#compared to the urge to get better at making comic pages

[sil3ntm0th]

ahh the constant and neverending urge to make animatics despite knowing I do not have the drive for making them tbh (& unfortunately have even less for making them "look good" (as in not sketchy as heck and thus likely hard to look at I feel like))

[theamateurartistblog]

The Sad Tale of an Artist's Burnout

I have been burnout over a lot of things but being burnout because of art hits differently. Art burnouts are the worst. Imagine just losing your passion for something or having to force yourself to do so. If this sounds like something you’re going through have no fear, I’m here. Imma tell you how to prevent a burnout and some tips that will help you get back into shape in no time.

Stop Drawing

Mcutie are you serious? Yes, I’m not joking. Stop drawing. Your brain is tired of doing the same thing over and over again, give it a break. Find another hobby, play a game, watch a movie, catch up on a comic or manga (if you want some recommendations I got you;) maybe then you will find inspiration to draw.

Ease your mind a little. What always helps me is ASMRs, find a channel you like and relax to them or put on some Lofi tunes, whatever it takes for you to get your mind out of the sketchbook. Don’t think that when you stop drawing you’re gonna lose your talent, you can’t lose talent but you can lose passion.

Stop looking for likes and views

They'll come eventually, I'm still in the baby stages myself and sometimes it's disappointing not to see any likes or views but that just takes the fun out of art. Social Media is tiring especially with the algorithm doing whatever it likes. If you run an art page why not give it a break a little, maybe the stress of putting out too much content is getting to you.

Also, the self-declared “art critics” don't help either (baby artists please ignore these people, pay attention to the ones who really give you solid advice) so drop social media for a while and post your art unless you want to.

“But Mcutie I need to advertise to get commissions!” (in a future post, I'll give you tips on how to make money with your art). I hear you, but the posts you have in your feed are already enough to tell your audience about what you do and which commissions you’ll take. My advice is to shake it up a bit, instead of Instagram try Twitter maybe art station or deviant art, they have some nice communities on there.

Or better yet create your little website and build a community around it (I'm currently trying this one on Tumblr so follow me on my journey if you want) who knows maybe you’ll find people who respect and admire what you do. ^^

Don’t Compare Yourself!

HA! I need to take my advice. It’s easy to compare yourself with others and let’s be frank there is always gonna be a better artist or athlete or dancer but there is never gonna be another you. The way how YOU draw is different from other artists, no two people are the same and no two artists have the same style unless one artist copies from another. However, it's good to try out new styles and see how you can implement them into your drawings. You may find something that can add an extra spice to your art.

Find Inspiration - Outside!!!

AHA! You thought I was gonna tell you to take up Pinterest and browse huh? Nope! I need YOU to TOUCH SOME GRASS! Look at the clouds find shapes in them, take a walk in the park or something. “But what if it is snowing?” Who cares?! Sit at your window and watch the snowflakes fall you may just find something that inspires you. Doing this motivates you to take up that pen and paper or tablet or whatever kids use these days and draw.

Sleep!! - Please Sleep...

Once again…….I need to take my advice. But let’s face it have you ever gone to bed and suddenly at exactly 3:00 am you get the urge to get creative? That’s what you want! Therefore, get some rest, take a nice bath, rub on your favorite lotion, put on your favorite PJs, and sleep it out. “I suffer from insomnia….” So do I but if it is chronic go and see the doctor maybe you need medical assistance, if not try playing rain sounds or as I said earlier find your favorite ASMRist and just close you’re eyes and fall asleep.

In Conclusion....

At the end of the day, something is gonna burn us out whether it is work, hobbies, or just life in general but the thing is we do not want to stay in a burnout. Besides if you stay in a burnout you’ll just shrivel up and die. So try my tips and if you have anything to add say it in the comments so others can benefit from them. Until next time stay healthy and stay cute.

(〃＾▽＾〃)

[driftingmoonmenace]

Just wanted to reach out because of the vent post. If you decided to stop, it's within your rights. But as a DCA fan, please don't stop if it's because of doubts.

Your artwork is amazing. I love seeing all artwork that people create on here for the boys. And I think a problem artists have, is we just feel an urged to create something that someone else hasn't done before. We see a pose or a scene that someone else created; And some people may feel they can't create that anymore because someone else already did it. I get in my head that way too, I think all of us deal with it at least once.

There's a small snippet comic, to wear an artist would compare themselves to someone else in the example of a cake. We compare ourseling others artwork. Thinking that there's is better, so why do we even try. But the fans who love the fandom don't care if two look the exact same. They're just happy to receive more content to look at. Fandoms die because we give up, We can feel small if our stuff doesn't feel seen or well received. And, that feeling is kind of inevitable on a site that only creates views through traction of reblogs. So Don't be afraid to reshare your artwork so that it's new on the tags page.

I don't care if everyone draws the boys in the exact same standing pose waving, or Little Moon being a menace, it's all precious to see. Make things that have already been created. I don't care if you're AU has scenes that share a similarity to 40 or 100 other stories. Because sometimes the thing that they all share is a comfort to others. And people love gobbling up content that they enjoy.

I'd kick your imposter syndrome if I could. You don't need it. You're a peach, a precious creator. And I'm gonna be a menace now and reblog purge your stuff now; so this loveable hellsite can be reminded that all artist's work matter and are appreciated. Please smile, please know the work you put out into the world is appreciated. Please know it's okay if your artwork doesn't come out how you saw it in your head; We don't see the results in your head, we see the result that you share with us and we get to appreciate it anyway. Don't let perfectionism or competition stop you from sharing what you love. I hope creativity and inspiration stay by your side ❤️

Thank you for all the sweet words, and all the likes and reblogs on my stuff too!!! You're too kind and I appreciate all of it truly. 💕

I don't think I could ever really stop creating DCA stuff as long as I got them silly jester boys knocking around in my brain lmao. I just get caught up in my feelings and anxiety sometimes unfortunately.

Everything you've said is very true tho and I agree!! At the end of the day it's all about enjoying what you love and having fun at your own pace and in your own way (and def keeping you, your limits, and well being in mind too!)

[jasonp01]

10 Impactful Ways To Help Children Read More

Books are truly a man's most loyal friend. Reading is also the best medium to increase one's knowledge.

An ardent reader has far a better attention span and greater analytical qualities than a non-reader. Moreover, a dedicated reader is always in the company of a book ang thus, never feels alone. It is one of the most constructive hobbies that shape the opinions of a person for his\her childhood. At an overwhelmingly internet-dependent time like this, a well-wishing parent will score brownie points for adhering to the stop below to inculcate reading habits among children.

1. Give them pictorial books 

Children love pictorial elements as they bring a lot of joy. As they grow, they find interest in text which has to be read, understood and then enjoyed. Thus, you should give your 1-year-olds pictorial books with 3D cut-outs unfolding from the pages to suprise and delight children. As they grow, comic books and short anathologies with a lot of illustrations will sustain their interest in reading.

2. Ask kids about favorite fiction characters

Every story book has a character that the child gets attracted to. Make it a point to frequently ask your child about that fairy that made her smile, that funny clown or the huge monster. This helps the child recall the character and love books even more.

3. Encourage loud narration

The essence of storytelling to kids lies not in bland reading but in loud and clear narration. The more involved you are in following the mood of the story in your narration, the more appealing your children find them to be.

4. Encourage reading at home or on the go 

There is no dearth of short, fantastic stories that your child will like. If she is involved in a book so much that can't wait to complete it, allow her to read it during a safe commute. The excitement will remain and the child will move on to a similar book after completing this one.

5. Attract kids with your bookish persona 

Children imitate elders. If you are able to sport a long-term attitude that focuses on the merits of reading a book, there is a high chance that the child will want to become like you and turn into a bibliophile in future.

6.Compare bookish and real lives 

Playfully show a child how the life of a character is written so beautifully in a book and compare the possibilities of a fantasy story with that of real life. This will make children fond of fantasies , supernatural events and pure joy found in books.

7.Discuss with kids after they've read the book 

Reading a good book is followed by thinking about the storyline. Ask the child what part of the story s\he liked the most. This texts the comprehension and summarization skills of the child. You can also understand how involved the child was in the story .

8. Take book lovers to libraries

Has your child completed reading all the books in your shelves? A monthly library subscription will allow the bright kid to read to his/her heart’s content.

9. Urge to read more than syllabi for better perspective

Often, school curricula select particular chapters from textbooks. But that shouldn’t stop a book lover from finding out if other stories in their textbooks are better.

10. Reward kids for reading from multiple genres

As formal education demands a child study different subjects, the child will benefit a lot if s/he reads multiple genres to expand perspective and intelligence.

Reading takes cultivation. It doesn’t happen so quickly. Have you tried any of these ways? If not, where would you like to start?

[haruchyio]

10:27 PM 🖇️ wakasa imaushi x reader

— themes. cliché, fluff

— dedicated to @kallikrein and @uuden !! <3 tysm for giving me ideas last night lmfao

the amount of love comics you've read about high school romance wasn't able to prepare you from the disaster that came in your life in the form of wakasa imaushi.

he is, undeniably, the prettiest guy out of everyone in your class—with his hair dyed rebelliously into two different colors of the spectrum and his eyes that held mystery far more than pandora's box ever contained—wakasa imaushi is definetly a prince straight from a fairy tale.

"stop pulling at my hair."

four weeks into classes and you already wanted to quit. the beauty that sits behind you was nothing more but a demon disguised as an angel sent by god to torment you and make your high school life a living hell. while his handsomely-sculpted face is definetly one handcrafted by god himself, his personality is rather far from an angel you originally compared him to.

"but i'm bored," he claims as if it justifies his annoying actions towards you. he tugs three more times before sighing when he saw you turn around to glare at him with so much intensity that he finally backed off. wakasa slumps on his chair, face buried on his arms that were folded on top of his desk. the urge to play with your hair once more washes over him but he clenched his fists to keep them in place.

he doesn't want to anger you far more than he already have today.

he has time to do that later.

"then listen to the lesson." you replied shortly, returning back to the lecture at hand, listening as your teacher talked about a bunch of numbers you couldn't quite comprehend.

"that's boring."

wakasa takes a peek on the wall clock hanged on the top of the doorframe and it takes every logical braincells in his mind to stop himself from groaning or else their math teacher will notice that one of his students weren't listening at all to his ten-paged long speech about how math is 3.14159265359 percent better than any other subjects.

that's a pi, but he keeps his mouth shut for the entirety of math class for the sake of tasting a wink of sleep.

lunch time rolled in, but when he finally wakes up from his short slumber, he finds your seat empty and he assumes you must have gone to the cafeteria to buy some food like your normally do. hastily wiping his drool, the boy pushed his chair back and slowly made his way to the school canteen. some of his friends from the other class, namely a peculiarly hyper girl and her rather cool brother, waved at him as they made their way to a table—beckoning him to join them while they feast, but he ignores them with a sole objective in mind and that was to find you.

amongst the sea of hungry hormonal teenagers, wakasa is able to find you easily. in the middle of the crowd with a crestfallen look that he thinks does not fit you at all, wakasa sighs for umpteenth time today, muttering "what am i going to do with you?" before he approached you with calculative steps that he made sure won't make it seem like he's eager to get to you.

in the center of the rowdy, smelly, and disgusting bunch of teenangers, stood you, who's lips were tugged down. wakasa thinks you're cuter when your eyebrows are furrowed and a snarl on your kissable lips; most especially if the reason behind your irritation is caused by his antics.

"i like you," wakasa's heart skips and it felt like it was about to jump right off of his chest, but if he was the least bit flustered about what he had just said, he doesn't show it.

you jumped, eyes blown wide as if you had seen a ghost and he wished he had his phone with him so he could take a picture. you really have some interesting reactions, which is one of the reasons why he's interested in you the moment you entered the room and became his seatmate.

"what?" you asked, and you leaned in to get a better hearing. you probably don't believe him—he doesn't blame you for that at all, but it still amuses him how you refused to accept that he really does genuinely like you.

"i said i like you," he repeats. warmth snakes up your neck and it blossoms on your cheeks.

"but you pulled on my here everytime?"

"i don't do that to any other person."

you deadpanned as he shrugs. "you tease me everyday."

"yeah, because i like you."

wakasa repeats for the first time and you realized that he wasn't lying at all. you, despite having read similar confessions scenes in your novel collections, still have no idea how to respond and you settled with closing your mouth—praying that this all must have been a joke.

but the prince-like wakasa doesn't wait. holding your hand with his, he leads you away from the hoarde of students and stopped when you were both right outside the door of the cafeteria. he takes note of how hungry you looked, assuming you weren't able to buy anything with the ridiculous amount of students in line, so he shoves his hand in his pocket to pull out a bread he was saving for later.

"here," he says and offers you the sandwich that was carefully wrapped in plastic. "consider this as a peace offering."

you blinked but accepted it nonetheless. while you still harboured a grudge against the boy infront of you, you still accepted his apology gift because the food is free—and you never turn down free food.

hesitantly taking the bread from his hands, you eyed him quizzically, the apples of your cheeks becoming warmer when you remembered the event that had just occured a few seconds ago.

"did.. did you mean it?"

"mean what?"

this demon. his smart ass should know what you were talking about but still asked just to see you embarassed. you sighed, opening the plastic wrapper of the bread and taking a bite of it harshly, "you know what. t-the... the.. you know!"

wakasa leans in to take a bite on the bread that you were holding, making you seize every movement you've been doing because you suddenly can't breathe at the closeness of his face from yours. he chews the bread agonizingly slow, staring at you through his half-lidded eyes, and you gulped the piece of bread in your mouth. "i meant it."

at this exact moment, you finally experienced the time-stopping moment you've always seen in movies. hoe the world felt like it had stopped spinning, the distant chatters of the people falling quiet, and he's suddenly all you can see.

fuck.

you have no feelings for him, don't you?

then why the hell is your heart beating so fast?

"uhhh thebreadtastesgreatthanksforthebreadgoodbye!" you shoved wakasa away before running to the opposite direction, stumbling a little bit on your feet and he only watched in amusement.

"ah... i just confessed without meaning to." he puts a hand under his chin in thought and shrugged. "i'll deal with it later."

© sen (haruchyio). all rights reserved. no work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without my permission.

[secondlina]

Hello! I was wondering. How do you resist the urge to redraw old pages of Namesake? I am working on a webcomic and struggling not to redraw the old pages. They are comparatively Not Good compared to the most recent one and it is driving me a bit crazy.

Dear @sylvanbrushes

I don’t redraw my pages for a few reasons. 

(1) If i’m drawing Namesake for a trillion years, I cannot draw other things, and while I love Namesake, it’s not the only story I have to tell.

(2) While some edits to get the book ready for print are a-ok, I discourage redraws because like - current you is always better then past you, BUT future you will also be better then current you. And current you could not have improved without past you fucking up a bit and trying. The first step to being good at something is sucking at something. If you start redrawing, you are basically constantly competing with yourself, and that’s an awful dynamic to live with. I used to think my art peaked at chapter 20, and now that I’m on chapter 32, chapter 20 looks like ASS to me. It’s never-ending

(3) Serials are about evolution, if a reader wants a consistent story, they can read a graphic novel. 

(4) I’ve learned to enjoy and appreciate the mistakes of the past, as they are the foundation that had to exist for my comic to even grow to it’s current point. 

(5) REDRAWING IS ACTUALLY REALLY HARD and kills the initial charm of the story. Because it’s NOT just redoing the art. The paneling is also going to be less strong. And the text. And the colors. And recapturing the initial charm of the original page is very difficult. Any new page you make to replace it is going to look more beautiful, but it’s not going to feel the same. A lot of readers got attached to the older art too - anytime I change a cover, everybody tells me to put the old one back.

(6) You don’t actually need the comic to look nice. Most people will read stuff that looks like butts if the story is good and the art is communicative. You mainly need good art for marketing, and you can just draw marketing art specifically for that.

(7) The only person who cares about the original art looking bad is yourself, because you are comparing yourself to others and how their art fucking slapped already on chapter 1, but those guys also feel like their chapter 1 sucks. Nobody is happy with chapter 1. Moving on is for the best.

(8) If anybody refuses to read a story because of the art, it happens and that’s fine. It happens if the art is amazing too. It’s about vibes.  If anybody refuses to read a story because of the art and TELLS you, they are a dipship trying to hurt your feelings and can go straight to hell.

[artzychic27]

Evillustrator Part Deux

These people have some nerve. Barging into the art classroom, his safe space, the only place in school where he can be himself without people looking at him weirdly. He can be loud and goofy and show his art without fear of being judged. But they just had to ruin it. By 'they' he means his classmates. Not the smart ones like Marinette, Alix, Rose, and Juleka. Yes, that sounded a little rude, but it was the truth! Ever since Lie-la came along with a big mouth full of lies, it's like the rest of the class had lost a good chunk of brain cells. He knows they're trying to be nice and accommodate for the 'disabled student', but they can't tell a con-artist when they see one!

Lila's been nothing but a thorn in the art club's side since she arrived, and all because they knew she was nothing but a lying, manipulative creature. So far, she's lied about Marinette doing a bunch of stuff she'd never do to her and almost got her expelled, Alix spray painting half of her wardrobe so Mylene, Sabrina, and Alya had to buy her more clothes with their money, Juleka cornering her in the bathroom and telling her to kill herself so the goth girl got detention she didn't deserve, and Rose stealing her lunch money which is how she afforded those cute new ballet flats and the other students had to buy Lila's lunch for her. Now it was Nathaniel's turn.

What has Lila said about him? She didn't really lie, but more like got on his bad side by suggesting he should find a new writer since Marc's work was "amateur", making little jabs at his art by saying loudly for the class to hear that her work has gotten many comic book artists' attention which then led to the class telling Lila that she should introduce them to Nathaniel. He said no, of course, since the artists were either dead or not real and they did not react well. They said he was rude, Lila was trying to help, and that's how he became one of the bullies of the classroom.

But then one morning, Lila told everyone that he stole her artwork. They were hesitant to believe her even despite believing Nathaniel was a bully since they knew he HATED art thieves with a passion, probably more than Marinette hated Hawkmoth. But when she showed them the hideously bright orange sketchbook with a crudely drawn cursive L on the cover in black sharpie and flipped through the pages slowly so the class could admire what Nathaniel realized was other artists' work he saw on Instagram that she was claiming as her own.

After seven long minutes, Lila finally stopped on a page that had the class immediately go off on Nathaniel when they recognized that it looked exactly like the art, the original art, on the school website. Alix and Marinette tried to defend him the best that they could, but the sausage-haired brat was a step ahead, saying that she sometimes brings her sketchbook to school and keeps it in her locker because she was always so nervous about what people would say about her art, and Nathaniel must've broken in, took a picture of the page, traced the art, and passed it off as his own. The class was torn, but they were leaning more towards Lila’s side because 'Why would Lila lie?'

Throughout the entire day, Nathaniel was forced to listen to the class asking if he was jealous of Lie-la's art being 'far better than his' (Her words), interrogating him to see if he stole anyone else's art, and they even had the gall to tell Mme. Bustier what Lila had told them. He missed his lunch and was instead tortured by Mme. Bustier lecturing HIM on why art theft is wrong, and that he needed to be the bigger person and apologize for stealing Lila's art. No matter how many times he explained to the woman that Lila lied, she just wouldn't listen! He had so much more respect for Marinette than he already did. She would go on and on about Mme. Bustier telling her to be an example and apologize when she was the one who was wronged. He was going to learn how to bake and make that girl some macarons. When she finally let him go, lunch was already over! Thank God Marc, the best boyfriend in the world saved him half of his sandwich and an apple. He did not apologize, and he had no intention of doing so.

The rest of the day was spent with his actual friends coming to his defense every five minutes when one of them would try and get him to apologize for stealing Lila's art. And when they weren't doing that, they were tracking down the people whose art was stolen by Lila when Mylene found the art Lila had traced on Instagram and Twitter. It's like they're her personal guard dogs. He wanted to knock some sense into them and go- what Lila inappropriately calls- 'feral-mode' on them; a nod to his bipolar disorder. Going against his instincts, he went to Mme. Bustier about what Lila had said about him being Bipolar, but she told him, 'Oh, but Lila doesn't understand your condition. It's your job to explain it to her.' ... He just wants Hawkmoth to come in here and have an Akuma pummel this woman.

Finally, the day was over, they were all gone, and he could now spend time with his friends and a real teacher without being yelled at or accused of being an art thief... For about seven minutes.

"Just apologize," Alya urged.

With a glare, Nathaniel yelled, "For the last. Damn. Time! I didn't steal any art!" Where was M. Haberkorn when you needed him?

"Then explain why Lila's art is in your sketchbook!" Kim demanded.

Lila sniffed, "Nath, if you're jealous of me, I could have-"

"Why the hell would I be jealous of you of all people?"

"Don't be so rude!"

"Why are you saying this stuff?"

"Lila didn't do anything to you!"

"Guys," Alix snapped her fingers to grab their attention and quiet them down, "Nathaniel loathes art thieves. Why would he steal someone else's art? And what would he have to gain from it? He's already the illustrator for one of the best damn comics in Paris, and he's won contests with some of his work." She shot the redhead a proud look before turning back to her classmates, "So do tell us. Why would Nathaniel steal another person's art?"

None of them could come up with an excuse. None of them except Lila just when the art club thought they had won, "Well, maybe he was just insecure," she ignored Nathaniel's offended look and continued, "I didn't want to say anything, but some students were looking at his art on the school website and said it seemed... Amateur compared to mine."

Marinette whispered to Juleka, "Oh, she did not just say the A-word."

Alix coughed into her fist, "Bullshit!"

