from tapping that!”

Remy felt his teeth clench together, and a lot of words flew through his mind, but he didn’t feel like he had the self-restraint to say any of them in less than a scream. So he settled for a cold, “Right, nothing at all,” as he pushed his sunglasses down over his eyes and returned to looking over the designs he needed to print for his next client.

“Hey, Sleep, I was just kidding,” Cass’ voice was a little softer, “We all know you’re not into that. It was a joke.”

It was a joke he’d heard too many times. It wasn’t really funny anymore. Still, he glanced over the top of his glasses and smiled, “I know, hon, it ain’t no thing.”

“You just seemed to get along more than you usually do with clients,” Cass continued, “If nothing else he just seems like a cool guy.”

“Ooooh, you sure you don’t want to tap that?” Remy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Cass threw a crumpled up piece of paper at him as he laughed, “This is what I get for trying to expand your social circle!”

“Give up, babe, I’m a lone wolf,” He grinned. Cass shook her head in fond exasperation as they both returned to their work. Tapping on his phone, Remy entered Toby’s information into his calendar to mark his appoint.

After putting his phone in his pocket, October didn’t even cross his mind.

#punk au #winter winds #punk sleep #punk october #The Lad has arrived #sleep/october #(sleepy hallow)#my writing

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vinku-iikku · 7 years

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I participated in this year’s inktober challenge, if you want to just see the art please go here, and if you want to know what, why and how and some backgrounds behind each one, please have a look at the text under the cut.

I chose to use the official 2017 inktober prompts because I had a hard time finding others that’d suit my needs (I found plenty for couples and very specific ones, I wanted something more abstract), I picked a character I like and to make it interesting an OC of the day too:

The bird (that carries you over a disproportionately small gab) is a practice on consistency and staying on ’model’, the weird bird accompanying it is practise on creativity and getting out of my comfort zone. Both can act as trying new stuff with inking.

Why that bird? I’ll make a separate post about it in a moment.

I used a basic pencil for sketching, and Staedtler pigment liner 0,1mm for inking, all the drawings are on a regular notebook meant for keeping notes I guess. The blog and all posts were made through the tumblr app. I only edited the pictures with crop, making them b&w(the notebook is kind of yellowish white) and added brightness, they are all kind of huge files compared to their size offline.

1. ”swift” Here it starts! It’s very obvious here that I got inspired by the sillier art in Doodle Doods, my original aim was to make one ’normal’ drawing of the bird, and another of the same bird that is way more extreme, gave up on that the second day. I had no idea where to put thicker lines yet as you can see especially on the weird bird.

2. ”divided” Right on second day got a theme for which I couldn’t come up with a good idea. The bird is disagreeing with the weird bird, and the disproportionately small gap divides the amount of birds on screen. Still have very little idea where heavier lines should go here.

3.”poison” Original idea for the weird bird was a bird that’s swum through a thick oil spill in the sea and got it’s wings ripped off, but then I decided I don’t want to draw any gore this month. I’m not sure how it looks like but the bird is supposed to be slipping on the oil on the ground. The holes in the black were supposed to be shiny parts of the oil, but look more like holes.. Accidentally figured out here that making thicker outlines looks good.

4. ”underwater” First thing that got inked was the water, I’m surprised I got it that straight without a ruler. Here’s where I realised I can make varying thickness on the wings of the weird bird, the fluffy side is one time ink, the other side twice the ink to make it thicker.

5. ”long” Original idea was to make the weird bird long-necked lesser dog -style, but then I ended up experimenting with different line styles instead.

6.”sword” It’s a bird-monster with a toy sword vs. sword-monster with a toy bird. Place your bets. Toy sword blade I drew with a ruler, the sword-monster got freehanded, and it shows. Bended uneven knives make harder healing cuts.

7.”shy” Trying out different kinds of curves this day, also first try on making small patterns with the flowers.

8.”crooked” I thought for a while what objects there are in the Waterfall area that could look crooked, the umbrella bucket was the only thing that came to mind. I looked at pixel art of it and tried to get a 3D effect to it, ended up making it metallic-looking instead...

