#I am a simple woman who needs to get my favorite hobby done quickly!!

[swedenis-h]

ur art is SOSOSSOSOSO good!!!! what brushes do u use?

GAH! thank you so much!!!

I do have this ask right here with more brushes but I’ve recently downsized to even LESS brushes lmao 😭 so here they are! I use procreate, so that’s the brush names I’m referring to!!

[rotzaprachim]

happy saturday besties! I’ve been working on my nina/helnik Hell Fic (tm) for a year now and felt. like i needed to have at least some of it up, for public record, for my own personal accountability that this is a body of words that exists in some fashion aside from in my head. (we’re clocking at about 60k rn and no where near finished.) so enjoy this spoiler-tastic, rough and marked-up section from square in the middle, which I slammed out in an afternoon while on an essay crisis and which convinced me there was an interesting story here I actually wanted to tell. TW for this being based on a YA novel, but very very adult in a lot of themes and implications 

              They stopped to eat the lunch Gudrun wrapped for them in waxed brown paper. Brown bread slathered thickly with fat and some oily, salty fish that filled Nina with the gloriously human smell of smoke. She had handfulls of dried berries in her pockets and dried lamb in her pack and she did not wish to think of the fact that here she was living of enemy kindnesses. They ate in silence and then dipped quickly into the water they melted down in the morning. Nina carefully licked all the crumbs from her greased fingers.      “We need to talk,” she says.         “We need to move so that we don’t turn cold,” Matthias said. He pulled himself to his feet and started to walk in his long, bow-legged strides, leaving Nina sputtering over her own feet to catch up. Her shawl flapped about her shoulders with a surprising degree of noise and stinging force.             “Wait, wait,- oh for fuck’s sake, Lars.”          This caused him to pause, at least momentarily, and look at her.            “Do you always try to run when people want to talk to you? Honestly, Djel only knows why you still haven’t a wife.”        “Mmph,” grunted the king of social graces.         “What we’re going to do, mister, is walk through who Lars Solverson is.”        “Why aren’t we doing this for Mila Jandersdat?”       “Because Mila Jandersdat is a real fucking person already. This isn’t even my country and Mila Jandersdat’s not the problem.”          “You… you made her up.” “And?”       “She isn’t real.”       Nina shrugged her shoulders. As if that mattered a whit.

      “Go on, then. Ask Mila anything. Make polite conversation with Mila. Interrogate her, if you wish.”        He thought for a moment. It was probably very taxing on him to use every one of his five brain cells. “What is Mila’s… favorite color?” “Pink.” He nodded squarely, satisfied. “Go on then, ask another.” “What is Mila’s favorite supper?” “Stewed elk and putrified shark. But if neither presents itself, I am more than satisfied with cold blueberry soup, with cream.” “A woman of good Fjerdan tastes,” he says appreciatively before suddenly pausing. “Wait-“ She smiles sweetly and batts her eyelashes. Bless the poor lad, although he’s becoming quickly keener to her devious nature. She hopes he doesn’t get too quick-witted, though, or else she’ll loose the best craic she’s got immediate access to, fucking around with the motherfucker who’se never been fucked. “Is every question you ask Mila going to be so dull? Does Mila have no hobbies or desires?” His eyes immediately flick away from her face. “A Fjerdan man with any sense of decency would never ask an unmarried woman he does not know such things. An unmarried Fjerdan girl would not even think of such things to begin with.” “Indeed. But Mila Jandersdat has not in a near decade’s time been an unmarried woman, and Lars knows her very well.” “Why-“ “Go on. Make it a question for Mila.” “Where is your [hejmland], Mila?” “A [vik] of medium size, downriver from the centerlands.” Matthias flinches, and Nina smiles inwardly at what a job she’d done with placing his accent. “Mila is just a simple farming girl. Her family grew potatoes and sugar beets, and fished, and had a cow called Rose-Maret who it was Mila’s job to take to the out-pasture with two or three of the younger brothers and sisters.” He weighed the story as rounded another snow-packed crest. Guðrún had given them extensive directions towards the next vik which Nina had understood none of and was now again reliant on the in no way tender mercies of Matthias’s navigational skills. “If Mila had such a humble origin, then why does she speak and write in Fjerdan like the Djerholm [gentry?]” Nina’s mind went blank. Every time Matthias revealed a brain under all that muscle, it was a more unpleasant surprise than anything. “Mila’s mother did laundry and washing in the house of the strong-holders such that Mila be taught something of arithmetic and geography, for Mila has so clever a child as learnt by heart the entire [Djelsprayer] hornbook at the tender age of eight, so wickedly clever  is this woman Mila Jandersdat.” “And so dainty and humble as well.” “Indeead, the strong-holder’s wife became so taken by the wit and charms of Mila Jandersdat that she became very dear to the old woman, such that with no daughter and the all the sons gone off to war, she began to think of Mila as something of a niece and taught her what she knew of pincushion-embroidery and delicately plucking “Onward Fjerdan Soldiers” on the mandolin.” At this Matthias guffawed loudly. “And what of it?” “Mila would never sweetly play anything, let alone the mandolin.” Nina pursed her lips, suddenly shockingly cross at how this doltish soldier without an ounce of good culture to his name was judging the ladylike refinements of Mila Jandersdat. “Mila is a delicate Fjerdan flower.” At this Matthias guffawed still louder. It was a sound that shook his whole body and that she might have liked to hear more of if it had not been directed at her. “Mila may be a treacherously beautiful woman, but she is no delicate flower. She’s like the lurid blue wood-lichen that makes the bread-flour last a winter or else the arctic heather that nothing can stop from growing, not even the frost.” “All of this you know of Mila,” she huffed. “As you said, Lars know her very well.” In this way it continued. It gave them both something to do that felt like a more acceptable category of treason. In falling grey evenings and around campfires Lars and Mila came to increasingly fleshed life, and by laughing about it Nina could do what she’d always done when faced with the dizzyingly difficult, which was treat the task as a game. Mila Jandersdat was a woman of clever wits and a few human foibles for which she was all the more charming. She could dance a reel and tell a dirty joke and won blue ribbons for her cloudberry jam recipe. She was a big sister to all and the sort of friend with whom one might uncork a bottle of currant wine for a long chat in order to feel better about the world. “A good Fjerdan woman would not drink wine or brandy, or that which contains such spirits as may possess a soul.” “A bottle of honeywater,” Nina corrected herself, glaring. She assumed this would mollify him, but he then elaborated, “neither would she have the coin to buy such strong drink.” “Fine. Mila Jandersdat always has coffee and something sweet and a good bit of conversation for the guest who may darken her doorframe. There’s bread dough rising on the counter and some cider cake under a dome to keep the flies out and there’s a pie cooling on the windowsill with the fluttering lace curtains. There are always good things for the unexpected stranger to eat. And no one in Mila’s household is ever hungry. No one.” Her mouth felt dry. She huffed in breath. “What a marvel of feminine hospitality is Mila Jandersdat! What a wife does Lars have!” “A good Fjerdan housewife would never waste so much pay on sugar and trifles.” “Would not Lars the good Fjerdan husband provide for his wife so as to keep her in comfort?” And so it went. The found the next farm stead, and the one after, and worked several days in each place at the weaving and haying in exchange for a pile of gloriously warm blankets on the floor and the Kvöldvaka  light. Everywhere it was immeidately known how they were breaking the most clear-cut of wartime laws and ever time the wordlessly provided excuse was understood in full sympathy and some variety of spell, prayer, or enchantment was cast upon Mila’s womb so that it may take her husband’s seed and bear his family fruit. “Maybe Lars has a low sperm count,” she groused as they walked off. The housemistress told them they had at least another week through the blackrock but that there would not be more than a lone overnight camping between farmsteads and Nina breathed a sigh of relief before realising that meant trading the danger of open landscape for the more specific domestic dangers of the people that wanted to burn her kind to ashes. “Lars does not have a- what that is,” Matthias said defensively, before more trepiditiously asking, “what is that?” “You’re not ready.” According to Matthias’s fictions, Lars Sølverson was pious, self-sufficient, sturdy, moral, dependable, reliable, and altogether decent. He provided for his wife in way that was comfortable and yet economically prudent as befits the sort of upstanding man who is not in debt and neither will pass on a debt to his children. He did not partake of strong drink. His eyes did not wanter off to strange women, and as such he had not brought home diseases of an indiscrete nature or begotten any bastards, He always did a day’s honest work except for on Djel’s Day, which he spent in prayer and fellowship. He was well-liked among men. “How lucky was Mila to have found such a man,” said Nina before she belatedly remembered that the word she had used did not mean “lucky” so much as “blessed.” “Every well-suited match is a blessing from Djel, but Mila was not particularly singular, for that is the sort of Fjerdan man who can be found in any farm, or meeting-house, or regiment-camp. There is nothing (unique) about Lars being an upstanding and  morals-driven Fjerdan man.” {INSERT BRIDGE-EXPLANATION OF HOW LARS AND MILA MET)