Alya glared at the pinkette, "Stop ganging up on her!" She turns to Nathaniel, "And Nath, you need to stop being jealous of Lila just because some people prefer her art-"

"Will you shut up already?!" Nathaniel screamed, stunning his classmates at his outburst. "I am not jealous of Lila! I never will be jealous of her because there's nothing to be jealous over!”

Nathaniel let out a sigh. He didn't mean to yell, but they were all just so frustrating. He was telling the truth and they couldn't see it. They're choosing to believe a liar they've known only for a few months over someone they've known for years. They all knew Nathaniel was the resident class artist and not once has he stolen another person's art; it was a level he would never stoop to, not even if you paid or threatened him to.

"Dude, you need to chill," Nino calmly said.

"No, he doesn’t." Everyone turned to the source of the new voice and saw Marc standing at the doorway with his red pencil case. The art club students became relieved when they saw the writer. Marc was a reasonable, level-headed person who could find red flags easily. He'd talk some sense into them all and maybe their Lila nightmare would be over. During lunch, the art club explained to him why Nathaniel was missing, infuriating the green-eyed boy. Because of Rossi, his boyfriend was forced to miss lunch and endure a lecture by a teacher who should really consider pursuing a different career. "Nathaniel is not an art thief." He brushed past them and made his way over to his boyfriend before kissing his cheek.

"Marc, don't defend him just because he's your boyfriend," Mylene said. And in response, Marc rolled his eyes.

"Even if we weren't dating, I'd still defend him." He points to Nathaniel's sketchbook as if asking for permission to hold it. With a nod, Nathaniel hands Marc his sketchbook, and the writer flips through the pages until he stops on the page with the sketch that started this mess. On the page is a full-body sketch of Ladybug, running with her hair out of its pigtails and flowing through the breeze. It took all of Marinette's will-power to not blush when Nathaniel showed her and the others before posting it on the school's website. What she loved most was that she was not wearing a skin-tight bodysuit, but instead, she was wearing battle armor and actually had on shoes. Maybe she could ask Tikki for an upgrade on her current suit.

"Nathaniel always uses the same art style," Marc pointed out. "During lunch, I caught a look at some of the pages in Lila's sketchbook and noticed that she had about ten different art styles. The sketch she claims Nathaniel stole looks very similar to his usual style." Before Lila can defend herself, Marc continued, "And I also noticed that your line art is very dark."

Marinette realizes what her cousin is insinuating and adds, "He's right. Most line art is light so that when an artist makes a mistake, they can easily erase it." She smirks, "So, care to explain why your line art is so much darker compared to Nathaniel's?"

Lila stammered for a response, "I... We-well my wrist-" Before she could say anything else, Alya rested a hand on her shoulder and said, "You don't need to explain anything to them. We know your innocent." After nodding in agreement with Alya, the students headed out of the classroom. Alya pulled Lila out and didn't notice her smirking viciously at the art kids or Alix giving her double middle fingers.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Nathaniel sat down and rested his head on the table. "What is wrong with them?" he groaned. Rose patted his shoulder sympathetically, "It's okay, Nath."

Marinette shook her head, "I try to remind myself that it's not their fault; Lila's manipulating them, but it takes a lot to convince myself that."

Marc took the empty seat next to Nathaniel and brushed his bangs to the side so Nathaniel could see him. "Are you okay?" Nathaniel nodded and mumbled, "Thanks, Rainbow." With a smile, Marc kissed his forehead, slid Nathaniel's sketchbook toward him, and pulled out his journal, "Let's just enjoy the quiet while we still have it."

Juleka nodded as she grabbed her bass, "Yeah, maybe I'll just fake being sick tomorrow."

"Nope!" Alix exclaimed. "There's strength in numbers, Jules. If we all have to suffer, then so do you." Juleka responded by strumming a few cords on her bass.

The rest of the class, sans Chloe and Adrien, decided to spend the rest of their day, cool off from earlier, and cheer Lila up by getting some of André's ice cream. Poor Lila didn't have any money on her because she donated almost all of her cash to her favorite charity, one that helped children from lower-income families. Ivan, being a nice guy, paid for her cone and Lila promised she'd pay him back... Yeah, like that would ever happen. Five euros and all she got was plain vanilla because André couldn't see her being in a relationship with anyone.

"Girl, maybe he just messed up," Alya told her. "André is getting old."

Nino reluctantly nodded, "Yeah. Maybe that's it." He's been getting ice cream from André since he was five, and the man was never wrong. He predicted his first love by giving him cotton candy, peach, and blueberry ice cream, and his future love with tangerine, lemon, and raspberry. If André gives you vanilla, that's it. No love for you. 'But why would Lila end up without love?' he wondered. She's nice, charitable, always meeting exciting people. It confused him.

If Nino could hear what was going on through Lila's head, he'd take it all back. 'Stupid Marinette. Stupid Alix. Stupid Rose. Stupid Juleka. Stupid Marc. AND STUPID NATHANIEL! That idiot has some nerve going against me! Just wait, Kurtzberg. I'll ruin your reputation so bad that not even your freak boyfriend will look at you! With that spineless coward of a Principal on my side, I'll make sure no school will take you!' "Guys, this was sweet of you, but I just wanna go home," she said in a tone that contrasted her inner voice.

Alya smiled and pulled her in for a hug, not noticing the scowl on the Italian's face, "We understand. Maybe you can draw something to make you feel better."

'Yeah, I'll find a sucker on Instagram, make a few tweaks, and have you all eating out of the palm of my hand.' "Yeah," she sighed. "That always cheers me up. I'll see you all tomorrow!" She waved then headed off in the direction of her home. Then once she was out of view, she ran towards the school and threw her ice cream on the ground, not caring about the pigeon she just hit. She was not going to let that stupid redhead get away so easily. She already had a ton of sinister ideas going on in her head about what'd she'd do to Nathaniel the second she caught him alone and those art club brats aren't there to help him.

Once in the school, Lila waited around a corner for him. So that no one would suspect anything, she pretended to be texting on her phone. It took five minutes until finally, Nathaniel walked out of the classroom with his sketchbook in his hand. Lila's original plan was to jump him and drag him into an empty classroom so she could threaten him to comply with her or she’d drag his reputation through the mud, but Marc was with him. She couldn’t have witnesses, or this would never work. But then everything worked out in her favor. The idiot was too distracted by his boyfriend to notice her or that he dropped his sketchbook on the floor when trying to put it in his messenger bag.

She quickly picked up the sketchbook once they were gone, and darted for the locker room. She looked around to make sure no one was there and opened Nathaniel’s prized possession. She scowled at all of the drawings of Marinette with hearts around her. “Obviously has no taste,” she muttered scornfully then continued flipping through the pages full of drawings of Ladybug, and her frown worsened the more she looked. He should be drawing a REAL hero like Volpina. Then she found a few pages with drawings of that boyfriend of his.

“Disgusting,” she sneered, then immediately tore out the page with a drawing of the two boyfriends hugging. She aggressively threw the book to the floor and stomped on it with the dirt sole of her boot, tearing and crumpling a few pages and damaging the spine. She picked it back up and proceeded to tear out more pages before getting a cruel idea. She went into the girls’ bathroom, turned on the faucet, and dropped the sketchbook into the sink. A twisted smirk spread on her face as she watched the water turn an array of colors. Satisfied, she pulled it back out and turned off the water before leaving.

She wasn’t done just yet. She looked for Nathaniel’s locker, which was easy. All she had to do was open every locker until she found the one with photos of Marc taped inside. Lila gathered up the pages she tore out, crumpled them up, and threw them into the lockers along with Nathaniel’s ruined sketchbook. By the time he opened his locker tomorrow, the pages will be dry and everything he’s drawn will be unrecognizable. Slamming the locker door shut, Lila walked out of the locker room feeling proud of herself, but not before she added a little insult to injury and taped a sticky note with an insulting message onto Nathaniel’s locker door. Tomorrow morning, Nathaniel will learn what happens when you cross Lila Diabla Rossi.

Nathaniel was not having a great morning. He accidentally set his alarm clock for the wrong time last night and woke up and three in the morning. He couldn't go back to sleep so he decided to do some late-night sketching until he felt tired. The only problem was that he couldn't find his sketchbook. He wanted to tear his room apart and look for it, but he didn't want to risk waking up his mom and having her come in, wondering why he was up so early. So he waited until it was 7:00 am when his mom was up and getting ready for the day.

He looked all around his room but couldn't find his sketchbook anywhere. 'It could be worse,' he thought to himself. He lost his personal sketchbook and not the one he used for his and Marc's comic. Now that would be awful. But losing his personal sketchbook was just as bad and embarrassing. It still had some of the sketches he did of Marinette back when he had a crush on her and some fanart from animes he wasn't comfortable showing anyone except for Alix and Marc, who showed him some fanfiction that only he was allowed to read.

"Maybe I left it at school," Nathaniel told himself once it was pretty clear that his sketchbook was nowhere in his room. Taking a few breaths to calm down and assure himself that maybe someone found his sketchbook and took it to lost and found, he got ready for the day.

After getting showered and dressed, Nathaniel made his way downstairs to have breakfast with his mom. Hearing him walk into the kitchen, Aya looked away from the stove and greeted her son with a smile, “Morning, sweetie.” Despite Nathaniel smiling, she knew something was wrong. She could tell by the way he was clutching his messenger bag and darting his eyes around the room like he was looking for something. “Is everything alright?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she asked, “Did something happen at school? Was it that Rossi girl?” Ever since Lila first lied about her son, Aya would always take some time out of her schedule to listen to him vent about the dreaded girl. And in Aya’s opinion, she sounded like a real nightmare in need of a spanking.

“Yeah, but she’s not what I’m upset about,” he answered. “I can’t find my sketchbook. The black one?”

Aya immediately turned off the stove and went to hug him. Nathaniel loved that sketchbook. His father got it for him when he was seven and used up all of his other sketchbooks. It was one of the things he had to remember him by. “Well, maybe it’s at school. I’m sure you’ll find it, sweetie.” Seeing him smile, Aya kissed his forehead and went back to making breakfast, “Now go sit down sweetie; the hash browns are almost done.”

With a nod, Nathaniel sat at the table and thought to himself over and over, ‘You’ll find it, you’ll find it, you’ll find it.’

When he arrived at school, Nathaniel only had fifteen minutes to look for his sketchbook until class starts. He rushed into the library where the lost and found box was stored and asked the librarian for access to it. He took Nathaniel into the break room where a large bin sat in the corner of the room between two shelves filled with items too large to go in the bin. Quickly, he sifted through or tossed aside anything that wasn't his sketchbook. Textbooks, jewelry, one shoe, pants, a purse, but no sketchbook. With a frustrated groan, he put the items he tossed back in the bin so the librarian wouldn't get on his case for messing up the break room. "Where is it?!" Once out of the library, he kicked a wall in frustration and continued to look around for his sketchbook.

He remembered walking out of the art classroom with it, so it wasn't in there. If it fell out of his bag, someone must’ve found it. But why didn’t they take it to the lost and found? Maybe they put it back in his locker. None of the lockers have locks, so if a student finds something that another student lost, they put it in that student’s locker. Maybe someone did that. He still had seven minutes left, so he ran down the stairs, moved through crowds of students in the courtyard, and went into the locker room.

Once at his locker, Nathaniel furrowed his brown in confusion when he saw the orange sticky note stuck to his locker door. He took it down and read it, “‘You deserve this.’”

Still confused and a little anxious by what the note meant, Nathaniel slowly opened his locker, expecting a bucket of paint to fall on top of him or a spring-loaded boxing glove to knock a couple of his teeth out… This was way worse. There at the bottom of his locker was a dingy black book with crispy pages like someone had poured water on it and left it to dry in his locker. He found a few crumpled pieces of paper and unfurled them. He felt like he needed to throw up. These were sketches of Marc, Marinette, and some rough sketches for comics. He realized that they were from his sketchbook and a look of dread spread across his face when he realized that the dried-up book in his locker was actually his sketchbook.

“No, no, no, no!” He quickly took it out and tried flipping through the pages to see if anything had been salvaged, but he could barely turn them without a piece breaking off due to the dry paper. He flipped to the back of his ruined sketchbook and immediately started crying. There was smudged writing that he could barely read, but he could make out what was written at the bottom, ‘Make something amazing, kid. -Dad’ He clutched the book close to his chest and slowly slid down his locker and sat on the floor where he silently cried to himself.

The butterflies fluttered around as the window opened and illuminated on Hawkmoth. He smirked cunningly when he felt a powerful wave of emotions coming from Francoise Dupont. The Akuma hotspot.

“Such feelings of rage, and even more of sorrow.” He beckons for a pure white butterfly to land in his open palm. “This poor, disturbed boy.” He covers the butterfly with his other hand and fills it with dark magic using the Miraculous. Hawkmoth uncovers the butterfly, now an Akuma, and it flutters out of the window. “Fly away my beautiful Akuma, and evilize that boy!”

The Akuma flew over the city and towards the school where its target was. It phased through the walls so no students or teachers would see it, and went into the locker room where Nathaniel was still crying. He lifted his head up at the sound of its wings flapping and with a yelp, he got up and ran around the room to avoid the Akuma. Soon, he was backed into a corner with no way out. He turned his head away from the Akuma and shut his eyes tight as the evil butterfly merged with his sketchbook and turned it pitch black. The glowing, purple Akuma symbol appeared over his face. Nathaniel gripped his hair as Hawkmoth spoke to him, “Welcome back, Evillustrator.”

“Stop it,” he cried. “Not now.”

Hawkmoth paid close attention to the emotions he was feeling right now. It was mainly anger from having his sketchbook destroyed, but he was also grieving. A feeling Hawkmoth knew all too well. He could see the Akumatized object in his head and saw the damage that had been done to it. As a fellow patron of the arts, he knew the importance of a sketchbook to an artist. But there was something special about this one. Perhaps someone he lost gifted it to him. He spoke, “But why not? I too understand the pain of losing a loved one. Let me help you.”

“You’re not going to help me.”

“But I will. That sketchbook must mean something to you. Don’t you wish to find the one responsible?”

"..." Nathaniel’s look of fear morphed into a scowl when he realized who could have done this, “Yes.”

Hawkmoth smiled, “I won’t stand in your way this time. As long as you bring me the Miraculous, you may use your powers however you please. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, Hawkmoth.” Black mist bubbled up from his sketchbook and engulfed him. Seconds later, Evillustrator stood in place of Nathaniel with an upgraded outfit. His windswept hair is brighter and more vibrant, fading from orange to purple, to black. He had on a white v-neck tailcoat with four dark purple stripes and three circles colored red, yellow, and blue printed on, a black shirt that had darker cuffs with red, yellow, and blue buttons and a red swan neck collar, white gloves, purple pants, and red boots with a slight heel.

He lifted his right arm where his tablet was attached, tucked his repaired, dark purple sketchbook under his arm, and began drawing. Materializing out of thin air was a fake Nathaniel. With a smirk, Evillustrator handed the Akumatized object over to him and said, “You know what to do.” With a nod, fake Nathaniel opened the sketchbook to an empty page and pressed it to Evillustrator’s chest. Immediately, he disappeared in a flash of purple light. Nathaniel turned the book towards him and saw a sketch of Evillustrator motioning for him to leave. He closed the book and made his way to class.

Lila tried very hard to suppress a scowl when she saw the fake Nathaniel walking into the classroom with the sketchbook, she was so sure that she destroyed it. Was it all just a wonderful dream? No! She knew she destroyed that thing! But, wasn’t it black? She needed to destroy it so that redhead would learn his place. Before she could make her way to his and Marinette’s desk in the back, Mme. Bustier walked in, “Alright class, take your seats!”

‘Later,’ she thought to herself then went to her seat next to Alya.

Mme. Bustier began writing on the board, "Today, we'll- OW!" Out of nowhere, a baseball hit the side of her head, much to the shock of the class. She picked up the ball while rubbing the side of her head, "Where did this come from?"

Lila immediately shot her hand up and pointed to the back, "I bet it was Marinette!"

"I am way back here and it hit the side of her head!" She yelled, "If I had thrown that ball, it would have nailed her right in the back of the head!" The students on her side and the students on Lila's side got into a heated argument. Adrien tried to calmly tell Lila's side that Alix was right, but they just talked over him. Chloe, who didn't care, filed her nails. Mme. Bustier clapped her hands, trying to grab their attention, "Class, please!" They settled down, making her let out a breath of relief. "Now, Alix is right about the ball hitting me on the side," Alix shot Lila a victorious smirk. "We'll figure out who did this later, but let's just get to our lesson." She set the baseball down on her desk, eyeing it warily before turning back to the board.

Marinette rolled her eyes. It was way too early for Lila to be pulling this kind of crap. Also, where did that baseball come from? The windows aren't open, so it didn't come from outside. She turned to Nathaniel, intending to ask what he thought. None of the art club students really paid attention to Mme. Bustier's lessons since she rarely taught anything. And when she was teaching, Lila would steer the lesson over to an hour-long discussion about how she was related to some major historical figure. Marinette was pretty sure Vlad the Impaler and Catherine the Great weren't related.

Before she could say anything, she noticed him just staring at a page in his sketchbook. Just staring, not drawing. She couldn't see what he was looking at because he was holding the front cover of the book up. And what's even weirder was that he seemed to be nodding. When he saw her staring, he immediately closed his sketchbook and turned his attention to the front.

'Strange,' Marinette thought to herself then continued half-listening to the lesson.

Ten more minutes in, and Lila was telling a story about being the distant relative of some witch hunter from the Salem witch trials in the states. This allowed the art club kids to text each other on their group chat while everyone ate up whatever Lila said. But Marinette made a new group chat without Nathaniel.

Something's Up

Alix: Care 2 explain??

Rose: Is something wrong?

Juleka: You forgot Nathaniel.

Marinette: That's what this is about. There's something... Off about him today.

Alix: Oh, thank God! I thought I was the only one who noticed.

Rose: What's wrong with Nathaniel???

Alix: He's just all zoned out or something.

Marinette: I caught him nodding at his sketchbook.

Alix: I don't even recognize that one. All his sketchbooks usually have designs on them but that one is just solid purple. 🤔

Juleka: Now that you mention it... When everyone was arguing about the baseball, I noticed he didn't say or do anything. Just stared at his sketchbook.

Rose: That's odd.

Marinette: Maybe he's having an off day?

Alix: I did see him bump into the door frame when he walked into the classroom. So... Off day?

Juleka: Off day.

Rose: 👉🏻Off day👈🏻

Marinette: Off Day. Okay, Lila's wasted twenty minutes and we have two minutes left of class... Any weekend plans?

Rose: Family reunion! Can't wait!

Juleka: Luka and I are gonna watch a bunch of trashy high school movies from America. I'm interested in this one called The Outcasts.🍿🎥

Alix: Promised Jalil I'd do some nerd stuff with him.🤓

Marinette: Baking 🥐, sewing 🧵, typical day.

BRRRRIIIIIIING!

Marinette: And once again, we've learned nothing.

Alix: Ah, the glorious history of nothing.

Rose: My cousin majored in the Fundamentals of Nothing.

The students gathered their things and headed to their next class. As Nathaniel was packing, Mme. Bustier called out, "Nathaniel, can you stay for a minute?"

"Are you gonna be okay?" Marinette asked. At fake Nathaniel's nod, she left with the others, leaving him and Mme. Bustier alone.

The first thing she said was, "Nathaniel, I hope you apologized to Lila." When he didn't answer and just stared at her blankly, she sighed, "Nathaniel, I understand that you're upset."

"Upset doesn't even begin to describe how I feel, Caline!"

"But it's not Lila's fault," "Excuse me?!" "She just wants to make friends, and by antagonizing her," "You mean exposing an art thief?" "you'll be preventing her from doing so. Now, I expect you to apologize to Lila before the end of the day." "Or else, what, Caline?!"

The fake Nathaniel opened the sketchbook slightly, and immediately, a flaming arrow shot out of it and was dangerously close to hitting Mme. Bustier's foot. She looked at the redhead in shock before slowly backing away as he opened his sketchbook. "N-Nathaniel, wh-what are you- Aah!" The fake has pressed a blank page on her arm, and she disappeared with a scream. He turned the sketchbook towards him and there was Caline Bustier, now a pencil sketch hitting her fists against the paper and screaming to be let out. She was silenced by fake Nathaniel turning to the page with Evillustrator.

"Make sure there are none of those idiots left." With a nod, the fake shut the sketchbook and left just before the next class arrived.

Seventeen minutes in Mendelieve's class were spent learning about physics until the science teacher left once M. Damocles made an announcement over the PA system, telling the teachers to report to his office. That left Lila to take over and talk more and more about herself without the science teacher telling her to stay silent and pay attention. The art club was just minding their business in the group chat but listened closely when Lila started spewing lies about her famous artist uncle. They knew where this was going, and Alix got ready to fight tooth and nail for her friend. Finally, Lila brought up what happened yesterday, causing the students to give the fake Nathaniel wary looks or glares

"So," Kim said as he approached fake Nathaniel. "are you finally going to apologize for stealing Lila's art?"

Marinette huffed, "Guys, for the last time, Lila is lying! Nathaniel is not an art thief!"

"Well, let’s just see if that’s true," Alya said as she pulled out her phone to record and expose Nathaniel as an art thief. Before she could grab the sketchbook out of his hands, her phone was wiped away from existence. "MY PHONE! Where'd it go?!" Fake Nathaniel looked down at the sketchbook and smirked because he knew Evillustrator had something to do with that.

Alya continued to look for her phone, "It just disappeared out of thin air!" she exclaimed as she looked under the desk, believing she dropped it and didn't notice. "How does that just happen?!" As she and a few other students continued searching for her phone, Mme. Mendelieve walked back into class with a look of concern to replace her usually stoic face.

