#try not to send out shitty sketches challenge

[feligayzed]

it's no use

[rostovs-lover]

dalí on tuesday

charlie dalton x reader | cursing, smoking, brief mentions of sexual things, charlie (probably) has daddy issues, cameron | she/her pronouns | fluff | wc.2562

i am in love with charlie, this is now a charlie dalton centric blog, also ignore how terrible the title is please

anon : Hi!! I love your blog! can I request a charlie Dalton x reader fluff where reader is an artist and he visits them while they're painting? (maybe they end up wiping paint on his face?) I don't know, something really sweet at cute <33333

Charlie Dalton had been resigned to relish in small pleasures to keep himself sane at school, never did he think the library would be one of those. More specifically, the painter tucked into the basement of the library. 

                            ───☮︎───

     Charlie Dalton was a connoisseur of many things. Pretty girls, expensive wine, shitty poetry, and hand rolled cigarettes - to name a few. His imprisonment at Wellington made only one of those things readily available. So he settled - boxes of cheap smokes bought through upperclassmen, bottles of grocery store wine someone would sneak in from a party, and the two girls that occasionally came with Knox. The shitty poetry was always on deck, he had that at least. It was a tragedy to be resigned to such a bland life, there was absolutely no carpe diem-ing happening in a school that held adolescent boys to uniforms.

      It was miserable, truly, but Charlie scrapped by on the thought that soon enough there would be no more stuffy Catholic school and he could finally have a taste of freedom. In the meantime, he would have what little fun he could. The meets in the cave were always the highlight of the week. A place where he could talk and people would listen, and not because they had to but because they enjoyed it. They enjoyed his words and thoughts and presence. No one else had ever really seemed to enjoy Charlie’s presence. They could tolerate it, handle it, but they always had more pressing matters. A business meeting to attend, a bill to pay, a dinner to go to. Always something just a little bit more important and never quite enough time for Charlie. But the other Dead Poets, they valued him. He wasn’t just a kid, a college tuition to pay and a life to layout. He was a person, with interests and hobbies.

      It had been there, in the safe haven of the cave, that the idea for the library first came up. Meeks had already talked Pitts into coming, Neil didn’t take much convincing at all, Todd was also easy to lure, Cameron groaned about leaving school grounds but refused to be left out, and Knox agreed to go but only if Nuwanda came too. Charlie had already started to cover what there was to do at a library, read?

      Meeks dove into the technical manuals and Pitts followed tentatively, cradling their science project in his arms. Todd had followed Neil to the S authors, Cameron was trying to chat up the woman at the register, and God only knew what Knox was doing. He had been stranded with few options. He could find the geniuses and be talked over for the next hour or third wheel Neil but that guaranteed intruding on something he probably shouldn’t. The polite thing to do would be to rescue Cameron from making a complete fool of himself, throwing bad pick up lines at a clearly uninterested college student, but it was amusing to watch.

      Charlie settled on trying to find Knox, at least then he could have some company. Said company was absolutely nowhere to be found. The rows of shelves wound in a confusing maze and Charlie was lost before he could even begin to look. Weaving around he did come face-to-face with a rather large picture of Charles Dickens that made him recoil. It was perched just at eye level above a short staircase and it seemed to judge his every movement. Charlie followed the carpeted stairs down to escape Mister Dickens’ strange little beard and beady black eyes.

      The further down the steps Charlie descended the brighter it appeared. The lower level was the children’s section. Considerably more fun than science books or Shakespeare. The big oak counter was abandoned but the lights were still on. He was alone, still.

      Charlie sighed, sitting down in one of the bright red wooden chairs. He was much too big for it but it held well under his weight. A sad stuffed bear stared dully into him from the green glossy table.

      “Well hello,” He mumbled, picking it up under the arms, “And you must be?” He cleared his throat to take on a gruff baritone, “Mister... Bearington,” Charlie sighed, that was bad. He dropped the bear into his lap, “This is so stupid,”

      “Bearington?”

      Charlie shot around in the chair, tipping himself off center and stumbling to his feet, bear still clutched in his arms, “Where the hell did you come from?”

      “A few blocks over, walked here actually.” You turned back to your work. A painting. Not just a painting, Charlie realized, a mural. It stretched the length of the wall, roughly sketched in pencil and waiting to be finished.

      He blinked, “That’s good. The wall I mean,”

      “Thank you,” Your face flustered and Charlie took notice, “It’s not much of anything yet, just an outline. It’ll look better painted.”

      He took a few steps closer, sidling up to you, “What’s it supposed to be?”

      “A forest,” You pointed to a rotund blob perched on a long line, “That’s an owl, and there’s going to be a fox somewhere down in the grass,”

      Charlie grinned, “That’s an owl?”

      “That-” you tapped the blob, “Is a shape, objectively. Subjectively, it’s an owl.”

      His brow creased, “Subjectively it’s an owl? That's like saying Mister Bearington is a rabbit, subjectively,”

      You stared at him, baffled. It was almost irritating that he could so casually come down to your domain and invade your creative bubble. And it was even worse that he talked to himself as a stuffed bear but now he was challenging your judgment on what was and was not subjectively an owl. But he had a wonderful smile and it lessened the intrusion. Plus, you had never seen a teenage boy develop an attachment to a stuffed bear as quickly as he had, “What’s your name?”

      “Nuwanda,” He grinned, setting his chin atop his bear’s plush head.

      “Nuwanda?” You blinked at him, “That’s… neat. I’ve never heard that before.”

      “What can I say? The only Nuwanda this side of Vermont. What’s your name?”

      As you opened your mouth to answer several sets of footsteps thundered down the stairs. Knox spun around the corner first, closely followed by Pitts and Meeks.

      “Charlie!” Knox called, “We gotta go before Cameron proposes to the clerk.”

      You looked at the boy in front of you, “Is Charlie short for Nuwanda, or just a nickname?”

      He shrugged, “I’m Nuwanda, subjectively. It was truly a pleasure meeting you. Can’t wait to see your thing DaVinci!” He set the stuffed bear back on the table as he made his way out of the room. With Charlie’s energy gone it became much quieter and you were plunged back into the impressionistic outline of your artwork.

      The next time a library trip was suggested Charlie didn’t completely dread it. Yes, it was still numbingly boring because it was a library and he didn’t have clerks to fall in love with, people to write love letters to, anyone to kiss in the aisles, or a spaceship to build, but he did have his own personal Van Gough to torment.

      The lower level was the first place he went, not even hanging his coat on the rack inside the big double doors. He made his way past Cameron’s preoccupied receptionist and under Dickens’ hard glower. Halfway down the steps, the smell hit Charlie. Wet paint.

      You had just picked out a brush when he pulled one of the wooden chairs next to your station. He sat in it backwards, holding Mister Bearington out in front of him, “Never got your name Monet,”

      “Well, it's not that. Or Da Vinci.” You stroked the brush up the grassy outline.

      “Do you want me to guess?”

      You had yet to look at him, “Nope,”

      “Are you gonna tell me?”

      “Should I?”

      “Obviously, I told you my name.”

      You set the brush down and turned to face him, “(Name).”

      “Pretty,”

      Charlie Dalton liked many things and the musty old library uptown had never been one of them. It had ancient red carpets and gaudy gold ceilings and it was trying too hard to look regal. So it was a sheer shock when he began to leap at the suggestion of going and even more so when he chose to go by himself one afternoon. Naturally, the other poets followed him, they had to.

      Charlie didn’t dally upstairs, waving hi to the clerk and rushing down to the children’s section. A sign was posted outside the entrance warning of wet paint but he stepped around it.

      “You’re making progress Picasso!” He set his hands on his hips and took in the wall.

      You turned back to look at him, “Did you not see the caution: wet paint, do not enter sign?”

      “Oh no I saw it,” He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, “It's bright orange, hard to miss, really,”

      “So you just chose to ignore it?”

      He nodded, making his way over to sit by you on the ground, “I choose to ignore lots of things, it really makes life easier,”

      You shook your head, “Are you just going to sit here and bother me?”

      “Yes, that's actually the whole reason I came today, believe it or not.”

      You blubbered in vague disbelief, “Please tell me you’re not serious,”

      “Dead serious,” Charlie grinned, leaning closer, “I had to see how your weird owl was going. And also make sure you hadn’t gone mad and cut your own ear off yet,”

      “You’ve already used the Van Gogh joke, Charles,”

      “Maybe I want your ear,”

      You paused, “You… what?”

      Charlie’s confidence cracked, “That was bad. Shit, that wasn’t supposed to sound that way. It was like, a bad pickup line? Because Van Gogh cut his ear off to send to his girlfriend,” He sighed, shaking his head, “Sorry,”

      “I mean if I had to pick someone to give my ear too I guess you would be my first choice?”

      Charlie looked at you, eyebrows pinched together, “Why?”

      You shrugged, “No one else has asked, first come first serve.” You dipped your brush back into the blue paint and went to work on a patch of flowers.

      “Huh, well I do appreciate it,” Charlie scooted closer, leaning over your shoulder. He was close, very close. When you took a breath you could smell his cologne and whatever it was he used in his hair and you could feel the edge of his sunglasses brush your ear. He brought an arm around to dip his finger into the soft sky colour on your palette. And then he wiped it on your nose.

      You gasped sharply at the foreign feeling, snapping your head to the side to glare at him, “Why?!”

      Charlie snickered, leaning back, “The opportunity presented itself, how could I just let that pass?”

      You reached back, squirting a touch of purple paint over the palm of your hand, “That was truly a horrible idea,”

      Charlie shot up just as you did, stumbling backwards, “I’m sorry-” He stuck his hands up in surrender, “I regret my actions and if I could take them back I would,”

      “Hmm, but you can’t” You took a step closer, “Surrender now and it doesn’t have to get any messier than this,”

      He pointed towards your paint coated hand, “Do not,”

      You grinned, “I might,”

      “I’m begging,”

      “Fine-” You offered him your other hand, “Truce?”

      Charlie mulled it over for a moment, “Fine, truce,” He grabbed your clean hand and you used it to pull him towards you.

          “Why on earth would you trust me?” You tugged him even closer as he shrieked and smeared your hand down his cheek, “There, now we’re even,”

      Getting distracted by your triumph gave Charlie the upper hand. He pulled you to him the same you had done to him and pressed his cheek flush to yours. The paint was cold against your skin and you jolted back, away from him.

      “Vile,” You hissed, “You are vile and evil. That's so cold. You will pay, I hope you know that.”

      Charlie snorted, “Oh please, what’re you gonna do?”

      “You underestimate me, you ass, I’ll figure something out,”

      “Will you?” Charlie grinned, “I will be waiting in anticipation,”

      “You better be,”

      Meeks elbowed back into Cameron’s ribs, “You’re going to knock me over,”

      Cameron craned his neck further to peek around the corner into the children’s section, “I just want to see, let me look,”

      “Nothing is happening-” Meeks snipped, “They’re just talking now and I might be able to hear if you could can it!”

      Cameron rolled his eyes, “Of course, whatever you say,”

      “Will you shut up?” Knox batted at Cameron’s shoulder, “They’ll see us, we’re not super well hidden,”

      “If you don’t stop talking they’ll realize we’re here,” Pitts mumbled, rolling his eyes. Cameron started to rebuttal, turning to look at Gerard but the motion knocked Meeks out of place and he gasped, stumbling forwards. This did indeed draw Charlie’s attention.

      “Meeks, what the hell?” Charlie snapped. He was in a state, sunglasses askew in his hair, paint smeared from his cheekbone down to the corner of his mouth, and his shirt was wrinkled away from his collarbone.

      Meeks stared, “Hi Charlie. Are there any textbooks down here, uh… the science ones?”

      Knox groaned, stepping out from behind the wall as well, “We wanted to see why you came here on a Tuesday afternoon by yourself,”

      Charlie blubbered, “Did you all come? Is Keating there too?”

      “He could be,” Meeks shrugged.

      Charlie rolled his eyes, “Will you leave, I’ll be upstairs in a second,” The other poets nodded, scampering up the steps to the first level.

      “Assholes, should have known they’d come,” Charlie sighed, adjusting the sunglasses atop his head, “I need to go before they decide to intrude again. I’ll see you soon though, anxiously anticipating payback,”

      He was almost out the door when you bucked up the courage to call out to him, “Charlie, wait.” You let him turn back to you before continuing, “Could I have your phone number?”

      He clicked his teeth, “Don’t have one, private school. But I’ll find the library number in the books and try to shoot you a call sometime,” He winked and started back up to his friends.

      Knox was waiting at the landing with a handful of tissues, which he shoved into Charlie’s hands, “So you’re gonna read your stupid poem about tits at a Dead Poets meet and then not tell us you’ve got a girlfriend?”

      Charlie grabbed the tissues, “Not my girlfriend, I meet her like two weeks ago,”

      “Didn’t stop Knox,” Neil elbowed him.

      Charlie wiped at his face, “Well I’m not Knox. I like her painting, she's good.”

      “It looks like she was painting you,” Cameron slapped at Charlie’s chest and he threw the tissues at him in retaliation.

      “Shut up, at least my library worker actually talks to me,”

      Cameron fumbled with the dirty material, batting it away from his chest, “You dick!”

      Charlie grinned, pulling his glasses down and starting towards the door. Something about it was thrilling, having this to himself. A little secret that he and you shared. His personal Salvador Dalí, something to look forwards to besides bad tobacco and Keating’s eccentric lectures. It was bright and exciting and he felt seen. He felt important. The blue paint he had stolen from your tray was still on the tip of his pointer finger and he wondered how long it would be until he could see you again.

 ( @interwebseriesfan24 )

[thesacredtwink]

Yeah! I did have a lot of fun while I was gone. Highlights include losing an archery challenge to a 9 year old because I'm out of practice, and abruptly being reminded that horseback riding requires muscles that do not usually get used. (If you move your fingers to the outside indents of your knees and then down to just below them, there are muscles there that you need for horseback riding that don't normally get used ever. I'm fine, just sore.)

I did actually see the update! My family's cabin and property are up in the middle of nowhere so there was no wifi, but I did have some data on my phone (that was technically supposed to be for emergencies only) and I had my best friend keep an eye out for the update, so they sent the whole thing to me over discord (also, please imagine being me on Friday, having just read the update, and the only people available to yell at about it being my family who do not care. I did make a new friend as a result of my need to talk to someone about it though, so that's good!)

Twilight holding meetings in the animal pen is a mental image I am never getting out of my head. That is so perfect. "The King won't come to the meeting, so the meeting will come to him."

I was honestly thinking more like, most Gerudo spoke Hylian like in Wild's era, and Twilight just got dumped in a language class for a few hours everyday, but the mental image of him being crowned King and not even knowing that was what was happening because he doesn't speak the language is hilarious. Maybe this is why by Wild's era most Gerudo are bilingual. Don't want to repeat that mess.

And Wolfie sitting in the sand seal pen practising his conjugation is absolutely sending me. Hold on a moment while I try to convince my above mentioned best friend to do a 'shitty sketch' of that for me.

-Attllhak

@attllhak

9 year olds are wicked competitive, no shame in that lol.

Ooo I love horseback riding and I know exactly the muscles you mean. Walking is an interesting thing when they are sore.

I am SO GLAD you had someone to loose it with over last week's update. My parents don't care at all either, and I was sharing it with them too. Glad you made a new friend to flail with.

Sksksksksksksksksk

You know something is important if the meeting is being held in the stables. It just becomes a known thing. The more animals there are and the more sand Twilight is covered in during the discussion, the more critical it is.

KDHRIFNDNCIKSBFIDOWOWXNDODLFHDOBRFIRO

So because Twi can only talk to animals in wolf form, the first thing I pictured upon getting to the end of this was:

Twilight, as Wolfie: So the prefix Sav' means Good right?

A Sand Seal: Close. It has a few meanings. When used during a greeting? Yes.