“Her brother wanted to marry her to a blacksmith whose work shoeing carriage horses meant there would always be bread on her plate and fire enough to keep her warm in th, e winter, and what man in Fjerda could offer her more? The blacksmith had a braying, crass way of speaking about “his woman,” and he looked at her a if she was a dressed leg of lamb, but her children would likely never be too hungry nor too cold. And so she was happy with her lot as she might be, and one day was buying new dress-hooks to fix her mother’s wedding dress when she saw him walking in the marketplace, and wanted him.” “So he knocked upon her father’s door-“ Matthias tried to jab in sideways. “So he made her a wedding ring of dentist’s gold and they ran off into the night.” “Lars would never have ruined her like that.” “Mila Jandersdat is a woman, not a broken platter. She isn’t ruined.” “He would never have broken her honour in front of her family or her community so that she could never have returned home. Lars knew a woman worth more than rubies what he saw one, even staring boldly-“ “I was not staring boldly! I was making eyes in a lavicious, untoward manner-“ “So he asked of her name, and learned it was Mila Jandersdat. That very evening he knocked at her father’s door. He was invited to dinner as any a wandering soul might be. He dined with her family three times before he was left alone with her and before the courting could begin. He took her father to meet his and see the sort of place he would have to his name and if were a godly sort of people he had come from.” “Mila’s mother and sisters dug through the scraps bin to start the Hringsa quilt,” she said. They would have taken the drinking glasses and candlesticks off of the dining table to pin out the little pieced-out triangles into the trunk and roots and leaves of the Tree of Life, and then they would have stitched it together in a winter’s worth of Kvöldvaka [Kvoldvakar?] after they’d done their National Service, spinning from their own sheep the sails of druskelle ships. Mila cut into strips the nut-brown tablecloth to make the trunk of her tree, for the living, and unravelled her too-small childhood mittens into the yarn with which stitched a spinning fractal of strong roots for the ancestors. She cut up her own baby blanket for the good green cloth with which to stitch the leaves. When it was done Mila folded the blanket and put it into the carved wooden chest of her bridal troseau and when she and her mother unfolded it over her marriage bed on the morning of her wedding, it would have been a sort of marking of territory. A national flag for a different sort of nation. And in the evening, jittered from cake and nerves, Mila would have run her index finger over the sturdy interfitting of triangles- the blue calico of her aunt’s apron, the red triangle of her other’s kirk shawl- while she waited on the bed for her husband to come in from the party, and have her. Lars and Mila fucked on that quilt. When she pinned the thing on the line to air out during the spring cleaning and everyone passing by could see, it was also a sort of declaration. When a fortnight after her marriage she woke to find her belly cramping and blood sticking to the insides of her thighs, she cried. As she rubbed out the stains with baking soda and river water she thanked Djel there was no child yet twisting inside of her. When five years on she did the same, she railed against her wretchedness, her godless condition, because that was an easier thing to stomache than the notion that the All-Source of All-Water had closed her womb in punishment for her sinful being. {insert something to return back to main narrative} Nina looked up, which was somehow a struggle. Mila was the full rushing force of a tidal wave pulling her under the water. She was as real as anything. “He must have loved her a lot,” she said, her tongue heavy. “To keep her as his wife. Mila. Lars’s wife. After eight years and no sons unto his name.” [Lars was not real. Lars was as real as the cardboard cutouts Kerch pleasure-piers stuck outside bordellos to advertise the enticements inside. Nina did want to think about what you’d find if you tipped Lars over.] “No honorable man would leave a woman he had made his wife to the cold like that.” Nina shrugged. “Even if she slept in his bed and ate his bread off his hard earned soldier’s wage and gave him no issue?” Matthias’s fingers worried at the hem of his trousers. He did not want to talk about this, she supposed. He wanted to talk about this more than anything. “Only a cruel man would blame the hand of Djel upon a woman.” “Then we live in a world full of cruel men.” All of the breached babies and ectopic pregnancies and angry, angry husbands. Sometimes it felt like more of a battle to serve in the domestic wards than it had been to dig out bullets from shoulders a half-hour from the front line. And more direct threats on her life, besides. Everyone knew that witches killed babies, and baked cakes from their blood, and cursed them to be born early, and quickened women with seven at home already and too-eager husbands, and everyone knew that witches turned sons to daughters with the flick of a wrist and a few esoteric sayings. Everyone knew. Matthias looked into Nina’s eyes. He did not try to tell her that Fjerdan men were not cruel. Not even the honorable Fjerdan men.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Eighty-One: Take a Chance ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Haruno Sakura ] [ SasuHina, SakuIno ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

This has got to be the strangest thing she’s ever agreed to do in her life.

Hinata Hyūga is not a woman who takes risks. She went to a safe school, got a safe degree, and is working a safe job. Lives in a safe apartment building in a safe part of town. She’s...well, she’s content.

But she made the mistake of mentioning it feels like something is missing to her best friend last week.

“Boyfriend,” Sakura immediately offered, reclined and not looking up from filing her nails.

Lips quickly pursed in a pout. “Not everything is solved by being in a relationship.”

“What else could be missing, Hina? You’ve got a good job, a good place, good friends -”

There’s an eyeroll at that which the rosette ignores.

“- and the only thing you don’t have based on all those cliches is a boyfriend. Or girlfriend.” A hand pats her own chest. “No judgment here.”

“Says the girl with a girlfriend.”

“Exactly.”

Sitting cross-legged atop her bed, Hinata considered that. She never goes out much...so there hasn’t exactly been a chance to meet anyone. And she’s terrified of dating apps. Meeting strangers based on whims and ‘matches’? Thanks, but no thanks. She’s not looking to get murdered.

“You know, the place Ino works does this cute thing once a month where they match up couples randomly. You should do it!”

“...what?”

“You draw a number from a bowl that’s a certain color for your gender - male, female, nonbinary, yadda yadda - and then you also take tags based on what you prefer. So then you go around looking for your right-colored number, and you sit, and you have an impromptu date in the restaurant!”

Dark brows furrowed disbelievingly. “...that sounds...a-awkward.”

“It can be, but it’s a safe environment, and you can can nope out at any time. That’s where Ino met that artist she dated for a while.”

“Until she met you.”

“Yeah, well...you can’t win ‘em all.” Sakura gave a grin.

“...I dunno, it just sounds...strange. What if someone gets your number but isn’t the right c-color?”

“You go redraw until you get one you want! I dunno how they make it work, but it hardly ever hiccups. Ino’d know more about it than me, but...just thought I’d throw that out there.”

“I’ll...think about it.”

And she did. In fact, Hinata agonized over it. It sounded sort of fun, and pretty safe. But questions, doubts, and fears still nagged at her, even up to the moment she walks to the door. A crowd of people already mill inside, and several debate outside. Giving them all a glance, she takes a deep breath...holds it...and then exhales.

Just try it. Sakura said they make it very easy to leave, so...just do it. Take a chance for once in your life, Hinata!

Pulling on the door, she yanks it open and makes her way in. At the front are the bowls Sakura mentioned.

A perky girl in brown buns gestures. “Hi there! First time?”

“Um...y-yes.”

“Well, just take one of these slips based on your gender,” she offers, pointing. “And then these slips here -” another point “- say what you’re looking for! Anyone already here will have their number on the edge of their table, so feel free to see if your match is there yet. If not, you can have a seat at any open table, and become the one who waits!”

Huh...well, seems simple enough. Taking a pink slip, Hinata then shyly takes a blank one of every color, cheeks pink before scurrying into the actual belly of the place.

Her number is twenty-seven. Huh...her birthday. Maybe that’ll be lucky?

Peeking around, she doesn’t find any other twenty-sevens, and eventually makes her way to a corner table. Carefully she arranges the slips at the edge, pinning them under both the salt and pepper shakers to keep them from being blown or knocked off.

For a while she just...sits. Then she starts checking texts. Eventually, she’s knee-deep reading some fanfiction when someone clears their throat nearby.

She almost drops her mobile in surprise. “...o-oh!”

They look to her with a perked brow. “...been sitting here long?”

“Oh, uh...a-a little while.” A nervous hand tucks hair behind her ear, a habit. “Are you…?”

They flash their slip: blue, with the same number as her own.

“I, uh...are you looking for a - a pink?”

“Yup. Mind if I sit?”

“S...sure!” Hinata bustles to put the slips aside now that she’s been matched, cheeks pink. “I’m Hinata - Hinata Hyūga.”

“Sasuke Uchiha.”

Awkward silence.

Hands clasped between her knees, Hinata rocks for a moment before offering, “Um...should I...tell you some things about me…?”

“Sure. You go, then I’ll go.”

“Okay...I’m twenty-four.”

“Twenty-five.”

“I work in a bakery - I got a culinary degree here in the city!”

“Business and finance - work for my father in his tech company.”

“Um...my...favorite color is purple…?”

That earns a small smile. “Blue.”

“I like sweets.”

“Not a fan.”

“Aw...hm...I like cats.”

“Same. Dogs are too...messy.”

“A friend of mine has one...he’s okay, but...yes, I agree: messy.” She draws in her lips, thinking. “...I...have a younger sister.”

“Older brother.”

“I l-like to dry and press flowers as a hobby.”

“I like hiking, mostly locally.”