"Class, you wouldn't happen to know where Caline went, would you?" she asked. Everyone either shook their heads or said no. "Odd. No one can find her, When her next class went in, she was gone." She looks to the fake Nathaniel, "Nathaniel, you were the last to leave. Did she say she'd be going anywhere?" The fake looked like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. He instead shook his head. With a sigh, Mendelieve continued, "If she's not found or we don't hear from her in two hours, the school day will end early so the teachers can call the police to conduct an investigation." There were some scattered whispers. "I'm sure Caline is fine. Now, let's finish the lesson." The students who were helping Alya look for her phone comply and sit back down in their seats, but Alya kept searching for her phone, "Alya, sit down."

"But I can't find my phone," she said. "It just disappeared right out of my hand!"

"Miss Cesaire, you can try to look for it later," she said sternly. "But right now, we need to continue our lesson. Sit down." Alya reluctantly did so, and Mme. Mendleieve resumed what she was teaching the class before Damocles made his announcement. While she taught, Alix glanced over at the fake staring down at his sketchbook like Marinette said he was earlier. It was so weird. He was just staring and not doing anything. And how did Mme. Bustier just suddenly disappear without a trace?

Thirty minutes passed, and the students headed to lunch while Alya stayed behind to look for her phone with Nino helping her.

Fake Nathaniel managed to slip away from Marinette, Alix, Rose, and Juleka who were walking to the cafeteria as a group, something they did in case Lila tried anything, and he was now hiding in the locker room where Evillustrator was giving him instructions. “Kim often goes to the pool during lunch to practice,” he whispered. "Get him when he comes in." Right as he said this, the door was heard opening. The fake peered around the locker he was hiding behind and saw the athlete walking in and going to his locker. No witnesses were around. He opened the sketchbook to a blank page and sneaked over towards the athlete as he was pulling his gym bag out of his locker with some struggle.

When Kim finally managed to pull his bag out, it slipped out of his hands. The force he used flung the bag behind him, and it hit the sketchbook, making it disappear. Kim looked around to see where his bag went but only saw the fake, who shut the sketchbook before Kim could see what was on the pages. "O-oh. Hey, Nath." When he didn't answer, Kim sighed. "Silent treatment. Deserved that; I get it. Look, man I-I don't want to believe you stole Lila's art, but uh... I mean, why would Lila lie?"

"Because she's evil! Get him, now!"

"Still upset with me, huh?" He chuckled when the fake still didn't say anything.

"You have three seconds. Three."

"Again, I wanna believe you didn't do it."

"Two."

"But you and the girls have been kinda... Antagonizing her a bit?"

"One!"

The fake immediately clutched his left hand like he was in pain, getting Kim concerned. "Nath, what's wrong?!" He uncovered the fake's hand and was repulsed to find that his fingers were starting to vanish. "Oh my God!" Before he could say or do more, the fake mouthed, 'I'm sorry'. Then he opened the sketchbook and pressed the blank page to Kim's face. He disappeared with a scream. Fake Nathaniel dropped the sketchbook in favor of clutching his fingerless hand. The akumatized object was opened to the page with Evillustrator's angry glare, "Hesitate next time, and I'll erase your arm!”

The fake nodded frantically before letting out a sigh as Evillustrator drew on his tablet, making his fingers reappear. As he headed to the door, he heard a slight shuffling sound and turned around to see Myléne standing right outside the girls’ bathroom with her mouth agape.

”N-Nathaniel?” Myléne stammered as she began to slowly back away.

Fake Nathaniel approached her with the sketchbook opened to a blank page. Another silent ‘Sorry’, and Myléne was gone and trapped in the sketchbook. He flipped the pages back to Evillustrator, “Better. Now don’t stop until you have Rossi and those assholes!” The fake didn't want to do this, but he had to; it was how he was drawn. He was made to be a pawn in his creator's revenge plot, but he didn't want to do that. Evillustrator gave him the same personality he had pre-Akumatization, so this just felt wrong to him, but he couldn't go against his commands.

When fake Nathaniel nodded, Evillustrator arched an eyebrow and asked, "Can you speak?" He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but nothing came out. He shook his head. Evillustrator started drawing on his tablet, "Hold still." Fake Nathaniel's throat glowed a bright purple before dimming. "Say something."

"S... So... Some... Ting. S-something?"

"So glad I caught that. Now go!" Immediately, the fake put the sketchbook back into his messenger bag and left.

“Hey, Nath,” Marc greeted the fake as he sat down at their lunch table.

Fake Nathaniel smiled. He had his real counterpart's personality and all of his memories, so he knew exactly how to act and what to say (Now that he had a voice). “Hey, Rainbow.” He kisses Marc’s cheek and ignores the stinging sensation he’s feeling in his hand as one of his fingers is being erased. Evillustrator made him and can easily destroy him if he does something he doesn’t like. Apparently, kissing Marc is one of them.

”So, where were you?” Alix asked as she popped a grape in her mouth.

“Oh, I-I remembered that I left my locker open, and went to close it,” he fibbed.

“No point in that, Nath,” she shrugged. “Anyone can just go in and take whatever’s in a locker."

Marinette nodded in agreement, remembering her expulsion, then asked, “So, what do you guys think happened to Mme. Bustier? She couldn’t have suddenly disappeared; we all just saw her.”

Alix leaned back in her seat, uncaring, “Does it really matter? I think we could all use a break from her.” Juleka nodded, “Maybe Mendeleiev will be our substitute and actually put Lila in her place.”

”One can dream,” Rose sighed as she leaned on Juleka, making the goth girl wrap her arm around the blonde.

Juleka looked around the room. She furrowed her brow then asked, “That’s weird. Kim and Mylène aren’t here.”

”Well, Kim probably went to the pool,” Alix said as she looked for the activist. “But where’s Myléne?”

”Maybe she-“ Before Marc could finish what he was about to say, the doors slammed against the wall as Alya stormed in with Nino trailing close behind.

”Nino, a phone doesn’t just disappear like that!” she exclaimed. “There’s probably an Akuma around here!” Immediately, the cafeteria broke out into whispers about if Alya was right about the Akuma. “And Mme. Bustier suddenly disappearing? Explain that. She wouldn’t just ditch her job like that.”

”Tell it to the person doing most of her work,” Marinette muttered, making the students at the table laugh. Mme. Bustier would always force Marinette to do her work for her and say that they’re the duties of the class representative when really, the woman is just lazy to do the work herself. And when Marinette refuses, Bustier will use the ‘I’m disappointed in you’ voice until Marinette complied.

”You think this is funny?!” Lila whined. “Mme. Bustier and Myléne are missing, and it’s probably because there’s probably an Akuma loose in the school!”

Alix groaned, “Mind your own business, Rossi!” A couple of the students that were on Marinette’s side snickered. “And it’s called making light of a situation. Less negativity, fewer Akumas. You're welcome.”

”Why are you guys always so rude to me?” Alya asked before pointing to Marinette, “First you let your jealousy cloud your judgment,” then to Juleka, “you’re always telling Lila to kill herself,” Alix, “you ruined her clothes,” Rose, “you stole her money,” then Nathaniel, “and you plagiarized her art because you’re jealous of her, too! Why do you guys hate her so much?”

”Because she’s a liar,” Marc murmured. "Simple as that."

“I’m not!” Lila yelled with fake tears in her eyes that masked the glare she was sending the boy. “Why does no one believe me?!” Sabrina went to console her.

”We believe you, girl,” Alya reassured. “And we’re gonna prove you’re innocent...” Her eyes trailed to Nathaniel’s messenger bag, “Starting by proving Nathaniel did steal your art!”

Before the fake artist could react, Alya already had his messenger bag in her hands and now the akumatized sketchbook. “Lila, get your sketchbook, we’re gonna...” Her voice trailed off when she saw the moving sketches of Mme. Bustier, Kim, and Mylène, begging to be freed. The other students gathered around Alya and looked in horror at students and teacher trapped in the sketchbook.

Max pointed at the fake, “You-you’re the Akuma!”

With a sneer, he snatched the sketchbook out of Alya’s hands and pressed a blank page to Max’s face. He disappeared and was now trapped inside the sketchbook, alarming the students.

“Th-the sketchbook’s g-gotta be an Amok,” Nino stammered as he pulled Alya away from the fake. “H-he doesn’t even look like an Akuma!”

“There’s no Amok, and I’m not the Akuma.” He flips to the page with Evillustrator. “He is.” As the students stood in shock, the fake tore out the page, and it glowed a bright purple before morphing into Evillustrator, glaring menacingly at the Akuma Class.

”N-Nath?” Marc stammered as he cautiously approached his Akumatized boyfriend.

“Then who’s he?!” Alix grabbed the fake's wrist to prevent him from running and glared at him.

Evillustrator scoffed. ”He's not important.” Then, much to the fake's horror, he put the eraser to his tablet.

”No! Wait!” The fake cried as he was erased from existence, horrifying the students, Marc especially. The sketchbook dropped to the floor with a thud.

“H-how did-“

”Ask her!” He points a shaky finger at the Italian girl. “You,” he draws a lock on his tablet, “will not get away with what you did!” A couple of students, Marinette being one of them, managed to escape the cafeteria right before Multiple locks appeared on the doors, making it impossible for the others to get out unless they were crazy enough to jump out of the window.

”I-I didn’t do anything!” She lied while rubbing her eyes to look like she’s crying again. “Why are you trying to hurt me, Nathaniel?!”

”It’s Evillustrator, now!” He drew a missile on his tablet, and that same missile appeared next to him. The students ran for the doors and tried to pull the locks off, but they were too strong. “NO ONE LEAVES UNTIL SHE’S GONE!” He points his pen towards Lila, and the missile goes after her as she runs around the cafeteria screaming for help. Seeing that they weren't going to get out of this, the remaining students ducked under tables and chairs.

Ismael and Ivan ran towards Evillustrator to try and grab the pen, remembering how that was the Akumatized object last time Nathaniel was Akumatized. Quickly, he jumped out of the way, causing the two boys to collide and fall to the floor, groaning in pain. Evillustrator grabs the sketchbook off the floor and pressed a blank page on them, making the two boys disappear into the sketchbook.

Seeing that the missile was getting closer to her, Sabrina quickly got up from under a table and tackled Lila to the floor before the missile could hit her. It instead crashed into a wall, creating a massive hole that allowed the students to escape. The art club students stayed behind, though, hoping that they could calm their akumatized friend down. Evillustrator was about to run after them, but Akux grabbed his wrist.

”Nath, wait!” she pleaded while trying to not look like she’s afraid of the enraged Akuma that used to be her best friend. “Let’s just talk about this, okay? What did Lila do to you?”

Evillustrator’s glare softened as he looked into Alix's eyes. He needed to get his revenge on Lila but she was keeping him from doing that... “Forgive me, Alix.”

”What?”

Before Alix knew it, she was trapped in the sketchbook, shocking the remaining members of the art club. Marc was about to approach him, but Evillustrator held his sketchbook close to his face, making the writer back away. “Don’t make me do something I will regret, Rainbow,” he warned then ran out of the cafeteria.

Many of the students took refuge in the locker room, their main place to hide during Akuma attacks in the school. They begged Damocles for months to actually build some sort of Akuma safety shelter in the school, but it was always the same thing, 'There's not enough money in the budget.' Well, there certainly was enough for him to create a secret compartment hidden behind the wall for his Owl stuff. Thinking about how much of the money they made during fundraisers being spent by him to create those toy weapons often gave the students horrible headaches.

The students flinched when they heard Evillustrator's booming voice from the second floor of the school, “WHERE ARE YOU LILA?!” A few brave students looked out the window and saw Evillustrator erasing the walls to every classroom he passed by. “YOU’RE WEAK, YOU KNOW THAT?!” He erases the door to a storage closet, revealing two very scared students cowering at the sight of him. The students not targeted by him couldn't help but feel sorry for the Akuma. Whatever Lila did must have been awful to make Nathaniel this upset.

With a frustrated yell, Evillustrator got the two students with his sketchbook. Once they were gone, he jumped down from the second floor and into the courtyard, making the students get away from the window, hoping he didn't see them. Jean Duparc looked around to make sure everyone was safe or not doing anything to attract the Akuma. A few were nervously biting their nails or twirling their hair, others were texting their parents, and next to him, Aurore and Mireille were updating their blog, 'BugOut & CatChat'. Instead of recording Akuma battles like Alya with the Ladybug, they analyzed the akumas and gave descriptions of their powers, let the public know of the Akuma's location so they could avoid it and so Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn't find it. And just for laughs, they critiqued Hawkmoth's fashion choices for Akumas. So far, there was nothing about Evillustrator's new outfit that needed critiquing. He bumped Trouble Maker down to 2nd place on the 'Best Dressed Akuma' list.

“Come out now, or so help me, I will-!” He stepped to the side when Ladybug’s YoYo flew right past him and retracted back to the spotted heroine standing at the top of the stairs. “You’ll have to be quicker than that, you pest!”

Chat Noir dropped in next to Ladybug, “Well, what’s got him so steamed up?”

“Lila,” she groaned, making Chat roll his eyes in annoyance at the mention of the liar. He's given that girl enough chances, as Chat and as Adrien. He was done. ”Let’s get this over with.”

The two heroes ran towards Evillustrator and were already dodging giant boxing gloves, buzz saws, and pitchforks drawn by him. Ladybug threw her yoyo, which he ducked under then drew something on his tablet. A hole that Ladybug would’ve fallen into if Chat Noir hadn’t grabbed her hand in time appeared under her feet.

Evillustrator drew two more buzz saws and sent them at the heroes. Chat Noir quickly got in front of Ladybug and spun his staff, making it act like a shield that deflected the saws. One sliced through the middle of a bench, revealing Lila. He smirked, "FOUND YOU!" He threw his sketchbook at Lila, but she ran out of the way and it hit one half of the bench before coming back to him like a boomerang. Evillustrator continues throwing his sketchbook at the liar while also drawing projectiles whenever the sketchbook was out of his hands. The first round of projectiles was easily deflected by Ladybug and Chat Noir, but there were just too many on their second round. One of them gets one of Ladybug's pigtails, cutting off a few inches and making her hair look weird. Another one nicked Chat on the ankle. He whispered a curse and clutched his ankle.

With Chat Noir subdued, Ladybug had to protect both of them and deflect the rest of the projectiles while Evillustrator went after Lila. As he chased her up the stairs, Evillustrator drew a couple of darts that pinned Lila to a wall by embedding them through her clothes. As she struggled to get free, Evillustrator calmly approached her while drawing on his tablet. "Don't look so afraid Lila. You had this coming after what you did."

"I didn't do anything!" she screamed. "It's not my fault that people like my art better than your-" She's silenced by a cleaver appearing in Evillustrator's hands.

He chuckled darkly, "I am going to enjoy this." After aiming for her head, he threw the cleaver. Lila turned her head away, believing that the cleaver hitting the side of her head would be less painful than it hitting her face. She waited, but the cleaver never came, and there was a 'clank' sound. Lila opened an eye and saw that Chat Noir, being supported by Ladybug, had deflected the cleaver with his staff.

"Took you long enough!" she complained. "Get me down from here!"

Ladybug took a deep breath as she assessed the situation. She could either be a hero and save Lila, or still be a hero and rid the world of Lila... 'Fine!' She made her way over to the sausage-haired girl and slowly took out the darts, and was clearly trying to keep herself from stabbing Lila with the very sharp ends. Once the last dart was removed, Lila pushed Ladybug into Chat, making him stumble a bit and lose his composure before making a run for it.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Evillustrator yelled, enraged. He grabbed Chat's staff while the leather-clad hero was still gripping it, and flung him over the railing, making him fall and crash onto the hard courtyard floor.

"Chat!" Ladybug called out. Angered, she threw her yoyo at the Akuma, but he caught it and opened his sketchbook, much to Ladybug's horror. Before the weapon could make contact with the page, Chat's staff extended and the end hit the side of Evillustrator's face. He fell to the floor and clenched his jaw. With him down, Ladybug ran for the sketchbook, only for a glass wall to appear between her, the Akumatized object, and Evillustrator. He drew something else on his tablet, and multiple swords appeared, all pointed at Ladybug.

"Stay out of my way!" He growled. Ladybug swung all around the courtyard as the swords chased after her. Seeing that there were still some students around, she led the swords into an empty classroom and proceeded to dodge them there. Seeing Chat Noir about to vault over to him, Evillustrator drew a giant boxing glove that knocked Chat down to the floor. He was in the middle of drawing an anvil when suddenly, a gloved hand grabbed his wrist. He looked up to see who had the nerve to stop him, but his anger diminished when he saw that it was Marc. "Rainbow, what are you doing?"

"Nath, you gotta stop!" Marc pleaded as he intertwined his and Evillustrator's hands.

"You don't know what she did, Marc!" He exclaimed. "You weren't there! Now let me go!" He tried to pull his hand out of Marc's grasp, but the writer wasn't letting go. 'Rossi's getting away! I can't let her get away with this!' With some reluctance, Evillustrator raised his sketchbook and tried hard to ignore the sad look in Marc's eyes. Just as he was about to press the page to his chest, Marc was pushed to the side, and the page instead was pressed to Rose's face, making her disappear into the sketchbook.

"ROSE!" Juleka and Marc cried out.

Evillustrator hit his fist on the metal railing in anger, "DAMN IT! SEE WHAT ROSSI'S MAKING ME DO?!" Hurridly, he drew a jetpack that appeared on his back. He pointed to Chat, "If you or Ladybug get in my way again, I WILL ERASE YOU BOTH FROM EXISTENCE!" Before he took off, he noticed Alya peering from around a corner. She was recording the fight using Nino's phone. When she noticed his eyes on her, she quickly made a run for it, but Evillustrator was faster. He hoisted the journalist over his shoulder.

"You're coming with me!" he yelled. "I want you to be there when Lila finally gets what's coming to her!"

"Wh-what are you- AH!"

Evillustrator flew out of the school just as Ladybug ran out of the classroom with her pigtails missing a couple of inches, one side strand missing, and some cuts on her face. She knew Evillustrator was a dangerous Akuma. He nearly drowned her and Chat and almost killed Chloe with a buzzsaw, but this was next level brutal. Hearing a groan, she looked and saw Chat Noir slowly climbing up the stairs with a slight limp. "Chat, are you okay?"

He shook his head, "No, m'lady. He got my ankle bad."

"Ladybug, Chat Noir!" Nino called out as he and Sabrina approached the two in-pain heroes. "Are you two okay?"

Ladybug gave a nod, "Yeah, we're fine. And don't worry Nino, we'll get Alya back."

Nino let out a breath of relief before Sabrina said to Ladybug, "Hey, after you were helping Lila down, I-I saw her push you. A-and before that, she sounded so rude when you were trying to help her." Ladybug frowned at that. She's saved that girl's butt so many times, and not once has she shown any gratitude. "Are you two having a fight, or-"

"No. We're not."

"Then why-"

Chat cut Nino off, "They're not friends, okay? Never have been, never will be."

"... Lila was lying?" Sabrina whispered to herself.

"And the sun sets in the west," Juleka muttered, making Marc give her a little nudge with his elbow.

The two bespectacled students cast each other looks of disbelief. Lila was lying about being friends with Ladybug, and she pushed the heroine into Chat, knowing he was injured and trying to fight Evillustrator. If she lied about that, what else could she have lied about? Pulling them out of their thoughts was Aurore and Mireille running over to Ladybug and Chat Noir with their phones.

"Ladybug! Chat Noir!" Mireille called out. "Alya's live-streaming right now." She hands the spotted heroine her phone, and the screen showed a live stream of the Ladyblog. Alya was in an odd position with a look of clear terror on her face that she was trying to mask with a brave smile. "He-hey, viewers! So, I am..." She looks down, and her eyes bulge before she looks back at the camera, "About a hundred feet above the ground right now, and I have nothing to hold onto! B-but don't worry. I mean, I'm slung over an Akuma's shoulder like a sack of flour, but at least he's not handsy like Pharaoh." She panned the phone to Evillustrator. "Care to comment?"

Evillustrator looks to the phone with an enraged look. "Lila Rossi, if you're watching this, I will find you! Be sure of it! And I might consider letting you live if Ladybug and Chat Noir hand over their Miraculous!"

Marc felt a tear about to escape out of the corner of his eye. What did Lila do to Nathaniel?

Alya panned the phone back to her horrified face. The fear of falling from a great height didn't phase her anymore. Now she was scared of the possibility of seeing an Akuma murder someone. Finally, much to her relief, they landed on a balcony.

"Wh-what are you doing here?!" A woman yelled.

Ladybug paused the video, "Thanks, you guys." She turns to Chat, "You gonna be okay?"

Chat gives her a thumbs up, "I'll be fine." He extends his baton, ready to vault out of the school. "Let's go!"

The two heroes swing and vault out of the school and head over to where Evillustrator is, leaving Lila's former followers to awkwardly stand with her haters.

"... We tried to tell you," Marc told Nino and Sabrina after a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Evillustrator, this is going too far! Let her go!"

Evillustrator glared at the Italian woman tied up and gagged on a couch. Floating over her were about ten daggers, all of the blades sharpened to a deadly point. "Yes, spare the mother of a demon spawn," he said sarcastically. "You said that you'd stay out of my way!" He turns to Alya, who's trying to inch out of the room. "Don't. Go. Anywhere. And keep rolling! Let's see if Lila Rossi is all she claims to be."

Mme. Rossi lets out a loud muffled response. The Akuma approaches her and rips the duct tape off of her mouth, making her let out a pained yell. "What are you talking about?! What does this have to do my daughter?!"

Evillustrator gives the woman a pitiful look. It's sad how this woman doesn't know what her daughter has been up to. Well, now she'll know.

"MAMA!"