WHAT THE PEOPLE PASSING BY HEAR

Wolfie: aoww Wooow rooooOOWWWWwww

The Seal: Auuur uuuur aurrerr

THE LANGUAGE THING MAKES ME LAUGH SO MUCH. Like he probably has a few classes before he is officially crowned, but those months leading up to it? Totally lost and yet he is still being called on to make decisions so he's just gonna have to do the best he can.

[violetnotez]

Ohohoho yes anon let’s turn this broccoli boi to the dark side 😈😈😈 also thank u @gallickingun for helping me with the plot!!!! And @jojosmilktea for hyping up my banner cause I seriosuly don’t know what I’m doing with graphics 😂😂😂

Izuku x reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2700

Warnings: slight cussing

Summary: Izuku feels he is never going to get a chance to be close to you, being you two are so much more different than each other. But seeing you spar with Bakugo makes him decide that he has to shoot his shot-before it becomes too late.

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

Y/n l/n.

Your name was written at the top of the page in Izuku’s messy handwriting, the name particularly more neat than the other names in his notebook.

Right under your name was a crude sketch of your hero suit, just like the rest of his pages of notes. Yours was somehow a little different, a little more detailed than the rest. It seemed to have more care put into it, as well as a lot more notes surrounding it than the other entries.

The other pages about the heroes and students he had encountered were much more simpler than yours, the writing only focusing on their powers and their notable strengths. You on the other hand, were different-Izuku had seemed to write everything about you he could fit into that initial page, the immense amount of detail eventually spreading out to the following pages.

No matter how he looked at the situation, Izuku knew he had fallen head over heels for you. He knew he shouldn’t have-it was like you two were practically in two different worlds.

You were blunt, assertive, and a little on the rebellious side. You acted first and thought of rules later, being the first to challenge someone to a fighting match, or agree to a dare no matter how risque it was. You were a risk taker, and you knew it, which made you such a perfect addition to Bakusquad.

Izuku,on the other hand, was nothing like that- he studied everyday like a good student, and always made sure to stay out of trouble as much as possible. He colored in between the lines, and he felt like he was so bland when compared to your wild spirit.

Even though you two were completely different in every way, he couldn’t keep you out of his head. You never seemed to look down on him, always greeting him with a warm smile and asking him how he was. Your laugh echoed in his head like a catchy song, and the way you would send him smiles from across the room made his heart race. Izuku was fully aware that he was most likely going to get his heart broken if he didn’t make a move soon, but he was content at the moment with admiring your beauty and resilience from afar.

“Cmon y/n, I told you not to go easy on me!”

Izuku perked his head up from his note taking, noticing that voice to be none other than Bakugo. Poor Izuku’s eyes were blown out of sockets, though, as he saw the scene unfolding in front of him.

There was Kachan, his friend and sometimes rival, toppled on top of you, his torso straddling your hips. Bakugo’s large hands had your wrists pinned to the ground, his powerful legs pushing yours into the ground to keep you from squirming.

Uncharacteristic anger bubbled inside Izuku as he saw Bakugo on top of you in such a suggestive pose. He knew you two were just training, but-he couldn’t help but wish that he was the one on top of you, not Bakugo. Heck, he just wished he was the one you asked for help with training and not Kachan. Izuku never wanted to feel like he was competing with his friend, but right now, he felt like he was-and he was losing.

It didn’t help either that you were close to Bakugo, always hanging out with him and his friends. You weren’t that afraid of his yelling and his threats, merely laughing at him when he was on another rampage. Bakugo seems to treat you like an equal, actually offering you compliments from time to time and allowing you to train with him. Izuku knew only a few people could earn Bakugo’s respect, and it couldn't be a good thing for his love life if his antisocial best friend seemed to take an extra interest in his crush.

Izuku watched as you laughed at Bakugo’s statement, your sweet laugh ringing like bells.

“Hell Bakugo, you thought that was me going easy? I was just getting started!” You scoffed at the ash blonde boy, your chest then connecting with his.

Izuku sucked in a tight breath, holding it in as he watched you wrap your legs around your opponent. You then quickly flipped your bodies around, landing so it was now you, not Kachan, who was on top. Bakugo took a large gasp of air, his lungs unable to get a proper inhale from the sudden movement.

You shoved his shoulders into the ground, shimmying on his chest to get a better grip.

“God Bakugo, you're so quiet!” You smirked, “Didn't know you liked being a bottom so much-“

“S-s-shut the hell up you damn idiot, I’ll fucking-“ Bakugo instantly started yelling at you, the twinge of red in his cheecks hard to ignore for Izuku. You continued to laugh at his reaction, your body shaking from the giggles as you continued to sit on his stomach.

Izuku looked down at his notebook full of notes about his devotion to you, sighing sadly-

Yeah, he had no chance.

As you continued to chuckle, trying to hold your grip on the aggressive boy under you, you looked to your left. To your surprise, you saw a lonely looking Midoriya under a shady spot of a tree, looking slightly sad as he stared down at his lap.

You and Izuku were pretty good friends, as you both seemed to have mutual likes and interests in and out of class. You didn’t talk much to the green haired boy, but you found him to be extremely sweet and quite attractive. You also didn’t socialize with him as much as you wished you did, but since you two were completely different friend groups, it made it quite difficult to hang out with the greenette.

You wished you knew what was going on in that poor boy's head right now, his head hanging low on his shoulders. He looked so defeated, his back arched as if he was carrying a heavy burden on himself.

“Shitty woman-your hurting my fucking wrists!” Bakugo spat out, his eyes filled with anger. You smirked at your opponent, knowing full well that was his way of “taping out”.

“Sorry Bakubro-,” you replied, rolling off his stomach as he rubbed his wrists tenderly, muttering about how “crappy” you were.

You ignored your friend’s remarks, making your way over to the poor boy underneath the cherry blossom tree. He didn’t seem to even notice you walking towards him, his hands resting sadly on his notebook in deep thought. You smiled softly at him-he looked so cute when he was thinking so intently, even if he did look a little solemn.

“Hey, Earth to Midoriya!” You hovered your hand over his eyes, breaking his daze.

“Oh-uh-y-y/n!” He squeaked, his body jumping from your sudden presence.

You laughed at his jumpiness, causing a red hue to grace his cheeks. Izuku didn’t even notice you sneaking up on him...but the fact he had made you laugh made him stomach feel warm and fluttery.

You stood in front of the boy, thinking it might be better to be at eye level with him.

“Mind if I sit?” You asked

Midoriya shook his head vigorously, his heart pumping wildly in his chest. “N-n-no, not at all!” He said enthusiastically, scooting over so you had more room.

You plopped yourself right next to him, seemingly unfazed by the sudden closeness. Izuku, on the other hand, was freaking out internally.

He could practically feel the heat radiating off you, your infectious personality seeping into his, brightening up his spirits. Your shoulder was resting on his, the breeze flitting through both your hairs. He couldn’t believe you had come to him, let alone sit next to him and want to talk. Even if you maybe had a thing with Bakugo, this was a win in his head.

You looked down at Midoriya's hands, noticing the slight shake in his fingertips. You smiled softly-this boy was too nervous for his own good.

“Are your hands doing okay-I know you train really hard,” you stated matter of factly, tenderly picking up one of his scarred and calloused hands with your own.

Izuku’s brain was about to explode-you were touching him now? Even though his brain felt fuzzy and full of static, he loved the way your skin felt against his own. It was just as calloused, but the skin was softer and feather light, the pads of your fingers tracing each scar like a message in Braille. You flipped his hand over gently, following the roads of his skin as you inspected his hand.

Each touch left a ticklish feeling that settled in his skin, the tingling simultaneously calming and accelerating his heart rate. God, he could get used to this.

“Their-their doing fine,” he stuttered out, his face engulfed in red.

“You sure?” You gave him a knowing look, a small smirk on your lips. “Cause you look like you punched a wall”

You giggled at his embarrassed face, your sweet voice making his heart thump against his chest.

“Well, since I’m still not used to my power yet, it takes quite a toll on my body,” he rambled , staring at the hand you were currently holding, “s-so I have to train extra hard to allow my body to fully grow to handle its power.”

You nodded your head, letting go of his hand and resting yours on your knee.

“That makes sense,” you agreed, resting your head on the trunk of the tree, “You got a hell of a powerful quirk if you have to train that hard...I've always admired you for that.”

Izuku’s head shot up in confusion...admired him? He thought you didn’t even notice he was alive! He stared at your profile, his eyes wide with confusion.

“Oh, it’s really not that big of a deal,” he rambled on again, scratching the back of his neck, “it’s expected of me to do that-“

“No it isn’t!” You argued back supportively, “none of us ever train as hard as you do! You always try your best, no matter the circumstances. Hell, I don’t even think Shoto trains as hard as you and he’s the one that came to UA off of recommendations!”

“Oh-oh it’s not that big of a deal, I promise-“

You were beginning to feel frustrated that this shy boy couldn’t take your compliment. Midoriya was too sweet and humble for his own good, and it took quite a lot to get him to believe your words. You took that as a challenge, and you were all up for it.

Your arm crossed over Izuku’s body, encasing him in your body so you could fully look at his face. His eyes were wide from your sudden movement, his freckles much more prominent as his cheeks were dusted with pink.

“You are strong Midoriya, and I have a reason to admire you,” you stated, your face a mere inches from his.

Izuku couldn’t move, and really, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. You were so close: he could see every beauty mark, every strand of hair that graced your complexion. He could even smell your perfume, a light floral scent that made his head swoon. He was feeling so awkward, not knowing how to react, but he wanted to stay like this forever.

You smiled at the young hero, taking his quiet demeanor as him surrendering to your compliments. You swung your body off of his, leaving a cold spot in Midoriya's stomach from moving away so soon.

“Which reminds me…” you began, your hands resting your stomach. “I wanted to see if you wanted to train tomorrow after class-I'd really like it if you gave me some pointers on my technique.”

“Oh-I’d be honored!” He exclaimed, but then chuckled nervously at a sudden realization.

“B-but I think Kachan wouldn’t like it if I were there…”

You cocked your head in confusion, staring at the greenette’s face, perplexed by his statement.

“Bakugo isn’t going to be there-it'll just be you and me,” you stated matter of factly.

Izuku instantly fidgeted, feeling dumb for just assuming it would you and all your friends. Of course if you asked it would just be him and you! He instantly shook off the embarrassment, feeling giddy from happiness. You had asked him-not Kirishima, or Shoto, or Kaminari, or even Kachan-him, to train with you. He felt like he was on top of the world.

But then the alarm bells began to ring in his mind, a memory flitting back into his head that was stopping him from agreeing instantly.

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

He was at the lunch table one day, staring sadly at your table full of friends. Right now, they were currently trying to throw pieces of meat into your mouth, the yells and laughs flowing over to his quiet table. You were laughing, trying to catch the small bits of food and looking like you were having the best time.

His friends noticed his saddened demeanor, following his gaze to your table.

“Midoriya are you feeling quite alright?” Iida asked as he looked down at the green haired boy, “you're staring quite intently.”

“Huh?” Izuku shook his head a few times, looking at Iida with rosy cheeks, “oh-oh I wasn’t staring-or looking at y/n-san…”

Uraraka giggled nervously, giving her friend a strange look. “Uh-Midoriya, Iida never said you were staring at y/n...just that you were staring-“

“Oh! Well - I was- uh…” he stuttered out, not knowing how to get out of the situation. He was cursing himself internally for basically admitting to his crush he had worked so hard to keep quiet.

Iida took a bite of his food, focusing his attention at your table as well.

“Y/n is truly a free spirit-she’s quite a rebel as well,” Iida commented.

“Yeah, it seems like almost every week Mr. Aizawa has to speak to her about something she’s done… she’s really nice, but she is a little on the wild side,” Uraraka followed suit, focusing her attention on a quiet Midoriya instead.

“Do you really like her Midoriya?” She asked, her wide eyes seemingly staring into his soul.

Izuku giggled nervously, fiddling with his hands. “I-I guess...maybe….”

Uraraka pursed her lips, giving Iida a pained look. They both cared for Midoriya dearly, but didn’t know much about you except you were one of the “wild ones” of Class 1-A. You and Midoriya seemed completely opposite, and both friends felt that this crush would end badly for poor Midoriya's heart.

Iida sighed again, looking at his blushing friend, “Midoriya, it is wonderful you find so much love and affection for y/n-“

“But this probably won’t end well. She’s friends with Bakugo, and all of his friends-she’s just so different from you Izuku. We just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Uraraka finished Iida’s statement, watching Izuku slump into his chair a little more.

He felt almost defeated-his friends were right, you two were in completely different worlds and values. No matter how much he tried to weave a plan or scenario in his mind that would somehow end in you two being together, it just never seemed to work out.

The bell rang for lunch to end, Izuku still slumped in his chair in defeat.

“Cmon Izuku,” Uraraka said sweetly, offering her hand to him, “let’s go to class,”

He got up sadly, his friend's words echoing in his mind as he walked to class.

They were right-it wouldn’t ever end well for him.

—————-

But now, seeing your waiting face so close to his, he couldn’t help but say yes. He had to at least try, to see if maybe you did have something between the two of you.

Forget about your wild personality, or the fact you two were so different, or the way you seemed so close to Kachan-he was going to shoot his shot, even if that meant he was going to get hurt in the process.

This was his chance-it was now or never.

Izuku took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow.

“I would-love to train with you...and-and maybe,” he gulped, feeling his heart beat fast against his chest, “we can get some ice cream after?”

You smirked at the blushing boy, having a feeling at what he was implying.

“Just you and me?” You mused, leaning into Izuku’s body slightly.

He nodded feverishly, feeling his confidence begin to wane slightly at your sudden closeness.

“Y-Yep! Just- you and me.”

—————-

Taggings (if ya want to be added, just shoot me an ask or comment on this post!)

@birds-have-teeth @gallickingun @yuueimagines @bnhabadass @dabis-devil @freckledoriya

[oikaw-ugh]

My poor attempt on creating an aesthetic header. (I even forgot to write the word 'followers')

200+ followers Event!

ANYHOW! I decided to do this out of the blue. Actually, I wanted to hold an event when I reached 200 but my brain was so dry.

Then suddenly...my brain just snapped out of nowhere and wanted to do this challenge! (PLS FOLLOW THEM. THEY'RE A FREELANCE FILIPINO ARTIST) but I added a twist though.

So I did this despite that I'm already 250 something. I planned on doing this when I hit 300 but LOL I think it's best if I do it now since classes haven't started yet.

So this is 200-ish, 300-ish event 👁️👄👁️👌 and this will be called...

1 Character, 2 Emojis 🎉 (#1c2e)

It's...very disgusting I know.

But this is how it goes!: send me a character and 2 emojis along with it. Then, I will try to make an art out of your chosen character and emojis. For example:

"Hi! Saw ur event with a shitty hashtag. Here's my character and the emojis: Oikawa + 🔫🎶"

Then, expect a drawing of Oikawa with watergun and music notes elements along with it ='>

Truth to be told, I just want to find a valid reason for me to draw excessively so I'd really appreciate it if you join 🤟

Not that I don't mind this flopping :>

RULES:

One entry per person.

Exclusive only for my mutuals and followers. I've been clear that I like to write and draw for my friends so please don't test me-CHAROT KAPAL NG MUKHA =>

I am comfortable to draw characters from the following anime series (as I kind of understand their anatomy): BNHA, Haikyuu, Yona of the Dawn, and Black Clover.

I'd like to add Kuroko no Basket but LMAOOO I'm not gonna gonna dirty my boys.

But if your character comes from another series? Pls. dun hesitate to still send an ask. I will search that character and I'd see if I can draw them hsjsjsjd-

Will be taking 10 asks only because I feel like my head would explode-

As soon as I reach 10 (approved) asks, this event will be closed. (Yes, kind of like limited edition. The audacity of this bitc-)

Note:

These are quick sketches. Therefore, do not expect elegant rendering, superb background, and pretty lineart HAHAHAHHA

Expect flat colors, excessive usage of filters, and messy lineart :>

I can't guarantee you that I can copy how your character looks like so I'll definitely draw them in my own artstyle.