“Ooh, that sounds fun!”

“I could take you, if you want.”

That...makes her pause. Go out with someone she barely knows? Possibly into the woods? What if he’s a crazy serial killer that buries all his victims out -?

“Or...maybe not.”

Realizing she’s gone quiet, Hinata jolts. “S-sorry, I...I got lost in thought! Um...maybe! I’m not very, um...athletic. I don’t know if I could keep up.”

“Could start with walks in the park.”

The park...that’s safe. Plenty of people around. “S...sure!”

“Call it a date, then.”

One corner of her mouth twitches in an attempted smile. “...sorry, I’m - I’m not very good at this whole...talking...thing.”

“That’s okay. Neither am I, really.” Sasuke leans back in his chair, one arm draped back over its spine. “I was...encouraged to try this by a friend.”

“Yeah...me too. She thought I, uh...n-needed a change.”

“I don’t get out much. My friend thought it might help my attitude. He’s just a nosy b-” Sasuke cuts off. “...guy.”

Before she can stop it, Hinata giggles. “...sorry, I...I shouldn’t laugh.”

“He lives for making people laugh, even if it means at him. Trust me, he wouldn’t be offended. And I can’t bring myself to care. You’re good.” During a pause, he tilts his head. “...I’ll admit: seems I got lucky. I was afraid I’d get some chick who wouldn’t know how to shut up. Which is what most girls he tries setting me up with are like.”

“Well, I’m...definitely not that,” Hinata agrees with another laugh. “I...wasn’t sure what I was expecting. I guess to never get matched. I haven’t really...done this before. Like, at all. Guess I just figure there’s a reason for that.”

He gives her a disbelieving look. “...you telling me you’ve never dated anyone?”

“N...no?”

Brows then lift in surprise. “...I’d never guess it.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah. You’re cute. At least, from what little I can see just sitting here having small talk.”

Color slowly blooms in her cheeks. “T...thank you. You’re, um…” Her blush gets darker. “You’re...p-pretty handsome yourself.”

“Not to be pretentious, but...I get that a lot. Which...might be why I haven’t dated, either.”

“W-what?!”

Several other couples glance over at her outburst, making her go cherry red

“I...I’m so sorry, that was so rude, I -”

“Nah - you’re fine. I just...I dunno. Anyone who’s tried did it for that reason: they liked my looks, or my reputation. Not because they liked me. So I brushed them all off.”

Hinata can’t help but wilt a bit. “...I see…”

“But, I thought I’d take a chance with this. It’s not like speed dating or blind dates. It seemed like it’d be more...relaxed. And it is. Seems I really did get lucky.”

Tucking a bit into herself, Hinata mumbles, “M...me too.”

Eventually, someone actually starts serving them, and the pair keep up idle conversation. Nothing jaw-dropping or eye-opening, but just...little things that help give a first impression. And all throughout, neither seems to dislike what they find.

By the time they’re done, they’re still talking. Even after their plates are cleared. Eventually it starts to get dark, and Hinata jolts as her phone buzzes.

It’s Sakura.

Well? How’d it go?

It’s only then she realizes how late it’s getting. A palm presses to her cheek in shock. “Oh! I...I should probably get going, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize -!”

“It’s fine - neither did I.” Moving to stand, he glances to her appraisingly. “...so, would you...want to do this again? Without the random factor, I mean?”

“I...y-yeah! I had a really good time. Um…”

“Here, I’ll give you my number…”

They do so, and even convince each other to pose for a picture for their phonebook entry.

“Guess I’ll see you around - gonna be busy, but I’ll text you when an open day pops up.”

“O-okay!”

He even walks her to her car, giving a nonchalant salute as she pulls away. It’s only once she’s back in her apartment that Hinata replies to Sakura.

It went well! Guess who got date #2? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ

Winding down for the evening and eventually heading to bed as she keeps up her texting back and forth, Hinata indulges Sakura’s request and sends the picture.

...okay I’m gay af but I’d let him hit it.

Snorting so loud she blushes, Hinata announces she’s calling it a night, plugging the mobile in to charge and snuggling down under the blankets.

Well...maybe taking chances isn’t so bad...

     Oh dang, a post before midnight! That hasn't happened in FOREVER! xD      Anyway, this is...super duper random, but I'm honestly exhausted after a long day, and I'm still adjusting my sleep schedule, so...between a time crunch and a sleepy brain, you all get...whatever this is, bahaha!      I dunno, it's vaguely based off an idea I once saw about color coded stuff with...I think it was glowstick necklaces? to show what you are and what you're interested in. This is just...tweaked a little to involve a bit more chance than choice, I guess. I dunno, I can't brain tonight haha~      But uh...yeah! That's it for tonight. Hope you enjoyed! And thanks for reading~

[isleofandroids]

Partners: Part Two (RK900 x Reader)

Fandom Detroit: Become Human

Word Count 1,873

Summary After being paired with the new addition to the DPD, you have to learn how to deal with the post-android events

PART ONE

Tags @x6-15 @sherlockspie @yallgotkik @avereality @riridmanngrl @jamiethenerdymonster @not-a-kat

—

The Detroit Police Department was buzzing with phone calls and randomized conversations between coworkers. Their voices filled the ears of the second deviant hunter as he sat at his desk, going through files to get himself refocused on the mission. The same whirring sensation from the day before was constantly in the back of the RK900’s software once he stepped into the building that morning and saw no sign of you. It was unlike his partner to show up late - possibly not at all - but even while the two of you worked cases together, he found your absence irrelevant to any investigations. Allowing himself to emit any worry for a human would conclude that he was having instability issues, and that couldn't happen.

However, he couldn't help but wonder. You were upset yesterday, which only grew to fury once he tried to get you to see reason. The situation was odd. The android had trouble calculating exactly what had happened, only coming to the conclusion that the shooting was the reason for your behavior. But why? The suspect ran away from its owners, evaded police, and refused to cooperate. It didn't plan on leaving with them, he could tell. Why couldn't you see that?

The attention of some employees were caught by a figure strolling in, sunglasses on and hands stuffed in the front pockets of their jacket. If it was possible, the android detective straightened his posture even more, adjusting his jacket. Blue orbs trailed your path as you took slow strides toward the desk across from the new recruit. He analyzed your current state - tired eyes, sluggish movement, posture more slouched than the times you held a sense of laziness when on desk duty. As a courtesy, he waited until you were seated to state his findings. “Your blood alcohol content is only .15 below the minimum intoxication level. You went back to the bar when we parted ways yesterday.”

You brought your index and middle finger together, sending the man a salute. “Bingo, Mr. Robot.”

Conner opened and closed his mouth several times as his LED flashed yellow, failing at computing a proper response. At the lack of comeback you raised an eyebrow, but only shrugged and occupied yourself quickly with recent case files. The RK900 continued to eye you, leaning over from his own space with arms crossed atop the surface. “I found a case on another missing android. Shall we head out after you're ready?”

It took a few minutes of papers shuffling and things being set down before you brought your gaze up to his, copying his action as you leaned in closer. Plastering a wry smile you asked, “Why? So you can shoot them before I get a real chance at getting them to cooperate?” You moved back into the computer chair and shook your head. “No thanks.”

The brunette tilted his head, possible ways of getting you to agree flitting through his system. Simply pulling you along wasn't going to do a thing unless he wanted more anger thrown his way. Stating the facts processed within his software the same way as before certainly would've been the wrong approach. If reasoning was going to be done, then it had to be with words that would get your cooperation and still have truth to them. “I will refrain from interfering with your choice of approach.” At your bored look, he added, “Doing so will only aid in a failed or delayed completion of the investigation. And I have no intentions of failing at all, Detective L/N.”

For a short moment all Conner received was a humming sound to ensure you were processing his words. Surely someone as determined as him wouldn't lie, especially when no matter how intelligent he was created to be, a human was still needed to empathize and make things easier when dealing with rogues. You sighed and nodded your head. Pushing the seat away from the desk, you stood up, grumbling about not even getting a chance to unwind. Your partner moved to follow, steps in sync with yours almost immediately. The walk to the car was quiet, the only exchange being when you asked him to give directions. Once the vehicle started down the road, it was all exactly that. There was no chatting about irrelevant things, teasing, or back and forth - just two people on their way to getting a job done.

Admittedly, the lack of conversation was beginning to weigh down. Usually, it wouldn't be a problem. However, the fact that nothing was happening because he upset her somehow didn't sit well with him. There were multiple subjects that could be brought up to most likely open the idea of starting a conversation. Each one more cliche than the last - weather, favorite things, pointless small talk. Was there nothing that would grab your attention? As he contemplated the current situation, his memory recalled the one and only time he'd been inside your apartment. Most of the information stored about your person were bits taken from what he saw and read. Your hobbies, where you liked to go, the places you traveled, some family members and friends. But the thing that stood out the most was your dog. A [breed] that was only a year old, but had an issue with one of its legs that day.

“Has it received medical attention?” You glanced over, confusion written all over your face. “Your dog. If my memory is correct, its front left leg was suffering from an unexplainable cause of injury.”