"Perfect timing," Evillustrator smirked as Lila ran up the stairs and into the living room.

"Mama, don't listen to him! He's an Akuma, and he's trying to hurt me!"

Evillustrator chuckled, "Well, that's not the whole story, is it?" He turns to Alya, still recording, "Paris, let's see how committed to her lies, Lila is. Would she put her own mother in danger just to avoid the consequences?" He approaches the scared and very confused woman. "Irene Rossi, your daughter has been claiming many things recently. Confirm a few things for me, okay?" Irene nods frantically. "Great. And if Lila tries to save face, then... I'm so sorry she's your daughter." He draws a ball and chain something on his tablet. That same one appears around Lila's ankle, preventing her from escaping. "Now, Irene. Tell us, have you ever met Prince Ali?"

Irene furrowed her brow in confusion. 'What is he talking about?' She shook her head, no. "What are you-"

"He's trying to make me look bad, mama!" Lila wailed. "Please, don't answer whatever he asks! It's a trick!"

"Damn, Lila," Evillustrator whispered. "I thought you loved your mother." He pointed to one of the daggers, and at his command, it dropped down, dangerously close to hitting Irene's shoulder and embedding itself into the couch cushion. All three women and everyone watching the Ladyblog Livestream let out horrified gasps. "This is what happens when you lie," he taunted. "So, you've never met Prince Ali? So, that would mean Lila's never worked on Go Green charities with him."

"What?!" Irene shrieked. "Prince Ali doesn't even work with Go Grene charities! He's devoted his time to helping children! Lila, what have you been telling people?"

Before the brunette has a chance to speak, Evillustrator interrupts, "Next question. Are you the descendant of a fox hero named Volpina?" Alya's jaw dropped at that question. "Did anyone in the family ever pass along a necklace with a fox-tail pendant down to Lila?"

Irene shook her head, "No! No one hasn't!" She glares at Lila, "The only family heirloom passed down is a wedding veil with the brides' names stitched on!"

"M-maybe you just didn't know about it!" Lila lied, much to Irene and Alya's shock. They saw what happened when she lied, and she's still trying to save herself. "Nonna passed the necklace down to me because she-"

"LIES!" Another dagger came very close to hitting Irene's foot. She managed to move it out of the way at the last second. "So shameful. Letting your mother face the consequences for your lies? Is there no level you won't stoop to, Lila?" When she didn't answer and instead glared at him, he asked Irene the next question, "Why wasn't Lila in school for what was it?... Three months?”

“I was told that school was closed due to an Akuma outbreak and that Ladybug and Chat Noir were too incompetent to stop them.”

”By Lila?”

”...” She nodded, ashamed, “Yes.”

Evillustrator smirked, “Well, while your daughter was relaxing at home, she’s been telling everyone that she was really in Achu with Prince Ali.” He adds, “And it takes Ladybug and Chat Noir about three hours to defeat an Akuma, so they’re not incompetent like your daughter says they are.”

Irene hung her head. How could her own flesh and blood be so deceitful? And how could she risk the life of her own mother like this?

”Aw, that’s so sweet!” Chat exclaimed as he and Ladybug landed on the balcony and made their way inside.

”Nathaniel, you’ve already exposed Lila,” Ladybug tried to reason. “Just hand over your Akuma so no one else gets hurt!”

”My name is Evillustrator!” he growled. “And that wasn’t even half the lies she’s told!” He turns to Irene, who’s gone pale learning that Lila's told more lies. “You thought those were bad? Just wait until you see what else she’s hiding.” He draws a gas mask that appears over his face and a smoke bomb that releases purple smoke all around the living room. There are some scattered coughs that decrease as the smoke clears up due to Ladybug and Chat Noir spinning their weapons. They act like fans and blow the smoke out of the window. When the room clears up, Evillustrator, Lila, and Alya are gone, but Irene still remains tied up on the couch with the daggers still above her.

“Where’d they go?” Ladybug wondered aloud before Chat went to go untie Mme. Rossi.

”Th-thank you, b-both of you,” she stammered while eyeing the still-floating daggers. “I-I am so sorry for what I th-thought of you, I’m sure you’re both-“

”Ma’am, it’s alright,” Chat told her. “Lila was the one making us look bad; you didn’t know.”

"Maledetto," Irene sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Looking back, some things Lila has been telling me did seem far-fetched. The school being closed for months, every student and teacher being akumatized, the people working for the media have been held hostage." The heroes give her unbelieving looks. "Yes. I realize how dumb it sounds now, but I'm new to these... Akumas, and Miraculous. I... I thought I could trust her."

Ladybug rested a hand on the woman's shoulder and gives her a sympathetic look, "We'll set your daughter straight, Mme. Rossi. You can be sure of it." As the woman smiled, Ladybug called her for her, "Lucky Charm!" The object that dropped down into her hands was, "A ram's horn?"

Chat Noir scratched his head in confusion, "You gonna play a little tune?"

"That's also what convinced me you two weren't capable," Irene said. "You rely on random objects to defeat an Akuma?"

Ladybug looked around the room, trying to find a way to use the Lucky Charm, "Well, they do help in battles. I just need to figure out how to use it."

"Hey!" Chat piped up, "Isn't there a Goat Miraculous?"

Ladybug recalled seeing a Goat Kwami when she was battling Kwamibuster, and she wore horn-shaped barrettes. "You're right, Chat! Go and follow Evillustrator, I'll be with you soon." With a salute, Chat was gone. Before she left, Irene told her in a low, threatening voice, "Bring her back, so I may give her the punishment she deserves."

Ladybug tensed, "Well, with what Lila's been doing, she'll probably be out of your hands and in the polices'." She left before Irene could ask what she meant, leaving the Italian woman to sulk in her living room.

'What did she do to him?!' Marc wondered over and over as he sat in the art room with Juleka, furiously writing his feelings down in his journal. Both of them needed a break from the guilty look of Juleka's classmates and decided to spend the rest of the day in the art classroom. It was so quiet without the others.'That sausage-haired jerk deserves what's coming to her!... Maybe not death.'

Juleka takes a peek over Marc's shoulder to read what he's written. Her eyes go wide when she sees the many words Marc has used to describe Lila... Well, he was right. "You feeling better?" she asked.

Marc looked up from his journal and turned to face the goth girl. "... I need worse words for her." Juleka chuckled and took the seat next to him. "I have used every curse word and insult I could think of to describe Lila, and none of them are strong enough."

Juleka pulls out a pencil, "Try this." She writes something down on the corner page of his journal and has him look at it, leaving Marc's face a crimson red. "Eh?"

"Juleka," Marc gasped. "Wh-where did you-"

"You won't believe what mom said around me," she smirked. "One of them was actually Luka's first word." Her amused expression turns sour, "I still think those words are too good for Lila, though."

"Every curse word is too good for her," Marc joked, making Juleka laugh. Cutting off their amused laughter was the sound of something hitting a window. They turned around and saw Ladybug standing on a ledge right outside the classroom. They ran over and opened the window, allowing the heroine to come inside.

"L-Ladybug, what are you doing here?" Juleka asked in awe.

"The Lucky Charm told me to come here." She turns to Marc, "I'm gonna need to borrow you for a while, Marc." The emerald-eyed boy stood, frozen in shock. Ladybug. The Ladybug wanted to borrow him! Realizing that he's just been staring at her for a while, he snapped out of his daze and nodded.

"Y-yes! Of course!"

"Smooth," Juleka whispered.

Ladybug wrapped her arm around Marc's waist and threw her yoyo out of the window. Once it wrapped around something, it pulled the two out of the classroom, leaving Juleka alone.

"... Might as well go home," she said to herself before gathering up her stuff.

Once she and Marc were on top of a roof, Ladybug moved them to hide behind an air vent, away from the public view. "Marc, what I'm about to ask you is very important, okay?" Off his nod, she pulled out a hexagonal box in front of her. "Marc Anciel, here is the Miraculous of the Goat, which grants the power of Compassion. You will use it for the greater good. Once the job is done, you will return the Miraculous to me."

Marc was speechless. He wanted to faint, scream, and jump up and down like a child on Christmas morning. Ladybug. Was asking him to assist her in saving Nathaniel... But what if he failed? Nathaniel would stay an Akuma forever, he'd fail Ladybug and Chat Noir, and-"

"Do you accept?" Ladybug asked, concerned when Marc didn't give her an immediate response like the previous heroes. "Marc, I trust you. And Nathaniel needs you."

"... I'll do it."

With a smile, Ladybug handed him the box. Marc opened it, revealing two hair clips in the shape of horns. There was a bright flash of light that had Marc shielding his eyes for a moment before looking up at the goat-like creature floating in front of him. All he could think was, 'I WANNA PET THEM SO MUCH!'

"Hi!" She greeted, "My name's Ziggy, and I'm a Kwami! It's a pleasure to meet you!" She flies around Marc, making him chuckle. "I love him already!" Ziggy squealed as she nuzzled against Marc's cheek. "Okay, to transform, you just gotta say, Ziggy, Fleece On!"

With a nod, Marc put the clips in his hair, where they turned into crescent moon-shaped clips.

"Ziggy! Fleece On!"

Ziggy flew into one of the hairclips, transforming them both back into their original design. Marc swept his hand over his face, making a black mask appear around his eyes. A golden sheep's bell appeared on his choker necklace. The magic spread from the bell and formed a white hoodie with black trumpet sleeves, white gloves with black fingertips, black pants held up by a white studded belt, and black and white combat boots. He ran his fingers through his hair, making fake goat ears appear atop his head, and his hair became an inch longer with the tips dyed white. Finally, he reached up into the air and caught a shepherd's crook that materialized in the air. He spun it around before tapping it on the ground.

Capricorn was ready!

All of Paris' citizens stood before the Eiffel Tower, eyes glued to their phones as they watched the LadyBlog live stream with anticipation. Firefighters stood all around the structure with large trampolines ready to catch someone. And at the very top of the Eiffel Tower were Alya, filming the fight between Chat Noir, Stormy Weather, and Mime, both drawn by Evillustrator, said villain plucking at a rope tied to the railing, and tied at the end of the rope was Lila, dangling thousands of feet above the ground and screaming to the top of her lungs.

"Come on, Lila," Evillustrator told her as he continued messing with the only thing keeping Lila from becoming a stain on the ground. "Make things easier for yourself, and tell everyone the truth."

"I'M NOT A LIAR!" she screeched.

Evillustrator snarled before ducking out of the way of one of Stormy Weather's lightning bolts. "You'll do anything to keep up your act, won't you?!" He drew a throwing dark on his tablet and aimed it for Lila's head. She managed to swing out of the way just in time, much to Evillustrator's frustration. He let out a sigh before saying, "Fine. Have it your way." He draws a blade on his tablet, and that same one appears in his hand.

"NO!" Chat Noir yelled before he was pinned to the floor by one of Mime's invisible objects. His staff was out of reach, and he could barely move. Stormy Weather approached him with her parasol, and zapped him with an ice blast, freezing him in place.

Hawkmoth's symbol appeared over Evillustrator's face, "Evillustrator! Forget the girl! Take Chat Noir's Miraculous! Unthaw his hand!"

"She's made my and my friends' life a living hell, and you expect me to let her GET AWAY WITH IT?!"

In his lair, Hawkmoth swayed slightly due to being overwhelmed by Evillustrator's emotions. How can one boy feel so much rage? He looked through the Akuma's eyes and saw him putting the blade close to the rope holding up his follower. Hawkmoth didn't care for Lila, but he wasn't that cruel. Plus, if she died, where else is he gonna find some selfish civilian willing to work for him and get rid of a couple of Adrien's bad influences in exchange for the hero's downfall and a modeling contract? "That's enough!"

Hawkmoth was physically restraining Evillustrator from cutting the rope. The Akuma struggled to regain control, "Why are you defending her of all people?! You got a soft side for Rossi, Hawkmoth?!" He sneered, "What is she, your follower or something?..." He gets the use of his body back and smirks when Hawkmoth says nothing. "Your silence says a lot."

Alya and the citizens watching from down below gasped. Some inexperienced model was secretly working for Hawkmoth? She was working against their beloved hero! Hawkmoth felt like he was about to pass out from the massive wave of emotions. For once, he was praying for Ladybug to show up and de-akumatize the victim. Once this was over, he needed a long break. Screw the jewelry, this headache was awful.

Evillustrator hummed, "Well, less of Hawkmoth's followers, fewer problems." He slashed the rope, and Lila plummeted to the earth with a blood-curdling scream.

"OH MY GOD!" Alya screamed as she dropped her phone.

The firefighters tried to pinpoint where she would drop, and the police stood by, ready the question the girl (If she lives). Lila was halfway to her doom. She clenched her eyes shut and waited while thinking to herself, 'I'm lucky enough to have gotten out of there without him exposing me! That pest better get here in time!' Right as she was at the second level of the tower, she suddenly stopped falling. It felt like something was hoisting her up. She opened one eye and turned her head to see who caught her. (Maybe gain some sympathy while she's at it) "Oh my goodness! Thank you so much for-"

"Cram it, Liar Rossi," Capricorn sneered as he pulled Lila away from the balcony using his crook, and set her down. He unhooked his weapon from her jacket and ran off to help Ladybug.

"HEY!" Lila screeched, throwing away her kicked puppy act. "Aren't you gonna untie me?!"

Capricorn just smirked, having no intention of helping her, and vaulted his way up to the summit of the Eiffel Tower.

Ladybug spun her YoYo, deflecting each of Evillustrator’s projectiles while occasionally using her weapon to hit the ice Chat was trapped in and free him.

”So Ladybug, tell me.” He drew a few throwing stars, “Is Lila really your best friend?”

Ladybug flung one of the projectiles into the throwing stars, making it explode on impact. “She hates me! I try to be friends with her, but she swore a vendetta on me!” She backflips away from the sketchbook before it could pull her in. “Hell, I’m pretty sure she wants me dead! When I was fighting Oni-Chan, she tricked Chat into leaving me!” At the mention of her partner, she threw her YoYo at the ice block once again, creating a few cracks along the surface. “So to answer your question, we never will be friends! Ever!”

Alya felt her hands shaking as she struggled to keep her phone up. She owed Marinette, Nathaniel, Alix, Rose, Juleka, and Marc a huge apology when or if this is all over. So far, it’s not looking good.

Ladybug threw her YoYo once more, intending to grab the sketchbook, but it instead wrapped around a sheet of flypaper. When she retracted it, Ladybug had some trouble separating the two, and just got both of her hands and weapon stuck to the paper. Evillustrator drew a ball and chain around the heroine’s ankle and calmly approached her.

”I won,” he sang as he reached his hand over to grab the earrings. Alya cut her phone off and shielded her eyes. She wanted to know the heroes' identities, but not like this.

But a second before the earrings were in his grasp, Evillustrator was whacked to the side and fell to the ground. While getting up, he watched as a figure dressed in black and white used a shepherd’s crook to break the chain connected to the 100lb ball, and the ice trapping Chat Noir. “Who are you supposed to be?!” He snarled.

He smiled, “The name’s Capricorn.”

Without saying a word, Evillustrator furiously drew a missile on his tablet that appeared and went after the heroes. While running, Ladybug finally got the flypaper off and threw her YoYo around Alya. She flung her over to the elevator and yelled, “Go!” Alya complied and quickly went inside the elevator to avoid the fight.

As he and Capricorn ran, Chat came up with an idea on how to get rid of the missile. To the new hero, he shouted, “Launch me!” With a nod, Capricorn ran ahead of Chat, got down on one knee, and locked his fingers together. Once he was close enough, Chat leaped into Capricorn’s hands, and the latter launched him into the air. Chat called out “Cataclysm!” as he went over the missile, and slid his hand across it, turning it into black ash.

”Nice one, you guys!” Ladybug commended as she rejoined the fight.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without ewe,” he shot Capricorn double finger guns, making Ladybug roll her eyes and Capricorn stifle a laugh. Seeing Evillustrator drawing something else, Ladybug said to the new hero, “Capricorn, use your power. You can connect with Nathaniel and figure out what’s wrong!”

He nodded, “Cover me!”

Ladybug and Chat Noir ran towards Evillustrator, just as he was finished drawing three buzz saws. Chat Noir got in front of Ladybug and deflected them while she called for another Lucky Charm. It was a box of tissues. She set those to the side and went after Evillustrator, wrapping her YoYo tight around him. He kept his sketchbook clutched close to his chest and had no intention of letting go.

With him restrained, Capricorn yelled, “Connection!” And his crook was illuminated by a bright white light. He calmly approached Evillustrator, ignored his threats, and tapped his forehead with the crook. In an instant, Capricorn was no longer at the Eiffel Tower; he was at someone’s home. He looked around and recognized the place thanks to the furniture and photos framed on the wall. He was at Nathaniel’s house.

”Where’s my lil’ Leonardo?!” A playful voice called out followed by some giggling. Capricorn looked towards the door and saw a tall man with dark red hair and turquoise eyes walking in with a bright smile and a bag in his hands. Capricorn recognized the man. He’s seen his photos every time he goes over to Nathaniel’s house. It was his father, Maison Kurtzberg.

The man smiled as a child with long red hair wearing paint-splattered clothes ran into his arms. It was clear to Capricorn that the boy was Nathaniel.

”We really gotta cut your bangs, kids,” Maison laughed as he ruffled young Nathaniel’s hair, making the child laugh.

”Oh, leave him alone,” a voice Capricorn recognized as Aya’s said. “he likes how they look.” The seven-year-old nodded in agreement with his mother, making Maison chuckle.

”Well then, how are you gonna be able to see when you’re drawing in your books?” he asked.

”Oh, our little artist used up all of his sketchbooks,” Aya simpered while Maison just looked astonished.

”All ten of them?” Aya nodded. “Well then...” He hands Nathaniel over to Aya and reaches into the bag his holding, “It’s a good thing I bought this!” He pulls out a black sketchbook with a white outline of a paintbrush, pencil, and pen on the front. The young boy’s eyes gleamed under his bangs, and he made grabby motions with his hands, either to get to his dad or grab the new sketchbook.

Aya giggled and kissed her son’s forehead. “We really need to get him to talk more.”

Capricorn smiled at the scene before it faded away and transitioned to the school locker room. He looked around and saw Nathaniel, standing at his locker and frantically flipping through the torn pages of a black book. Upon closer inspection, Capricorn realized that it was Nathaniel’s sketchbook, the one his dad bought for him.

‘So that’s what Lila did,’ he thought bitterly.

When Nathaniel broke out into tears and sat down on the floor, Capricorn approached and kneeled beside him. “... Nathaniel?” He looked up at him with a tear-stained face and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Capricorn placed his hands on Nathaniel’s shoulders, “You had every right to be mad. You-“

Nathaniel cut him off, “Took my anger out on everyone! I-I trapped my classmates, I hurt Ladybug and Chat Noir, I tried to kill Lila!” He covers his face with his hands and cries harder, “I almost hurt Marc...”

Capricorn wanted to tell him, ‘No you didn’t.’ But that would reveal himself as Marc.

”My classmates are gonna hate me even more for what I did to Lila. Don’t make me go back out there...”

“I won’t.” He moves Nathaniel’s hands out of the way and cups his face in his hands. “But you can’t stay Akumatized forever. I get why you’re upset. That sketchbook came from someone very important to you and she took it away...”

Nathaniel sighs and holds his hand against his cheek. “...”

”... If it makes you feel any better, Evillustrator exposed Lila as Hawkmoth’s partner.”

Nathaniel looks up, hopeful, “He did?”

Capricorn nodded, “You won’t have to worry about her anymore. She can’t hurt you or your friends again.”

“... The Akuma's in my sketchbook,” he said, right before the locker room faded away.

Capricorn looked around and saw that he was back at the Eiffel Tower. In front of him was a heavily crying Evillustrator, no longer bound by Ladybug’s YoYo. He slowly loosened his grip around his sketchbook and handed it over to Capricorn. The goat hero took it, turned around, and tore the book in half. The pages scattered onto the floor and morphed into the people Evillustrator trapped in the sketchbook. Finally, the Akuma fluttered out of the book.

”No more evil-doing for you, little Akuma!” Ladybug caught it with her YoYo. “Time to de-evilize! Gotcha!” Emerging from the YoYo was a pure white butterfly that fluttered up into the sky. “Bye-bye little butterfly.” She looked around for the tissue box Lucky Charm until she saw Capricorn using a handful to wipe Evillustrator’s tears away. With a smile, she took the box and tossed it into the air.

”MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

The tissue box burst into thousands of magic Ladybugs that flew across the city. The people released from the sketchbook were placed back on the ground, all of the damage caused by Evillustrator was fixed, Chat and Ladybug’s cuts from earlier were healed, everything erased was restored, and Lila was no longer tied up. Finally, the Akuma’s magic washed over Evillustrator, leaving Nathaniel curled in on himself.

Ladybug and Chat Noir fist bump, “Pound it.”

Chat Noir looks off to the side and notices something lying on the floor. He walks over to it and picks up Nathaniel’s repaired sketchbook. “Hey,” Nathaniel looks up and gasps when he sees his sketchbook, “this yours?” He hands it over to the redhead, who immediately takes it.

”Th-thank you,” he whispered in disbelief as he flipped through the pages. Everything was there. He furrowed his brow in confusion, “I-I thought the Miracle Cure could only repair things caused by the Akuma.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure how to answer that. Maybe the Miracle Cure could fix Akumatized objects that were previously damaged, she thought. Before Ladybug could reply, he YoYo beeped. She switched it to the phone setting and saw a LadyBlog Livestream, only Alya’s phone was pointed to the floor. Did she know she was live right now?

”Please! All it takes is a few tears, and everyone will think Hawkmoth manipulated or blackmailed me!” It was Lila.