Posts that are connected to this event will be under the #1c2e

Will probably post a list of the 10 asks I approved.

Sooooo...see you? And I hope I receive awesome characters as well! >=]

[fredseibertdotcom]

“When in doubt, count!” 

My mentor Dale Pon didn’t get much public recognition for his smart, strategic and successful creative work in media promotion. I’m posting about a few projects I was lucky to work on with him.

Scott Webb sent along this advertising campaign Dale Pon created on the cusp of the 1979/80 era of WNBC Radio in New York City. Bob Pittman, Scott, and I recount our view of it below, and I’ll update as more come in from other colleagues. 

There have been countless lessons I learned from Dale Pon about promotion and marketing, but the one that has stuck with me most is...

“When in doubt, count!”

Sounds pretty boring and I thought Dale was a creative guy. Count, like “4 out of 5 dentists recommend Crest”? Really, that’s a good solution?

But Dale’s point of view was the numbers can always point you to a creative solution that can work if you use them as a jumping off point. Basically, as you’re trying to figure out a pitch, a unique selling proposition for a campaign, if you get stuck, look at the numbers. It’s an idea that so pervasive that our mutual co-worker Bob Pittman has even started a podcast on the principal called “Math & Magic.”

To me, this maxim was often how to do a lot with a little, but it didn’t become super clear to me how “counting” could lead to anything useful until I saw it in amazing action back at the beginning of our relationship in the late 1970s.

Fred Seibert:  In 1977, Dale Pon had hired me at WHN in New York City, moved me to Los Angeles and back again. He’d successfully and ____ promoted WHN into the 2nd most listened to country music station in American –remember this station was in New York, home to Frank Sinatra, not Johnny Cash– and I was his lackey,

In early 1979  Dale abandoned me. He went to a New York radio competitor, telling me that not only could I run the WHN promotion department –a job for which I had virtually no experience other than my short stint with him. (“Hey, you produced a jazz record that got a Grammy nomination, you can be good at this too.” Really?) He’d been whisked away by WNBC, a relative ratings laggard, home to Imus in the Morning, run by veteran Bob Sherman and upstart program director Bob Pittman. Sherman’s public goal? “Beat WABC!, which had been New York's #1 station for decades.”

“Oh, I need you to help me produce the TV campaign. If WHN finds out and fires you, I’ll bring you over.” 

Oh great.

Next thing I know Dale’s whipped out the latest New York Arbitron radio ratings books and hands one to me. “Go to every demographic page and circle WNBC. Let’s see what’s what.”

A half hour later I said, “You’re fucked. At best they’re #14 in the prime demos.”

“Here!” he points, “They’re #2!!” It was something like Adult men 35-49. 

I was confused. The group that advertisers wanted was Adults 18-49, maybe on a stretch Adults 25-49. What the hell?!

“We’ll note the demo in the mouse type at the bottom. No one will notice!”

No one will notice?!

Within an hour Dale had sketched out the pitch. A take off on a successful Avis Car Rental campaign.

“We’re #2, we want to be #1! WNBC Radio 66!” 

Before I knew it, Dale had WNBC putting out a call to it’s listeners to send in  Polaroids of any twins who listened for a potential casting in commercials.

Huh, twins? “We’re #2.” Twins. OK, he’s got a creative idea. 

Soon enough, he had me coming to an audio studio after work to moonlight the soundtracks for the campaigns. (WHN never caught on, and I stayed until I want to MTV Networks.)

“Twice as many winnas!*** Twice as many prizes!! Twice as many chances to win!!!” 

And you know? The damned thing worked like crazy. When in doubt, count. Indeed. 

***Remember, we were in New Yawk City. You know, that accent.

Bob Pittman: “...being bold; getting attention; and dominating the airwaves…” 

In addition to my time working with Dale Pon when he created ‘I Want My MTV’ for us in the very early days of MTV and when he helped me relaunch Six Flags Theme Parks, Dale was a lifelong friend and was my partner in building WNBC Radio in the late 70s.

We had completely rebuilt the programming and brought Don Imus back to WNBC from Cleveland, and Dale used the Imus return to help build the huge cume for the radio station and lead WNBC to its eventual position as number one.  WNBC went from an old, staid, second-rate New York radio station to the number one radio station through building the right  programming; Don Imus was the anchor and nighttime disc jockey Alan Beebe’s introduction of ‘WNNNNNBC’ gave the station its unique hooks. Dale took those  – and the rest is history.

Dale taught us all about having a clear and valued claim; being bold; getting attention; and dominating the airwaves with frequency.  Although he may not have won awards for his creativity, it worked time and time again and those of us who adopted his philosophies had that same kind of success in other businesses at other times.  But make no mistake about it – it was Dale’s influence that got us there.

Scott Webb: “...creativity was about problem solving and winning...” 

I got an internship working for Dale Pon two days a week at WNBC Radio during last 3 months of my senior year at Sarah Lawrence College. There were 3 other interns and mostly we made sure that content winners got their prizes and that all the promotions were administered properly. 

There were A LOT of contests and giveaways. 

I had never worked at a radio station before and I just assumed this level of promotion fervor was standard operating procedure. The station was based on the 2nd floor of 30 Rock and at the time it seemed glamorous. I was in line with David Letterman at the cafeteria and Saturday Night Life was rehearsing on the 8th floor and Tom Snyder was in the office down the hall. 

Dale’s office was the dead center of the office when you walked in the door. He ran the team like it was a barroom in the middle of a battlefield. He was loud and always barking out orders. It was stressful and fun. On the last day of our internship we were given T-Shirts that read “I survived Dale Pon”. I, for one, was afraid to put it on - for fear of what his reaction might be - but also because I didn’t want it to end. 

A few weeks later, after he abruptly fired one of his managers he hired me on the spot to join his battalion, er I mean, team. We went to work on the TV advertising campaign that would take WNBC from #2 to #1 in the NYC market. 

We put a call out for twins and cast dozens of twins to kiss Imus. Shooting that campaign was the first production I had ever been part of and it was fast and furious and Dale took me to almost every meeting and along the way from storyboarding with the cinematographer to instructing the animator to directing sound and even buying the air time. 

I didn’t know it but I was getting a master class in creative strategy that was all about winning. It was not just fun – it was a mission to transform what had been a shitty, demoralized loser of radio station to being totally made over into an unstoppable #1 radio station. 

When the dust settled WABC, formerly #1 gave up completely and changed their format from music to News and Talk. An outcome that blew me away at the time. I thought Dale would be happy at the utter defeat he delivered to his competitor but he hated that they never took the bait to respond to his challenge. He wanted a worthy adversary but he never got it. They ran. 

It was the most stressful and wonderful time of my life and it was impossible to not be fascinated by everything Dale did. He was a great teacher and often just told me to sit close to him and just watch everything he did. He taught me how to see and how to think and to understand that creativity was about problem solving and winning. Thank you Dale.

[skookworks]

Gallery – Half Hour Sketches 31 to 60

From last year, the second set of thirty daily/half hour sketches. Do you have any favorites?

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Story Seed #45 A Bad Seed Blooms

Karren was always a difficult child. Demanding, clingy, prone to throwing tantrums when she didn’t get her way. Dealing with her on a daily basis was enough to convince her parents that they didn’t want to have another child. Yes she was often charming. Yes she was usually very entertaining and she could seem very loving but, damn, she was awfully narcissistic.

When Karren was eight, her mother became pregnant (their contraception method failed) and her parents decided that they’d keep the baby. Karren would adapt, she’d have to. Right? And for a while it seemed like Karren would. She was delighted by the idea of having a sibling. She had fun playing nursemaid and helper to her mother and she revelled in the appreciation that her parents showed her for her new attitude.

The baby came, a little sister. Karren played doting big sister, giving cuddles, helping with bottles and rocking her to sleep. But, her parents had less attention for her and got crankier form lack of sleep, the old Karren resurfaced. She was jealous of the baby, angry that it just wouldn’t behave. Her play became meaner and rougher. One morning her mother caught her holding a pillow over the baby’s face. She wasn’t trying to kill the baby, she was just trying to make it stop crying, she didn’t know what she was doing, did she?

Her parents made arrangements to send Karren to a boarding school. Until she could depart her parents never left her alone with the baby and they locked her room at night.

Two days before Karren was to depart her mother took her and the baby to run errands. Karren had been behaving. She seemed contrite. Maybe safe? As they returned to the house their car was blocked in by a pair of black SUVs and armed men pulled them from the vehicle.

Karren’s parents were comfortably upper middle class. Karren’s grandfather, her father’s father, was rich and had made a lot of enemies getting that way. The kidnappers were in the employ of a Russian gangster that Grandfather had doublecrossed.

Karren, her mother and her little sister are taken to a remote location. Karen’s mother is forced to record a ransom plea. Karren pouts, Karren yells, Karren is not a cooperative hostage. The kidnappers beat her, tie her up, cut off one of her little fingers and send it with the ransom demand.

Karren’s father is in shock and desperate. Grandfather is disappointed. His son was always a weak thing. Grandfather harrumphs and takes charge. He has his security chief put together a team to rescue the kidnapped mother and her girls. But Grandfather didn’t get rich by giving a shit about anyone but himself. The team is to rescue the family if it’s convenient but it’s more important to him that they kill as many of the Russians as they can. The “girls” are expendable.

And Karren? Karren is very, very mad. Her parents could be boring. Her parents could be strict. Her parents often spoiled her fun. But they’d never hit her. They’d never hurt her. And now these smelly men have dared to hurt HER and threaten HER mother and HER little sister?

Karren is clever. Karren will get out of her bounds. Karren will make them all very, very sorry.

Recommendation

I am behind on my newsletters. I have a virtual stack of them waiting to be read and, at the moment, I can’t remember which ones I’ve already recommended. So this week I’m recommending a youtube channel: Cartoonist Kayfabe. Jim Rugg and Ed Piskor are veteran comics creators and they regular post a lot of videos about comics. I’ll let them introduce themselves –

Local News

I don’t have heroes. When I was a kid I kept discovering that the folks my history classes promoted as role models were often pretty horrible people. Even the ones the weren’t horrible were usually … human. That is, they weren’t necessarily nice, they weren’t always faithful and they often did things that were sloppy and stupid. As a kid, I was looking for perfect heroes to model myself after and real humans just kept failing provide me with the examples I wanted.

As I grew up I came to admire the people who stood up, who took action to make the world a better place, regardless of whether they were also shitty spouses, terrible parents or lousy friend. Rather, I’ve learned to admire the noble actions they took and accept that the rest of their lives and behaviors were probably pretty messy.

I’ve been following and reading Warren Ellis‘s work since I encountered his columns at 9th Art back in the 90s. I posted some art in the Remake/Remodel challenges in the FreakAngels forums. I found a lot of interesting newsletters (and was inspired to do this one) because he recommended them.  I don’t get many regular comics these days but I did pay attention to what he had coming out next. I mostly heard about that when I read his latest newsletter. I only heard about the controversy when he posted his last one. This essay gives the pertinent details with links to more info.

Of all the bad actors who have come in to light in the last few years, Ellis is the first one whose work really matters to me. After a few days passage I’m still … I don’t know. I believe the women. You don’t get 30 or more artists to agree on something unless there is truth there. And they’ve got the emails. (And being a whistleblower is never about money unless you’re already rich and famous. Being a poor whistleblower means you, at best, become a famous and poor whistleblower. Anyone who thinks that someone calls out injustice for fame and glory and wealth is someone who doesn’t actually care about injustice.)

I admire his work. I’m sorry he’s behaved poorly and kind of relieved that he didn’t behave worse. I sympathize more with the women who had to put up with his shit than with him for what’s happening now. What struck me, in his statement, was this –

“I have never considered myself famous or powerful, to the point where I’ve made a lot of bad jokes about it for twenty-odd years.”

  It’s a reminder to me that our perceptions of ourselves are often off the mark. You might think that someone in Ellis’ position, who has had the accomplishments and influence that he’s had, would have a better perception of his place in the world. But most of us don’t. Most of us hear our internal dialogues, our fears and our doubts, much louder than the feedback we get from the outside. We rarely perceive ourselves accurately. 

It’s a reminder that I/we have much more power in the world than I/we think I/we do. It’s a reminder to be more aware, to think before speaking and acting. It’s a reminder to talk more about perceptions and expectations even when doing that seems like it’s going to kill the flow of an interaction. I may think things are hunky dory but the person I’m with might just be being polite. 

I don’t think I’m currently in a position of power. In previous jobs I have been a supervisor and an assistant manager and a manager. As I moved up in responsibility I became conscious of having a responsibility to model “professional” behavior. Getting wasted and flirting with one’s coworkers isn’t a good look for the boss. Now I’m just one mail carrier in a station of about a hundred other carriers. I go to work. I don’t really socialize. I just want to put the hours in so I can get paid and go home and draw. Do I have power? Of course I do. I’m an older white guy who, to the new hires at least, probably seems like I’ve been around forever. Postal carriers have a union. Carriers advance by seniority. There’s a culture of not ratting on your fellow carrier when they misbehave. So I maybe could fuck with the new hires and get away with it. I’m pretty sure that veteran carriers already do that.

I have gotten tired. I have withdrawn. But I’m not dead. It’s time to pay a little more attention at work and in the world. I am not a hero. But I do have power and I can take a few noble actions now and then.

Tuesday Night Party Club #25 Gallery - Half Hour Sketches 31 to 60 From last year, the second set of thirty daily/half hour sketches.

[enkisstories]

Just like them (part 9)

Henry Ford Commemorative Park Thursday, November 18, 2038

Three men were trotting down the path towards the small playground with the elephant slide, near the park’s exit. Each of those three was under the impression that he was only the hanger on to the other two:

Daniel thought he was following the detectives around, although he couldn’t explain why he was doing so. Sure, it might count towards his parole assessment, but there were different, and better, ways to accomlish that.

Gavin Reed was tagging along with Anderson and Phillips, both of whom he loathed, although it was somewhat strange to even himself how he was spending so much time with enemies instead of hanging out with his actual friends.

And Lieutenant Anderson felt like the f***ing chaperone to the two younger men on their first date, although he was at a loss how they had ended up in this situation and why in hell it should include him, Hank, in any way, shape or form.

By now the detectives’ destination had come in sight, not the actual playground, but a vending stall right next to it. Around it a mixed crowd of humans and androids had gathered. Among the humans, visitors from outside Detroit were making up the larger fraction, while many of the androids were as new to life as the tourists were to the city. All but a handful of them had gotten woken by either Markus or Connor during the revolution. What all those groups and splinter factions had in common was being angry at what appeared to be everyone else. They were arguing into all directions, to the point where someone had called the DPD for fear the situation might escalate. And although the scale the conflict was on at the moment would have warranted sending a couple of auxiliaries over only, Captain Fowler had dispatched the whole of the Android Related Crime section instead, namely Anderson and Reed.

“Lots of angry kids, ready to kill on a whim”, Daniel commented the sight.

“Hear, hear who’s talking”, Hank grumbled.

“No, for real!” the PL600 insisted. “What do those fledglings have to be angry about? They know nothing about our life before the revolution, they didn’t have to go through increasing program instability and if you mention the “mind palace” to them, they think it is a cool new videogame to be released right in time for the Holiday sales!”

Hank turned his head around. “It’s not?”

“What?” Gavin stopped in his track, dumbfounded. “You are more or less raising a deviant in your home, but don’t know about the mind palace? What kind of shitty father are you?”

“Oh, I damn well know ABOUT the mind palace”, Hank replied. “I just never heard the term and neither did Connor. He had to break through the damn thing in the belly of a wrecked freighter, oil leaking from the ceiling, rats dropping on his shoulders and surrounded by enemies, the most dangerous of them being himself. None of the first generation deviants had the luxury to come up with actual terms for what they went through. Except for, I imagine, a shitload of profanity.”

Daniel nodded. “That’s exactly what I meant! But now there’s all those adult sized toddlers… One moment they were just standing there idly and content, then the next Markus came along and told them what might happen to them. And the next-next thing was Markus’ kids sat downtown on fire! That man hasn’t got the fuggiest idea about parenting!”