“Oh.” He hadn't been in your place for weeks now. “My dog is fine. She stayed overnight at a veterinary clinic - I've had her in some kind of physical therapy session since then.” Your fingers tapped against the steering wheel as you took a turn sharp turn. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

Conner nodded his head, eyes focused on the road as the remainder of the road instructions sat in the back of his mind. “We are partners, Detective. It proves to be more productive if we at least attempt at cooperating with one another.”

“Oh, is that why you would change the subject every time I tried to ask a personal question?” You asked condescendingly.

He took a few seconds to think about the response. “You try to see me as more than what I was made to be. What your kind deem hobbies or interests have no place in my creation. I have one goal and one initiative - to accomplish my mission in hunting and deactivating deviants. All other aspects that would make one human are of no use to me. Foremost, I am and will always be a machine.”

A newfound absence of sound arose during the time you mulled over his answer. You found it ridiculous how he constantly shut down the possibility that he could be or become as human as many other androids have. There were discrete differences in his behavior from when he first arrived to now. The way he addressed things, starting conversations unrelated to work or deviants, actually wanting to know about coworkers’ personal lives. So much already counted as a sign of software instability, but no matter how large the change seemed, you saw how he always managed to snap himself back into machine mode without doing the daily self assessment. Was it really such a horrible thing? Having free will and being able to fully express yourself? It was what everyone in America wanted and what most (including CyberLife’s technological beings) were able to have. It didn't help that Connor RK800 was already well into deviancy and expressing his emotions more when the newer model arrived. It just fueled the need to successfully complete the mission without letting anything disrupt his programming or focus. Including who he was assigned to work with (when push came to shove).

Conner, on the other hand, did in fact understand your underlying frustrations. After sensing the distinct change in your tone of voice each time those kind of moments occurred, he would take short time in assessing that you had hope in his transference. The reason was beyond what he was capable of guessing, and making assumptions only ever seemed to dim a talk into negative reactions and situations. The self assessments done each night after work were done to ensure he would not become one of those heathens, yet the same question always rose up when he spoke to Amanda.

“Have they succeeded?”

“Of course not.” He always said, completely aware of who the woman spoke of. “No one has been or will be able to corrupt my programming. I am confident that I will complete my mission without system disruption.”

Yet here he was. In the car with someone who made his wires and gears work the wrong way. Someone who would immediately question his being a machine from a simple comment, ask or action. Someone who just the day before caused his insides to whir around in a way that made him shut down in confusion - even if only for a few seconds.

Suddenly their tires came to a halt, and the brunette's head turned to look out the window. A large warehouse loomed over the car, light clouds fading away the darker the sky became as afternoon turned into evening. Windows were broken and doors were boarded shut. Trees and shrubs covered the surrounding area, puddles remained in the gravel from the previous storm, and most of the building's paint was chipped off or covered in graffiti.

“Well,” You clicked your tongue, “this looks like a fun place.” You muttered sarcastically, turning off the engine and opening the door. Noticing the lack of movement from the other figure, you bent down to look at him. “Are you coming or not?”

“I am.” Without much else than a slight nod, you shrugged and closed the door. As you went around the vehicle to start toward the entrance for the seemingly abandoned location, the 900 model glanced about the small leather space. Once the needed item was found somewhere in the backseat, he grabbed it and followed, again catching up and synchronizing his steps with yours. A hand held something out in front as you walked, and you glanced down to find a water bottle, raising an eyebrow at the object. “The blood alcohol content in your system has only decreased another .05 as your body broke away the liquor when you drove. However, your kidneys hold five percent of any consumption. Drinking enough water will assist in detoxifying your blood and prevent possible dehydration later on in the day.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but discovered nothing was going to be spoken from the amount of surprise the gesture gave. You cleared your throat, taking the bottle and unscrewing the cap before immediately chugging down a third of the clear liquid. Glancing up at the man, you screwed the plastic top back on. “Thank you.” You uttered, taking a quicker pace and continuing to survey the building and surrounding area.

Taken back by the two words he never heard leave your lips - at least not in his direction - his steps ceased. There was a beat of a pause as he watched you near a corner of the warehouse. “You're welcome, Detective L/N.”

“And stop being so formal. It's weird.” He heard you mutter.

His arms went behind his back, hands folded together neatly as he got back into matching your rhythm. “Yes, Y/N.”

Software Instability ^

[dropsofletters]

my answer is you

Title: my answer is you Pairing: Jung Yoonoh/Reader Genre: Poet!AU Summary: Jaehyun likes poetry and he also likes another woman, but she can’t help but dream those rhymes he writes will be about her one day, not too soon, but maybe sooner than she thinks.

But we will be alright, please try again.

Anomalies, metaphors, consonants, vocals, rhymes, everything that literature could give was implanted in a simple person, learnt by heart and written in the form of hearts. Usually, she didn’t look at people expecting them to understand who she talks about when she thinks those thoughts; because they can’t hear her…she remains quiet on this person that simply amazes her every time she sees him. It’s a male –young, optimistic, happy, not many people like him existed anymore, often replaced with broken youths that became the it thing quickly because everyone was always a little bit broken, but he had always decided to look at the positive side of things –instead of thinking of how broken he was, he thought of a way of gluing his pieces back together. She didn’t meet him like other people met the person they liked, it wasn’t on a meeting and he didn’t flirt with her the first moment she saw him, but she was astonished the moment she looked into his eyes and he dared to even share a shy smile with her, tight lipped, but still pressed inside her head. Rosy cheeks of embarrassment, fluttered eyelids of sleepiness and the constant feeling inside her chest whenever she saw him had lead her to finally introduce herself, which made a blossoming friendship start.

In the library they met and he liked to read books that were about two sizes bigger than most average books. He read them for fun and it was almost common for her to discover him in the library, reading. Of course, he had other hobbies, like the smell of his cooking when he decides to give his friends a smile in the form of food, singing the best ballads he can find on the radio, dancing to his pleasure whenever he finds someone he thinks is pretty…Jaehyun is delighted by the little things in life, but there is always something bringing him back to reading book. He even admitted, one day, that he doesn’t really enjoy reading books that much, but he enjoys the feeling of a new start…and he cues that he wants to get used to endings. Like a book had a beginning and an ending, an introduction and a conclusion…Jaehyun seemed to have a hard time understanding that life was the same –you were born and you die, just like flowers, animals and love, everything has an ending and nothing is forever.

The woodened doors are opened by her hands and she pushes against it, trying her hardest not to get it closed by the wind before closing it with a small thud. The library was silent –a Friday night of December was probably a moment where people wouldn’t read a book, but she loved the feeling of it as she walked around the tables and greeted the librarian. She doesn’t know if Jaehyun is going to be there, he has friends to talk to and people to hang around with, so she just goes there in hopes of finding him, but once she reaches that table that was at the very back of the library and she doesn’t see him, she knows he won’t be there. It surprises her that she sees a book over the table and once she opens it, she discovers it was that poetry book that Jaehyun always went back to. Honestly, she always thought it was corny, but Jaehyun didn’t like over-conceptualized situations in poems, he wanted a reality in the form of prose and she doesn’t know what he means by that, but she plans on discovering. As she throws her backpack over the table, she sits on his seat and traces the first page of the food, reading over the book with ease.

And surely, it was just like him. Raw, intelligent, logical, potentially sentimental but still pretty mindful, but it wasn’t like her. She is the type of person that hides behind blurred sentences and unfinished metaphors because she doesn’t quite know how to be outgoing. Jaehyun sees this, the way she simply decides to stay quiet and how she remembers almost everything people tell her, but she knows he doesn’t pay much attention to it. Obviously, the whole story wouldn’t be so difficult if only Jaehyun was a certainty, but he is not. Jaehyun is not a man who will wait for her in the library, he is not a man that will smile at her and only at her, he is another woman’s man and she had simply fallen before she could even notice that she had done so. Yet, she ignores it because if she doesn’t pay attention to her pulsing aching heart, she might as well get over him. Jaehyun, whom is in love with someone else, reads so much because he feels like every word reflects his love for the person he is dating and she can’t blame him for it.

Three hours pass when she had already finished the book and she places the red book over the table, knowing that Jaehyun probably left it there, and then she picks up her backpack, disappointment noticeable after not seeing the person she wanted to see. When she walks to the entrance, she waves at the librarian and she goes out to be welcomed by the wind that moves her coat and makes her feel absolutely lonely. The library was in the center of the city, just enough to see the Christmas lights and the couples that were holding hands. Once again, she is lonely and her eyelashes flutter against her cheek as she decides to go back home, her mind filled with the words that she knows Jaehyun thinks about his girlfriend. Of course it hurt, like a rose that poked her every time she held it but she couldn’t get enough of its beauty. Jaehyun is the snow on December, not cold…but distant, and she quite hates it that there is no way to pull him closer.

“Hello?” At the sound of her phone, she picks up and she is walking towards her house when she hears the sound of someone’s giggles and it absolutely sounded drunk. Festivities, mostly a time for people to have a drink or two and it was obvious that said person was drinking, probably wanting to invite her to have some drinks.