9.”screech” I didn’t want to draw the bird with its mouth open, so looked at Google Translate for any hint of other meanings for the word. Turns out most of the examples were of cars for some reason, but that one sentence stood out so I drew it. That’s Donald Duck’s car, drew it from memory and apparently the part I remember best from it is the wheels.

10.”gigantic” Another harder topic, in the end tried to make an Attack of the Titans reference (I don’t watch the show at all).

11.”run” Tried several effects to make it look like they are going fast, they are supposed to be racing on a highway.

12.”shattered” As soon as I saw the theme I knew I wanted to try draw glass shards, the mirror was added so there’d be a reason the shards are stuck to the ground like that. Another idea was a broken egg, I wish I hadn’t given the egg shells the stronger lines, they looked way better without.

13.”teeming” This was the first to not be made on the day it was supposed to, I was out all day and got home on the morning of the next day. I had to look up this word, apparently it’s used on heavy rain and swarms of insects? The weird bird is inspired by an amalgamate.

14.”fierce” Only thing I could think of is that the bird was fiercely protecting something, here it’s a moldsmal that got hit by someone (that’s supposed to be a bandage on its top). I looked at several videos of aggressive ducks to find a correct pose for the weird bird.

15.”mysterious” Another one that got done next day from when it should’ve, wanted to get a translation done instead. I couldn’t think of anything that’d be mysterious, so drew the weirdest thing I could think of.

16.”fat” I remember seeing some documentary where an animator said chubby characters are the most fun to animate... The look of the bird is inspired by kekeflipnote animations.

17.”graceful” Samples of ’grace’ I could find were ballet-related, so here are two birds dancing. My hand was extra shaky on this day for some reason, it felt like a battle to ink the weird bird.

18.”filthy” Trying fast shaky movement again since the first day drawing, this one worked better I think. also trying out different levels and shades of grime.

19.”cloud” I was really tired that day, drew my biggest fantasy there. Clouds are my favourite natural phenomena, I can stare at the huge fluffy ones for a long time, especially at sunrise or sunset. This was the first one I drew at the kitchen table where I get proper support form my hand, all else up to this point were drawn hunched over the notebook while sitting on a sofa.

20.”deep” Drew the first idea that came to mind, the bottom of the well. I toyed a lot with different levels of shading, still missed a few stones it seems... The perspective was fun to plan! Another one at the kitchen table, I took many progress pictures because I constantly felt like I’d end up shading something wrong and ruin the whole thing.

21. ”furious” How is this different from ”fierce” earlier? I guess it’s more aggressive..? But it’s hard to add more anger to the birds face so I guess the weird bird takes care of that side.

22. ”trail” Immediately thought of footprints. The bird’s holding a magnifying glass, though it looks like a mirror here.

23. ”juicy” All I could think of was fruit juice. Making fruit juice with bare hands (wings?) is a nod to Oofuri, the bird’s gotta have some amazing wing strength to be able to carry people. I made a lot of tiny mistakes while inking, but as a whole they don’t stand out as much as I thought. Weird.

24. ”blind” The weird bird is some sort of fog-monster, but I’m not sure how well it shows. The rippled-effect was super fun to do!

25. ”ship” This prompt was a delight to draw! The paper-hat and boat are made of newspaper, the latter is for bigger monsters, it almost says ’pharaoh’ in Finnish at one place, otherwise it’s just random letters. The water-effect is building on what I learned on the second day, and adding more on the surface. The weird bird’s eye is another window where a tiny monster peeks out.

26. ”squeak” Original idea was mouse dress-up, but then this happened. The instrument is a flute that’s apparently called a ’recorder’ in English, if you blow at it with full force like that it makes a high-pitched squeak-sound (trust me, I have one).

27. ”climb” This day I went on a super long walk since the first snow of winter fell. It was super fun! But I was exhausted in many ways after. The weird bird might be scheming some trick there, idk.

28. ”fall” Acme-style umbrella fall with the weird bird, and the bird falls to the rescue!

29. ”united” Well I could avoid making the bird carry anyone up to this point... here’s united effort to get across together! This is a reference to what Undyne says about the bird in the game, it flew her over when she was a kid. This doesn’t look like it’d take over an hour, but I’m sure there were a lot of failed attempts with almost drowning. I think Undyne is sort of what Pippi Långstrump would be like as an adult, so she has pigtails. Would’ve added the socks too but webbed feet seemed cooler to me.