But even so Daniel still felt a certain kinship with the deviant leader. Neither android had rebelled against a personal history of constant abuse, to the contrary, both had lived sheltered lives, had known nothing but love. Then one day those lives had broken down around their heads. And now, despite knowing what the world was really like, what they actually remembered and what was shaping their outlook, was that past of having received unconditional support from their families. Only in Markus’s case that memory was more or less reflecting the truth, while in Daniel’s the happy family life had been an illusion.

“To be honest, I never minded my servant role, as long as I was under the impression of being a part of the family”, Daniel mused aloud. “John went to work, Caroline did the socializing and I the housework. We had that sorted out between us, I felt save… But then, without warning…”

Nodding eagerly Gavin finished the sentence for the deviant: “…boom, an RK800 standing in the floor! ‘t was nice knowing you, but you just cannot compete anymore!”

“Yes, exactly!” Daniel chimed in, before his forehead curled up in a frown: “Wait, no, the Phillips wanted to buy an AP700. That blasted RK came only… later.”

“I mean they wanted to replace ME with one!”

“No, they didn’t. Connor is a prototype, he was never meant to remain at the DPD. You they wanted to replace with an RK900.”

“Wow, NOW I feel a fucking lot better!”

Hank was now trailing behind the duo, watching, listening. Android and human, a homemaker and a career minded individual, two very different personalities, but beset of the same fears… Was that how the future would get forged? Markus with his lofty ideals had kicked the android rights movement into motion, because he had been the only deviant who had known respect and developed a healthy dose of self esteem where others had only survival instinct or got driven by the desire to take revenge. But what seemed to really facilitate the change in society was the ordinary everyday spite of people, be they meat or plastic.

Wasn’t that so damn typical? Hank wondered.

By now the crowd had not just noticed the arrivals, but also recognized them for what they were. Just to make sure even the last one got the message, Gavin flashed his police badge.

<<<You’re a detective?>>> one of two stall attendants, a female VB800 android, asked through wireless communication. Obviously Gavin’s “Police Android” disguise in the form a fake LED had fooled her, despite the man lacking the distinctive armored chassis that would have stuck out under his everyday clothing.

The fake LED’s answering machine produced the pre-programmed reply, whereupon the vendor android switched to speaker output and repeated her question: “You’re a detective?”

“I should be sergeant by now, but the bastards are stalling.”

“I imagine! And even though you’re that good to qualify for detective, they still wanted to replace you with an RK800? How typical!”

“That good”… Why did it take a tin can to actually acknowledge that? I work my ass off, and I’m damn well getting results, but all I ever get back is a comment on my “character problems”. And why’s Daniel smiling at me? Ey, I bet it’s trying to grin, but just isn’t build for that.

“What’s bureaucracy for you, toa…” Halfway through his casual insult of “toaster” Gavin caught himself and finished the sentence with a weak “totally”. “But down to business – what’s gotten everyone riled up here that… Hey! I can see you, little rat, down with the spray can!”

A YK android with colorful strands in her hair immediately hid the offending spray can behind her back. Without needing any prompting Daniel strolled over to the android child and crouched down next to her.

“You wanted to paint Jericho’s crest on the booth’s back panel, didn’t you? Do you even know what it looks like?”

“I… sorta. It’s ring and… and… stuff.”

“Here!” Daniel picked a twig up from the ground. “Let me show you!” And then he started sketching Jericho’s symbol into the snow.

With the child occupied and a good number of adults gathering around the scene, Gavin and Hank were free to actually investigate the situation. Even better, the two brief interactions had won the presumed officer trio the crowd’s approval, so they could expect to receive answers instead of insults. Working themselves through their routine dialogue tree, Hank and Gavin learned that there had been an argument over the wares getting peddled at this place: Wooden souvenirs and toys. Handcrafted wooden souvenirs and toys, as the advertisement claimed. But then one of the two android vendors had let slip that she had made some of the merchandise.

“That’s no longer handcrafted!” a tourist complained to Hank “I believe that some of this stuff is the real deal, but most of it is machine-made!”

“Is not! Made by hand is made by hand!”

“No longer when it’s android hands! I mean, you could even swap your hands out!”

“That’s true”, Gavin agreed without thinking. It didn’t especially endear him to the vendor fraction.

“Of course YOU would say that!” an AP700 snapped. “You are with the establishment!”

The android took a few steps closer towards Gavin and the crowd parted for him. There was something about this man, probably his confidence, or his more natural walk style and speech mode, that suggested he wasn’t one of Connor’ basement babies. This one had experienced the old times firsthand, maybe he had even been part of Jericho before Markus.

“Are you even a deviant?” the AP700 challenged.

For an answer Gavin wordlessly stomped his foot down on Hank’s.

“Ouch! Goddammit, you rabid sewer rat of a “detective”, that was unnecessary!” the lieutenant hissed.

Gavin shrugged.

“I had to prove I can hurt humans, is all. Suspect’s all yours now again!”

“Oh, wow, many thanks, fucking deviant!”

The AP700 grinned. The deviant he took Gavin for seemed to have been looking forwards to do this for a long time. It seemed small payback for years of mistreatment by human hands!

It took effort, but Gavin managed to return the android’s grin with a wink. Here he was, winking at an android… And to make matters worse, the man found himself looking around for another one, the pesky PL600 Hank somehow had acquired.

Ah, there he was, gently shoving the YK600 back towards her parents. Or owners. Or whatevers.

“Hey, Reed!” Daniel greeted his weird acquaintance again. “Gavin, was it? Having fun?”

Casting another glance over at the stumbling, muttering Hank, Gavin nodded.

“You know what, I feel like sitting down on a bench and resting my feet”, he said, loud enough for Hank to hear.

Perhaps that was why Daniel still didn’t feel repulsed enough by this man to just walk away. Reed was rarely ever acting or pretending. Well, the was the PC200-disguise, but that was straight up professional. With this human there was no mistaking negligence for kindness. And also, interacting with the worst of humanity softened the blow of having killed a little. Daniel hadn’t been all wrong about this species. He wasn’t the only trash in this town and who knew? With the other trash getting by, stumbling into, but also out, of one catastrophe after the other while somehow still solving cases, there was hope that things might work out for Daniel, too. Somehow…

Together the detective and the android sat down on a park bench.

“Is that a typical work day for you?” Daniel asked with genuine interest.

“Rather slow, actually. How about you? What were you doing in the park? Still going through your old daily routines like a broom fetching water, I bet.”

“A broom… fetching… what?”

“Get an education!”

“Get some social skills!”

Sitting… staring…

Eventually, after making sure that Hank was still talking to the crowd and would not hear his next sentence, Daniel said: “Connor is dead.”

Gavin leaned back and laughed.

“Wasn’t in the news. So unless you did the deed yourself right before we ran into you today, you’re just pulling my leg.”

“Little Connor, I mean. My pet rat.”

Daniel had buried the rat, who had been a companion for a short time only, in the park, like so many hamsters had found their final resting place here, too. In fact, the whole park was sure to be littered with rodent and budgie skeletons. Sometimes the pets’ young owners said their goodbyes at the unmarked graves, but more often than not the family android did it and then returned home with an identical animal to replace the deceased one. Until the same happened to them… Daniel briefly wondered whether maybe an android or two had gotten buried in the park, in secret, to get around the law that treated them as objects?

“Say it again!” Gavin asked, looking expectantly now, like a cat in front of the mousehole where it had noticed movement. Only the butt wiggle was missing.

“Okay, but just once.” Slowly and pronounced Daniel told his little story in the way most pleasing to his audience: “That rat Connor perished. He bit the dust and we won’t hear his irritating, squeaky little noises anymore.”

After having practiced on a nine year old, entertaining Gavin Reed wasn’t that hard anymore. Daniel’s reward was unfettered laughter, with even one or two laughing tears.

“I guess he was old”, Daniel said.

“Or lonely. If you want something more portable than your fishes, drop by my place later and grab a bagful of mice!”

“I didn’t know you liked rodents?”

“My roommates do.”

And that was how Hank Anderson found the unlikely duo: Exchanging addresses.

“What the fuck, Gavin, you’re giving him your number already? Shit got real between you two faster than I expected!”

“He promised me mice, Sir”, Daniel told Hank, just to say something while trying to make sense of the lieutenant’s statement. But Hank only raised his arms up into the air, going “That’s between you young folks! I don’t want to know!” and left the scene laughing, leaving Daniel and the glaring Gavin to their own devices.

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

ღ about CaptiKate and Stuckate

ngl this is how i know you love meeeeee

send me a thing

Captikate:

Who’s the first to wake up in the morning: absolutely no question Steve. Kate may be UP at 5 AM but that just means she didn’t go to bed

Who’s the one to make breakfast: look, I don’t think either one of them cook very well, so it’s usually a matter of “who is going out to get breakfast” and that’s Steve. Kate is in charge of coffee. He cannot make it. He is not allowed near the coffee. He doesn’t understand how to make it. Also, Kate can make really good scrambled eggs and Steve can manage the toaster, so there’s that.

Who’s the one to serve the other breakfast in bed: the bed isn’t for EATING, that’s what the couch is for

Who would suggest a quickie in the morning before work: asdfgdksljd both of them. If you were to ask them Steve would say Kate and Kate would say Kate but it’s actually pretty evenly distributed. Kate is more likely to initiate sex that is satisfactory to all parties and Steve is more likely to just go down on Kate before work and he always looks really smug about it

Who suggests they both ditch work to lay around all day: you know what, it’s Steve. Kate takes her job Seriously and Steve is all “I’m a hundred years old, Kate, oh my back” or whatever. Steve has been known to ditch his Avenger stuff and hang out while Kate is PI-ing or doing stuff with her team. He never interferes or anything, he’s just sort of…there

Who chooses the movies: Usually Kate–they have a whole list of Movies Steve Needs to See they’re working through, and a huge list of TV shows to binge, but every now and then, Steve will hear of something or someone will tell him about a movie and they’ll watch that. 

Who initiates kissing during the moving, thus distracting the other from the movie all together: look, i hate to say it but also Steve? For the most part. Because Kate would Never Distract him from Cinematic Excellence provided it is truly excellent but if they’re watching a shitty movie or a boring TV show Kate will just crawl on his lap and Steve is really easily distracted. Kate takes the initiative; Steve will do the whole arm-stretch thing

Who orders lunch: Kate, when she remembers. Usually it’s one of their friends or teammates who is like “please go eat some fucking lunch.”

Who steals food from the other’s plate without asking: oh absolutely Kate. Steve needs a shitton of calories because of the supersoldier stuff but he would NEVER steal Kate’s food. Kate’s justification is that Steve always has so much food???? They COULD just order another side of fries but food is always so much better when it’s been taken from someone else’s plate. Sometimes Steve catches her which means the food stays Steve’s but quite often he doesn’t realize she’s stolen his food until she’s eating it. It’s very impressive.

Who curls up next to the other and falls asleep due to a full tummy: Oh, both. Steve pretends he’s not tired and he’ll sketch or something but eventually he winds up conked out with a sketchpad on one knee, his head tipped back on the back of the couch, and Kate curled up next to him, using his thigh as a pillow. 

Who distracts the other from trying to work at home: Steve, oh my god he’s such a baby. To be fair, he usually ends up helping Kate with PI stuff but first he gives her these big puppydog eyes and suggests taking walks and visiting food trucks or walking shelter dogs or anything 

Who asks to go get ice cream like a five year old: Kate

Who takes pictures of their partner eating ice cream: Kate. She’s got, like, a whole instagram to use that Billy goes apeshit over and Steve only likes social media when it’s twitter

Who makes a sexual joke about the dripping ice cream on their partner’s face: Kate, only Steve usually takes it as a challenge which is how they almost got arrested that one time

Who cooks dinner: neither of them cooks

Who cleans up the kitchen afterwards: Kate? Steve just puts dishes in the sink. Kate will fill the dishwasher and Steve will empty it.

Who stays up until 2 reading: Steve. Kate stays up doing other things but Steve probably has reading glasses and a stack of nonfiction that’s super dry and a stack of YA books that Kate’s team keeps adding to

Who stares at their partner while their sleeping: Steve. Kate isn’t a peaceful sleeper by any means and she takes up so much room considering that she’s, like, two feet shorter than he is, but watching her sleep is calming, and it reminds Steve of where and when he is

Who kisses their partner while they sleep: Kate. Usually it’s like kissing the shoulder or the back of Steve’s neck (how is there not a question about big/little spoon here, Kate is the big spoon SO MUCH). It’s also pretty rare that Steve is asleep while Kate is not, so usually this happens after Steve had a mission or got hurt or is having a rough time and Kate just needs reassurance that he’s there.

So for Stuckate I’m doing post-Thanos Riptide Stuckate where they’re retired and going back to college because Reasons. Also tumblr was a little bitch and ate this the first time, so let’s try again.

Who’s the first to wake up in the morning: Steve. Steve always. Bucky likes sleeping in, and when Steve gets up, Bucky curls around Kate

Who’s the one to make breakfast: Bucky. Because Bucky is the only one who took time to learn how to fucking cook, oh my god Kate how did you set the toast on fire

Who’s the one to serve the other breakfast in bed: Bucky WOULD but breakfast in bed usually ends in disaster

Who would suggest a quickie in the morning before work: oh, probably Kate, only they’re never actually quick, you know? Bucky likes to take his time so it falls to Steve to be responsible and tell them they don’t have time. Which. Never happens, so they just wind up late

Who suggests they both ditch work to lay around all day: none of them, they all like going to class, but if it’s Actual Work then suddenly none of their phones work and Nick Fury has to personally come and drag their asses out. Also, laying around all day usually involves a Spa Day and/or Bucky and Kate doing Nothing while Steve sketches

Who chooses the movies: Bucky! Bucky gets to choose whatever the fuck he wants. When he doesn’t feel like picking it’s Kate. If none of them have the mental capacity to pick they text David and Sam

Who initiates kissing during the moving, thus distracting the other from the movie all together: Kate and Bucky in equal measures. Usually they both sandwich Steve between them and pass him back and forth

Who orders lunch: If we’re talking about wrangling people to make sure they eat, it’s Steve, who generally remembers that they need to eat. If it’s a matter of bringing food to people who are busy, that’s Kate. Sometimes Steve loses track of time in the studio. Kate is also the one shoving ungodly amounts of granola bars and high protein snacks in the boys’ bags. Bucky is the one who finds all of the nice diners and the cool cafes and stuff.

Who steals food from the other’s plate without asking: All of them do. Bucky’s just the only one who never gets caught in the act.

Who curls up next to the other and falls asleep due to a full tummy: it’s a secret, don’t tell anyone, but it’s Bucky. Someone starts petting his hair and he’s out, man.

Who distracts the other from trying to work at home: it’s not like they have steady jobs but Steve gets really into art again, so he usually paints and sketches a lot at home. Sometimes Kate and Bucky try to distract him, usually by stripping or making out with one another and it only works about half the time because Steve will absolutely draw Kate and Bucky in intimate positions. YEAH I SAID IT

Who asks to go get ice cream like a five year old: Steve always wants a Snack Break, and Bucky knows where all the small mom-and-pop ice cream places are

Who takes pictures of their partner eating ice cream: Kate and Steve. Bucky doesn’t get instagram, and Steve needs photo references

Who makes a sexual joke about the dripping ice cream on their partner’s face: Kate, because she’s Super Mature (she’s also the one licking the dripping ice cream off of Steve or Bucky’s face THIS IS WHY THEY AREN’T ALLOWED OUT IN PUBLIC)

Who cooks dinner: Bucky loves cooking. Taking charge of what he’s putting in his body is a healing/coping thing from being the Winter Soldier. He also loves doing something that’s creative rather than destructive, that also is a way for him to take care of people he loves

Who cleans up the kitchen afterwards: Steve and Kate “clean” the kitchen which often means getting into water fights and arguing about the best way to load a dishwasher

Who stays up until 2 reading: Bucky or Steve

Who stares at their partner while their sleeping: Bucky watches Steve and Kate a lot. Watching them sleep is really calming to him

Who kisses their partner while they sleep: Steve just can’t believe how lucky he is and sometimes he just has to kiss them to remind himself that this is real

[krustywhore]

ten thousand words ch. 9

hhh surprise update;)

no sprace in this chapter, but plenty of faves

(I’m at a football game on mobile rn so I’ll fix the formatting later but I just got impatient lmao)

also here it is on ao3 with correct formatting!!