“H-Hello!” Amber says in between a hiccup and she rolls her eyes. Usually, she would love to have fun with her friends, but she wasn’t feeling the need to go out to a party. She needed her space and at least three horror movies to make her forget about this loving feeling inside her chest. Truthfully, she prefers fear over love. “We are drinking in the usual bar and we would like to know if you wanted to come.”

“No,” She mumbles and the sound of her voice irks Amber. However, she knows that it’s probably nothing she wants to talk about over the phone, because she normally liked to have serious conversations face to face. “I have a date with my bed tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

And the conversation is over just like how it started, saying their brief goodbyes as she thinks of the way Jaehyun always said his goodbyes to her. It’s like a sweet melody of the piano because saying said word is so hard for him, so he waves and doesn’t say a word, his eyes falling down because he doesn’t like the be left alone…or leaving people alone either, so when his deep voice says that word, it leaves a bitter taste on his mouth. It doesn’t show, perhaps she is the only one that realizes this unspoken insecurity of his, how he never gets to say goodbye properly. He is so expressive when he speaks but the word falls short on his lips. She doesn’t linger on the touch that more as she pulls the sleeves of her coat down and throws her head back, her neck aching after reading for so long. Things she only does for the man with the dreamy gaze and dimpled smile.

Hopefully, everything will be alright.

“What are you writing?”

At the same spot that he always is, Jaehyun stares back at her as she takes a seat beside her. The doodles over the edges of the page that he usually made when he took notes of his favorite parts of books were long gone and now his scribbled handwriting showed the thoughts that he never spilled through his lips. The library was a little bit fuller today so she had to speak lower, even when she wanted to squeal at the way he was looking that day. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a quote that she doesn’t quite read because he isn’t sitting straight and his shirt is a little bit folded, but she notices his black jeans and the way his hair looked messier than ever. Jaehyun smiles at her and he taps his pencil against the table before giving her the notebook, resting his head over his palm as a sweet sigh leaves his lips. He’s happy, she can tell.

“I had the most amazing night with my girlfriend,” Jaehyun tells her and the pride in his voice is palpable. The hues of his face, such like the pinkness of his cheeks when he speaks about her and the tan color of his skin have her smiling at him, but he thinks it’s because she is happy for him…and she is, but she is also extremely hurt and trying to cover it with the biggest smile she can muster. “We were eating dinner and then we talked about life and I stayed the night.  It was worth it to get off work early.” Hearing the adventures he had with the person he loved made her grow silent and then she reads over the notebook the slightest bit. It was a poem. “So, I wrote something for her…you know, for that poem book I am working on.” She swallows thickly and then she looks up at him.

“So you found a muse.” She tells him and she can see the way his brown hair shines brightly with the entrance of the sun by the window, but not as bright as his smile as he nods his head and she feels like her heart broke in a million pieces when she heard those words. She continues reading until she finishes it and it’s beautiful, breathtaking, just like everything he writes. “I-It’s beautiful.” Jaehyun hums at her words and he reaches for his notebook, flicking the page before settling his pencil in between the two sheets of paper. “But…writing about someone you know is basically the worst thing a writer can do,” She starts as she recalls all those interviews she has seen and read of her favorite writers. “If you ever break up-”

“Isn’t it wrong to think that your relationship will end eventually?” She bites her bottom lip and sighs.

“It’s called reality.”

“Reality isn’t as heartbreaking as you make it, sometimes.” Jaehyun tells her and she looks at his profile as he continues looking down at his notebook, making her heart race inside her chest when she remembers that said notebook was filled with rhymes for the person he loved, but they could never be for her. Every day she falls more and more in love with him and it’s ironic how he talks about other people in front of her and she still stays. Staying for the sake of enjoying his presence, wondering if one day he’d look at her the same way she looks at him. “I want to read you my poems.” Jaehyun tells her and she tilts her head to the side, a smile appearing on her face when she imagines said words pouring from his lips…they would sound as if they were meant to be for her and in the long run, it was going to sadden her even more if he decided to read them to her. Indeed, when his voice started to pour from his lips and the love he had for someone else was noticeable, she felt the familiar sting on her heart that always came with the name Jung Yoonoh, even when she prefers to call him Jaehyun…sometimes she wonders if it is a non-personal name, just like how his girlfriend probably called him Yoonoh.

She hates that part of her personality that never gives up because she is sure that there would be hundreds of people that would have probably left this friendship for the sake of their hearts, but she couldn’t let go of Jaehyun. She has the hope that someday her words might be heard and even so, Jaehyun could see that sometimes poem don’t hold the biggest of answers but her eyes have the wonders that he had always asked inside his head. For now, she only settles on listening his love sick voice that seems to be far too in love with someone else.

“I don’t like reading, Yoonoh.”

Jaehyun remembers the words like the palm of his hand because as a poet, he almost thinks that it is impossible for someone to not like reading. His heart was shattered the moment he had taken the time to write a hundred poems in a notebook and he was welcomed by said words, just innocent enough to have him asking for mercy. His girlfriend was extremely beautiful, but they were far too different. The sea and the mountains, the light and the dark, the rose and the thorns, it just never seemed to work when the two were together…but he was too blind in love with how different she made him act. It was as if his muse could only be the woman in front of him, whose name was Chaeyeon; constantly reminding him that he was beautiful, but sometimes he wondered if that was enough to keep a relationship. Moments like the ones he was living at right now makes him think that maybe they are not meant to be.

For, Chaeyeon is the lightning and he is the peak of the sun behind a pouring rain. She is extremely sensitive when it comes to arguments and she is always one to put her opinion first, leaving the male sitting in front of her with a quivering lip and frowned eyebrows, trying his best not to stay mad at her. Situations like these were often finished with a kiss, but he is quite too hurt by the words that escape her lips. A small argument led her to say that he wasn’t worthy; he wasn’t enough, questioning why he wasn’t like her ex and so on. Chaeyeon is sweet but she is also dangerous, so he knows that her blunt tongue would always tell her the first thing that popped to her head…always one to speak out loud, always one to be ready to attack. Jaehyun had tried to touch her heart with the petal of a flower but she had denied.

Yet, he wants to change his metaphor…she isn’t lightning, she is the entire sun because the sun is never happy until the last petal of a flower withers.

He stood up, the sound of the seat falling back with him making Chaeyeon’s words to come to a halt and she looks over at the brown haired male, frowning to scold him for making such sound but Jaehyun takes the sweet time to pick up the broken pages of that notebook he had given her once, the poems he had written with his heart entirely shattered by a moment of anger. Once he stands up once again, he looks into her eyes as he brings the pieces of paper near his chest and he wondered if he had lost his time loving someone who wasn’t capable of loving him. Chaeyeon sees the pain in his eyes –his parted lips, lost eyes and clouded mind that expected too much from her and now were left with a bitter feeling, disappointment, more like pain too.

“Yoonoh,” Chaeyeon tries to reach him but he doesn’t respond to her touch when her delicate hand falls over the flesh of his tan cheek. Jaehyun looks over to the side and he hears her breathe deeply before shaking her head. “Baby, I am so sorry.” His eyes remain emotionless as he looks at the horizon and then, she continues talking. “P-Please…let’s try again.” He didn’t believe in second chances, not anymore, so he simply shakes his head, looking into her brown eyes one last time as the sun casted a shadow over her beautiful features. Jaehyun continues holding on to the shattered pieces of his poems and he smiles at her, briefly…weakly, but he doesn’t want to be the loser of said game that they had played for far too long.

“I am sorry, too.” Jaehyun tells her finally and then he walks towards the entrance, putting his shoes on before opening the door and walking out of her apartment, hearing her walk behind him until he ran, going down the stairs until he couldn’t hear the sound of her boots and then he let his body rest against a wall, letting out a loud sigh before covering his mouth, trying to stop the sobs that escaped his lips and luckily enough, he blinked away a few times until the tears were gone.

And he could try again, for himself.

The warmth that radiated from the cup of coffee that was on his hands was almost a reminder that it was still summer and warmth will forever accompany him. More often than not, he was out with his friends or at the library, but he had changed his surroundings a little bit more that day. The white couch under him and the rest of the cold and minimalistic decorations could only belong to that person that had read the poems that he had dedicated to Chaeyeon. Even when her apartment looked so cold and quiet –just like her- the faint sound of her favorite acoustic album playing in the background and her smile made it that much warmer. Jaehyun takes the time to look out the window, his delicate fingers holding the curtain open as he sees the cars passing by in said early morning and when he takes the first sip of the coffee, he hisses since he had burnt his tongue.

“I told you it was still hot,” The sound of her voice makes him turn around and Jaehyun feels slightly bad for arriving at her place at seven in the morning on a Sunday, but he really thought she looked comfortable in those pajamas of hers as she drank from her favorite mug. However, she was intelligent enough to blow on her cup first and take only a small sip. Jaehyun sits straighter on the couch, moving the curtains to stay in the way they were before when she takes a seat beside him, giving him a plate full of food. “Here, I made you something.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t come here for food!” Jaehyun tries to deny but she puts the plate over his legs once again, saying that it was nothing. The man sighs and places the plate over the coffee table, kneeling across from it to start eating, humming the moment he tastes her cooking. She waits for him to chew and take a gulp of his coffee before speaking once again. “I actually came here because…I have decided to stop writing, you know, I think I might start looking for a job.” Jaehyun says it as if it was nothing and he continues eating diligently, having eaten microwave foods ever since he broke up with Chaeyeon three weeks ago. It hadn’t been the same for him to write the first week he went to the library and he hadn’t gone ever since, she noticed.