”Did Alya plan this?” Ladybug wondered.

”Clever girl,” Chat said.

“And just wait until tomorrow. Those idiots will fall at my command and attack that asshole, Kurtzberg! Maybe I can get them to tear up his sketchbook again! No doubt Ladybug's fixed it."

Capricorn‘s grip around his weapon tightened when she said that.

She let out a fake whine, “‘Oh, Nathaniel tried to kill me! Lock him away!’ See? It’s that easy!”

“I’ll tell everyone!” Alya retorted.

”And who’s gonna believe some lousy tabloid writer?” She taunted. “One word from me, and you’ll be a social pariah like those f*g art kids!”

Ladybug wanted to punch that girl so badly... Eh, let Paris take care of her.

”What the hell did you do to her?!”

”Well, let’s see... Threatened her, told her she’d lose her friends, and succeeded. Framed her for theft, cheating, and assault. Then I got her expelled so I could have Adrien all to myself."

Chat Noir held back the bile rising in his throat.

”So, I’m gonna go on a limb here and say you’ve been lying about every single thing.”

”Took you long enough, idiot! I hope you like sitting alone tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll be rich from taking that dumpy bitch’s charity money, and modeling for Gabriel.”

”And meanwhile, Paris will be hunting you down.” Alya pans the phone over to her smug face. “You heard it here, Paris. Lila is working for Hawkmoth, has been tormenting students and Francoise-DuPont, stealing charity money, and she’s homophobic.”

She pans the phone towards Lila’s horrified face. “So Lila, how does it feel to be the most hated girl in France? Oh, look at that. The comments are rolling in- Wow, everyone really hates you.”

Officer Raincomprix steps in between the two girls, “Miss Césaire, we’re going to need that phone for evidence, please.”

”One minute sir,” the video pans to her face, “Babe, if you’re watching this, I’m sorry. Your phone’s with the cops now. Okay, here you go.” The screen cuts to black.

Chat Noir couldn’t help but laugh, “I love that girl!”

Ladybug ran her fingers through her hair and grinned, “It’s over! She’s gone! She’s finally gone!” She turns to Capricorn with a bright smile, “Capricorn, why don’t you take Nathaniel back home? I’ll meet up with you later.”

With a nod, the goat hero scooped up Nathaniel into his arms and leaped away. Ladybug and Chat Noir swung and vaulted off, feeling very relieved knowing that they would have to deal with Lila anymore as civilians or heroes.

Capricorn landed right outside Nathaniel’s home and gently set him down.

”Thanks,” Nathaniel said as he shyly looked down at the ground. “A-again, I am so sorry about-“

”Nathaniel, it’s fine,” Capricorn reassured him. “You weren’t in control. I’m sure everyone will understand.”

Nathaniel smiled at that, “Thanks.”

Then, without thinking, Capricorn pulled him in for a hug, which Nathaniel returned once he got over his surprise. This lasted for a few more seconds until Nathaniel said, “I- uh... I have a boyfriend.”

Capricorn mentally facepalmed. ‘You’re not Marc right now! Nathaniel is not Capricorn’s boyfriend!’ "Sorry." Awkwardly, he pulled away and the two boys looked away in embarrassment. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, someone called out, "NATH!" It was Alix, running towards him with Rose and Juleka. The latter narrowed her eyes at the goat hero, making him tense up and worry she'll figure out he's Marc.

"Oh, shit!" Alix cursed and she engulfed Nathaniel in a bone-crushing hug. "I thought we lost you, bud!"

"We could hear everything while we were in the sketchbook," Rose piped up. "They know Lila's lying!"

"Everyone in Paris does," Juleka smiled. "A police car drove by me earlier and I saw her in the back seat."

Alix cackled, "You should have seen their faces, Nath! It was priceless! Bustier was rocking back and forth like a mental patient, Max was face-palming over and over, and Mylene? Whoa! Don't get me started-"

Rose pointed to Capricorn, "Who's this?" Alix and Juleka turned their attention to the new hero.

"Sweet!" Alix pumped her fist in the air. "A new hero! And he helped take down Rossi!"

Capricorn's elation from the compliments turned to concern when Nathaniel asked, "Wait, where's Marc? Is he okay?!" Before Capricorn could come up with an excuse, Juleka answered, "Oh, his moms called him home," she fibbed while occasionally stealing glances at Capricorn. "I was gonna go with him, but my mom needed me home for something, too. He's probably still there."

Capricorn furrowed his brow. Did Juleka know?

"Thanks, Jules!" The four of them watched him run to Marc's house. With them distracted, Capricorn took this opportunity to quickly vault away once he heard his clips beeping and go look for Ladybug.

Capricorn met with Ladybug in an alley near his house and said the de-transformation words. "Ziggy, fleece off." The goat kwami flew out from the hair clip and hovered next to Marc, nuzzling his cheek as he removed the clips.

"That was so much fun!" Ziggy squealed. "Can you call on him again one day? Pleeease?" She put her flipper-hands together and gave Ladybug dough eyes, making her and Marc laugh.

"We'll see," Ladybug giggled. She gives Ziggy a little pat on her head before pulling out the box. Marc set the clips back in and said goodbye to Ziggy before she flew back into the horn-shaped clips.

"Thank you, Marc." She tucked the box away then pulled out her yoyo, preparing to swing away. "I knew I picked the right person for the job. Now, I suggest you go make sure Nathaniel is alright."

Marc nodded, "I will."

"See you soon, Capricorn." Marc wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she was already gone. He let out an excited squeal before running to his house. He waited outside for about three minutes until he saw Nathaniel running towards him.

"Nath!" The two ran towards each other and met each other with a tight, loving embrace.

"Rainbow, I'm so sorry," Nathaniel whispered, taking an exhale before asking, "Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that. Nath, what Lila was... It-it was fucked up." Nathaniel nodded once he got over the shock of hearing his boyfriend curse. "But she's gone, now. She can't hurt you, me, Mari, anyone anymore."

With a smile, Nathaniel kissed Marc, and he melted into it as he wrapped his arms around Nathaniel.

The next day, the art club kids walked to school together. (Marc made sure to set an alarm for Marinette) They wanted to be prepared for any random apologies from the Akuma class or any reporters swarming the schoolyard looking for Hawkmoth's latest victim. When they realized DuPont was an Akuma hotspot, news crews would always go to get an interview from the Akumatized student or teacher. So far no reporters yet, much to Nathaniel's relief, but there were a few police cars parked outside.

Around them were a few officers questioning the students and teachers as they made their way to the doors. Before they could go in, the doors swung open, and four police officers walked out, escorting Mme. Bustier and M. Damocles to the police cars. Marinette asked Nino, who walked out a second later, "Are Mme. Bustier and M. Damocles getting arrested?"

Nino shrugged, "I heard the school board decided to do an investigation when Lila mentioned missing months of school and getting you expelled without any proof. Some people from the board came, talked to them, and, uh..." He slipped off his cap and ran his hand through his hair. "I don't think we're gonna see them for a while, Mari."

Marinette couldn't help but grin at the news, "I don't have to be the class example anymore!" Nino's eyes bulged at that. "I-it's a long story. I'll tell you later."

Nino chuckled before giving the group a remorseful look, "I... I'm sorry I didn't believe you guys."

"Don't sweat it, Lahiffe," Alix said. "You guys are just too nice and naive to notice when you're being conned."

Nino furrowed his brow as he processed what she just said. After a moment of silence, he said, "Thank... You? Well, school is canceled for today and the class is going to get some ice cream. You guys in?"

"Yeah!" Alix cheered. "Let's get some ice cream and apologies!" She sat on top of the stair railing and slid down.

"There they are," Kim said, pointing to Nino arriving with the art students. The Akuma class tensed up as they approached. Some were going over their apologies in their heads while others were figuring out what to say, especially to Marinette and Nathaniel. "Alright," he took a breath, "let's do this, guys."

Before any of them could apologize, Alix spoke, "Yes, yes. You all were idiots, we're smart, you're sorry, and promise to listen to us when we say someone is lying."

"... Y-yeah. Ba-basically," Kim stammered. "But seriously, you guys, we're sorry we took Lila's side."

"We've known you guys since we were kids," Mylene remarked. "We should've known you guys couldn't have done the stuff Lila said you did."

"Yeah, you should've," Juleka muttered, making Rose nudge her girlfriend with her elbow.

Alya walked over to Marinette with a sad smile, "Any chance you guys might forgive us someday?"

Marinette smiled and pulled the girl in for a hug, "Alya, shut up. I forgive you."

The creole girl smile and wrapped her arms around Marinette, "Thanks, Mari."

"... But if this happens again, I will physically knock some sense into you all until you admit that I'm right and beg for mercy," she whispered. The students just stood there, disturbed by what the sweetest girl in class just said.

Alya slowly back away from Marinette and nervously chuckled, "Got it, girl."

"Now, Alya," Alix piped up, "guys, isn't there someone else you want to apologize to?" She gestures over to Nathaniel.

Alya wasn't sure what to say to Nathaniel. The only time they really interacted was yesterday when she accused him of stealing Lila's art. So, taking a deep breath, she said to him, "Nathaniel, I... I jumped the gun, there, I'll admit it." A few nodded along. "When I think about it, the more I realize that you'd never steal another person's art."

"I mean you went into a fifteen-minute rant during history when we were talking about some art thief," Ivan brought up. He chuckled at the memory before stopping abruptly. "Yeah... Sorry."

"I forgive you guys," Nathaniel smiled. "Just don't do that ever again or I might also knock some sense into you guys."

To change the subject, Max brought up Capricorn, and now that was all anyone could talk about. Marc blushed when some of the girls called his hero persona cute. Was he? He didn't really get a good look at his outfit. As they rambled on about the new hero, he and Nathaniel went to get some ice cream.

"So, what'd you think of Capricorn?" Marc asked.

Nathaniel hummed in thought before answering, "I like him. He really helped me out there... Plus, he's kinda cute." Marc tried to fight back a blush. "Not as cute as you, though." Marc wasn't sure how to respond to that. "He was really understanding about why I got Akumatized and he even convinced me to hand over my Akuma."

Marc feigned surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "Do you think he'd mind if we put him in the comic?"

Marc pretended to think about it for a moment, "I don't think so."

AO3

~Taglist~

[sakurablossomcreamlatte]

tiny giants made of tinier giants

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Relationships: Dipper Pines & Ford Pines

Characters: Dipper Pines, Ford Pines, Stan Pines (mentioned), Mabel Pines (mentioned)

Words: 3,596

Summary: “It’s two AM, and Ford has a visitor.” 

[AO3]

why would I work on any of my own WIPs or try and get my life together when I could write oneshots

(this work was inspired by this super sweet comic by @rosesanddoodl3s! I hope you don’t mind, I just really loved it and had to write some of my feels out)

Ford’s been back in his own world for approximately thirty-two hours, and yet it’s almost like he never left - sitting at his desk in his old room, scribbling in the back of his second journal and muttering hissed curses between his teeth. The Oregon sky sits inky and indigo outside the panes of his window, studded with stars, and despite their apathetic, twinkling benevolence Ford can’t shake the feeling that they’re watching him. 

It’s not something he can just let go of after thirty years on the run between dimensions. 

On top of snatching away his chance to finally take out that demon once and for all, mercilessly and swiftly as he was powerless to stop it - his idiot brother’s activation of the portal literally created an interdimensional rift. He spent most of the day figuring out a way to contain it... and subsequently wrestling the slippery splashes of interdimensional matter around the portal room into the glass orb he was able to create. At least he’s in good enough shape to do so, despite his age - not that Stan would have a clue, if the beer gut he’s developed over the years is anything to go by. 

He crosses out one equation and scribbles another, tugging at his hair in frustration. All that stands between Bill and his goals now is a veil of worryingly breakable glass. 

There has to be something else he can use to protect everyone until he can find something stronger. Project Mentem, maybe? Would the machine still even work? It would probably need some level of repair after thirty years of disuse - not that he’d even used it successfully the first time round. 

A tentative knock on the door jolts him from the letters and numbers that are starting to spin on the pages in front of his eyes, and he really hopes it’s not Stan - but then again, Stan’s not really the type to knock either. Brow creasing, Ford turns to face the door. “Yes?” 

The door slowly creaks open, and he can’t stop himself from raising an eyebrow at the sight of the boy twin - Dipper, that’s it - hovering apprehensively in the doorway, clutching what looks like the comforter from his bed. “Um, Great-Uncle Ford?” 

“Dipper?” Ford frowns again, closing the journal and setting his pen down as he checks his watch. It’s after two AM. “What are you doing up?” 

Dipper hesitantly crosses the threshold, and as he steps into the dim light of the room Ford notices that his eyes are red - and a little puffy. “I, uh…” he averts his gaze, biting his lip, “...couldn’t sleep.” 

“I… see.” Ford can feel his heart sink a little. Dipper and Mabel were certainly a lot to take in upon his arrival back in this dimension, considering the thought of descendants hadn’t even crossed his mind - but they seemed assured of themselves, despite the way Dipper had almost fainted and/or thrown up upon discovering that yes, Ford was the one who wrote the journal he was clutching in his hands. The bright-eyed expression of hope and determination the boy had turned to him with as he’d pulled the memory eraser gun from his rucksack was a stark contrast to the one on his face now, and Ford’s struck out of nowhere with a sudden urge to protect him - his sister, too. He’s only known them for a day and he already knows he never wants to see them cry. Ever. 

Stan might want him to stay away from them, but he certainly can’t stop him from caring about them - and if Dipper’s down here of his own volition, Ford certainly won’t push him away. “Did you have a bad dream?” 

“Something like that.” Dipper hugs the comforter to himself a little tighter, and Ford makes a decision, rising from his desk and crossing the room to take a seat on the couch. The kid’s wide-eyed gaze follows him, and Ford simply pats the cushion next to him as an invitation. 

Dipper comes to sit on the couch next to him, tugging the worn, patched blanket around his shoulders. There’s still something hesitant in the movements of his limbs, like he’s holding himself back, and something twinges uncomfortably within Ford’s chest. He doesn’t want either of the children to feel like that around him - but he just wants to protect them from the dangers Stan’s opened their world up to, regardless of how inadvertent it might have been, and for that he probably needs to keep his distance. Even now he feels like he’s breaking some arbitrary rule, with Dipper perched on the couch at his side - before a wave of indignation washes it away. It’s Ford’s house, damn it, not Stan’s - despite what he may have told them… and everyone else in this town.  

“Any reason you came to me rather than Stan…?” Ford ventures. He’s absolutely not against it - if anything, he feels strangely honoured that one of the kids came to him seemingly looking for comfort - but considering how long they’ve known him against how long they’ve known Stan, he has to wonder why. Dipper simply stares at his socked feet instead. 

Were ten year olds always this… small? Both the boy and his sister barely come up to Ford’s - and Stan’s - elbows. Are they just short for their age? What were we like compared to Dad? 

He wonders if it’s a good thing that he’s struggling to remember. 

“I….” Dipper starts, and then seemingly gives up on himself, thin shoulders slumping with a sigh. “Sorry. I just - I dunno. I don’t think Grunkle Stan’s… mad at me, as such, but I kind of… said some things to him yesterday.” He averts his eyes, curling a little further in on himself. 

Of course. Ford’s still smarting at the idea that his brother claimed his name as his own (and almost certainly amassed an impressive criminal record under it). Stan obviously cares about these kids - that part’s so glaringly obvious that even Ford can’t deny it - but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s essentially betrayed them. 

“Well,” Ford concedes, “it’s… a lot to take in. I think you’re handling it better than I might have at the age of ten.”

Dipper looks up at him, stricken. “I’m twelve.”  

Ford makes a mental note to correct his journal entry on the boy later. “I see. My apologies.” 

His great-nephew (and that feels so bizarre to think, knowing that less than forty-eight hours ago he wasn’t even aware of the kid’s existence) just deflates even further. “It’s... okay, I guess. I know I’m short.” He pulls his knees up to his chest. “I mean, it’s just really annoying right now. Grunkle Stan’s really tall - and so are you, actually - and so’s my dad. I guess I can’t be short forever, but… I dunno.” 

Right, their father. Shermie’s boy - David. 

“How is Shermie, anyway?” Ford ventures, and no sooner have the words left his mouth than he wishes he hadn’t asked - because at the mention of their elder brother’s name Stan’s face immediately falls, any light that might have remained leaving his eyes, and that tells Ford pretty much everything he needs to know. 

“What’s your father like?” 

The question leaves Ford’s lips before he even really has the time to think about how random it is. He hasn’t even seen David since… what, Thanksgiving in third year of college? His nephew was barely four or five years old at that point, a rambunctious child with big brown eyes and a mop of chestnut-coloured curls who gleefully ran around their parents’ apartment while Shermie chased after him, throwing out frantic, stuttered apologies in their dad’s direction. It’s crossed Ford’s mind every now and then while jumping between dimensions, but he’s always pushed it away just as quickly, not wanting to dwell on the pain of everything else he threw away the second he shook Bill’s hand. 

Dipper’s seemingly just as taken aback by the question as Ford is, and when he lifts his head to look up at him, brown eyes wide beneath his fluffy chestnut fringe, for a second it’s almost like he’s looking at a carbon copy of David himself… although he thankfully hasn’t inherited the infamous Pines nose. “My dad?” 

“Ah - yes.” Ford coughs, averts his own eyes. “I suppose - well, Mom babysat for Shermie sometimes.” 

Dipper’s brow lifts a little in the light of recognition, before furrowing again in thought. “He’s…” he trails off, visibly searching for the right adjective. “Nice. Kinda goofy, I guess. Mom always says that’s where Mabel gets it from.” 

“What does he do?” Ford presses. 

“He’s a software programmer.” Dipper’s shoulders relax, if only by a fraction. “And Mom’s a lawyer.” 

“A software programmer, huh?” A memory of Fiddleford holding up a laptop prototype with bright, shining eyes briefly floats to the surface, and a stinging pang of regret bounces painfully against the inside of Ford’s ribcage, and he tries to focus on the child sitting next to him - family that he didn’t even know he had. It’s more than he expected, and more than he could have asked for. “Does he work a lot?” 

“Yeah,” Dipper answers, kicking his feet under the seat of the couch. “He has his own business, but he works from home a couple of days a week - and he tries cooking dinner sometimes, but he’s not great at it.” His shoulders twitch beneath his blanket, the shadow of a laugh bubbling up. “One time he made us spaghetti sauce with ramen noodles - it was so gross. When Mom got home we ended up ordering Chinese food instead.”

Ford has to chuckle at that. “You know Shermie was never a great cook, either.” 

Dipper relaxes a little more, and his shoulder bumps against Ford’s elbow as he leans a tiny bit closer. “I don’t remember a whole lot about Grandpa Shermie,” he admits, hesitantly. “Mom always says he really loved us, though. And Dad always took us to the planetarium on our birthday, because he said that was his favourite thing to do with his dad when he was a kid.” 

And even if Ford’s trying to stave off his own looming anxiety about the very real possibility of the world as they know it ending, there’s something in his nephew’s words that lifts his own battle-scarred heart by just a touch. Maybe it’s knowing now that for all he left behind him when he hightailed it out of Backupsmore with two PhDs and a fat research grant cheque, back home Shermie turned out to be a good man, bringing the happy, excitable child Ford once knew as his nephew along that path with him. Seeing that David apparently grew up to be a good man himself, if the little smile that tugs at the corner of Dipper’s mouth when he talks about his parents is anything to go by. 

At least someone in this family of ours turned out to be remotely functional. 

Ford’s next question emerges a little more easily, the distance between them slowly beginning to close in fractional increments. “Did they give you your nickname?” 

The question had already arisen when Stan was catching him up on the family history - the name Mabel is a little old-fashioned, although sweet in its charm, but surely nobody would ever call their child Dipper legitimately? - and Stan had simply shrugged and grunted something along the lines of, ‘Look at the little goofus’s forehead. It’s like someone spilled hot sauce on his face.’ 

He would, if the kid would stop vibrating with anxiety/pen clicks long enough to sit still. Not that it was even necessary, with the carefully inked sketch - which, sure enough, was a dead ringer for the Big Dipper - he’d found flipping through the third journal under the entry titled, ‘Your new author!’. 

He’s ten - no, twelve. Ford won’t hold it against him. 

Back in the present, Dipper nods. “Dad said Grandpa pointed it out to him when we were little and then he couldn’t unsee it, and then they both started calling me Dipper and it just… stuck.” He hugs his knees. “I feel like it fits. My real name’s kind of dumb, anyway.” 

There’s probably not much that could be dumber than naming a pair of twins Stanford and Stanley, but Ford decides not to push it. “Well, it’s certainly unique.” 

Dipper shrugs and averts his gaze, and a silence falls between them… but after a few moments, there’s a soft weight against Ford’s arm as he leans against him. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts his arm to rest it around the boy’s shoulders. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s expecting - but Dipper doesn’t jolt, or flinch away. Instead, he simply shifts to rest his head against Ford’s chest with a soft exhale. 

That in itself can only be a testament to the kind of fathers Shermie and David turned out to be. When Mabel threw her little sweater-clad arms around his neck earlier that night and chirped, “goodnight, Grunkle Ford!”, the wave of longing and affection that surged through his chest was so powerful that it both ached and almost took him off his feet at the same time. 

He’d forgotten what love - and the affection that goes hand in hand with it - felt like, and in one simple hug from a niece he didn’t even know he had, it had come rushing back with all the force of a tsunami. These kids - Mabel especially - are so strangely warm and open, with each other, and with Stan and that young man - what was his name, Zeus? no, Soos - and now with Ford himself, too. And Dipper could barely make eye contact or stop shaking, but in the middle of the night, worn down by exhaustion - and he hasn’t missed the shadows under the boy’s eyes, either - he’s far more subdued, seemingly removed from the stammering, gagging ball of pen-clicking anxiety that had first greeted him after he’d set foot back in this world. 