30. ”found” Pulled this one from the feeling when you find something weird and oh no it’s a bird’s nest and here comes the parent!

31. ”mask” Masks are cool. I like the jokes where there’s a mask under a mask, or the mask is exactly what the actual face looks like. This one has only been cropped(i.e. there’s no colour edits), it pictures all my tools too.

#myart

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abblebadabble · 7 years

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Pygmalion and Galatea

This one is, again, for English last year. Sorry for the length and thanks for reading!

He’d never looked at them before.

Well, obviously, he’d looked at them; they were everywhere, like moths. Stupid, sluttish moths, obsessed with frivolity and springtime scents that really just made everyone in the room’s nose itch pointlessly, recklessly, while the large, burly walls of meat called men stared at their lithe, insect bodies and catcalled flirtatiously. So. He had seen a girl, physically, with his own eyes. But he hadn’t, as the walls of meat would say, “checked one out” ever. What was the point? They’d all seen it wasn't real.

And he would know.

There was no such thing as amor, as je t’aime, as sunset dinners with champagne and roses and Diane’s watching sin with all her giggling huntresses in the sky. There was no such thing as soulmates or the perfect couple. Ary had seen it himself. The two sworn to his side from the beginning, shredding at his heart like paper and needles, pulling themselves away until the whole mirrored illusion shattered like a magician’s glass. Oh, yes, they could pretend, the perfect three, the marble-blonde parisienne and the darkened italiano and the tiny pale boy with Papa’s hair and Maman’s face and the name with ‘superior’ who was trapped by that one-sided mirror toujours, sempre, always.

Once that magician world, that mirror world, that perfect world, became fragile, it was a flower, a curtain, a glass du vin that would spill on the cream carpets.

Maman came home late that night. Her hair was tousled and she stumbled into the small house with empty rooms, giggling and taking lopsided steps. He could hear her, and he took two silent steps towards his bedroom door, wanting to surprise her, a tiny grin on his face and the paper rose in his hand. But Maman spoke, and he could smell the alcohol on her breath from the door.

“C’est ca-va, mon fils dort, et mon mari travaille, c’est ca-va.”

It’s okay, my son is asleep, and my husband is working. It’s fine.

“Certainement? Éve, ton fils est là?”

You’re sure? Éve, your son is here?

“Oui, oui. Mais c’est ca-va. Il dort. C’st ca-va. C’st ca-va.”

Sure, sure. But it’s okay. He’s ‘sleep. S’okay, s’okay.

He was still in the doorway, afraid to move, confused. He called out softly. “Maman?”

The end.

There was blood on the carpet the next morning, when Ary awakened. Papa held Ary in his arms, but not really. There was blood on Ary’s face. Where was Maman? There was blood on Papa’s hand, but it wasn’t Papa’s.

Ary wriggled out of Papa’s arms, and the arms fell limply, like rocks. He didn’t understand yet.

The napkin origami flower lay torn on the floor, by the rust-stain. Maman wasn’t in the house. Papa wasn’t responding.

A day passed. Ary liked the giraffe toy Maman had gotten him in Manhattan one time. He sat by the flower and played.

A day passed. Maybe Papa would like the giraffe toy, too. Maybe it would be like a medicine for him.

A day passed. Ary was hungry.

A day passed.

No change.

He went to school the next day. And something broke inside of him. Like the mirror with its feminine imperfections.

He stopped going home, or when he did, late at night. He stopped talking, and he saw all the wrongdoings in the clay-carved, marble-carved, stone-hearted children, all of the children, even beyond, with their twisted lives and views and selfishness.

And so it goes.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

Years.

She was the one who got him hooked. And before he had realized it, he was a fair artist.

Lydi was a tomboy, a childhood friend, who knew Ary before he broke. She had grown out of her overalls now, and her pixie-cut hair, but she was the one female the sullen boy could stand. At all.

They all made him sick, except Lydia-Elene.

She was leaning over his shoulder one day, careful not to let her silken golden sun-streaked hair fall over his sweater, lean too far into him that her figure would touch his shoulder blades. But he let her rest her chin on his shoulder and watch as he read.

“Ary,” she requested suddenly, “draw me.”