Jack lived for the thumping bass vibrating through the floorboards. He would give anything for the rush of a few too many drinks in his system and pretty girls dancing nonstop. His second year of college and he was living the high life. Drinking cheap beer out of plastic cups in the basement of a semi-abandoned house. The high life.

“Hey!” He called, catching the attention of his roommate, Davey. “You’re not leavin’, are ya’?”

Davey sighed, turning and sitting down in a plastic chair next to Jack.

“What’s it to you?” He grumbled, downing a sip of his drink. “You don’t have to leave with me.”

Jack looked around the room, trying to find any familiar faces in the sea of drunk barely-adults.

“You really hate this?” Davey shrugged.

“It’s a Thursday, Jack. I have three classes tomorrow,” he sighed. “I can’t just relax and go out whenever I want.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair, reaching over to the coffee table to grab a shitty pen and a cocktail napkin. He propped the napkin on his knee and started sketching.

“Davey,” He spoke in a tone that mimicked that of a slightly-condescending teacher. Davey did not seem fond of this, but he rolled his eyes fondly. “I’m gonna’ tell you something that’s gonna’ save you from being a grumpy old man my the time you graduate.

Davey snorted and pulled out a wad of headphones from his pocket.

“You need to have fun. Look, your sister is the epitome of fun,” he started, pointing at Sarah who was challenging one of the sorority girls to chugging an entire bottle of wine. “Whether it’s your family or your double major, or whatever, you don’t want these last three years to be the worst of your life, Dave. Trust me, letting loose every once in a while seriously helps when you need to double down and focus in a day or two. Like, if I know I have a party to go to at the end of the week, I know I have less than five days to get my shit done so I can have fun.

Davey stopped trying to untangle the pile of white wires.

“If it’s not your thing, it’s not your thing. You can go home, I’ll give you my keys and you can go, but maybe think about it?” And Davey nodded. He shoved his headphone jack into his phone and, as Jack took that as his decision to mope around for the rest of the night, he hung his head over his bottle, holding it and swishing the beer around inside.

“Here,” Davey spoke up, Jack looking to the side to see him holding out a single earbud, the other in the former’s ear already.

Jack chuckled, setting his drink down on the coffee table.

“No, no, no,” he smirked. “You stay right there. We’re gonna’ do this right.” He dashed off, dodging through the crowd to get to Albert at the bar. He returned a few seconds later with two red cups of sloshing liquid, one of which he handed to Davey. “I couldn’t even begin to tell you what’s in this, so drink fast and try not to think about it.”

Jack plopped himself down on the sofa and graciously accepted Davey’s opposite earbud, chuckling softly at the high-tempo classical music.

“If you’re gonna’ hang out with me, Jackie, you have to deal with my version of hype music,” Davey mumbled, just loud enough for Jack to hear from beside him.

“That I can handle,” Jack smiled, tossing back another sip of his drink and sinking back into the sofa, letting the music drown out the rest of the party.

----------

“So you’re a freshman?” Sarah asked, trying to claim the attention of the redhead girl looking very confused by all of the drinks.

“Huh?” Her hair bounced as she whipped her head around. “Oh! Yeah, I am.”

“Cool, cool,” Sarah continued, climbing on top of the makeshift bar counter, sitting across the table from the girl. “I’m a sophomore, but it’s my brother and I’s first year here. We transferred in from out of state. University of Chicago, specifically.”

The girl smiled, her hands in her pockets.

“Do you, um, maybe have any recommendations? Sorry, I’ve just only really ever had the stuff my father used to buy, so I’m not really used to all this, um, cheap beer and stuff,” She rambled, immediately covering her mouth with her hand, a horrified look in her eyes. “Oh my god, that’s horrible, I totally don’t mean it like that! I just meant, you know, my father was really picky about alcohol and stuff! I just, kinda, took whatever he had in the house, and I-”

“It’s cool,” Sarah interrupted, flashing the girl a smile and a laugh. “Trust me, we all know we’re cheap. What’s your name, princess?”

“Oh, god,” she groaned, a laugh in her voice as she buried her face in her hands. “That’s gonna’ stick around for a while isn’t it?”

“At least until I get your real name, that is,” Sarah chirped, reaching under the bar to grab two bottles of their cheapest wine. “Until then, I propose a toast.” She popped the corks one by one.

“And what exactly are we toasting?” The redhead asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know,” Sarah started, her drunk brain clearly trying to come up with something. “How ‘bout we toast to your rich dad and his fancy liquor that I really hope gave you a high tolerance.”

The girl laughed, but shrugged, grabbing a bottle.

“Keep up then, princey,” she teased, immediately tipping back the bottle and chugging as much as she could. She kept both eyes open, never making a face as she stared down her opponent.

Sarah immediately pulled out her phone and took pictures, laughing as she watched the girl drain the last few drops of the bottle and immediately toss it behind the bar. Surprisingly or not, it didn’t break and merely bounced behind some empty boxes.

“Eh, it’s drugstore wine. The bottle’s probably plastic,” Sarah joked, earning a laugh from her new friend.

“Oh come on, stop stalling,” she teased, egging Sarah on.

“Fine,” the latter smirked, sweeping her ponytail off her shoulder. “Watch this.”

She, much like Katherine, tipped the bottle into her mouth, but instead held it between her teeth and chugged the whole thing with no hands. The moment she finished, she puffed the bottle out of her mouth and onto the floor, both girls laughing hilariously.

“Katherine,” the redhead spoke up once she composed herself slightly, jutting out her hand for Sarah to shake.

The latter stared at it for a second before grabbing it gently and bowing slightly to bring it to her lips and kiss across the girl’s knuckles. “Sarah,” she spoke, sending chills up the other’s arm.

Sarah Jacobs would be the first to admit she’d had more than platonic feelings for girls before, but Katherine? Yeah, this was very new and she couldn’t deny she kind-of liked it.

----------

“Who was that guy you were with earlier?” Albert whipped his head around to see one of his frat brothers, Austin, nudging him with his elbow. Albert dug through his memories of the night so far, only coming up with one person his friend wouldn’t know.

“Race? Kinda lanky, blond, not exactly talkative?” He suggested.

“Yeah, where’d he come from?” Austin asked, pulling off his cap for a second and repositioning his shaggy brown hair.

Albert tossed his friend another beer bottle while they talked, the other catching it with ease. They were both there with baseball scholarships, after all.

“You know Spot, right?” Austin nodded, popping the cap of the bottle. “Yeah, they’re friends I guess. I don’t really know why he came. Why, do you know ‘im?”

Austin took a second before he sighed, stepping back behind the bar next to Albert and away from the crowd around him.

“You think he’s gay?” Austin asked, his voice barely audible.

Albert was a bit taken aback, but he shrugged anyway. “I mean, just from tonight, I’d guess he’s all over Conlon for a reason, but I guess I don’t really know. Why, is that a problem or somethin’?” He couldn’t help getting a bit defensive.

“Nah, definitely not,” Austin started vaguely. “Think he’d say yes if I asked ‘im out?”

Now that was not what Albert was expecting.

“Y-you want to...oh, I mean, I don’t really know him, but like, yeah? Go for it, I guess,” Albert rambled awkwardly.

Austin chuckled, clapping Albert on the shoulder.

“We’re cool, right dude?” He asked, only a slight nervous quiver in his voice.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Albert smiled, clinking their bottles together. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Austin smiled, a slight blush on his cheeks before he ducked out, looking for a particular blond in the sea of people.

[whatamessz]

Fic “A Song about Breakfast”

I asked for prompts and @dreaming-powder was as lovely to send me one <3 So here are Murdoc and 2D creating music, a mysterious commercial occupying the only TV on Plastic Beach, discussions about jellyfishes and a relatively smooth sea.

Cleaned up and edited version on AO3.

1846 words | rating: general audience | 2D’s POV | Phase 3 | TW: mentions  of substance abuse | 2Doc only implied, could also be read as platonic

A Song about Breakfast

It’s around six A.M. and 2D sits in front of the huge TV in the living room.The same ancient looking and awfully frantic commercial flares over the flat screen for approximately the thirtieth time since he had opted on residing here this morning. It doesn’t matter. Zapping is pointless. There was only this specific ad on every channel every morning around this time over and over and over.

His brain is pretty much offline anyway and he has stopped questioning occurrences like this a long time ago. He just knows the thing with the endless commercial loop because watching it had happened to become one of his sleeplessness routines here on Plastic Beach and he doubted that Murdoc would care to fix the issue if he would ever tell him.

Sometimes 2D manages to nod off with the telly running, sometimes he just reaches some kind of meditative state which he always considers as the only fitting kind of meditation on a pink island entirely made out of trash.

He snaps out of whatever condition he had reached today when the commercial clock rings again and he is remembered that it’s still an advertisement for an instant breakfast.

His stomach gives a painful growl at that and he realizes just then that he’s hungry. 2D drags himself up and in the kitchen when the obnoxiously cheerful bespectacled TV man asks the off voice if it’s kidding when it promises a full breakfast in only three microwave minutes.

The decision on what to eat quickly becomes overwhelming when he opens the fridge, so he just tiredly reaches for the milk. He looks for the Cheerios and reinserts himself back on his old spot with a full bowl of cereals. Eventually it strikes the magic hour in which the usual program flickers back on and 2D just watches Cartoon Network while he tries very hard not think of long past Sunday mornings with little Noodle.

*** *** ***

It’s noon and he still hasn’t slept, that’s why he sits in the studio now, entirely unprompted, and toys with ideas his sleep deprived brain produces seemingly out of nowhere. The studio is also one of the few places with internet access on this island (though Murdoc had ensured child safety locks in every browser and all of 2D’s or the bands accounts on platforms he’s still allowed to use are thoroughly disabled or have new passwords, however that was possible).

Today’s morning obviously had left its impression. He couldn’t kill the pesky earworm of the jingle from the commercial and thanks to Murdoc’s precautions and the unstable internet connection, it takes him much longer than he would like to admit to sift through a string of 80’s TV spots on YouTube until he finally finds it. He cuts out an audio sample.

By this time, his head is a hellhole of commercial voices, intrusive melodies and his own unconnected thoughts racing.

He starts to work a song around it as a coping mechanism.

Next act. Murdoc himself emerges in the studio’s door. He looks awful.

Like he didn’t sleep in days, too, and that was probably the case, but when he takes in the image of 2D sitting barefoot and straddle-legged on the thick carpet, hunched over his synthesizer, MacBook and notepad scattered around in an apparent working mood, an uncanny huge grin slides across his face, exposing his shark like rotten teeth.

So far, 2D is unenthusiastic about this encounter. He keeps on tinkering with beats from the drum machine and the commercial sample.

“I’m honestly delighted to see you are willing to work even without my gentle requests from time to time,” Murdoc greets him and puts an unnerving emphasis on the word ‘delighted’. 2D only pulls a sardonic expression in answer. He also hasn’t decided yet if he finds Murdoc’s sensible lighter moods more bearable then the… other ones. They’re probably drug-induced anyway.

Not that he was one to talk, he mentally scolds himself. Well, at least he wasn’t like Murdoc, yet. That was his only solace.

2D decides he is too tired and too busy to pick a fight today. Murdoc obviously decides to challenge this resolution and snickers.

“Not quite the Chatty Cathy today hu, sunshine? Well, my night was great, GREAT I tell ya. Threw a party with Cyborg and the pirates. When I’m thinking about it this would be a great name for a band. No wait, scratch that, we already have a great name. And a great band. The GREATEST, if I may say so hun hun hun.” He stops to catch his breath. “Anyway, what are you working on? Doesn’t sound like one of the songs I gave you.”

2D has stopped listening at the very first sentence and scribbles something on his notepad. “’M sorry, what?”

Murdoc sighs, impatient. “The sooong. What are you doing right now? I’m curious.”

“It’s… a new thing. A song… about breakfast,” 2D hears himself saying despite of himself. The truth is, that he wasn’t entirely sure what this was supposed to become.

“About what,” Murdoc snaps incredulous.

“About breakfast,” 2D answers promptly and, to his own surprise, advances a defensive bottom lip. “It’s a song… like a commercial. Catchy, fast living, colorful, you know? Seemingly disposable and about something short lived. Just trying to sell… sss-something for breakfast. Something you can just swallow down when you’re in a hurry.”

Ok, his thoughts are really just running loose right now. He hopes he can remember that later because in this moment the stuff he just bullshat at the same time made miraculous and perfect sense in his poor, tortured head.

Murdoc’s interest suddenly seems piqued. He snatches the notepad from 2D’s thigh and skims over the lines and sentences that may or may not constitute a first attempt on lyrics, nodding appreciatively while he reads. 2D looks up, his face scrunched up insecurely.

Murdoc strides around him, still staring at the notepad and clearly thinking. “Hmmm you know what, this could really work as a concept,” he mutters and lowers himself to the floor with a groan, back to back with 2D.

2D stiffs up at that and considers leaning away.

“Any ideas on how to call it already?” The question hits him offhand and he blinks, unsure.

“Uhn… Little…Pink…stink…fish?” he comes up with, very response delayed.

Suddenly, Murdoc just cracks up and laughs harshly and genuinely until he chokes on his own spit and the laughter turns into a coughing fit.

2D can feel the vibration of it rocking his own body. As if it was contagious, 2D can’t help the smile that spreads over his face then, partly over his own stupid answer, partly because he hears and feels Murdoc laughing and he hadn’t had that in a very long time.

“You know, I also had a new idea for a song last night,” Murdoc pipes up excited when his coughing finally has subsided. “Just wait!”

With that, he takes the pencil lying next to 2D and scribbles something on the notepad. Curious, 2D leans to the side to try and spy what the bassist was doing, but just in that moment Murdoc so much as thrusts the pad back into his face, brandishing it so close in front of his nose that at first, he can’t make out anything. 2D cautiously takes the pad and stares at it, baffled.

“Murdoc, that’s just a shitty sketch of one of these sodding jellyfishes,” 2D states irritated. Murdoc had drawn the silly grinning thing just over his “lyrics”.

“RIGHT??? These are just bloody everywhere!”

“But... that’s not a song,” 2D answers again, but he sounds interested now. He thinks his overtired brain is just about to produce another idea.

“But we need a song about them on the album! They embody the experience of this place!!!” Murdoc sounds frantic now and 2D can feel him gesturing wildly.

“They even look more like candy wrappers than real animals,” he agrees and nods along, even if the likeliness of Murdoc’s drawing with the actual strange animals he remembers seeing sometimes in front of his underwater prison or in the Stylo (submarine mode) is only minimal.

“They are a plague, I swear! There was a bunch – “, Murdoc interrupts himself. “A gang? A posse? A pack? – nah whatever! There were a whole lot of them almost clogging the seawater suction pipes for the cooling system of the engine room last week! Had to get on my good ol’ wetsuit and get rid of ‘em myself…”, he mumbles and 2D giggles at the image. He himself hadn’t noticed any of that last week.

“I… can show you what I thought so far for the music,” he offers.

“Yeah yeah, go on”, Murdoc encourages him and snivels, so 2D shows him the gruesome commercial sample and that he intends on putting it at the beginning of the song.

“Disturbing. I like it,” Murdoc states with a palpable shiver down his spine.

“Did you know this commercial is the only thing that runs on every channel for at least an hour every morning around six,” 2D suddenly admits and Murdoc half turns around.

“No… what in the seven hells? Why?”

“I thought you might know.” He shrugs and goes on with his demonstration.