Either way, they’re certainly a far cry from himself and Stan. 

Belatedly, Ford realises that his eyes are stinging a little, and he awkwardly clears his throat. Dipper doesn’t say anything. Beneath his fringe, his eyes are distant, and Ford can only wonder what he’s thinking. 

“Is…” he winces at how his own voice breaks the silence, but they’ve already crossed this line. He doesn’t even know what it means to be an uncle, but if something’s bothering the kid, he wants to help. “Is there... another reason you can’t sleep, Dipper?” 

This town’s fascinating, but it’s also dangerous, and in those six years he lived here Ford had more than his fair share of close shaves. Dipper’s thin arms are covered by his blanket right now, but during the day, the thin lines and dots of scars and scrapes that traverse his skin haven’t escaped Ford’s attention. 

Ford can only wonder what he’s seen, and he hopes to God it’s not the same thing that sparked his own suffocating paranoia. 

He can feel Dipper’s shoulders stiffen beneath his forearm, and for a few long moments, another silence descends. 

When Dipper does answer, his voice is quiet, partially muffled by his comforter. “S-sometimes it’s just…” he trails off, shifting slightly against Ford’s chest. “Difficult.” 

It doesn’t exactly provide much of an explanation, and Ford sighs. It was probably a step too far to expect Dipper to open up right away - if anything, he’s grateful for the way he’s here with him now, even if it’s explicitly against Stan’s wishes. 

Dipper’s voice breaks the quiet once again. “Anyway… I wanna know more about you. Like…” he trails off, searching. “What were you and Grunkle Stan like when you were twelve?” 

A laugh bubbles up in Ford’s chest at the innocence of the question. It’s a lifetime ago now, like Stan had said. Before they thought anything could ever break them apart, when they were just two identical best friends - brothers, even - with a dream of sailing away from their shitty little town. 

“Didn’t Stan already tell you? He was a troublemaker and I was… well, a nerd, I suppose.” 

Dipper leans against his side, relaxing once again - and it’s a relief. If they have to do this on his terms, that’s fine. Hopefully the kid might open up to him when he’s ready, whenever that may be. “I mean… we heard Stan’s side of the story. I guess I wanted to hear yours.” 

Ford casts his mind back. “Well, Stan wasn’t wrong - he was a troublemaker.” A chuckle. “But then again, I suppose I wasn’t entirely innocent either…” 

The stories flow from him more easily than he would expect them to - for some reason, it doesn’t hurt as much to tell Dipper, who listens, giggles here and there, occasionally interjects with some quip or aside that shows Ford that for all that’s happened in the last forty or fifty years, there are parts of his brother that haven’t necessarily changed. With each story he recalls, hazy days gone by that leave his lips as a shared memory, Dipper slumps a little further into his lap - and in some complete paradox, the heavier the kid rests against him, the lighter his heart feels. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind as he’s regaling Dipper with the tale of Fiddleford’s disastrous attempt at a college open mic night - guest starring that godforsaken banjo - he wonders if it might be worth revising the entry he wrote about the kid in the third journal. 

It’s still painful to think about Fiddleford, though, and Ford hopes that one day he’ll get the chance to apologise. 

Even so, it still comes back to Stan. It often does. And for some reason, it’s easier to separate them in his mind - Stanley, the goofy, scrappy little smartass with half his front teeth missing who always pulled Ford up by his armpits when bullies knocked him down and tried to pin most of his mishaps on Shanklin the possum, and Stan, the exhausted, hollow-eyed stranger in a hooded jacket who showed up on his doorstep on that fateful day in 1982… who’s evidently reinvented himself as the man they now know as Stanford Pines, with a fez perched atop his now-grey hair and lies and blatant falsehoods falling from his lips. 

“It’s kind of crazy imagining Grunkle Stan as a kid,” Dipper murmurs. He looks like he’s having a progressively harder time trying to keep his eyes open. “Like… Mabel and I only ever knew him as this weird old scam artist guy.” 

Ford can feel the smile tug at his lips. Dipper and Mabel are going to grow up one day, too, and he hopes he’ll be able to witness it. “Well, we were all children once.”

It’s like he’s taking a back seat to himself as he tells Dipper these stories from another life. If he thinks about Stan and what they’ve become, it hurts - even if it’s dulled into a detached ache over the years, the occasional wave comes, raw and fresh, and it’s sharp like a knife. If he thinks about Stanley, it still hurts - but the edges are softened by the miasma that nostalgia casts over everything, and that’s not quite as painful. At least back then, he knew some sort of happiness, and at least he can vaguely recall what it felt like. 

He can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him at the memory of Stan trying to convince their mother that the person who set off the whole school’s sprinklers and took off into the distance shouting ‘that’s how Stan Pines does it, suckers!’ was someone trying to frame him, and the way she’d absolutely eviscerated him in response. 

“...and that was the last time Stanley ever lied to our mom.” 

There’s no response from Dipper this time - no giggle, or eye-roll, or dry quip - and he looks down to see that the kid’s drifted off in his lap, head pillowed against Ford’s thigh as he breathes, slow and soft. 

Well. In fairness, that was pretty much what he came down here for. Objective achieved… more or less. 

Tentatively, he runs his hand over Dipper’s hair. It’s a complete bird’s nest - he obviously doesn’t brush it that often - but it’s thick and fluffy, just like David’s had been as a child. The heavy curtain of Mabel’s long tresses that had hit him in the face when she’d hugged him had been more or less the same. 

Twins run in the family, he’d written in the journal. It’s a comforting thought - if anything, knowing that they hopefully won’t turn out like him and Stan. 

He hadn’t wanted to throw it away - neither of them had, but Stan had no idea what he was dealing with, and if he had any inkling of just how dangerous the forces he was messing with were, most likely didn’t care. Irresponsible and knuckleheaded to a fault, from childhood to now - and honestly, probably to eternity. 

As a scientist, Ford is used to determining things by probability and likelihood. Each situation has a predetermined number of potential outcomes… but sometimes, something greater - fate, the universe - has a hand in things. And maybe this time, she’s granted Ford a second chance of sorts. There’s a second generation of Pines twins, and they might have the potential to be better than he and Stan ever were. 

“Alright, my boy,” he mutters to the one currently sleeping in his lap. “Let’s get you back into your own bed before Stan notices.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the webs we weave

For @jitsukawaa as requested for a Raffle prize!

Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements (oral, intercourse)

This is dark! (aged up) Peter Parker x Reader and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader is a journalist at The Bugle but she finds not all her co-workers are what they seem.

Note: This is a bit of a long one but I got a bit carried away. I tried to fit the request as much as I could. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy. Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

Another late night. Those were common as of late. Early mornings, too.

Given the content of your days, the stories, it was expected you’d be sleepless. A string of assaults across the city. All of them women. The perpetrator, according to the limited input of the police and the hesitant interviews of the victims; a man, masked, faceless. The descriptions varied, skewed by fear, by trauma. Neither you or the authorities had a concise picture of the suspect.

The first few incidents were reported by a senior report, Colin Rusk. But once the novelty ran dry, Editor-in-Chief Jameson, redirected Rusk to ‘more pressing’ stories and dropped the serial assaulter in your lap. 

You were new with little more under your belt than lifestyle articles and the occasional fluff piece on fleeting fads. Your inexperience made it difficult, if not impossible, to say no. And despite your resilience, your ongoing investigation, the cases would likely go cold and be shoved to the back of the paper until there was no room left for them. Your singular goal was to prevent that cynical end. Making your name as a reporter was secondary.

That morning, you raced down to the latest crime scene. A woman, blonde like most of the others, sat with her legs hanging out of a police car as she gave her statement. Visibly shaken and with bruises on her face, she was just the latest in a string. You’d not be permitted to speak with her until the police took her to the station and filed their report. For the time, you documented the scene as it was.

You were pulled back to your desk. It was almost as if you could still feel the dampness in your bones. It rained overnight and the streets had been slick and shiny in the afterglow. You pored over your notes, the little diagram you’d drawn of the alley way. The minimal details gleaned from the officers on sight. It was all so grim. And sadly familiar.

The attacker had a pattern; a demographic. Lone women, unsuspecting, vulnerable. Blonde, or light brunettes, small enough to be overpowered. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. There were thousands of women fitting that description in the city. Impossible to predict the perpetrator’s next move when it could happen anywhere.

You closed your eyes and leaned back. If the police couldn’t solve this, you surely couldn’t. But that didn’t mean you stopped. It didn’t mean you quieted the voices of the victims as so many others had. No, you kept going. Kept writing their stories down.

You were jolted as a folder slapped across your desk. Your eyes shot open and you looked up into the warm brown eyes before you. Peter mirrored your fright and gave a nervous smile. He pulled his hand away from the folder he’d just laid before you.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me,” He said. “I figured I’d give you a print of the photos I got this morning.”

“Really?” You reached for the folder and peeked inside at the glossy paper. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He preened. “Jameson won’t want them anyway. Just the ones of the fire on the next block.”

You nodded and set the folder down with your notes. You ran into Peter by chance. He was passing by on his way to his own assignment. He stopped and snapped a few shots, made his usual awkward small talk, and moved along. He’d only been full-time at the Bugle for a year; before he’d been a freelancer throughout his schooling. He was a kid, even compared to you.

“Jameson doesn’t even want this,” You scoffed at your messy desk. “I swear, he’s just trying to force me out. I mean, I guess it’s better than writing about the mayor’s new wallpaper.”

“Jameson’s an idiot but you’re a good reporter. Besides, the Bugle is just your beginning. I know it.” He smiled. He was always so optimistic. It made you feel old.

“Easy for you to say,” You shook your head. “I’m almost thirty and just starting out. You’re still a kid and...Sorry, Peter. I’m just frustrated.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I might be young, but I know how you feel.” He leaned on your desk. “You know, everyone thinks I’m a kid and they just don’t take me seriously but I’m not, you know, a kid. Age is just a number, not a deadline.”

“Peter, I didn’t--”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that. You’re not one of them.” He shrugged and pushed himself straight. “Not like Rusk.”

“Rusk?” You wondered aloud. 

The man was stern, business-minded. A tenured writer. But you’d never had much issue with him yourself. In fact, he’d been most helpful in your early days at the Bugle. You might be picking up his scraps but it was far better than writing a tenth of a page on a dog show.

“Yeah,” Peter blinked at you. His smile changed, as if he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, alright.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Peter.”

“Well, I...you’re not that naive, are you?” He asked.

“Am I? What do you mean?”

“Rusk never worked for his job, he’s the son of an old friend of Jameson’s. He came on full-time with top billing from the start.” Peter lowered his voice, cautious even though the office was empty.

“Oh, but...I mean, he’s still a good reporter.”

“Good but not entirely...professional.” Peter scoffed.

“Do I sense jealousy?” You teased.

“Me? Jealous of him? No.” Peter’s smile fell. “I’m doing just fine and the Bugle definitely isn’t it for me. I’m starting school next year and then one day, I’m out of here. I don’t wanna be a camera jockey forever.”

“I don’t know, this might be it for me.” You said. “A little late to be starting over a third time.”

“It’s never too late. Just don’t let yourself get sucked in by Rusk and his cronies.” Peter urged. “They’re no good.”

“Thanks, Peter.” You said lightly. 

“Really,” His face darkened. “I mean it. He has...a record in this office. With the women. And I’ve seen how helpful he is with you.”

“Peter, it’s not--”

“I know, I know, I’m young, clueless,” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. Just...advice. You don’t have to take it but it’s there.”

You nodded and tapped your fingers on the folder. You thought for a moment on your work with Rusk; his insistence that you take over his story; the way he offered to proofread your back page drivel. Peter might be young, but he was smarter than his age belied. There was nothing wrong with being cautious.

“Thanks, Peter,” You flicked the corner of the folder as you looked up at him. “These will help a lot.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” His smile resumed. “Let me know if you ever need a lens. I’d be more than happy to help.”

“You’re too sweet.” You said.

“And you’re too humble.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “And it’s late so...I’ll leave ya to it and see ya tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe,” You chimed. “See ya, Peter.”

“See ya.” He slowly backed away. “Oh, and let me know if Rusk gives ya any trouble.” He gave a comical flex. “I got your back, newbie.”

You laughed and he did too before he turned away entirely. You turned back to your desk and sighed. How was it that he made you feel young and old all at once? You shook off the cloudlike feeling and grabbed the folder. You’d go through the photos and call it a night. Hopefully, the morning wouldn’t bring a new victim.

🕷️

Your door was open. The chain was snapped and the lock busted in. Worse, you hadn’t even heard the disturbance. Hadn’t even sensed the intruder as you slept in the next room. A rude awakening as you got up and found the door ajar but your apartment otherwise undisturbed.

You called the police and waited in the hall. When they arrived, they asked you their usual questions, the same they asked the women you’d been documenting. Then they investigated you apartment. Nothing was out of place; nothing taken or moved. It was all very peculiar. Almost, the insinuated, as if nothing happened.

When they left, your landlord arrived. You stood by as he called the maintenance man and a locksmith. By the late afternoon, your door was repaired but your wits were fractured. Weeks spent tailing a monster had you paranoid. In your overwrought mind, you wondered if perhaps their attention had turned on you. It all felt too circumstantial. Too farfetched.

You locked yourself inside and submitted your write-up from home. You spent the night on the couch, sleepless, listening for any movement from the other side of the door. Nothing. Exhausted and nervous, you fixed your coffee and dressed. You set off for the day, though the sound of your lock sliding into place gave you no reassurance.

There was another assault. You spent five minutes at the office before you were back out on the street. This one happened only a block from your building. Was that another clue? A confirmation of your outlandish suspicions. You shrugged it off as you came upon the police tape; the scene all too familiar.

You went through your usual routine. Rebuffed by the police as you examined the sight for any clue. Listening to any morsel that slipped carelessly from officers and onlookers alike. You finished your notes and tucked them in your bag. You took one last look at the dumpster, the shadowy fire escape, and the cracked pavement. The image was burned in your mind. An omen of your new fear.

When you returned to the office, you were shaking. You didn’t realize it until you were sat at your desk with your bag in your lap, staring at a dead screen. The voices and typing all around you buzzed in your ears and you shuddered as you hugged you leather bag to your chest. The bright fluorescent bulbs burned your eyes and it felt as if they were watering.

“Hey,” You snapped your head up as Peter greeted you. His face was creased with concern. “You okay?”

“Ye-yeah,” You stuttered and let your bag slip to the floor. You kicked it under the desk and hit the power button of your computer. “Just...thinking.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

“I...had to take a personal day.” You signed in and shuffled through the papers on your desk. “I’m here now, though.”

“Are you?” He asked. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine, just...it’s a heavy story, ya know? Starting to get old.” You bent down to reach into your bag blindly, awkwardly craning your head up above the desk as you fished around.

“Hey,” A voice had you sitting up quickly. Peter’s eyes narrowed as you turned to Rusk. He wore his usual striped button up and skinny tie. “You rushed out this morning. I didn’t get a chance to ask you how you were?”

“Hmm, I’m f-fine.” You stuttered. “Just fine.”

“Yeah? Heard about the break-in. Scary stuff.” He put his hands on his hips. “You need anything, to talk, an escort, let me know.”

“Really, I’m fine.” You insisted. You glanced between Rusk and Peter; the latter watched you closely. “It was nothing.”

“Well, just know, I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” Rusk winked before he turned away and you watched him stroll back to his office. 

You sighed and looked to Peter. His eyes were on Rusk’s door. You’d never seen him anything close to angry but he scowled dangerously after the writer.

“Break-in?” He said as his eyes drifted back to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I...I don’t even know how he found out,” You sniffed. “Really, the police didn’t even take it seriously. There was nothing stolen, they didn’t touch me. I don’t --they think it was a drunk or something.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should be safe.” Peter insisted. “Look, I don’t blame you for turning away his offer, guy’s kinda a skeez, but let me walk you home.”

“I take the subway.”

“Then let me ride with you.” He said. “I know I don’t look like much but it’s better than being alone.”

“Peter, you don’t have to--”

“I want to.” He asserted. “Just humour me.”

“Why?”

“Because...we’re friends, aren’t we?” He asked. “Haven’t got many of those around here.”

You considered him and leaned on the arm of your chair. “Yeah, we are, Peter.” You grabbed your mouse and looked to your screen. “I hope you don’t mind staying late.”

“I’m a night owl,” He assured you. “Have to be in this line of work.”

🕷️

Peter was true to his word and waited for you until well after office hours. You were quiet as he walked you to the station and sat with you on the train. He didn’t hide his glances over his shoulders and his fleeting eyes, as if he expected to catch your intruder then and there. It was almost endearing.

You were tired. You needed sleep and were ready to doze on the train. Peter nudged you awake at your stop and followed you out onto the platform. He let you lead him up the steps to the street and you stopped at the corner.

“I think I can handle it from here,” You said. “Building’s just across the street.”

“No, I insist. For my peace of mind, please.”

“Peter.”

“What’s a few more steps?” He prodded.

“What if I’m worried about you getting home?” You teased. 

“I don’t live far.” 

“Still. It’s late.” You chided. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“I did.” He said. “I’ve been out much later than this.”

“Ah yes, I forget. Youths.”

“I’m not much younger than you.” He insisted.

“Young enough.” You remarked. 

The street light glared in his eyes. For a moment, you were taken aback. The way the shadows cast his face. The innocent boy looked almost sinister.

“I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” He said. “So let me walk you to your door.”

“Alright,” You relented. His tone was disconcerting. So unlike the carefree upstart. “Come on.” 

He walked with you across the street and you bit your lip. You could feel the tension rising off of him. Was he mad at you?

“Peter,” You turned to him just in front of your building. “I’m sorry if I--”

“Sorry?” He looked genuinely confused. “For what?”

“Uh, nothing.” You shook your head. “I’m tired. I thought--Thank you. Really, I feel a little better.”

“Not at all,” He smiled. “You good?”

“Yeah,” You replied. “Good night, Peter.”

“Night,” He said sweetly. “Just…” He hesitated before he could step away. “...remember that you’re not alone.”

“Yeah, thanks,” You nodded and took your keys from your pocket. “See ya.”

You listened to his light footsteps recede as you unlocked the front door. Inside, the elevator bore a staunch out of order sign. You grumbled and headed for the stairs. Ten floors up and you were out of breath and even more exhausted.

Your lock was still in place. That was slightly reassuring. Inside, it was dark and you didn't bother to flip the light. Too tired despite your paranoia. You dropped your bag as you neared the bedroom. There, you flipped the light switch and felt an unusual breeze across your front.

The window was open. The curtains stirred as the air washed in and your heart clutched. You rushed over and slammed down the window with a defeaning bang. You twisted the lock into place and turned back to the room.

Your top drawer hung precariously from your dresser. Your panties were messed, as if they'd been rifled through, and you felt the bile in your throat. 

You ran back into the front room and turned on all the lights. Nothing else had been touched. It all stood as you left it and no other sign of your intruder remained. Not a speck of dust out of place.

You searched high and low; in each closet, beneath the furniture, even behind the shower curtain. Nothing. You were alone, but you didn't feel it.

Should you call the police again? Let them laugh at your paranoia? As it was, you were certain they'd tossed away their last report. 

You went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. You sat on the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You hugged them as your eyes flitted nervously at each shadow. The knife shook against your leg as you counted the minutes until daylight.

🕷️

The morning saw you at the office, bleary-eyed and baffled. The night seemed a haze to you; dreamlike and distant. Before you was the final draft of your latest article on the city's terrorizer. The words were real, the events real, and the letters read bolder than before.

Your habit of spacing out at your desk once more had you jumping in your skin. Colin Rusk stood beside you. His grey-blue eyes peered down at you as he clicked a pen casually in his hand.

"You got a moment? Need to see you in my office." He asked but it wasn't a question.

"Sure," You stood and he reached past you. He leaned so close you could smell his cologne as he snatched the article off your desk. 

"I'll take this." He spun with the papers in hand and led you across the office. 

You glanced around as you walked between desks. Peter's brows were high on his forehead as he watched. He frowned and you turned away to follow Rusk into his office.

He closed the door after you. He waited for you to sit before he did. When he faced you, he was nonchalant. He dropped your article on his desk and smirked.

"You've done some good work." He said. "You should really be proud of yourself."

"Uh, thank you." You gripped the arms of the chair. Tired. Ready to keel over.

"Really. You're coverage is thorough and compelling. Riveting…" He huffed as he smiled piteously at you. "You're a good writer but this story isn't going anywhere."

"No…" You breathed weakly.

"Jameson wants it cut. Three months and no leads. Police are close-lipped as nuns."

You frowned. You couldn't help your disappointment.

"But I've got you a new assignment." He announced. "A grassroots movement in the ghetto. Silent protests. Real underground."

"Really?"

"As long as you don't mind sharing. It's kinda my story but I could use a hand." He offered. "That sound okay?"

"Y-yeah." You smiled. "I'd love--" 

His phone chirped and his brow arched. He grabbed it and checked the screen. He shook his head and slowly stood.

"Pardon me. Jameson." He waved his phone. "Right back."

He rounded his desk and passed you. You watched him go then sat awkwardly in his office wringing your hands. Your eyes bounced from corner to corner. Awards framed on the wall, a plaque on his desk, fancy pens and a leather folder. 

His bag sat on the table against the wall. Unzipped and on its side. Papers threatened to spill out and a shock of cornflower blue. You tilted your head at the familiar shade. 

You peeked over your shoulder. The door was open a crack but you saw no movement on the other side of the frosted glass. You stood and cautiously neared the table. You looked again. Nothing.