“Why would I do that,” he said dryly, not even dignifying her with a glance. The moon had fallen over the polluted city, the city that never sleeps, brighter than Maman’s hometime of lights. The park light overhead winked once, and the children so close to siblings fell silent again. Lydi rose and sat in front of Ary.

“Ary, pleeeease.”

“Why. I can’t draw.”

“I can’t do it myself, though.” Lydi stuck out her lower lip and pouted, trying and failing to successfully use puppy dog eyes on the stone boy.

Ary finally looked up. “Narcissist much?” he grumbled, but he took a notebook from his large bag beside him, and a pencil. “Why?”

“Need a self-portrait for art and need something to base it off of,” the girl said passively, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. Ary sighed and drew a light line on the paper.

The boy and the beauty sat silently together, Lydi still, watching the stars. Ary frowned and continued sketching.

Eventually he gave up, annoyed.

He shouted in frustration. “I can’t get it right!”

Lydi jumped, startled, and turned to her friend. Ary reluctantly gave her the paper, and she immediately burst into laughter.

“That… looks… nothing like me,” she gasped, tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.

Ary snatched the paper back. “Shut up. Go home already.”

Lydi chuckled again and stood, looking at her watch. “Wah, it’s past eleven!” she exclaimed, grabbing her own satchel from the earth. “Okay, I’ll go home. You, too, little one.”

“I’m taller than you now,” he said, glaring at the girl, which prompted another grin. Lydi reached down, thought better of the hug she was going to offer, waved goodbye, then turned and skipped away. The lone wolf remained on the cold park bench, frowning. He took out another piece of paper and started to draw.

Lydi knew her friend needed to have everything exactly so. But it was still shocking when he showed her the sketch drawn the morning after.

He smothered a yawn and continued to draw, shortening the hair to chin length and curving the eyes to look more like almonds.”It’s not right yet,” he said again, darkening the hair a shade and cropping it shorter still, then frowning again and lengthening it.

“What, that still doesn’t look like me,” Lydi said, her most recent lover’s hand in hers. Because she was a cute girl, and flirtatious, even if she didn’t used to be.

The broken boy from the broken home glanced shortly at his shallower friend. “It’s not supposed to be.” He shuffled some papers around, handing her one before turning back to his drawing.

A photograph, really.

Lydi stood amazed, comparing the stick figure from the night before to this. “That was… fast.”

“But it’s not perfect yet. She’s not perfect yet.”

“Are you talking about me?” The girl pouted.

“No. Yes. I don’t know, all of them,” Ary grunted. Lydi shrugged, a little hurt, noticing she wasn’t going to get anything else out of him, and pulled her boyfriend away with the bell.

So. It was the girl with the hair like gold that first pleaded with the idealist to begin his healing.

Because the imperfections that Ary had created were girls, all of them. And it took forever to get them just so.

Mid-march, a new femme was introduced into the class.

Ailie. A meticulous girl as stubborn as stone. Lydi and she connected immediately.

“Please stop talking,” Ary had to beg one day, as Lydi continuously bragged about her new companion. “She sits next to me in class; please stop talking. I got it already.”

Lydi stuck out her tongue at him, but stopped.

The three would eat together, because of Lydi, and work on projects together. Ary didn’t speak much, or often look up, because of the girl and the nausea and his mother and memories and-

But it would be okay, because she was a quiet and still thing, and Lydi could do all the talking for both of them.

The paper girls started to have longer hair again, not very, but a little past shoulder length, with frizzy ringlet curls. Slowly, unnoticeably. Their eyes would grow darker and their hair a little more red, the smile a little wider and a little more crooked. They were beautiful. And, eventually, perfect.

He sighed and leaned back, smiling passively to himself, before tentatively peeking at the paper.

Good God, he’d drawn Her.

He froze, astonished and scared.

His chest ached, and his body suddenly felt like he was swimming or flying or both. He felt sick. Lydi looked at Ary’s paling face, looked at the paper in his hands, and looked back at her friend. Well. It was fortunate that he’d finally broken out of that shell, even if it wasn’t complete yet. But he really didn’t look great.

She snatched the paper from Ary’s hands and whispered to him, “Go home. It’s okay.”