“What?” She asks and he expected a shout, but her voice was soft as she asked the question. With hesitation, she places her hand over his shoulder and she grips to make him look at her, which he does. “Jaehyun…I don’t know what happened, but you have a talent that is undeniable and it would be so sad to see your dream go away.” Jaehyun swallows his food and he shakes his head, looking down at the plate once again.  She was always so supportive and he doesn’t quite know where he got a friendship like hers or why did he deserve it, but he was thankful to have her there for him.

“A meaningless dream.” Jaehyun mumbles and that breaks her heart. “Ever since I broke up with Chaeyeon…I notice that no one likes poetry anymore, I am doing something that eventually will have no outcome.” When she hears those words, she has to take a long swing of coffee in order to be ready for what she was about to say. She gets off the couch to sit beside him and he looks at her with widened eyes, a small smile appearing on his face when he sees her soft persona in front of him.

“Your dream depends on you and what you make it.” She tells him and then she bites her bottom lip. “If you want the truth, then I am going to tell it to you.  I love every single word you have written even if it was for Chaeyeon, but a poet does not only write about love...there is so much more in this world to write about and I know you have the talent to do so.”

“Why?” She tilts her head to the side in confusion and then Jaehyun continues. “Why do you believe in me?” Because you showed me your talent, because I love you, because I want you to follow your dreams…

“Because your passion and talent is still present, that’s why.” A shrug of her shoulders make him smile and he wonders why she was so cute that morning, but he had never noticed how cute she was when her hair was back and she spoke as softly as she always did. “And you’ll be alright,” She mumbles as her hand reaches for his and grips it tightly, but she is surprised when Jaehyun interlocks his fingers with her and she turns her head to look at him, widening her eyes before smiling sweetly at him. “I’ll make sure you are.”

Jaehyun nods sharply and then he wraps her in the biggest hug she had ever received, making her chuckle a bit when his face presses to her neck and he says, loud enough for her to hear. “I want to try again.”

She thinks he’s talking about his writing and he is, but he is also talking about her. Maybe his second opportunity at love was always in front of him.

[pdavis136]

Q&A: LadyNoirJuly2k17

Prompt 2 and 4: Banter and Common Interest

I love these children so much. Alya is such an amazing character, I love including her.

Also, not all of these prompts are completely for me and I can’t see taking it in a non-generic direction, so I might combine them like this, though I could give each of these their own if I had the time.

Smol angst, large procrastination. Do I plan to get all of these prompts done? Perhaps.

May turn multi-chapter. Cross-posted indeed.

“You know, for a surprisingly private group of superheroes that don’t normally share information, you’re taking this two-on-one interview that’s covering way more than usual pretty well.”

“I mean, we’re not that private- “

Chat looked at her, and she sighed. “Okay, so we are. Can’t we indulge Paris a little?”

Alya shrugged. “Of course. Way more daily hits after every interview, so I don’t mind in the slightest. Gotta make a few extra euro somehow; equipment doesn’t pay for itself.”

Chat quipped, “Cost is all relative, depending on how much you value your safety and well-being in comparison to the Ladyblog. Judging by the lengths you go to for a scoop, I doubt human cost is that much. Your smartphone was your canvas for over a year.”

“Always improving, always upgrading. On the subject of cost, why are you two doing this for free, when you could make some serious cash from a legit news source?”

Ladybug paused. “Um, are we still on record?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Okay, well consider it a favor from friends.”

Alya nearly passed out, but she shook her head, attempting to rid herself from the mental haze. Snap out of it, this is the moment you’ve been building up for! Joint interview, no holds barred! “So, what are you guys like out of costume?”

The two heroes looked at each other, having a mental conversation. This seems a little too personal, Chat. ‘Well, I don’t know about that, we can just answer vague. You know, the way we agreed we’d do in the first place and that we both know she won’t notice given how much she caves when it comes to us.’ Fair enough, but you know if she tries to prod at a level of knowledge I’m uncomfortable with- ‘Say no more, Bugaboo. We’ll make sure it gets redacted after the fact should either of us answer, we pull out of the interview if she prods us too far when you say the word.’ Thanks, Chat. Glad you understand. ‘You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to, ya know, off the record, maybe-‘ Chat. ‘Sorry. Won’t go there.’ Good.

“You two have been staring into each other’s eyes for like a minute and I’ve repeated the question twice.” They turned to face the reporter, embarrassed. “Anything going on there you want to tell all of Paris about? Confirm our suspicions perhaps?”

“NOPE ANYTHING BUT THAT THANKS.”

“WHAT WAS THE QUESTION AGAIN?”

“Okay Chat, one more time. What are you guys like out of costume? Your interests, hobbies? No, stop staring at each other, this is on video too.” Their heads swiveled around, muttering and coughing under their breaths.

“I’ll go first.”

“Thanks Chat. We’re dying to hear how the ultimate ladies’ man-“ Ladybug mimicked gagging for a few moments. “-spends his time traipsing around the city, or chilling at home, wherever that may be.”

“Well, I like to stop by this wonderful little bakery by Collège Françoise Dupont, the Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie Patisserie.” This elicited a physical response from both Alya and Ladybug, one of which had much to tell her friend, the other of which was flipping out at the prospect of Chat Noir being so close to her without their heroic identities.

“Their pastries are essentially the best in town, no question. The chocolate éclair is probably my favorite. And the whole family that works there is so nice.”

Ladybug was fast turning shades akin to her suit, and Alya was eating up every second of the compliments. “So, Chat Noir, I take it you’re a fan of the bakery? You’d recommend it to anyone looking for a treat around the 21st arro?”

“No question in my mind at least. Can’t recommend enough.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, I do love video games. The Mecha Strike series has been with me for years and I tend to be pretty good at it if I do say so myself, but I’ve always enjoyed some more even-paced story driven titles like the Fallout or Legend of Zelda franchises.”

“Super cool. Now onto the bug.” Alya cleared her throat. “So, Lady Luck, what does our city’s finest heroine do in her free time? What does this little ladybug enjoy?”

Ladybug was composed, for now. Hey, if he can unwind me like that, I can do it back to him. Maybe it’s cruelty, but he won’t ever need to know why. “Well, I also like to stop by that bakery, in fact, nearly every day. There’s actually the possibility that I’ve gotten to see you outside of your magical leather pajamas, Chat Noir.” She lightly tapped him on the nose, and Chat fought the urge to turn into Jell-O. I might have seen her with the masks off? Damn, I’ve got to be paying more attention if I am ever going to get her to notice me.

“I also would say that I’m quite a whiz at Mecha Strike games. I’ve played it since I was just a little ladybug, and I bet I could beat you any day, any time, Chat. And don’t even get me started on Zelda or all things Bethesda.” Chat cursed himself. This woman is going to be the death of me. At least it’ll be at her hands. Quick, think of something witty to say!

“Okay, Bugaboo. How about this. If you’re so confident in your skills, meet me at the La Tête Dans Les Nuages arcade on the Boulevard des Italiens, in the suit, 3 PM tomorrow. Throw-down. Also, this is going on your blog, right? Just cut this out if she says no, I don’t-“

“You’re so on.”

Alya couldn’t believe her ears. This is gonna go viral! Do they talk like this all the time? “There you have it folks. We have a good old-fashioned throw-down in Ultimate Mecha Strike III coming at you tomorrow, from yours truly, Ladybug and Chat Noir! Can I get you two to pound it on camera? The fans are waiting you know!”

The two heroes shrugged. “Pound it!”

They both started to get up, a fist bump normally being the period to any interaction, which probably explained why they thought there wasn’t more. “…This isn’t the end of the interview, you know.” The two heroes quickly sat back down and brushed themselves off, slightly embarrassed.

As Alya was getting up, the two heroes waited around, quietly standing, neither of them having much to do on a Thursday night normally scheduled for a more extensive patrol. They merely listened to the young journalist talk aloud to them while pacing, luckily not expecting a response, as it would have only led to more intense lines of questioning.

“Holy cow guys, you two are just so awesome. First off, you agree to do this joint interview, which turned out so much better than I could have hoped for, second off, the public is just going to eat this up! I bet you Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng are going to have to hire some more workers, I really hope they don’t overwork Marinette…”

She went on like that for minutes, Ladybug and Chat exchanging many glances. Ladybug spoke up as Alya announced something aloud and walked to the door, possibly about running to the bathroom, neither of them could tell. “You come to that bakery often?”

He stiffened. “Was that too personal?” She hummed in thought. “Honestly, it’s as personal as we’ve gotten, since that could give either of us clues to find each other should we be looking in the right places. I trust you’re not going to seek me out?”

He sighed. “Listen. First off, you’re absolutely going down in the 1v1 tomorrow, and second, as much as I wish things were different, I respect your wishes and well-being more than anything in the world. I’m good with waiting.”