You lifted the bag to peer inside and ripped your hand away. It was as if you'd been bit. Those were yours, at least they looked like yours. You shook and heard footsteps near the door. You lifted your head and pretended to read the framed certificate on the wall as Rusk entered behind you.

"That was my first year here," He preened as he neared. "I'm sure you'll have one of your own soon enough."

"Uh, yeah," You stepped away from him slowly. "Um, can I... think about it?"

"Huh?" 

"Sharing the assignment."

"Sure. Only a day though. I, rather we, have a deadline," He reached out and pulled a string loose from your sweater. "That enough, sweetheart?"

You watched his hand a nodded. You bristled on the nickname and backed away. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to work." You sidled along to the door. "Thanks."

"No problem," He purred. "This could be it, you know? You're big break. Your name next to mine."

"Mhmm," You skirted out quickly and closed the door behind you.

Peter was at your desk. You didn't notice at first and stopped yourself from sitting in his lap. He watched you curiously. You held back a yawn and leaned against the desk.

"Peter." You crossed your arms.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"Just…my assignment got pulled."

"Oh?"

"But Rusk offered me a new one. Dunno if I should take it." You played with your mouse.

"Sorry, I'm in your seat." He made to stand.

"No, no, it's fine." You waved him off. "I don't really have anything pressing, do I?"

He considered you a moment as he swiveled in your chair. He stopped and sat up. "You okay?"

You blinked. After a moment, you nodded. You pushed yourself off the desk and rubbed your forehead. "I gotta use the restroom."

You walked away hurriedly and almost tripped over the loose laces of your heeled oxfords. You quickly hid yourself inside the restroom and tried to rein in your reeling nerves. You were crazy, you had to be. 

Rusk definitely hadn’t broken into your apartment. That was ludicrous. Maybe it was a pocket square or a random sock. It wasn’t your panties. That was just...creepy. You were just paranoid.

You couldn’t believe entirely in your own delusion but you had to push it aside. You had work to do, albeit not much. You breathed shakily and swallowed down your anxiety. Just be normal. Just relax. Act like it was nothing and it would be.

You pulled open the door. You almost crashed into Peter as you stepped into the small hall between the restrooms and the office. You caught yourself against the wall.

“Woah.” You squeaked.

“Sorry, I...just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m...just disappointed.”

He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t look so innocent anymore. He looked as if he could see right through you. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I know you think I’m blind but I can tell when you’re upset.” He prodded. “I swear, mum’s the word.”

You sighed and looked out into the office. You turned back to him and pointed down the hall. You sidled along with him and lowered your head. Your stomach flurried wildly as you mustered the words. How could you say this? You’d sound crazy.

“I think you were right about Rusk,” You kept your voice soft. “He...He offered me to share an assignment but I don’t think he really cares about the story.”

Peter blinked. An exaggerated bat of his long lashes as he huffed. “I won’t say it.”

“I know, you told me so, but Peter…” You looked over your shoulder before you continued. “Peter, weird things have been happening. Last night, after you left, I went upstairs and...my window was wide open and...I don’t know. My dresser-- someone was there. Someone broke in again.”

“Did you call the cops?” He asked.

“No, I-I was embarrassed. I thought...when I called them the first time, they were laughing at me. They thought I broke the lock myself, I know it.”

“You should’ve called them.”

“Why? So they can mock me?” You caught yourself before you could raise your voice. “Look, that doesn’t matter what matters is...I think it was Rusk. I mean, it’s stupid but, I think he has...something of mine. Something that would connect him to the break-ins.” You gulped. “The more I think of it, the more I think of how he passed this story off on me about all these attacks, I wonder…” 

“You don’t think it’s him?” Peter asked.

“Of course not. I just think, maybe, he...might have gotten an idea or two.”

Peter’s eyes were wide. He looked as frightened as you felt. “Can you confirm that what you saw, that what he has is really what you think it is?”

“I didn’t notice it missing but I didn’t really look. I was too scared.” You confessed.

Peter’s jaw set and his eyes darted down the hall. “I’ll walk you home again and we’ll see if you’re right.”

“You don’t have--”

“I do. Don’t you realize how dangerous this all is? How do you know you won’t walk in and catch him in the act? Or maybe he decides to visit while you’re home?” He gently touched your elbow. “You’re leaving on time tonight and I’m going with you.”

You scratched your head and looked away. You were embarrassed. You were being comforted, protected even, by this boy. Well, maybe you should drop the ruse. He was braver than most men you knew. And he was technically an adult and you really weren’t that much older. That became even more obvious when he was with you.

🕷️

The subway ride was long. Silent and tense. You fidgeted beside Peter, embarrassed and reassured by his presence all at once. He sent you small glances; stifled smiles meant to calm you. But they only served to remind you of why he was there.

Up the concrete steps and across the rush hour street, you had to stop at the front door of your building to catch your breath. Your chest felt as if it was being crushed.

Peter patted your shoulder and said softly, “It’s okay,” and you carried on.

Your apartment door still bore signs of the previous break in. The new lock was shiny against the flaked paint and torn wood. You slid your key in and turned. You opened it slowly as you peeked inside, certain you’d find your tormentor within. Nothing.

Peter followed you in and chained the door behind him as if to assuage you. You looked away ashamed. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

“No.” He said. “I don’t think so. Just scared, and why wouldn’t you be?”

You nodded and turned away from him. Warily you walked across the front room and glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. Peter followed closely as you neared the short hall that led to your bedroom. You spun back to him. 

“I’ll go see if--if I was right.” You stopped him. “Wait here.”

“Wait here? Shouldn’t I--”

“I’ll scream if I need you.” You replied. “Okay?”

“Of course,” He relented. “I’ll be here.”

You left him there, a concerned furrow in his brow. You entered the bedroom, the dresser drawer was still open but the window was locked and in place. The sight reassured you. You slowly walked across the room and stopped before the drawer. 

You sifted through the messy contents, your hands growing frantic as the cornflower panties were nowhere to be found. Next you checked the hamper, maybe you’d worn them that week. They weren’t there.

You stumbled back out to the hall numbly. You felt hollow and worn. You caught yourself on the wall before your legs could give out.

Peter was by the coffee table. You watched as he reached for the knife you’d left there and he lifted it to the dim light peeking in through the windows. He turned to you with a question curled in his lips.

“It’s not there...he took it.” You pushed yourself straight and stepped fully into the room. “I can’t believe--It can’t be, Peter.”

“But you do believe,” He said and he turned the knife in his fingers. “You must. I mean--” He gestured to the blade. “You wouldn’t be so scared if you didn’t believe.”

“Should I call the cops now?”

“You could but...You’ve corrupted the scene, right? It’s been what? A day?” He set down the knife and sighed.

“So what do I do? I--Jesus, why am I asking you? You shouldn’t be dealing with all this.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to deal with it.” He assured you as he neared you. “There’s only one thing you can do. You have to wait for him to try again.”

“What?” You reeled. “What if--”

“With me.” He gently reached out and took your hand. He squeezed it as he spoke. “You can’t stay here. Not alone. So either you come stay with me or I’m staying here, but I can’t let you be alone.”

“Peter, you’re too nice. You shouldn’t--”

“But I am, so I’m either going to settle in or you’re going to pack a bag.” His grip tightened on your hand before he released you suddenly, as if recalling that he was touching you.

“It’s too much.” 

“Anyone would do it. Anyone who cared.” He shrugged. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“I can’t sleep here.” You said.

“Alright,” His jaw set determinedly. “So, grab a change of clothes and let’s go.”

You nodded shyly and let your leather shoulder bag fall to your elbow. Your lips parted to ask if he was sure and he tilted his head sternly.

“Come on,” He intoned. “I’m hungry. Once we’re outta here we can grab something.”

“O-okay,” You gave a weak smile and he mirrored it.

You turned away and dragged your feet back to the bedroom. Every time you entered, you were reminded of the open window, the ghastly breeze, and the stab of fear deep in your gut. You went to your dresser and blindly grabbed for a set of clothes to shove in your shoulder bag. A night away from this place would be good; safe.

🕷️

Peter’s apartment was small but cozy. Lived in but neat. It was almost endearing. The Playstation controller on the coffee table, the throw still curled in the shape of his body on the couch, posters of his favourite comics on the walls. He apologized for the mess but you assured him, you seen worse from men older than him.

He was courteous. He took your bag and led you to the bedroom. He insisted on taking the couch. He dug out his second set of sheets from his closet and placed the piled neatly atop with a promise to fix up the bed after you ate. He didn’t listen to your protests, merely brushed you back through to the living room.

You sat beside him on the couch. You felt welcome but uneasy. You always found it awkward to be in anothers space. Peter pulled out his phone and tapped the screen with his thumb.

“Sorry, I’m not much of a cook.” He chuckled. “You like pizza? Chinese?”

“I’m not picky,” You replied.

“Easy to please?” He ventured playfully.

“In certain ways,” You squinted at him. “How about Mexican?”

“Sure,” He scrolled on the screen and turned the phone to you. “Here. Pick something.”

You took his phone and browsed the menu. You realized you hadn’t eaten since the day before; nothing more than your usual morning coffee. Your stomach growled and you restrained yourself to a vegetarian dish. Overdo it and you’d wake up in agony. Thirty loomed closer every day.

You handed his phone back and he quickly picked his own dish and hit confirm. You rubbed your hands together nervously. You looked around his small apartment. It reminded you of college; of the useless degree hidden in the back of your closet.

“I’ll send you the money.” You offered.

“You won’t. My treat.” He insisted.

“But...you’ve already done so much.”

“What’s a couple bucks?” He shrugged. “So, you like video games? I got a second controller around here somewhere.”

“Does Tetris count?” You teased.

“I have Tetris,” He smirked. 

“I was kidding.” You took the controller from him as he handed it to you. “But no, I don’t play very much.”

“That’s okay.” He grabbed his own controller and switched on the t.v.  “I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Oh yeah?” You challenged. “You wouldn’t be talking shit if we were playing Tetris.”

“We’ll see who’s talking shit at the end of the night.” He jibed as he sat beside you. 

You shook your head and laughed at him. You could almost forget that he was the upstart kid with his oversized camera. Or the break-ins. Or that you were here hiding. The fear seemed to dissipate when faced with his perennial optimism.

🕷️

After you ate, you found yourself even more tired than before. You didn’t recall dozing but Peter woke you with a nudge and helped you up. He showed you to the bedroom where he’d made up the bed for you. You thanked him groggily, your fatigue catching up to you, and he left you with lingering good night.

When the door closed, you grabbed your bag and clumsily pulled out the loose tee and pair of booty shorts. You changed and draped your worn clothes over the bag and shoved it aside. You got up to turn off the light and stumbled back to the mattress, landing stomach first across it. You hugged the pillow as sleep beckoned you forth.

It hit you all once. You slept so deeply your head felt full of sand. Your body too. Your mind was murky. Shadows rose from the depths but never fully formed. You forgot your existence, the open window, the missing panties, and Rusk’s open bag. Hours passed like seconds and eternity felt possible.

You awoke to fingertips on your cheek. Gentle as they coaxed you back to the surface. As you emerged from the depths, your chest clutched. Your eyes fluttered open, your lids heavy and lashes sharp. There was a dim light in the room, soft and eerie. A shadow laid beside you, its fingers traced the line of your jaw as it watched you awake.

Your vision cleared a little at a time. You recognized Peter through the haze. His warm brown eyes were dilated and dark. You reached up and caught his hand as he pressed his body against yours.

“What are you doing?” Your tongue was thick and your words awkward.

“Shh, it’s okay,” He pulled his hand away and dragged his fingers over your lips as he leaned in to smell your hair. 

“P-Peter,” You grabbed for his wrist. “Stop.”

Your hand missed his and hit his shoulder instead. You shoved against him but he didn’t flinch. He was stronger than he looked. You tried to sit up but he caught your neck and held you to the pillow.

How long had you been asleep? How long had he been there?

“Peter, please,” You reached for his hand as it stretched across your throat. “What--”

“I won’t hurt you. I only want to keep you safe.” His breath was hot against your cheek as his lips brushed your skin. “Don’t you want to be safe?”

“Let me go, Peter,” You squeezed his wrist. “Please, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you?” His hand didn’t move but he pulled back to look you in the eye. “I’m protecting you.”

Your hand trembled as you pleaded again. His name died in the air.

“From the city.” He breathed. “From Rusk.”

“You-you are,” You rasped. “You’ve kept me safe, but...this...don’t you want me to feel safe. This isn’t--”

“You can’t see it. You aren’t safe. This city is dangerous and you need me.”

“I do need you, okay?” You bartered. “Of course I do, Peter, but...I need sleep, too. I’m very tired.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He shifted closer and your body tensed. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Peter--”

“Let me take care of you.” He moved lithely over you as he pulled your hand from his. He framed your face with his fingers and held your head in place. “Why won’t you let me take care of you?”

“Peter,” You exclaimed as the tears threatened to rise. This felt like some horrid nightmare. “W-We’re fr-friend, aren’t we? Friends don’t do this.”

He blinked. He glared at you and his face slowly softened. “Friends...no, we’re more than that.”

“Wh-what?”

“You’re mine. We’re meant to be. Can’t you see that?” His thumbs ran along your cheeks as his breath glossed over your lips. “In a city this big, to be brought together, it’s fate.”

You stared at him. Stunned, horrified. You didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not like him.” He hissed as his eyes turned dark. He focused on your lips hungrily. “I won’t use you, like him. Manipulate you.” You gulped as his lips hovered just above yours. “Violate you. Invade your space...steal from you.” 

He pressed his mouth to yours and you squirmed beneath him. Your hands were caught under him. His torso was bare and the heat of his body shrouded you. You struggled to breathe as he kissed your forcefully, as he crushed himself against you. You felt his arousal as it poked you and your eyes rounded desperately.

He pulled away at last. His lips made a trail along your cheeks as he spoke between little pecks. “Can’t you see how much better I am than him? Than anyone?” 

You wriggled under him but it only seemed to encourage him. You slipped your arms from beneath him and pushed against his sides. He drew his hands away from your face and caught your wrists. He pulled them up beside your head and pushed himself up as he pinned them to the mattress.

“Who does that, hmm? I’m better than him. I’d never...take your panties like some pervert. I’d never--”

“Panties?” You croaked and his eyes flashed. “How do you--Peter?”

“He’s just a pervert, don’t you understand? But I love you. I love all of you. I want all of you.” 

He squeezed your wrists and you watched the muscles of his arms draw taut. His chest was broader than you imagined and his torso was finely lined. You stopped your eyes before they could venture further. He was naked.

“If you love me, Peter, you’ll wait. Wait for me, won’t you?” You cooed. 

“Wait? I’ve waited.” He sneered. “I’ve watched you fawn after Rusk and I’m done waiting.”

“Peter, I don’t care about Rusk, I swear, but I’m not ready. I’m tired. I need... sleep. Can’t you wait for me…” You stared up into his dark eyes. “I-I--” Your nerves flurried wildly. You’d never been so afraid. “I love you, too.” You lied. “So won’t you wait?”

He exhaled and his lips parted. He blinked and a smile crawled across his lips. “You--Say it again.”

“I-I love you,” You whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

He bent and kissed you again. This time harder, deeper. He didn’t stop until you were out of breath. Until your eyes were damp with tears. He sat back and straddled you between his thick thighs. You quickly looked away from his hard cock. He let go of your wrists but you didn’t move. You were too afraid.

He lifted himself slightly as he tugged the hem of your shirt free. He inched it up, his fingers feeling along your skin as he did. Your strength returned and you caught his hands before he could bare your chest. You were shaking.

“I want to wait, Peter.” You begged. “Don’t you love me?”

“I do, I do,” He rocked atop you, almost frantic. “I do but I can’t. I can’t wait. I need you. I love you so much.”

You whimpered as he twisted his hands away from you. His thighs pressed against you and reminded you of his strength. You closed your eyes as your arms fell to the mattress. You were so weak. So afraid. And you could do nothing.

He shoved your shirt over your chest and you heard the gasp fall from him. He pulled the fabric past your head and tossed it aside. He bent over you as he cupped your tits, his thumb circled your nipples. “Beautiful,” He groaned as nuzzled your skin. 

His lips tickled along your cleave and the curve of your chest. His tongue teased your bud as his fingers played with the other. He closed his mouth around your nipple and teethed it softly. He purred and you bit your lip. 

His touch stoked something within you. It wasn’t him, just the basest of your instincts. A carnal reaction long withheld. 

He kneaded your flesh with hand and mouth. He tended to you as if you were delicate and yet so firmly you could not resist. You couldn’t think to. Was it fear? Was it weakness? Was it a latent desire you refused to accept?

Then he moved lower. His lips and teeth made the treacherous crawl along your stomach. The dread built as he moved further and further, as he lifted himself from your waist and his fingers tickled you. As he slid your shorts down your thighs and legs. As you let him.

You still didn’t move. You pressed your legs together but he easily wrenched them apart. Another confirmation of your helplessness.

His nose brushed along your vee and his warm breath crested your pelvis. His hands slipped up and he pressed his thumbs to your hip bones as he settled between your legs. You closed your legs around his head in an effort to keep him away but you only welcomed him closer. You looked down at him, eyes sparkling as he gazed back. Then slowly his focus descended.

He dipped his head and you writhed. Tried to get away but it was just as futile. He rubbed the tip of his nose along your pussy and his tongue followed shyly. He dragged it slowly along your lips then back down. He pushed between them and flicked over your clit. 

You spasmed and his hands squeezed your hips. He repeated the motion and you cried out in surprise. His tongue was cool against your warm folds. It felt good even when your head told you it shouldn’t. He swirled around your bud and pressed his lips around it. He sucked and lapped then slipped his tongue down again. He drank you in and savoured your taste.

You covered your face as your other hand clawed at the blanket below. You whined, weak and wretched. You felt the rise. The ripple as it rolled along your spine. The buzzing in your thighs. The pulsing of your core. Every nerve wound together and his tongue untangled them all at once.

You rocked your pelvis into his face as you came. Wanting him to stop but not. You needed more. The release was overwhelming and left you dizzy. And he kept on. He teased your overly sensitive clit so that you squirmed. Until another climax rose and you bit into your hand to keep from screaming. And still he kept on.

You were breathless and baffled when he finally lifted his head. Your sight was blurry as you shyly looked down at him. His lips glistened as they came into focus and he crawled over you. He kissed you; wet and warm. You could taste your sweetness as he forced his tongue against yours. 

He snaked his arms up under your back and hooked his hands around your shoulders. He pushed his thighs to yours as he lifted you. He sat up with you against him. You hung from his grasp as his lips wrestled with yours. He kept you aloft with one arm as he felt around between you.

You flinched as you felt his tip against you. He grazed your clit and you twitched. He pressed along your folds and stopped at your entrance. He pulled away from your lips and looked into your eyes as he pushed his head inside of you. You grabbed his shoulders and tired to shove yourself away from him. His arm clung to you tightly.

He eased into you until he bottomed out. He sighed and his hand grasped your hip. He began to rock you against him, his own pelvis tilting with yours. He hummed and kissed your jaw, nibbled along your neck, and bit into the flesh of your throat. He sucked as he moved you against him. And you were horrified as you let him.

He felt good. He shouldn’t, but he did. You slung your arms over his shoulders without thinking and chased the peak before you. He moved you faster, harder against him. You felt your juices spreading between your bodies. His hand slid down your back and he stretched his fingers across your ass. He guided your body and you followed his lead.

You were panting, desperate for another orgasm. Your clit rubbed against him with each rock of your hips. With each thrust, you moved faster, eager to reach the pinnacle. You gasped and groaned. A voice told you it was wrong but it didn’t feel wrong. 

Peter buried his head in your chest. He hummed as he took a nipple in his mouth and bounced you against him. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his back and you threw your head back. You came with a sharp cry. Your body shook against his and the world dissembled. The worries in the back of your mind drowned beneath the waves.

He fell forward until your back was to the mattress. He thrust into you as your legs curled around him. His hand was at your chin again, cradling your face as he lifted his lips to yours. He kissed you, consumed you. 

He moaned into your mouth and his hips stammered. His motion turned erratic and he lifted his head to grit back a roar. The tension squared his jaw and drained from him all at once. He sank into you as deep as he could go, long soft strokes as he came. 

He dropped down over you, his head beside yours as he panted. He shuddered and groaned. His body went limp atop you, his fingers lazily caressed your cheek. The glow sloughed away and the room grew darker. The lines were bolder, the shadows more sinister, the colours greyed. 

You pulled your arms back and pushed on his shoulder. He didn’t move. Didn’t even react. You tried again and slowly he lifted his head. He pushed himself into you as deep as he could go and you whimpered.

“Can’t you feel how much I love you?” He didn’t relent. Didn’t pull back as your walls strained around him. “Can’t you?”

You nodded, unable to speak. He was stabbing your cervix painfully and you just wanted him away from you.

“I can feel your love.” He thrust and poked you again. You squeaked. “You love me.” He began to move steadily. “You love me.” He repeated with each tilt of his hips. “You love me.” You closed your eyes as the mantra filled the room. “You love me.”

“I love you,” You croaked through your tears. “I love you.” 

But he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. 

You were trapped in the spider’s web. Live prey paralysed as he wrapped his legs around you. As he devoured you entirely.

🕷️ 🕷️ 🕷️

[sometimesrosy]

This might seem like a stupid question but it’s been bothering me. Sometimes I get this urge to draw characters that I really like, mainly from books. The thing is I have never drawn in my life. So when I do it just comes out awful and I end up giving up. I also feel like I have no time for a new hobby that consumes so much time for one to be good at it, considering I work and am currently writing a book (1st draft!) and already read, do this, do that, etc. Thoughts? Should I just let this go?