He stood and ran away.

Lydi sighed. Maybe next time.

Once he recovered from the shock, once he recognized the feel of his heart and mind and soul, once he’d grown out of the sickness and Lydi had teased him enough, he started with small presents. A pretty feather that he found on the way to school that morning, an inexpensive necklace that reminded him of her, a flower, a seashell. He would talk shyly to her more, and brush against her “accidently” a little more often. He would daydream of kissing her, present to her an outfit that he’d caught her looking at on their weekends together as friends.

Of course. Friends.

That’s all they ever would be.

It was pathetic, really, that he was trying so hard to please her. She wouldn’t return his affection. She remained cold as stone, and if anything, she looked at him even less.

It was unbearable.

One morning, he actually did kiss her.

Just lightly, on the cheek, when they were strolling with Lydi along a small pretty street lined with stores. It was like the world went still for a minute.

Blood shot to his face immediately, and he blushed, turned, and sped off.

Lydi snorted, and Ailie stood next to her, uncomprehending of the past few minutes.

If only the boy had stayed a little longer, he might have seen her turn rouge as well.

The exasperated child turned to his first companion for advice, pleading as to how to make his love his lover, near tears.

Lydi wouldn’t speak, and Ary turned to bribery.

For his friend he bought a marble paperweight in the shape of a smiling, adorable cow, and one of those expensive candles with three wicks instead of one. Pleased, Lydi lit the candle and placed the tiny stone animal next to it, then told Ary her advice.

“Come on, Ary, are you just blind? Or are you really a total idiot? She already likes you.”

Ary blinked. Then it struck him, and he laughed angrily. Yeah, right. Ailie already liked him. Ha. The closest they would ever be would be comrades, and he’d kind of blown that chance with his little mess-up that weekend. He stormed away.

He didn’t sleep that night, and when Helios and Apollo met the sky again, he walked to school sullenly, alone and upset.

He crashed into the doorway. Or, well, maybe not a doorway, something softer.

Ailie looked at him, surprised, as he stared back, the same look on his face. The blush crept onto both of their faces again, and Ary tried to push past the girl into the room.

“Um!” she called over to him. He turned, expecting disappointment, and kept his face straight. “Can we… well, maybe… talk after school today?”

“Fine,” he replied coldly, his shell creeping back over him. It was going to be a long day.

They sat in silence, sipping their beverages at the cafe across the street from their high school. The boy at the table refused to meet the girl’s eyes.

“Ary… why did you kiss me?” Ailie asked shyly.

Ary snorted. “Really?” he said meanly, “you feel the need to ask me that? Really?”

Ailie fell silent again.

Ary sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your hair if you want. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing, I guess.”

“O-oh, okay.” The girl looked close to tears. “Okay. Well, I’ll be right back then.” She stood and rushed away.

“No no no, wait!” Ary called anxiously, but the girl didn’t turn. He groaned, feeling like an idiot. Why was he so stupid sometimes?

“Ailie,” he said softly, seeking the girl out, “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I really-” his face turned red again- “really like you. I just didn’t want to tell you because I was worried that you didn’t like me.”

There was no answer, and the girl still sobbed quietly.

“Please look at me.”

Silence.

Ary, hesitating a little, leaned forward and kissed her cheek again. “Okay. I’ll stop now,” he said with a sigh, turning.

Ailie stood in place and, without looking at Ary, whispered, barely audibly, “Don’t go.”

He stayed.

An hour passed, just like that, and the girl with the flaming hair dried her eyes. “I… I like you, too.”

The pale boy with the dark hair and eyes stiffened, not sure if he had heard her right. “Like, like-like?”

“Mm,” she said in agreement.

Ary grinned, his cheeks reddening further. “Okay. Well. Um. Ailie. I. Um. I like you.”

The barest ghost of a smile crossed the girl’s face. “Like, like-like?”

“Yup.”

“Okay.”

They stood there for a minute longer.

“Ailie?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Ailie paused. “Okay.”

They kissed, and the boy’s shell fell off completely.

He’d never looked at them.

Well, he’d looked at them, obviously. But he didn’t flirt with them.

He didn’t need to.

Because, then and forever, he had his own in his arms, lovingly, tenderly, and smelling like springtime.

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