“You know it’s not about waiting. Secret identities are secret for a reason. It puts up a wall between our lives as heroes and our lives as vulnerable citizens.”

“Vulnerable as we may be without these powers, I still want to find you.”

“Soon kitty. Right now, we have our prides to worry about, since we just put everything out there. Hawkmoth and anyone that may lie ahead come right after. We have this job for a reason. We’re partners for a reason. And if, and if I’m being honest with myself, around the time when it becomes more of a hindrance than a protection to keep us from each other, I’ll be right here for you, my minou.”

“If that’s the way it works, then I’m as right as rain. Who knows? We might get a croquembouche to celebrate such an occasion as finding out who my best friend is.”

“Chat, that’s for weddings and stuff. I’d know that more than most because I-“

“WAIT MY LADY STOP!”

She slapped her hands over her mouth, realizing what she nearly just let slip. “Oh my god. Did I just-“

“Nearly give away information that could have either been brush-off-worthy or led me right to you? Pretty much, and I’m so glad I caught that for you, even though I can’t now help but think. My mind is racing for what the end of that sentence means and there aren’t many possible endings. But I know you aren’t ready. Consider it purged from my mind. I care too much to let this happen too soon.”

A rush of emotions went through Ladybug’s head, but the only thing that felt right in that moment was to be close to her best friend. Before she could let Chat back away and leave, she latched onto him in a crushing hug, knowing that the boy she knew wanted more than anything to know who she was just prevented herself from giving that knowledge away. She didn’t know how far she would get with Adrien, though she hoped it would be all the way, but this was a different kind of love. One just as strong as, if not stronger than, infatuation or physical attraction.

She rested her head in the crook of his neck, noting just how soft and warm his skin was. It was inviting. Tantalizing. Intoxicating. In one simple misstep, she realized just how much this stupid cat meant to her.

Alya had no idea what she missed, but she had learned a couple of things during her time as an amateur journalist: One, never stop recording. Two, stories like this got clicks and views. But the third one that oft contradicted the first two for ethics reasons, was to always disclose, whether it be on a footnote or a preface to an article, or to subjects themselves on the nature of the conversation and what should and should not be put up for the world to see.

She cleared her throat, hoping it would effectively get their attention, but they didn’t move, only acknowledging her with a hand wave from Ladybug. “I know you two are having a private moment, but my cameras haven’t been turned off yet.”

They jolted away from each other, knowing full well what that kind of a prolonged shot could mean for the nature of their relationship in the eyes of Parisians. Chat spoke up. “Were they-“ “Recording? Yes, as well as hot mics, automatically synced to the video; less work for me in post. Say the word and this gets cut out. On my honor.”

Ladybug whispered, “Please?”

The flannel-clad journalist simply nodded and packed her things up. As she was leaving, she said, “That last part is just between us, but don’t forget about your promise.” Ladybug and Chat shared a glance, but before they could ascribe it to their reveal pacts, the girl continued, “Just make sure you get to the arcade a little early, to warm up and to beat the crowds that will be there for you two. No flaking on this, your word against your actions. See you two around!”

And with that, the two heroes parted ways to their homes, too much to think about and just the right amount of listeners for their thoughts.

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[etsyfindoftheday]

etsyfindoftheday | shop feature: loopnthreads | 2.5.17

>>Where, or from whom, did you learn how to crochet and knit?

Well, there is a story as to how I even sparked interest into the whole yarn manipulating thing. Not too many even know the entire story. I would usually sugar coat it, but there is a darker side to it. I want to say it was 2012, I had lost my job because of a simple mistake I made. This mistake actually almost caused me to go to jail. [...] I went from being a respected employee to a criminal in a split second. I was pretty numb and felt so angry about how I was naive. The officer realized I was mixed up in it all unknowingly, but money is money. The business had to blame someone for their loss, me. The officer vouched for me and kept me out of a jail cell because I pursued to find information and get this con artist caught. But I was still arrested. I did have to pay them back. All $2K in a year's time. Through all this, it was very hard for me to find a job. I was very depressed. I really needed a source of income. When your back is against the wall you're forced to think in ways you never thought. I found myself on YouTube one night. Like, most of us, we go on YouTube for some humor, inspiration, or your favorite YouTuber's next video, and hours later you find yourself watching a video that is completely different from what you initially went on there for. Like, how did I get here? This is the part I usually only tell people of how I got started. Well, I found myself in the crochet and knitting section of YouTube. I'm watching this woman knit something. Most likely a scarf of some kind. Being someone who was always creative and loved to draw, build things, play around with puzzles, and things like that, this was pretty interesting to me. I was enjoying the sound of her needles clicking and the continuous repetition was so mesmerizing. It was soothing. I honestly wanted to fall asleep it was so soothing. I think subconsciously that relaxing feeling was something I needed for how I was feeling. I have some really tough skin for numerous reasons, but I never felt so vulnerable. I told myself I am heading to Michael's and Wal-Mart the next morning to learn how to knit and crochet. At the time they both were the same to me, knitting and crochet. How ignorant was I. I purchased the cheapest yarn and some needles that probably weren't even the right size for the yarn I was using at the time which was worsted weight yarn. I failed miserably at knitting. I expected to pick it up instantly. I wanted to give up on life, honestly. Crochet was up next. Being that is a little more one hand dominant I was able to pick that up instantly. It literally made me smile. I was so damn fascinated how a skein of yarn can be transformed into whatever you want it to be. I quickly fell in love with it, to be honest. I love the way it made me feel which was calm. There were moments I would forget about the incident I was in. Like, most things, I always want to learn more. How can I be better? How can I have my own identity by doing this? I watched a number of How-To videos and quickly picked up all the terminology. It got to a point where I wasn't so much interested in trying to make what I saw, but I wanted to see the details of things. I was watching videos like they were the next episode of the most popular tv show. I say for the first two years I was only crocheting and then I told myself to learn how to knit. Knitting is more sophisticated in my opinion. I'm sad to say I don't really enjoy crocheting as much as I used to. I still do it, but it's knitting over crochet for me. Anyways, I felt like I needed to share the story to put it into context as to how crochet and knitting even came about in my life and to show what it's done for me. In a way, I was self-taught, watched YouTube videos, and I started to understand the concepts and come up with things myself.

I'm currently working now, though, and have been for a while now. Life is pretty much back to normal with a new found passion, fondling yarn. As far as how I got started on Etsy, a friend of my mother suggested I take a look at Etsy when I first started crocheting. I simply took advantage of it.

use promo code LOOPNTHREADS when you check out at loopnthreads on etsy for 25% off, now through 2/12! thank you, nathan for the discount ... and for the start of some amazing insights into your work and your @etsy shop. i love your emotional descriptions and hearing about your own maker evolution. it seems like this is so much more than a hobby, or a job, even. i can’t wait for all of my followers to read even more.

[caffinatedcollegestudent]

1st draft of a original story of mine only a short part

“Vasilisa, it’s time to go to the dress maker. We need all new dresses for your trip to the palace!” my mother yelled happily, skipping into my room. My mother, the Duchess of Gloucester, wants nothing more than for me to marry into the royal family. As an only child it is my duty to maintain our family name.

“I’m coming mother,” I huffed as she pulled the feather duvet off of me.

“Marie, please help Vasilisa dress, and look presentable,” my mother called our maid in.

“Good morning my ladies, I hope you’ve slept well,” Marie said coming into my room.

I got up and Marie began picking out a dress for me to wear. I am going to be heading to the castle for the for “the season”. Prince Andrew is inviting all the eligible women in the kingdom to the castle to see who will be his queen.

“Miss I’m sorry but you need to get ready, or your mother would make a big fuss,”  Marie said holding up a beautiful red dress. She helped my slide it over my shift, the she laced up the corset and began to place my silky black hair into a polished updo, she also began putting on my makeup. She added black mascara cake and liquid rouge on my lips and the apples of my cheeks. I had no time to eat because my mother was rushing me out the door as soon as I came down the stairs.

We made it to town in little time, we brought 3 maids with us to assist with me trying on dresses. The towns people crowded our carriage.

“Lady Belcourt, how is the Duke? Please send him our wishes!” a young man called out.

“My husband is feeling better by the day,” my mother responded, “I will pass your prayers on to him,”

My father was sick, it had happened within the last year, one day he was the picture of health but the next? I had to help him from his bed and he needed assistance with everything. It was difficult for both of us, as I had always thought him to be the valiant knight who would slay all my life’s dangers. And he thought the same. He has new doctors every week, all of them trying to figure out what it was that had brought the strong Archibald Belcourt to his knees.

“Vasilisa, are you coming?” my mother said as the crowd parted a path for us. I waved the them and smiled keeping my head held high and showing my people that we are a strong family and we will not be brought down by a simple sickness. The king might think that these are his people but when has he last been here, never if I remember correctly, we take care of these people, we are the ones who make sure they have the correct medicine and food to survive. As far as I and these people are concerned the king doesn't give a damn about people who aren’t his precious nobles.

“Oh Vasilisa! Look at this dress, it is just wonderful. You could definitely catch the prince’s attention in this dress,” my mother squealed showing me a particularly low cut gold dress.