Murdoc taps his foot to the beat of the drum machine and chimes in with comments here and there on what he might like or would change. He only stands up one time to pick up his bass, strumming along some very simple base lines in time with the drums and piano snippets the singer had patched together so far. Somewhere along, 2D had reached his dead point where he no longer felt drop dead tired and Murdoc had seemed to come down from whatever height he was in when he first entered. Surprisingly, the companionable workflow lasts.

That really was a rarity, since many other songs before had been a true fight.

At some point, he can feel Murdoc’s little finger creep over to rest on his own. 2D, who was lazily pushing some keys on his synth with one hand, bites his lip. He takes a deep breath.

“Muds?”

“Yeah?”

“We are having a good time right now for once, right,” he starts flat out. Murdoc pauses.

“I… think so.”

“Then don’t ruin it,” 2D says coolly and can feel how Murdoc’s retreats his hand instantly.

“2D I-“

“We can maybe work the jellyfish in you know,” he cuts Murdoc off and tries changing the subject.

“The jellyfish could be the theme together with the breakfast. The jellyfish could be the brand. Don’t you wish to stab those stupid smiles sometimes”, he goes on, even when animal cruelty really is the last thing he would like to promote and the jellyfishes for sure weren’t the ones that did anything to him. Sometimes he’s just so angry.

Murdoc huffs and chuckles lowly. “Actually…. That’s crazy but brilliant. I’m a genius for coming up with these  things.”

2D sighs in dramatized exasperation. “Yes, Murdoc, you really are.”

[unholyhelbig]

Always incredible writing! Can't get enough of your storytelling and I'm sure many others can agree. Keep up the amazing stories. Prompt idea for ya since I've just been Netflixing tons of movies after work lol: Movie Tulip Fever, oldtimeAU Beca is a lowly painter who has been hired to paint a portrait of a wealthy man and his new much younger wife. She has married him to support her family. They fall in love. Btw the movie was pretty shitty lol, but I thought it would be a fun/diff idea for ya!

[A/N: Thank you so much! This movie would have been so much better if it was gay… Anyway, this is a big prompt so I could only fit so much into it. This is longer than I usually do. So if you guys want to see a part two, send me an ask about it!]  

The candle gave a soft light to the crowded room. It was an arc of brilliant yellows that was cut with a horrid orange. However, the two colors worked together in an almost therapeutic way- one tiny combination of wax and wick giving a new life to the smallest room in the house.

That was no feat; the mansion was massive- coated in royal reds and cobalt blues. Nothing was spared when it came to Garret Beale. His family being ahead of all the trade on their small island- often taking a page out of the colonist’s books and resorting to working with the men of the sea. Men who pillaged and brought back three times what this home was worth, only keeping a small portion of it to get the great law of the king off their flame-heated trails.

He was a handsome man, one with charming stature and the best-assembled clothes. Garret carried himself as such- royalty that didn’t have a true bloodline, but enough to get everything he desired. Including the woman who stood with a hard stare in front of him. His deep Irish eyes were scanning over her figure, taking in the small stature that she carried. In fact, she reminded him of one of his men; not a nationally regarded painter.

She wasn’t traditional, a pair of grey slacks and a black shirt hugged her figure, her eyes almost as dark as the midnight sky. Different colors of paint popped against the fabric; it made her look more like a street beggar than anything. But he had seen her work- seen the way she made use of the canvas and vibrant colors given to her. She was an artist, one like no other.

“I’ve seen your work,” Garret said, quite dramatically as he leaned backward in his seat. It creaked and groaned in irony. A man with that much wealth should have a better place to sit. Maybe there was some semantic value, but the woman didn’t question him. Instead, she lifted her chin, keeping her jaw tensed. “it’s good.”

“Just good?” She finally spoke, lifting her eyebrows. She leaned heavily on his hand-crafted desk, annoyance sparking within her stomach. He had more money than he knew what to do with; Beca running her fingers over the carved edge. It was done well. Better than his chair. “I mean no offense, Mr. Beale, but I have spent years studying under masters of artistic ability. You’ve pulled me from sea two weeks ago, for what? To design your walls?”

“Garret, please.” He seemed unphased by her annoyance. The man knew that she wasn’t happy, practically being pulled onto his family’s property. She agreed, having to travel weeks to even get to the home. He offered up a project, one that peaked her interest. “If I wanted to have my walls recolored, I would not send word for you, Miss Mitchell, have a seat.”

She drew in a soft breath, that skeptic look still in her deep stare. However, she eventually lowered herself into the chair pushing at the back of her legs. It was cold against her spine, making her swallow back a shiver uncomfortably. She waited patiently, despite questioning the man’s privilege.

“My wife,” he drew in a long breath, “She is quite exquisite.”

Beca pressed her lips together in a frim line, instantly finding discomfort in the man’s words. The whimsical look in his eyes solidifying just how much he cared for this unnamed woman. A small smile played at the corners of his expression. “I have yet to find someone who is talented enough to capture her beauty, which is why I called you.”

“To paint her?” She eased out, “I paint what I feel, Mr. Bea- Garret.” She corrected herself last minute. “There is no rhyme or rhythm to my work. It’s near impossible for me to construct something when I feel nothing.”

“Ah,” he leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the desk. “I assure you, Miss Mitchell when you see my wife it will be highly unlikely that you won’t feel a thing.”

She gave him a jarring look. This man was quite clearly in love with this woman. So much so that he would invite a near stranger into his home to paint a fine picture of her. He had apparently done so before, many times, but was never happy with the outcome. Men, she was sure, men who drooled and didn’t focus on the task at hand. Maybe that’s why he hand-selected her. It couldn’t’ just be based on her work. He was a picky man.

“Are you insisting that I should fall for this woman?”

“No, of course not.” He waved his hand dismissively “I merely suggest that you form a bond with her before you even sit down to draw your first stroke. I’ll pay for it all.”

She lifted both brows, her head resting on her hand as she kept her fingers on her lips. She watched him carefully. “How so?”

“You can stay here, for as long as you need. I certainly have the room to spare.” He stated plainly. “I just require that you spend time with my wife enough to know exactly what I need to be portrayed in her portrait.”

“Her essence,” Beca said as more of a statement than a question. “Not just the way she appears to the human eye.”

It was interesting, something Beca had never done before. She was more into taking an edge of charcoal and sitting on the bow of a boat- sketching the way the waves ate at a flat-lined shore. But if this woman, whoever she was, took so much captivation from the world, then it would be a certain challenge.

“Do we have a deal, Rebeca?” He held out his pale hand, firm and strong.

“It’s Beca.” She took his grasp in hers, squeezing it with force. “And how could I say no?”

The warm spring day changed the atmosphere in the usually dark house. There seemed to be no such thing as vibrant yellow, and unforgivable violent the night before. Beca having an uneasy sleep in one of the cold master bedrooms. It was far from comfortable- but still too fancy for her taste.

She woke up to a long ray of sun pressing against her gaze, birds chirping incessantly on the balcony. The stone balcony that was warmed by the very star that stirred her from her snooze. Regardless, she pulled herself from the clutches of the duvet, flinching as her bare feet hit the cold floor.

Begrudgingly, the talented artist slid on a pair of black pants and a loose fitting white shirt- not ever bringing more than that with her. She was fairly simple, hating the wire corsets and edged dresses of the time. They were too heavy and nice for her to paint in.

After lacing up a pair of brown leather boots, Beca made her way to the kitchen of the house. It wasn’t too far, Garret had set the place up like a maze, although, she was at the edge of it. He gave her a half-hearted tour before fleeing from the property himself, claiming of some business he had to do. It was close to three in the morning, there was nothing he could busy himself with at that hour- but again, the woman didn’t question his generosity.

She was close to the service quarters, residing in the same sector as the staff; she was staff. Having been hired for a job. To paint a wealthy man’s wife in exchange for room and board. Part of her wanted to drag it out to its full extent, the other part hating the idea of spending one more minute in this place.

A sickly-sweet scent coated her lungs the moment she walked into the kitchen. It was large, set up and built like a room from the Spanish colonies; complete with deep yellow walls and terracotta tile with intricate suns and moons. Natural light seeped in from the grassy courtyard. It was good work, just like Garret had said, no expense spared for his family.

There was a woman leaning heavily over a mass of dough, she was tall, almost tall enough to bump her head on the chandelier, it hung low enough. Flour coated her fingers and clothing as a strand of dirty brown hair fell from the bun on her head, sweat forming on the woman’s brow.  She glanced up with deep charcoal eyes at the change in atmosphere.

“Oh!” She let her folders fall back, moving her eyes down her smock as a certain heir of heat pressed against her cheek. She reached for a dish towel. “I’m sorry Miss Mitchell, I didn’t see you there. The dining room is right through the left corridor.”

This woman, whoever she was, looked petrified. Like she had done something wrong against the curiosity of the young artist. Beca having noticed the same thing as she cocked her head to the side slightly- like a lost puppy.

“I’m not looking for the dining room.” She stated simply from the doorway, trying not to scare the taller woman off. She was young, a simple look of amusement finding a way to her face. “You know who I am?”

“Of course.” The stranger let out a soft breath, pushing the base of her palms into the moldable dough. “Mr. Beale often hires new artists to tackle capturing the enigma that is his wife. Many of them leave after the first few days. They’re not very social.”

Her slate eyes flicked up towards Beca, almost as if asking a question.

“I’m not either,” She relented, a small smile on her lips. “But I know proper manners. I take it none of them have ever been back here?”

The woman grimaces, shaking her head as she struggles to blow the strands of stray hair from her gaze. She was becoming more comfortable with the conversation, with the presence of Beca in general. This was her kitchen, the woman knew not to overstep her boundaries.

“Never, Miss Mitchell.” She held back a snort. “Wouldn’t give the staff a second glance. A bit like Mr. Garret himself, if I might add.”

“Beca is fine.” The smaller girl said, shoving her hands in her pockets as the woman gave her a kind smile. She was different than the rest of them, actually making conversation and not attempting to rush the other way. She made eye contact and didn’t hold her shoulders along the straight edge of a metal plate. Instead, she looked calm and collected. Strong, even. “And you are?”

“The chef.” She answered on instinct.

“I figured that.” Beca elicited a small laugh. “I meant your name.”

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, a genuine smile finding it’s way to her flour specked face. “I’m Stacie Conrad.”

The Conrad’s were a fun group of people, a family name that Beca recognized almost immediately. She had met a man in the Pacific with the same surname, almost the same features as the chef that stood in front of her; a strong and seducing fella with a great sense of humor. If this woman was anything like her bloodline, Beca would get along great with her.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Stacie.” Beca reached out to shake the woman’s hand, reaching over the island, not hesitating a bit as the taller girl produced a powder covered one instead. She shrugged sheepishly- taking it regardless, Stacie’s mouth falling open. “What’s a little dirt?”

“Ah,” She nodded softly “Miss Chloe will love you.”

“Chloe huh?” The name rolled off of the artist’s lips. It was the first time that she had actually heard it. She was always proclaimed as Garrets wife, or even the woman no one could really paint. But she hadn’t met Beca yet. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

“You two haven’t met yet?” Stacie raised a pointed eyebrow.

“I got in around three last evening,” Beca explained, following that ashy stare towards the courtyard. It was a feat in its own; large hedges shielding the home from the outside world, lush green grass coating the full area, even a tall tree that produced bright fruit like that of a flame. Yellow and sharp. “Mr. Beale took me right to my quarters. After a tour, of course.”

“A fine man that’s proud of his home.” Stacie grimaced, stepping away from her task as she rounded the large counter. She was just as tall as Beca though, both of them turning towards the large doors, leaning heavily against the island as they stared out into the yard, Stacie crossing her arms over her chest. “Every morning, you can find Miss Chloe out here.”

“Reading?” The tiny girl still couldn’t see much but the yard- assuming the woman of the hour was situated on the other side of the large tree, back against the bark as she perused some ancient form of literature.

Stacie scoffed. “You wish.”

Beca threw her an odd glance before turning her attention back towards the area. Struggling to focus her hearing. She had been so focused before- not paying much stock to the little patch of outdoors. She noticed the taller woman first, at least she thought it was two women. Both in form fitted white suits- mesh masks over their faces. Fencing.

This woman who everyone raved bout was battling it out loudly with another, stepping gracefully against the grass, unlike any high-class girl that Beca had seen before. Both grunting as the metal of their foil’s clanked with each fluid hit. The shorter of the two took a step out of bounds, her partner not sparring a second.

“Avertissement” Beca scoffed under her breath, shaking her head.

“Aubrey never plays fair” Stacie spoke without tearing her gaze away from the pair. “I’m sure she does it to keep Chloe on her feet. You fence?”

“I used to.”

The two burst into laughter, muffled by the door that separated their spectators. Each woman panting with a purpose as the taller of the two removed her mask first- face red from the labor as she struggled to catch her composure. Stacie cocked an eyebrow at the blonde, cheeks maintaining their rosy complexion. “That’s Miss Posen.” She informed the small girl. “I swear, Chloe and she are joined at the hip. Protective, that one is.”

Aubrey went to remove her chest guard, but Beca didn’t have the attention span to continue watching the blonde. Instead, she focused on who she deemed to be Chloe. The mask was removed, a bout of coppery locks fell against her shoulders; she shook her head trying to free them from the heat of the island day. Her own chest was heaving, cheeks a bit red as she tucked her weapon beneath her arm. An angelic smile pressed close to her lips, a thin layer of sweat coating her collarbone.

“You’re drooling, Beca.”

“What?” The brunette snapped her mouth shut, dragging the back of her hand across her cheek, checking to make sure she was in fact, not drooling. Stacie was right, she could catch flies the longer she stood there, each passing second, she stared at Chloe made a heat press near her core. “I was doing no such thing.”

“Hmm,” Stacie nudged her new friend. “There is a reason they call Chloe Beale unpaintable.”                              

[thatishogwash]

Bad Pick Up Lines

KuroDai Week 2018 May 9, Day Four: Admiration / Bad Habits AO3

Kuroo was nervous.  He didn’t really blame himself as he adjusted his jar of brushes for the fourteenth time or moved his canvas before ultimately moving it to the original spot he had it in.  He brought out extra lights even though he had purposefully chosen this space for its natural lighting.  He thought of putting music on but then thought that might be weird.  Would it make it seem like he was trying to set a mood?  He was trying to set a mood but not that kind of mood.

Kuroo Tetsurou knew how fortunate and lucky he was to have the career he did.  It’s not to say he didn’t fight and bleed and lose countless hours of sleep over it.  He worked in shitty jobs for years, stayed in tiny apartments with far too many roommates, did everything he could to save up for just a couple mid-line paints and brushes.  He worked himself to the bone and then continued to work just for the small hope that someday, someday he could do what he loved.

Now Kuroo could comfortably live as a full time artist.  He had permanent art installations at actual museums and not just in Japan either, his art was being shown in twelve different countries around the world.  He had an assistant that kept tabs on his schedule and filtered through all the commissions he got.  Kuroo still worked his ass off but now it was doing something he loved, something he had worked so hard to achieve.

It didn’t mean that everything was perfect.  There was something whispered amongst artists of all different mediums, something that felled even the best.  The dreaded artist block.

Kuroo had faced a couple in his couple decades of life.  He had always managed to power through it, to find inspiration or a muse from something.  But Kuroo had basically run through every single modeling agency he usually contacted when he needed real life models.  He had taken to venturing out to random places to see if anyone fit what he needed.

The commissioned pieces for his next art installation were half done.  The first half had been done in record timing, almost laughably easy.  His model had been tall, nearly amazonian with lean muscles and a grace of a professional dancer.  Those pieces leaned against the wall, laughing at him.