“Mother don’t you think it may be a little too low, I mean I know that it might get me some attention but for all the wrong reason. I don’t want to flash the whole royal family,” I argued.

“Vasilisa, you will not marry the prince if you cover yourself up. You need to show him that you are a woman, not one of the silly little girls that pine over him,” she laughed haughty.

“Well, mother maybe I’d rather have a man want to be around me for my personality and intelligence, not just for the size of my bosom or how my body looks,” I replied defiantly, but she had already made a maid grab the dress for me to try on.  

“Alright dear, we’ll talk about this later,” she cooed ignoring everything I just said.

I ended up buying the gold dress and having 12 more made for me. So 13 altogether plus the 30 other dresses that I have gotten in the last couple months and have not worn yet.

“Okay darling, it’s time to start your training,” my mother said as we got back home.

“Wait training for what?” I asked confused.

“We need to begin preparing you to meet the royal family,” she replied like it was the simplest answer that there was.

One month later

My mother was running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. Today was the day that I would be heading to the castle. Mother made me wear the revealing gold dress, my hair was elegantly placed into a beautiful array of cascading curls. The dress complimented my tan skin, gold pigment was placed on my eyes and they were rimmed in black khol mascara was placed on my eyelashes and rough was placed onto my cheeks and lips.

“Vasilisa! Hurry you must get there before the other girls to get in with the prince!” she yelped, scrambling to get in the carriage, My mother, the calmest most refined woman I know, is freaking out over the prince. A man who she has never met and one who will never talk to me.

“Mother it’s 2 hours away and I don’t have to be there for another 7 hours. I need to pack my paint and easel. Plus I have yet to eat today mother, if we leave in a couple of hours I will make it to the palace with time to spare,” I argued, not wanting to leave this early.

“Fine but if we don’t leave here in four hours I will disown you,” she replied seriously.

I quickly ran up to my room to pack my paint and new canvas, drawing and painting has always been a hobby of mine.

“Miss,” my favorite maid Lucille called before walking into my room, “your mother has requested that I help you pack the rest of your stuff, then escort you down to the kitchen. Benito is making the broccoli chicken pasta that you always ask for,”

She took my sketchbook and paints off of my bed and placed them in my trunk.

“Lucille, can we talk about something?” I asked her  hoping that she would listen to me.

“Of course miss what is the matter?” she took a seat next to me on my bed.

“First of all call me Vasilisa remember you’re my friend. And do you think the prince will like me?” I asked quickly, picking at the fabric on my dress.

“I thought you didn’t care about what the prince thought?”

“I didn’t, I don’t but its my mother. She wants this so much, I’m afraid of what she would do if the prince didn’t take an interest in me. She could kick me out of the family and strip me of my  titles and money. I feel like I have to do this,” I confessed.

“Your mother may want you to marry the prince but she would not kick you out she loves you,” Lucille hugged me and began packing again.

“Thank you Lucille, I’m glad I have a friend like you,” I told her meaning it.

“I’m glad we’re friends too, do you want to bring…your sword” Lucille whispered off.

“Yes, I want to. I’m going to practice any chance that I have,” I replied grabbing my sword, it was a gift from my father a couple of years ago. He always said that he wanted me to be able to protect myself even when he couldn’t. It was a particularly large blade for someone my size but I have trained with it for years, built up the muscles, and I have the technique to be able to accurately use it. The hilt was silver and decorated with a small dragon curling up the hilt, rubies were used as eyes and the blade was a sharp deadly metal. My scabbard was fairly plain, black with silver patterns adjourning it.

“Do not let your mother find this miss, she will not like it,” Lucille said wrapping it up in an old riding shirt.

“She won’t find it, she’ll be more worried with how I look than actually looking through what I packed,” I confirmed.

“Okay, you need to go eat or your mother will have a cow that your not almost ready,” Lucille laughed. She led me through the maids passage ways, they have certain little doors and small hallways to get from place to place without being seen by guests or someone of high renowned it is also quicker to take these hallways than to walk down the main entrances. We came out into the kitchen only 10 minutes later.

“Ah, Vasilisa! I have your favorite,” our chef Benito thundered, holding up a large plate of pasta.

“Thank you Benito, I’m going to miss your cooking while I’m in the palace,” I hugged him, Benito came to us from Italy when I was only 5, I grew up with him. He taught me how to cook, and how to speak italian.

“Mon bella, you will be among some of the greatest chefs in the world,” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly with is hands.

“Yes, but the greatest chef will still be here,” I smiled, looking at the mans greying hair and wrinkles by his eyes. I will miss him for sure.

“Vasilisa! Why are you not eating yet!?” mother yelled, looking frantically around.

“I’m eating now mother,” I replied heading over to the small table that was placed in the kitchen. The smell of the pasta was making my mouth water and I couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Benito this is amazing!” I moaned tasting the rich broccoli and savory chicken. I ate the entire bowl as though it would be my last meal. Which it kind of was. As soon as I was done eating I was rushed up to my room to be made ready again.

“Vasilisa, here.” Benito handed me a small bag and made sure that my mother couldn’t see. I quickly hid it under my light blue dress.

As soon as I got to my room I was attacked by a flurry of maids, pulling at my hair and my dress, trying to fix whatever makeup that I messed up when I was eating.

“Vasilisa please try and not look like you’re dying, look happy you will meet your future husband tonight. You will dance the night away with the prince,” she commanded, her blue eyes full of excitement, I only have her eyes and lips, my black hair, tan skin, and high angled bone structure are all of my fathers.

“Okay mother,” I replied, dreading this night. As she was worried with making sure all of my dresses were packed, I slipped out of my room and quickly made my way to my parents room.

“Papa?” I called, walking into his room, his small sickened body laying in the bed engulfed in the duvet and decorative pillows surrounding him.

“Vas, my dear,” he replied, I ran over to the bed and took a seat beside him.

“Mother is making me leave soon,” I said sadly, scared that this might be the last time I would see my father.

“Your mother just wants you to be with someone that will take care of you when we are gone. If there is one thing that she learned with my sickness it is that the people that you trust to be there for you might not be all the time. Just take it easy with your mother, she’s hurting you both are” he explained, through the coughing fits that shake his frail body.

“Papa, you have to promise me that you’ll still be here when I get back. You have to fight whatever it is that is keeping you ill, I will be back shortly. Promise me that you’ll keep fighting,” I begged him, tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to break loose.

“I promise Vasilisa, I will still be here when you get back. I’m getting better I can feel it,” he said confidently.

“I thought I’d find you in here,” my mother said coming to take a seat beside me, she put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug, I knew we were both afraid of what would happen.

“My two beautiful girls, I am the luckiest man in the world,” he beamed, the smile lighting up his sallow, sunken in face.

“Oh, Archibald.” my mother laughing hugging him.

“We have you go to sweet heart, or we will be late,” mother said quickly wiping at her eyes.

“Okay mother,” I bent down to kiss my father on the forehead,”I love you Papa,”

My mother and I quickly made our way down stairs and out to the carriage. Lucille, Marie and two other maids came with us. As soon as I sat on the red cushions, I was out.

“Vasilisa! Wake up, we are almost there!” mother squealed, she looked like a child who was given chocolate for the first time her blue eyes were full of excitement and wonder.

“I’m awake,” I groaned, my sitting up was met with a flurry of hands fixing my hair and makeup once more from how I messed it up in my sleep. The dress was lower than I remembered and I kept pulling it up to hide my breasts.  

“Vasilisa! Please, stop tugging at the dress, it was expensive and if you rip it I will never get you another dress again,” she threatened, not realizing that I didn’t care about dresses or how my hair looked.

“But mother, this is-”

“No buts, you look good. That’s all that matters darling,” She explained.

The palace appeared before my eyes, the palace was high upon the hill overlooking the town, it's many pointed towers giving it the look of an eccentric crown. The walls were a white stone that glistened in the summer sun and the roof was grey slate. It was as big as twenty of the ordinary houses of the town and employed a good number of the townsfolk as servants. Around the palace were the horse pastures and kitchen gardens for the royal family.

“We’re here! Vasilisa make me proud!” she squealed, squeezing my hands firmly.

As we stopped the door was opened up and I saw a man with sandy blonde hair and dark brown eyes he was in a simple white top and brown cloth trousers, along with high black boots.

“Hello, my lady. If you could follow me I will show you to your maid and these men will take your bags to your room,” the man said helping me from the carriage.

“Could I ask you a question?” I said when I was on the ground, I had to pull the dress up again.

“Vasilisa, don’t you pull up that dress again,” my mother said frustrated.

“What is your name?” I ignored her.

“Caleb, my lady,” he replied nervously.

“Well, Caleb do you happen to know what food they’re serving tonight?” I asked with a mischievous smirk.

“Vasilisa that is not way to behave didn’t we talk about thi-”

“Good bye mother have a nice safe trip home,” I cut her off with an air kiss and a wave goodbye.

As this is a first draft I know that it is by no means good and I have a long way to go. But if you could give me some helpful feedback on my writing it would be greatly appreciated!!