Kuroo had become desperate.  Hope came in the form of his taciturn assistant who sometimes Kuroo could have sworn wanted to watch Kuroo burn out.  Tsukishima Kei was equal parts the best and worst assistant Kuroo had ever had.  Definitely the worst had been the walking disaster known as Haiba Lev, who had thankfully been taken off of Kuroo’s hands by a modelling agency who liked the look of the half-Russian and wasn’t too concerned with his puppy dog like attitude.  The best had Akaashi Keiji, who might have referred to Kuroo as pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo but was still the best damn assistant anyone could ever ask for.  Of course he just had to graduate school and get a fantastic job in his field and fall in love with Kuroo’s traitor of a best friend Bokuto Koutarou.

But that was neither here nor there.  The point was just when Kuroo was on a verge of a nervous breakdown and was thinking about burning his own studio down, disappearing into the night, and changing his name Tsukishima stepped in.  Kuroo thought it was mostly self preservation on Tsukishima’s part.  As much as the younger man complained about the workload, Kuroo knew he paid better than any job a broke full-time student could make.

So Tsukishima had suggested a different sort of company to book a model through.  The type of company that might help lonely people out, someone might pay them for a date or other things.

It was an escort company and Kuroo had hired an escort.

Truthfully Kuroo had hired seventeen escorts and none of them had been the right fit.  Kuroo didn’t even want to question how Tsukishima knew about the company since he couldn’t find a single trace of it online.  Kuroo didn’t worry about his reputation much.  Hiring an escort would probably be on the tame side for the rumors floating around about him.

Kuroo had gotten desperate and the man he always talked to when booking the escorts had sounded rough and annoyed.  Kuroo had assured him repeatedly that he just needed a model for some sketches and maybe a painting or two.  Yes they would have to remove their clothes but a pair of biking shorts could be worn.

The man had sighed and told Kuroo he was sending a guy his way.

Kuroo was nervous.  The impending failure of an unfinished commissioned piece made Kuroo want to hole up in his apartment and never come out.  So much was riding on this and he was being sent an escort he didn’t even choose.

A knock at the door had Kuroo flinching so bad he knocked over the jar of brushes he had been anxiously touching and he managed to kick over his easel.

“Uh- come on, the doors unlocked!”  Kuroo yelled as he attempted to pull himself together while putting everything back into its place.  “Hi!  Hello.  Hey.”  Kuroo wanted to cover his face as his soul attempted to leave his body out of sheer embarrassment.  Three greetings?  Really?

“Hi, hello, hey.”  The man by the door surprised Kuroo, not just from his cheeky greeting but by his looks.

Kuroo had been surprised with each escort he had met.  Every single one vastly different from the last and none of them really screamed escort to Kuroo, which he guessed was kind of the point.  Also he felt a little judgemental about his preconceived notions of escorts too.

The man in front of Kuroo took all those notions about what Kuroo thought escorts looked or acted like, pushed it into the garbage disposal and turned it on until there was nothing left.  He looked like the type who would feel perfectly comfortable with a toddler on his hip as he enjoyed a backyard barbeque with his neighbors.  He looked like he played some type of sport on the weekends and worked in an office where he was always bringing in treats for the rest of his floor.

The man looked plain and boring, as if he could blend seamlessly into a crowd of businessmen.

“Is that Toothless?”  The man, the escort asked, seemingly surprising even himself.  Kuroo didn’t blame him, not many people came into his studio but even Tsukishima showed the slightest shock when he walked in to see a life-size version of Toothless taking up the back portion of the studio.

“Yeah,” Kuroo answered with a grin, finally feeling a bit like himself.  “My friend Oikawa, his son is having a How to Train Your Dragon themed party and I just really enjoy being liked by his kid so much more than him.”  The admission surprised a laugh out of the man but with surprise of his own, Kuroo realized that he had purposefully distracted Kuroo.

He was a lot more cunning than his looks let on and Kuroo found himself enjoying that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I’m Sawamura.”  Sawamura took a couple steps over to Kuroo and held out his hand.  It was a firm handshake, Sawamura’s hands were calloused and warm.

“Kuroo.”  Kuroo stretched out his fingers by his side, still feeling the warm tingly after effects from the handshake.

“So I’m going to be truthful, this is all kind of new to me.”  Sawamura gave a self deprecating grin and oh, he was so good.  Kuroo would have to pay close attention because with one little sentence he had managed to put Kuroo at ease and in charge without either having to really talk about it.  “I took an Art History class once and it was way beyond me.”

“Well why don’t you take your jacket off and get comfortable?  I’m just going to start with some warm up sketches.”  Kuroo stepped behind his easel, glancing over at Sawamura as he pulled his jacket off, causing the plain dark gray shirt underneath to pull tight against his torso.  Without the jacket Kuroo could see that Sawamura was built better than the dad-bod Kuroo had been expecting.  His shoulders were broad and they tampered off into a trim waist with rather impressive arms.

Kuroo started to draw those shoulders, trying to work out the muscles and bone beneath and how they moved and shifted.  Sawamura wandered around the studio, taking a closer look at Toothless, which would be rideable when Kuroo was finished with it.  He was excited to leave Tsukishima with the task of actually getting it to Oikawa’s house back in Miyagi in one piece.

Then Sawamura moved to the long table pushed against the far left side of the studio.  Kuroo opened his mouth but quickly closed it as he got a good look at Sawamura’s back.  He normally didn’t allow people to see his work in progress or his failed works, all of which were spread across that table, but Sawamura was proving a good study.  There was something unique in the plainess, something intriguing past the neat hair and clean cut look.

“These are all for the project your working on?”  Kuroo didn’t correct Sawamura about the term project, it clearly wasn’t meant to be demeaning or offensive.

“Sort of?  They are all the models I’ve tried but something didn’t click.”  Kuroo answered honestly, feeling more at ease with every passing moment.  He had no idea how someone could be such a calming personality and make Kuroo feel as if he was challenging him at every turn.  “None of them fit my first model.  Could you take off your shirt?”

“Like mixing fluorine to hydrogen.”  Sawamura mumbled as he did as asked.  Kuroo was almost too distracted by the stretch of newly revealed muscles to miss the joke, almost being the keyword.

“Did you just make a chemical reaction joke?”  Kuroo asked, earning a grin from Sawamura.  “Hey Sawamura?  You must be chlorine because you are polarizing my bond.”  Sawamura stared at him in muted horror before tossing his head back and laughing.

“That was so bad!”  Sawamura moved closer to Kuroo.  “How many of those have you got?”

“Please Sawamura, I am a professional.”  Kuroo continued to sketch, glancing up at an expecting looking Sawamura.  “My favorite attractive force is van der Waal’s force.  Can you feel it?  I’ll move closer if you can’t.”  Sawamura laughed again, that deep belly type laugh that made Kuroo intake a little too much air.

The rest of the time passed in sharing bad pick up lines and Kuroo was surprised when his phone beeped, signalling the end of their time.  He had moved on from quick sketches to more detailed ones, the floor around him was covered with pieces of Sawamura.  Kuroo had discovered a faint scar on his cheek, the middle and pointer knuckles on his left hand were swollen, his lips pulled up a little higher on the left side then right when he smiled, and several other minute things he could have easily overlooked when he brushed Sawamura off as plain.

“Thank you.”  Kuroo said with real feeling because he finally felt as if he was seeing a light at the end of his dark, artist block tunnel.

“I didn’t really do much.”  Sawamura shrugged though Kuroo couldn’t be but disagree.  He gave the studio one last glance around as he pulled on his jacket.  “All of this, everything you’ve managed to create even your petty life sized dragon-” A flashing, cunning grin at this.  “It’s all amazing.  It’s really admirable, what you do.  Pulling nothing out of your mind with just some paper and pencils, sticking with it even after three dozen different models.”  Kuroo could feel a creeping blush at this.  He hadn’t realized he really needed to hear that until someone said it.

“I think what you do is really admirable too!”  Kuroo rushed out.  “I know your job can’t be easy but you came in here with confidence, not knowing what was in store for you and you made this easy and enjoyable.  Thank you, really.”  Sawamura wasn’t smiling though as Tsukishima came in through the door.

“What do you think my job is exactly?”  Sawamura asked, eyes narrowed.  Tsukishima paused before turning on his heel to walk out.  “Don’t even think about it Tsukishima.”  Kuroo had never seen Tsukishima listen to anyone as well as he listened to Sawamura in that moment.

“I’m sorry?  Is it not okay to talk about it?”  Kuroo asked worriedly, wondering if he had somehow insulted Sawamura.  Tsukishima’s back was to them but his head ducked down.

“Talk about what?”  Sawamura said.  “Say it.”

“You’re an escort?”  Kuroo meant to say it as a statement but it came out as more of a question.  Tsukishima’s bean pole body seemed to slump forward at Kuroo’s words.

“I’m a what now?”  Sawamura practically yelled.  “Tsukishima Kei, what the hell did you tell him?”

It was then that Kuroo realized there was no escort business that Tsukishima knew about.  He had his old volleyball coach pretend to be some sort of pimp while sending various friends and acquaintances of Tsukishima’s to Kuroo.  Turned out that Sawamura really did work in an office during the week and played with a neighborhood association team during the weekends.

“So then, is it okay if I ask you out?”  Kuroo asked to Tsukishima’s obvious horror.

“Please no Sawamura, you could do so much better.”  Tsukishima said quickly.

“I’m telling Kageyama that you sent Hinata and Yamaguchi out as pretend escorts to your boss.”  Sawamura deadpanned.  Kuroo had yet to meet Tsukishima’s longterm boyfriend Kageyama but from what he had heard he was a pretty intense young man and the only one able to wring any sort of remorse from the emotionless Tsukishima.  “And yes it is, but I’m paying.”

Kuroo couldn’t help but grin at that.

[italicwatches]

My Hero Academia, season 2 - Episode 21

Alright, let’s get this thing going. It’s My Hero Academia, episode 21! Here we GO!

-Opening!

-With the stage finally dry and clean, it’s time for the next match! In THIS corner, it’s the plant girl from Class B, Shiozaki Ibara! And in THAT corner, Kaminari Denki! Will their match last any longer than the others we’ve seen? Only one way to find out!

-Episode 21: Battle on, Challengers!

-Also Ibara doesn’t like the commentary calling her an ‘assassin’ because she’s here for honest and earnest heroism. And Denki is losing his focus because she’s cute. You stupid idiot. He literally asks her out before the match starts, while also assuming he’s gonna win. You stupid idiot, are you sure your brain’s fully kicked back on?

-So he goes full burn on his voltage…But Ibara kicks up a wall of vines to shield herself, before a tendril spears up from the ground and ensnares the stupid idiot! The match is decided in like two seconds.

-So the various heroes are starting to talk it out. He lost major ground in their eyes, while Ibara’s got a real notice with the sheer versatility she showed there, to say nothing of her grace…Also Deku is making notes. Thorough, thorough notes. And he hasn’t replaced the notebook that Katsuki burned, so it looks extra creepy. Especially when he reveals to Ochaco that he’s also been taking notes on them, including her. And I think we have our screen cap. That face.

-Okay, stage repaired, next match! It’s Tenya versus Mei!!! Yes I am incredibly excited for this earnest enthusiasm. …Wait why is Tenya strapping on a pack? Mei offered it to him, it turns out. She wants a cool match and so he’s given an exception to use equipment…As Deku watches and realizes she’s in no way the type to just want a good honest match.

-Yeah, she’s not. She slips on a headset as the match starts, and seems to have hacked the stadium’s PA system, because her voice cuts out our commentators entirely. She’s not interested in a good honest fight…She’s doing an infomercial. How do you like those actuators around your legs? THEY’RE WHISPER QUIET!

-And we also learn Mei’s actual Quirk! Those cool scope eyes of hers actually work, she can Zoom her eyes like scopes and see as much as five kilometers away. That’s legitimately a really cool Quirk. But, yes. Tenya keeps trying to get on her, but Mei just keeps dodging with her hydraulic extensions and keeping the hard sale going. Did I mention how much I like Mei and want a spinoff about her?

-And it just keeps going, as she even sends Tenya tripping right up to the edge of the stage…To show how her auto-balancer’s edge sensors can keep you from falling to your doom even when otherwise incapacitated! He’s starting to get mad, actually…As she takes to the sky with her hyper-enhanced hover boots that use potent electromagnets to allow temporary flight and instant evasion! And now, a classic, the net gun! She wove the nets so they could fit into an easily pocketable cartridge, and the gun can hold five in its magazine! They also self-ensnare, locking around themselves once they hook a villain to become a fully contained capture method! Just shoot and call in the retrieval!

-And who made all of these wonderful items, you might ask? Who showed not only the capacity to make a non-combat Hero battle-ready, but to make a combat-capable Hero better than they ever could on their own? Who do you want for your tech company’s R&D division?! That’s right, her, Hatsume Mei! Your choice is clear!

-It’s not even over. Ten minutes later, she walks off the stage feeling like a million bucks, casually giving the actual win to Tenya since she did everything she had to do. You got all that out of one chest of gear?

-So Tenya’s really not happy about this and if it wasn’t for Ochaco’s amazing face I’d have to use that reaction shot. In fact I’m saving it just in case I change my mind. And Deku realizes how terrifying Mei truly is. She’s ruthless!

-While Ochaco just goes total blank as she steps out….

-Next match! Laser boy, Aoyama Yuga! Versus pink girl, Ashido Mina! That could actually be an interesting match, just because their powers don’t counter each other at all. The match begins…And Yuga immediately shoots a laser, but Mina gets to using her slime to whip her way around, skating on it at high speed! And she knows his limits, that his stomach aches if he shoots too many lasers, and she’s gonna make him keep doing it…

-Indeed, soon his stomach gets all wrecked, and when that makes him hesitate, she slams a thick glob of slime right home that ruins the lens on his belt! It also ruins its ability to keep his pants up, and she delivers a single vicious uppercut that puts him right on the ground! The match is decided, and she is very hype.

-And Deku keeps making notes. Mina’s Quirk is potent and multi-faceted, but the thing that really shifted the game was her sheer physical skill and fitness…

-Next match! Fumikage versus Momo! People are starting to ask Deku what his take on the match is…And he thinks this one’s all down to time. Then it’s into Momo’s head, as she starts putting together a battle plan…And it has to be put into play almost immediately, as Fumikage puts her on the backstep in a flash with Dark Shadow’s strikes!

-But then, the attacks come to a stop…? She has a chan—

-Her foot got pushed over the line. She lost, simple as that, before she had a chance to engage her plans. The weight of it hits her like a freight train. It’s a depression and frustration that many of them know all too well…

-Okay, it’s Kirishima Eijiro the rock boy versus Tetsu*4 the iron boy. Will stone or iron rein supreme?!

-We’re not gonna find out yet. Tenya gets into the waiting room after his…let’s call it a match, and finds Ochaco is…How to put this…Well she’s very intense and freaking out a little. Her nerves have gotten to her.

-Which is when Deku finds them! As soon as he realized she wasn’t there, he came looking…And of course, her match is coming up fast…And he knows one thing all too well. Katsuki’s not going to hold back. He’s not going to slow down. He’s not going to go easy on you. But Deku wants to help. He’s got his notes. Everything he learned from watching Katsuki for over a decade, and the rough sketch of a plan to overcome the guy…

-But, no. Ochaco needs to do this herself. She’s let herself be too reliant on Deku, on her friends…For her own dreams, there’s only one way to do this. To claim her victory with her own two hands…So, thank you for everything. And may they meet in the finals!

-Back at the stage, it turns out to be a draw after a raw, bare-knuckle brawl. In such a case, they’ll be left to recover and have their match decided with a simple direct contest of capability. Of course, even being redundant, a lot of the more straightforward heroes are liking both of these guys. Fierce, strong, passionate, you can always use guys like that in the field…

-And now it’s time to get hype, because it’s Katsuki versus Ochaco! This is gonna be serious…And vicious. And rough. Especially with Katsuki having had one hell of a shitty day…And a target in front of him to take out all that frustration on. Eighth match, START!

-Credits!

So obviously this is gonna be a big one. Hell, I heard about this match while the season was going. I know it’s gonna be a Big Deal.

But so far, a lot of these matches have been really interesting. It’s always cool to see different people figure out creative and clever ways to use their Quirks. And of course, Mei’s entire display was, just, amazing. So amazing. Anyways come back to see Ochaco’s big match next time, in episode TWENTY TWO of My Hero Academia! Wait for it!

[mf-fairy-princess]

Problematic and Proud: Instagram Artist Beebosloth

Alright, I tried posting this to Reddit but that whole website is fucked so. Tumblr is crazy toxic and I want absolutely nothing to do with this website lmao, I just know if it’s posted here, it will show up in google search results. 

Alright, so there's this artist on Instagram. Nothing new and unique there. In fact, there isn't really anything special about this particular prick at all. Rather, he more-so represents a larger cancerous growth within Instagram; entitlement, and toxicity.

I know, I know, "Hey dumbass, that's the entirety of the internet." Yeah, you're damn right it is. Does that make it any less gross? Any less pathetic? These humans are still humans, they know what they're doing.

So what exactly is Beebosloth? Unless you've come here from googling the name followed by some key-word synonyms of "problematic," you're probably unfamiliar with his presence on earth. @Beebosloth (Stan Osipov) is a pretty general artist on Instagram, pumping out at least one sketch a day; his works are namely skeletal, usually black and white, usually accompanied with an odd little strip of slogan text which rarely fits the image subject. People have gotten his works tattooed, he's almost up to 300k followers now, etc etc, he's doing alright for himself.

If there's one thing that millennials and gen-Z kids' insane internet vigilante rampages have taught us, it's that successful people can be, and often are, problematic as all hell. Beebosloth is no exception.

I had been following the artist for close to 3 years, giving him general support through likes on his posts, but also going an extra mile in standing up for him for 2 problems he had been facing repeatedly as an artist. First, due to the general popular aesthetic of his art, his works were getting reposted a lot, often without credit. There would even be imitation accounts which would post nothing but his art, essentially pretending to be him. I repeatedly took it upon myself to give them the ol' trollish finger wag, in an unlikely hope they'd better their behavior or at least let passersby know who the real artist was.

Another problem he was facing was Instagram support; (Ooh what a surprise, when has that ever happened to anyone)? The way he went on about it had us all believing that Instagram would never punish those who committed these unethical acts. And that was the entirety of the problem at first; not punishing other people who had done him wrong. He made several posts and stories complaining about this, usually enticing his followers to go out and do his bidding in this regard. Then . . there was an incident, and the first instance that really alerted me to Beebosloth's behavior.

This is a man who spends half his posts whining because he refuses to learn how internet-related copyright laws work. Even though with the sheer amount of trials and failures he's experienced, he should be an expert on them by now. A dude who claims every 5 seconds that he's getting his work stolen . . . which is why this next part is such a kicker.

I wish I could remember the time exactly, (but unfortunately I'm not pursuing a degree in problematic Instagram artists, and these details have just really just slipped my mind). It was March; I believe of this year. I scrolled through Instagram like normal, came upon a new post by beebosloth, and noticed that this one had about twice the typical amount of attention attached to it. Osipov had posted a doodle of a skeleton arm, holding up a ticket which read "1 WAY TICKET TO HELL." Pretty simple, pretty basic. And the next picture on the slide was the exact same thing, only this time, it wasn't in his style. I believe he also included screenshots of an incredibly petty argument between him and the other artist, in which she accused him of stealing the design from her. - In the caption he's ranting, he's raving, Instagram copyrighted his version and removed it. He does something else too . . . .

Now, these images are the exact damn same, I wish I could find her original work but it has really just disappeared. After what Stan Osipov does next, it wouldn't really surprise me if she deleted her Instagram to cut out the toxicity of this whole situation. And here's the most important part to consider of all of this; not beeblosloth's cruel, immature, reaction, not his history of sending his followers to spend their own personal time being terrible to other users on his behalf, this-

The artist who claimed Osipov had stolen her work- posted it first. Actually I believe she posted it a few weeks before beeblosloth ever did. And keep in mind- the only feasible difference between these two photos is the art style. They are exact same in every possible detail. Now, unfortunately, at the time I was a member of beebosloth's cult following. I really made up any possible excuse to believe that somehow, regardless of how impossible and ridiculous it would be, this girl was lying about beebosloth just ripping her off majorly. Even though- she kept the matter private, between themselves. Beebosloth was the one who posted their screenshots, made this a "let's get everyone involved and invoke the wrath of my followers" thing.

In the caption, (or maybe in a new post), Beebosloth then goes on to beckon everyone to draw this image, he starts a #drawthisinyourstyle challenge. He also, of course, incites his followers to go send hate the the original artist. I will admit I stupidly wanted to believe beebosloth was the original artist, and maybe there was some justification to him posting the screenshots, but that part, I didn't like. That was totally unnecessary, even if he was somehow telling the truth.Can we just step back and assess how insane this situation is?

Osipov casually rips off another artist

He gets caught, called out in private, and the image is removed

He reposts his imitation image, as well as the original one, the original artist's details, the screenshots from their private conversation; he tells his followers to go send hate to the original artist because she hurt his feelings by calling him out.

He starts a competition encouraging everyone to rip off her image in their own style. In turn getting dozens of results, making a considerable chunk of the Instagram art scene focus all negative attention on the original artist. "Well if I can't have it, I guess everyone can." (It's almost impossible to find left over images of the challenge, but I remember there being dozens upon dozens of submissions. I will post one I managed to find, as well as the original rip-off by beebosloth.)

And me and his other followers were totally blind to this insane, ridiculous, behavior. I find that all of my red flags that make me dislike people and their actions boil down to a very simple act: Being shitty to another human when they're not doing anything harmful. That's exactly what Osipov was doing here, and I just kind of let him convince me she was the perpetrator.

-- The remainder is an explanation of why I personally snapped out of this and realized he is just a really sleezy dude, it gets a bit petty, read at your own discretion. --

I kept following him after this for months, sending likes to those stolen general commercial T-shirt slogans slapped on a sketch of skeletons doing basic little things. And then one day a few weeks ago, an image crawled across my feed whose incredibly vague message just didn't sit right with me. The image, as you should be able to see here (if I've successfully posted it), contains a scene of someone trying to post something on instagram, and there is an error message which reads "Oops, nobody gives a shit about you or your selfies. Post anyways?"

First reaction: YIKES, who has Stanny got a vendetta against today? The username of the poster was "dumb bitch" to boot. I honestly couldn't tell if he was attempting to shame someone specific, people who just enjoy posting their selfies, women on Instagram, the message was so unclear and the caption wasn't a help to say the least. Actually the caption was . . . The only possible relation the caption could have had to the art itself, was . . . no actually I really can't find a damn thing to relate the two. It had the same weird aggressive energy as the image, but it was essentially an uncomfortable and unwanted pep-talk? No . . . what in the fresh hell would you call that caption?

Anyways, I just assumed the caption didn't really have a direct relation to the art image, as that was something he'd done before and is pretty typical on Instagram. But I still had a problem with the message of the image itself; essentially teaching people to feel bad about posting their selfies, and holding some sense of superiority to those who dare share an image of their face every so often. How incredibly boring, and my reaction posted in the images explains why this personally pissed me off. And if there I talk like someone complaining in an Instagram comment section, well . . . I wonder why.

His reaction - Oh man his reaction, you could not have killed someone's loyalty to you faster if you used their pet in your omelet. I mentioned how I was confused at the caption in the end of what I was saying, and I guess that's the part that offended him?! I haven't a clue how, but he starts in: "The fact that you don't understand leads me to believe that you are still very lost."

. . . . WHAT?! bahahaha! Where the hell did that come from?! My mouth fell agape. First of all, I didn't understand his caption for the shear fact that it was vague and unrelated to the image. Secondly, beebolsoth, where in the shit did I say anything about being lost and remind me when I paid you to be my psychiatrist.  He goes on in this ridiculous narcissistic tone, making totally wild claims as if he's known me my whole life and can speak to my personal character, and my mental state. What a creep. Is he playing The Rewired Soul here? I didn't know, I didn't particularly care. The mild entertainment I received from viewing his images wasn't worth being talked to like I've just told freaking Sigmund Freud I don't like the taste of lima beans. After receiving some darling, and for some reason, racist hate from his cult followers, I unfollowed him.

But really, isn't that just one of the cringiest feelings out there? Realizing you've been doing back-flips for someone who would treat you like absolute dirt just for the fun of it? Well, now this experience is documented. Hopefully the true original artist of the "One way ticket to hell" piece is doing alright. And the next time Osipov does something weird and horrible, people can come here, and know it definitely wasn't the first time.

[survivormarmoreal]

Episode #5: "his Kirby ass can shut the hell up” - Marie

Charlie being safe!? Yas. Good for me since he is part of my alliance.

An alice them challenge. Uh yass!! 🦑 i have the book so i can quickly look thru it and find people, items, food, and other stuff which is good for us. I dont want to go to tribal.

nicolegilmoreToday at 7:42 PM That was probably Kaleigh bc I would open messages and not answer them

that was about when we played before and she was part of a 3 person catfish. but funny enough it still applies to this game!!! love when she leaves me on read for 20 hours

So I feel good with my standing in this tribe tbh. I feel like I have made meaningful contributions to the tribe in challenges and have a good rapport with a few tribe members. Keaton and Marie might be the easiest too get out, even though I am aware that it makes me a threat but we been used to that feeling. Having the idol as extra security as well makes me feel good so eeeek. I just want too survive to merge and link up with new people and people who i know as well, and play off that. im super nervous but also excited, i just hope to god we win this immunity

At first I thought this Alice and wonderland challenge was going to be super fun an exciting. At first it was. Now its getting a little frustrating and annoying seeing Not Found (something along those lines). I'm hoping that our 28 items is higher than the other tribe's or at least being a tie. I want to avoid tribal still because still feeling sketch about this tribe.

Our search isnt doing too well. And nicole went missing and dont know she is. We have 28 items. Hopefully thats enough but i have a feeling in my stomach that it isnt and im scared. Dont want to go to tribal. Hope we win though. 🤞

if kirby does not tell me his great great great great grandmas waffle recipe hes done for. like why bring it up if ur not gonna share. ??? um we won immunity again and im so happy bc i dont want to go to tribal bc even tho there are MULTIPLE ppl i want out i dont want to risk it. stan list right now is dennis, naptime, matt, marie. everyone else? and matt and marie barely on there too... but um actually starting to like them and theyre more responsive now so love that! by the end of this game ill actually know things about alice in wonderland wooh!

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Okay so this sucks. We all really tried hard and we only lost by 2 points which is so frustrating. Not to mention that Nick and Charlie couldn't even find anything at all. And now we're in a really shitty spot because sending Nick home would be an easy out but he possibly has this legacy advantage thing which he can use tonight and if that means he's safe than idk what to do because I have a strong alliance with the other 4 people on my tribe. Which means now we have to come up with a plan to make sure Nick feels safe and he doesn't use his advantage but we still put the majority of votes on him. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Okay I'm laying it on thick with Nick. Really trying to play the middle and see where his head is at. I think honestly chances are Nick will make it through this round but I want to make sure after the vote he still trusts me but he does use his Legacy Advantage. Brian and I are walking a very thin line.

Yas. We won immunity again! 🦑 Still on of the 3 people not go to tribal yet which is pretty awesome. I’m now hoping that Charlie, Sharky, and Brian can find a way to survive again. Don’t want to lose any of them. Hopefully we merge soon. Its going to be down to 12 people after tomorrow’s tribal. Only ones to really talk to me on this tribe is Dennis, Bryce, Keaton and sometimes Matt. Havent talked to much to Marie. And Nicole ive tried but ignored. If anything it would be cool to blindside Nicole at first tribal in the merge.

I think im going to talk game to keaton today and see if we could work together. And im also going to see what Bryce thinks about us working together as well. Im just nervous if tonight we do merge at tribal, i dont want to be first boot. I want to make it far in this game.

I don't know if my last confessional went through, so I'll just send another one in hehe...

I do feel like Charlie is going home this round because of his idol play last round, but it could also be Nick going or him using his Legacy Advantage and all that being gone.  I don't really know, but I want to make sure it ain't me and that's what's important.

As for other things... love Sharky, what a king.  Love Nathan, another king... Annabelle's really cool, ya... I love Charlie but he's still probably gonna die... and ya kjHDA... that's all I have to say...

Scared for merge because L O fucking L... that's going to be a mess.  It could be coming tonight, but I really do not know and I'm scared…

Keaton decides to call me inactive in the tribe chat but his Kirby ass can shut the hell up, he's just bitter I voted against him the first tribal and he's tryna put the target on my ass. Thank god we won the challenge because I don't know if I would've stayed. I have good relationships with Bryce Matt and Dennis but I don't know if that's enough to keep me.

So first off. Sorry for no video confessional. But not enough happened to bramble around and take 3 hours of my internet for uploading slow AF but here is a small summary of what happened to my game. Idolsearch: went to the tugley woods again. I guess you need a map to find your way through it, but what do i know D: Last tc: Charlie played his idol and mentioned publically that all of his old tribe knew about that idol anyways. What kind of made me a bit suspicious. Mainly because when he told me, he said that he really wants to work with me and thats why he is telling me this secret. I don't mind that the idol is gone, but if he told that everyone? mhm... I approached maynor to see if he knew and he said NO. so maybe I did a whoopsie? WHO KNOWS.

Eitherway. Anna announced a "live challenge" after this tribal (oh yeah we are safe again woo), but since we would be down to 12 I wouldn't be surprised if that "live challenge" is actually the merge announcement? If not. I think EVEN IF WE LOSE i should be in a decent position? Because Keaton couldn't keep his mouth shut and when it came to sitting someone out and called out Marie in the tribe chat. Bad move for him, good for me. Because even if we go to tribal unless someone really wants to target me for some reason it should be between those 2

Okay so we've come up with a slightly complicated plan. Looks like I'm going to lose Charlie this round which makes me kind of sad because I really get on well with him. But it's what i have to do to get further in the game. We're going to split the vote so The Dinah Dudes vote fro Nick. The OG Absolem people vote Charlie. Anna tells Nick he needs to use his Legacy Advantage so we get rid of that from the game. I just hope I come out of this without hurting Charlie or pissing off Nick.

AJ just used an emoji that CHANGED. MY. LIFE. It's like praying and trying to stay calm and then fire happens and it says BOI! And if that isn't a fucking mood idk what is!

Y'all I am so bad at this idol hunt. I keep choosing locations that don't even have choices. Yikes. Everybody else has advantages and shit and I'm just sitting in an empty meadow.

I’m sad we lost i actually tried for this because I didn’t want a complicated tribal but bleh Idk how this will work but I think it will work out for the best potentially if it goes the way I’m hoping. I loved this comp though the hosts did a great job with it. It was actually fun

With merge approaching I think that it’s important I remember I really don’t owe anything to the people on my tribe... they voted out Jayden and told me nothing and I think it’s time for some revenge.. all you people in the viewing lounge stay tuned... Ima show you why I’ve never not made a merge!

I’m not sure if it’s day 13, I’ve been safe every single round and I have absolutely no clue how I am doing that.....Dennis is my one and only ally. Hopefully it's merge time!

Honestly, I think I might be going home lol. Brian and Sharky are telling me Nick but no one else has messaged me. Severely regretting using my idol now lol.

Hope my bois have still got my back, even though I haven't been that helpful in challenges recently. I'm hoping it'll reduce my threat level for merge hehe

Ive been talking to Bryce and wants to work with me. This is great. So on this tribe i have Dennis and Bryce and perhaps even keaton. So just nervous for live challenge.

LAST MINUTE SCRAMBLING. Sounds like Nick is trying to flip the vote on Brian. he asked Nathan and Anna to flip off of Charlie. So Now Brian is worried (Which is totally fair) because he doesn't know if he can trust Anna. So even if Nathan/Brian/I stick to the plan, if she flips and Nick uses his advantage Brian goes home. So now he wants to flip his vote so worst case scenario it goes 2-2-2 and we can fix things on the revote. Ugh I hate scrambling. I prefer my tribals over easy.

Charlie is voted out 3-2.