Oh goodness no!

Don’t stop wanting to draw just because you think you’re no good.

Art (and any creativity) isn’t actually about being good. It’s about being curious, passionate, experimental, joyous, serious, compelled, or whatever you’re feeling.

It’s absolutely true that if you stop drawing when you’re a kid and you pick it up again later, your art skills will be in the same spot when you gave it up, but your concept of art and your appreciation of it will have matured with your experience. So the problem is that you now have higher expectations of art and of yourself than you did the last time you drew.

And I get how this is frustrating, but this isn’t a reason to stop. You draw because you have the URGE. You want to explore your love of these characters. It’s the exploration and adventure and love that is the point of your drawing, not your quality as an artist.

I assume you’re not doing it because you want to sell it or publish it or be a professional artist. Stop comparing yourself to professionals. Art has it’s own intrinsic value. That’s why you’re doing it. 

As a writer and an artist, I think the two arts work together beautifully. You can use visual art to illustrate characters or draw a map or setting. You can create a book cover. You can paint the mood of the book. You can do a collage as an inspiration board for your story. You can draw a little comic of your dialogue. You can sculpt an idol or queen from the story. Or you can doodle a page of flowers while you think about your story. Practicing drawing doesn’t take away inspiration from your writing, it adds to it. 

AND there are so many different ways to draw or do art. You can look up a tutorial on how to draw that you like, and follow that tutorial, making variations on it for each character you draw, without spending all that much time on “learning how to draw.” If you get your skills to the basic level where you feel like you can have fun with it instead of being demoralized by it, then the drawing can kind of disappear and you can just bring the world in your head onto the page. Or, you know you could try a different medium. Collage could be fun because you don’t have to draw, so your skills are not challenged enough. Or sometimes you could do a loose watercolor, which would be a different style, maybe more impressionistic. Or maybe cartoon style. 

I’d also like to say that when I stop drawing for a while, which does happen with me, whenever I want to get back into drawing, I always have a hard time and struggle with feeling like everything I draw sucks. The feeling of suckage isn’t limited to people who ‘can’t draw.’ It’s like one of the pitfalls of being any kind of creative. Sometimes you don’t like what you do, and you have to deal with that.

I deal with it by doing a lot of my drawings in my journal, so if I don’t like them, I just turn the page and no one ever has to see it. 

Don’t give up your art, even if you’re just starting out. If you get something out of it, hold onto that passion that’s giving you joy. You can LEARN how to get your skills up there. And it can enrich your other work. (plus, you can draw/doodle while you’re at work. nothing better than filling a page with doodles in a deadly dull meeting.)

[maletfgrowthblog]

Mountain Book [COM]

(A commission that I’ve worked on, hope you guys enjoy) When Drew got his hands on a spell book, he decided to have some fun with his friend.

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

In a small town, two men were walking down the street as they spoke to one another.

“I’m just saying, it’s a waste how Marvel made a character like Mastodon and never brought him back again.” One of the men, a short chubby man by the name of Tony said, giving his slightly plump chest a scratch as he spoke about the semi long forgotten hero.

“I know what you mean,” Tony’s friend, Drew, commented back. The other man had a more olive complexion compared to Tony’s pale tone. Drew was also slightly fatter than Tony with his graphic t-shirt and shorts stretching against his body similar to Tony’s own wardrobe.

“But considering how we have Beast and The Thing doing similar plots of trying to alter their appearance back to ‘normal’. So unless Marvel would just keep the superstrong hairy man for a new character plot, I doubt they’ll bring him back.”

“But that’s my point, it isn’t the first time they’ve rebooted characters. Hell, they’ve done it multiple times with the same characters within the same universe even.”

The two men continued their discussion on old characters as they kept walking off, both admitting disappointment in how a big, hairy man that was designed for Mastodon never made a return to the newer comic universe. This was especially disappointing as both men loved the huge man’s design, as they were attracted to the idea of immense, hirsute men.

“Well it’s a shame, maybe someday they’ll release a hot piece of ass like his for modern audiences.” Tony sighed as he and Drew approached their destination, a book store that specializes in interests. Drew had insisted to Tony about giving the place a look when they had passed it by a week ago. It seemed the store offered plenty of books from interests as harmless as cooking to the more ‘risque’ when they saw a man in a harness gear step out of the store.

“I wonder if they carry any comics. Do you have anything specific you want to read?” Tony asked, the two stepping inside and stopping at the entrance, taking in the impressive sight of bookshelves stretching out akin to a classic library rather than a niche’ bookstore that had seemed far too small outside to house such a collection.

“Well I have been getting into the Occult. Maybe I’ll see if they have any growth spells.” Drew commented, earning a laugh and a ‘that would be great’ from Tony as the two walked further into the store, glancing over the shelves and spotting some rather obscure titles that drew their attention.

“Okay, I think this is the fiction section.” Tony commented and pulled a book titled ‘Life as a Two Ton Man’, opening it up and impressed with drawings depicting a massively obese man, seeming crushing a truck under his car sized body as he chugged from a keg.

“Yeah, it is pretty weird this stuff is on display in the front of the store.” The chubby man agreed, looking over some of the titles of the books. Drew paused at the sight of a book titled ‘The Day I Became a Planet’, pulling the book out, Drew whistled at the cover alone showing a huge muscular man being orbited by planet-like objects.

Before either man could look further or decide to head out, a voice suddenly spoke up, surprising the two. Almost dropping the books they had been reading from, the two men turned around to see who had spoken to them. Looking around, Tony and Drew spotted a desk a bit further down the room, neither having seen it when they had entered. Seated behind the desk was a rather old man, a trimmed white beard framing his portly face. A button up shirt covering his body, though the buttons strained against his full chest and swollen belly, tufts of silver body hair peeking out from between the buttons. The smile on his face was inviting, reminding the young men of a kind grandfather.

“Looking for something, boys?” The older man said, smiling as the two browsing men put away the books they had glanced at, returning them to their place before stepping up to the desk the older man sat behind.

“Uh, Yeah. I was seeing if you had any comics?” Tony asked, trying not to openly stare at the huge man’s belly. Seeing the swollen, slightly jiggling orb threaten to pop off his shirt buttons. The older man couldn’t help but let out a deep chuckle before looking over a thick book beside him. The two men blinking and glancing at one another, swearing they hadn’t seen the classic looking index book by the immense elder before.

“Let’s see here, any specific comic you are looking for?” The older man, ‘Klaud’ according to his name tag that was attached to his swollen moob, asked with his eyes still on the tome he was searching through.  “I don’t really know. Have anything with big guys?” Tony said back, blinking owlishly with a light blush on his face as he realised what he had just said. The chubby man stammering to try and defend or excuse what he had admitted. Before he could embarrass himself further, the large man interrupted him with a deep chuckle whilst holding a swollen hand up.

“It’s alright boy, people have asked for worse. Let’s see… Ah, here it is.” Klaud said before standing up and leaning forward on his creaking chair before standing up, his belly spreading out over the desk like a slow tidal wave. The older man’s height towering over Tony as he pointed towards a seemingly random shelf a couple of metres away from the desk. “Plenty of big guy comics on the third shelf from the top. I hope you find something you like.” The older man smiled after giving the directions, patting the younger man on the back that forced the younger man to stumble forward. Leaving the slightly dazed Tony to see to the bookshelf, Klaud turned his gaze towards Drew, making the chubby man jump a bit. “Now, how can I help you?”

Drew blinked at the question, turning to glance over at Tony who was looking over the shelf he had been sent to. The young man seemed engrossed with one of the books. The sound of a throat clearing made Drew look back to Klaud, seeing the older man raise an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

“Well, it’s a bit niche… and embarrassing.”

“I won't judge you boy, I’ve heard plenty of requests.”

“Well… do you have magic books.”

“Parlor tricks or to affect the laws of nature?”

“H-Huh?”  “Young man, the books in these walls hold power depending on the reader’s wish. Do you desire a book to teach you sleight of hand and simple tricks to impress your friends?” Klaud leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial tone like he was sharing some deep secret. “Or do you want the power to change the world, for better, or worse, or just because you want to get off?”

Drew blinked, swearing the older man’s kind eyes seemed to bore straight through him and into his very soul. Taking a quick glance back to Tony, who seemed engrossed with the book he was looking at.

“Okay… then I want magic to change things.” Drew admitted, sneaking one more look to Tony, before facing Klaud. The older man nodding before sitting back into his chair, making the piece of furniture creak ominously under him, moving to look through an old fashioned note rolex. Klaud’s thick fingers skimming over the paper cards with surprise dexterity before he stopped and pulled one of the cards out.  “This should fit your fancy. The shelf is just around the corner, book number M.420-69. You can’t miss it.” Kalud explained, passing the card to Drew whilst said young man did his best to resist the urge to giggle at the rather humorous number the book had.

Giving his thanks, Drew walked around the desk and looked for the bookshelf in question, spotting it and after a quick look over finding the book, this time openly giggling a bit as he saw the number again. However, pulling out the book and reading the title made Drew pause for a moment, trying to make sense of what he saw.

“Transformation and growth for beginners.” Drew read aloud the title, he had to admit that title alone made him excited. Not to mention some of the illustrations that decorated the cover started to pull at his imagination with what the book could supposedly do. Etchings of oddly proportioned men were spread out, each showing a hugely sized man, be it with thick arms that look to use trucks for barbells, or a guy with a swollen belly that would make kegs look tiny.

Lifting up the book, Drew gave the pages a quick flip through. The solid spine cradled in his hand as he looked over, some of the scattered pages slightly brown and crinkling with age. However, some words and illustrations that popped out to him looked too modern compared to the old looking book.

Drew paused on a page showing a suited man side to side to a huge blob like shake that took up more than half the page. Looking it over, Drew recognized the huge blob shape as the previous slim man.

“So I guess this is for some serious weight gain.” Drew commented, seeing how one of the bulges of the blib he assumed was the huge man’s moob was bigger than the original suited man’s entire body. Before Drew could read further, feeling the urge to read aloud the words, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. With a jump, and thankfully not dropping the book, Drew turned to see the impressively tall and thick figure of Klaud standing behind him, his facial hair seeming to curl up with the smile on the thicker man’s face.

“Sorry to surprise you, little guy. But if you want to really enjoy what that book can do, I suggest you and your friend head out.” Klaud said, slowly leading Drew back to the front desk, pausing to scan the book out, and then continuing to the exit. Klaud pointed out how Tony seemed to have finished his own purchase of books and had paid for Drew’s purchase too. “Now I hope you two have plenty of fun with that book you got. I recommend page Seventy-Nine for some real fun, just make sure you have plenty of space.”

“Wait, what?” Drew asked, blinking as the older man quickly handed the old style book back to Drew. Before he could ask about the page suggestion, or how the older and heftier man could seem to move so fast, both Drew and Tony were ushered out of the store with their prizes in hand.

“Well… That was weird.”

“Yeah, it was. But he had some great books, I got plenty of good comics with some huge guys in them. I mean, I haven’t even heard of some of these comics before.” Tony said with a smile on his face, holding up his collection of books with the covers showing goliath sized men clad in tight fitting lycra. “What did you get Drew?” The chubby man asked, the two friends starting to walk back home.

Drew had been thinking over what went on inside the store. Taking a quick glance behind and then looking down at his own book before facing back the eager face of Tony.

“It’s a surprise.” Drew said, ignoring the almost childish whine from Tony, already Drew was thinking what he could potentially do with the spells he now had access to.

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

“Right, so those are the spells.” Drew said in his room, having spent his time following coming home by just looking through the different spells that the book offered him. Of course, all of the incantations focused on the transformation of the human body, all with immense results. Leaning back in his old desk chair, Drew glanced over the list of spells he had written out beside the book, having been picking out potential spells to try out, among them including the one that Klaud had suggested for him.

“This is ridiculous.” Drew said to himself as he shook his head, it was impossible for spells to really work. But that little thought of the spells actually causing growth, even if just a pipe dream, was too tempting for him. “Maybe I should just test one of the spells.” The thought flashed through Drew’s mind. Latching on to it, Drew grabbed the book and flipped through to a random page before making his way to the window and looking out for a random target.

Taking a glance outside, Drew’s eye fell across the street on a random man who seemed to be waiting for the bus. His slim figure was fairly outlined by the sharp dress shirt and slacks he was wearing. Drew kept an eye on him, figuring he wasn’t much older than him, before going back to the spell book and settling on a spell.

‘A weight gain spell. Can’t really beat the classic stuff.’ Drew thought out figuring any growth could be explained away as just metabolism before he read over the steps the spell required. Seeing all he needed to do was focus on his target and not break his line of sight, Drew turned back to the man before saying aloud the spell. Watching the suited man standing by the curb, Drew could only stare, not expecting anything, before his eyes widened at the sight occuring. Watching on, Drew witnessed the man starting to swell outwards like he was inflating. The loose shirt started to tighten with his body broadening out, arms and legs thickening with a look of his swelling ass taking up his backside. Surprisingly, the man seemed unaware of doubling his weight in mere seconds, though he seemed to have begun to sweat profusely.

Another thing that Drew noticed was the man’s clothing looked to be growing with him, seams that had begun to stretch and give up repatching and stretching further, his shirt gaining more buttons as his belly and moobs expanded forward looking like a blimp. Even from the window Drew could see the man’s belt elongating before suddenly being replaced with two belts doing the job of holding up his ridiculously large pants that covered his lower belly, dividing the swell of fat. The growing sacks that were his moobs pushing up the thick slabs of blubber that were his arms. One of the thick limbs rising, revealing the spreading dark patch of sweat that was forming, as a baseball mitt sized hand reached to the growing man’s face to wipe sweat off his forehead. Drew watched the huge man’s face, seeing his neck gone and replaced by a thick ring of fat that fused with his chin. His swollen cheeks resembled the stuffed cheeks of a squirrel, forcing his panting mouth into a pout. Staring at the huge man that rivalled cars in size, Drew felt his eyes ache before finally blinking, when he opened them up and seeing the enormous man had ceased growing. His swollen belly and gigantic ass stretching his clothing as both rested on the ground despite the man seeming to be standing up.

“Holy Shit!” Drew said under his breath, watching the enormous car sized man trying to waddle down the street. Seemingly unaware of suddenly becoming the world’s heaviest land mammal as each broad step saw to the pavement cracking under his larger feet. Still staring at the gargantuan mass of man waddling away, Drew realized with the spell book he could do anything. Quickly flipping through the pages, he stopped on the one he was suggested by Klaud, already thinking of the perfect person to use it on.

“Oh, Tony will enjoy this.”

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

“Hey Tony, you mind getting some empty files from the store room?”

“Oh, sure thing Maurice.” Tony said before pushing back his chair and standing up. The chubby man couldn’t help but take the chance to stretch. His job at the office whilst paying well, unfortunately saw to times where he’d be sitting down for long stretches of time. Though his growing belly pushed out a bit from his shirt, Tony had to admit he relished those moments where he could get up and move about.

Stepping out of his cubicle, Tony kept adjusting his stance and moving from foot to foot. Lately he had been feeling off, his clothing that had fit perfectly the night before were feeling tighter than usual.

“Must have shrunk in the wash.” Tony rationalised, not realising how that logic doesn’t apply to his shoes. Trying to ignore the slight pinch with each step, Tony made his way through the hallway of cubicles. Getting to the store room, Tony couldn’t help but sigh as he saw the step ladder wasn’t in the room where it should have been.

“Come on.” He groaned before stepping to the shelf the file boxes were on, not looking forward to standing on his toes and trying to reach into the shelf. Instead Tony was surprised to find himself eye level with the shelf. Not questioning it, the portly man found it easier to reach for the box files, though he couldn’t help but feel the back of his shirt tighten along with the fabric round his arms.

“Here are those files you wanted.” Tony said as he handed them off before returning back to his seat. Taking a breath and wiping sweat off his forehead. “Did someone turn up the thermostat?” Tony leaned back in his creaking chair before a ‘Ping’ made him freeze. Glancing over his chest towards the desk he saw a lone button against the base of the monitor. Looking down at himself, Tony saw where it came from as his shirt now had an opening exposing more of his hairy flesh.

“Man, I’ve really been snacking.” Tony said, blushing a bit at the sight of his exposed belly, though he noticed a stirring and tight feeling just under his belly that made his light blush darker. Before he could focus on how he seemed to be growing, his mobile gave off a ring that he had gotten a message. Struggling a bit to pull the device out of his tight pocket, Tony felt a smile creep up his face as he saw the message came from Drew.

‘Hey man, want to meet for a meal later? My treat.’

Tony responded back saying sure, though he found himself struggling to type as his fingers pressed different letter keys at the same time. Tony hoped his phone wasn’t breaking, before putting it aside and getting back to work, looking forward to the dinner plan he made with his close friend.

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

“I wonder how Tony is enjoying the new changes.”

Drew thought to himself whilst standing outside a local buffet. The chubby man was eager to see just what the spell he cast did to Tony. Before Drew could wonder for too long, imaging his friend as the immense man he fantasized about, a voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Hey Drew.”  The voice sounded familiar but somehow different, deeper. Turning towards its source, Drew held back the urge to gasp at what he was as walking towards him was Tony, only much bigger. Standing easily at more than eight feet tall, the huge man walked closer to Drew. Tony was still wearing his shirt and trousers from work, only both failed to survive the growth of their wearer. The shirt was torn open with the huge belly and chest on full display, bouncing with each step the enormous man took. His sleeves had stretched and ripped apart, showing his thick biceps as the remains of the shirt looked more like a vest, though Drew was certain the back had been torn open by Tony’s broad back. Before Drew could truly take in how Tony’s tree thick legs had torn his pants into shorts, or how his shoes were open mouth scraps with his hairy feet on display, the huge man was before him. Drew found himself face to face with his friend’s hairy belly with his thick chest over him.

“H-Hey Tony. Seems you’ve had a growth spurt.”

“Growth spurt?” Tony blinked at the comment before looking down at himself. “Oh, no. Just my clothes shrunk and I guess I moved a bit too quickly. Figured I’m still decent enough to go out for a meal.” Tony said, oblivious to the look on Drew’s face and the painfully obvious growth that had occurred to him.

“Tony, you burst out of your shoes.” Drew said, pointing down to the exposed toes of his friend as they willed out of the torn remains of Tony’s socks and shoes.

“They were an old pair.” The grown man rationalised, having to bend forward to see over his swollen torso. Tony’s chest brushing against Drew’s head as the huge man cast a shadow over him.

Figuring the spell made Tony ignorant to the clear changes, Drew decided to drop it for now, as he stepped out of his friend’s shadow and led him into the buffet, feeling the ground shake slightly with each dull step Tony took.

“How about we focus on getting a good meal.”

“Sure thing. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.” Tony joked, though with his size, the low rumble of hunger from his belly, and the spell in place, Drew was sure he could eat the entire barn.

‘Hopefully the buffet has enough food for you.’ Drew thought before they stepped in, noticing Tony had to duck down to keep from bumping his head against the doorframe. The staff and other patrons didn’t seem at all concerned with the huge man entering, besides some grumbles from a few as the enormous Tony bumped his thick legs against some tables on his way in.

“Heh, sorry there. Just these tables are a lot closer than they used to be.” Tony said, blushing slightly as he tried to squeeze between the tables, Drew following behind and getting a good view of Tony’s ass as it kept swelling and stretching out what remained of his pants. Getting to the heating trays, Tony just grabbed a tray without a plate and began to pile food into the tray. Drew could only watch as the huge man lumbered around the stalls, taking snacks and huge mouthfuls with a ladle he swiped from one of the heating trays.

“Tastes good big boy?”

“Yeah, sorry. Couldn’t wait to sit down before taking a bite.” Tony admitted through heavy mouthfuls of food, his cheeks bulging a bit as he ate enough food in one bite that would be a ful portion size for a normal guy.

“It’s okay Tony. Help yourself.” Drew said, barely taking small bites of his own food as he watched the huge man that was Tony gorge himself, practically emptying the trays he passed by. Each bite seeing to further and further growth. His swollen belly spreading forward along with the thick sacks that were his moobs. His swollen biceps bulging with each lift of his thick arms, exposing more of his growing forest of armpit hair. Drew couldn’t keep his eyes off Tony as each movement he made saw to his growing body shifting and jiggling about.

Eventually Tony gave up trying to load food onto his tray and instead abandoned it to lift the heating dishes up and dump the contents into his mouth. The steaming meal doing little to deter the giant man with his throat bulging with each heavy gulp he took. His body surged forward with growth, swelling further as the pitiful scraps of clothing still on him tore and struggled against the growth with a glance down below the growing belly. Drew saw Tony’s underwear on full display with his trousers tearing off, the tighty whities stretched and torn into a kind of speedo, barely containing the massive bulge that was getting closer to eye level with Drew.

'This is going well.' Drew thought, deciding to sit back and watch his friend clear out the buffet as he grew with each bite. Eventually Tony took to getting on his knees, shaking the ground before sticking his large face into the trays, truly making a hog of himself as he stuck his swollen ass out. Taking his eyes off the impressive show of gluttony and growth, Drew saw that the other patrons didn’t seem bothered with the colossal man gorging himself and visibly outgrowing his clothing.

After some time, Tony tossed the final empty heating tray to the growing pile of trays before leaning back. The gargantuan man took up a good portion of the room, his thick legs knocking tables and chairs aside whilst spreading out. Tony’s broad back and swollen ass pressing against the cracking wall behind him. The enormous giant groaned deeply, opening his now beard framed mouth before a booming belch rumbled out of him, shaking the entire buffet and causing Tony’s heavy fat rolls to wobble from the force.

“Oof, that was a good snack.” The gigantic Tony said with a proud pat on his heavy dome of a belly, adding to the show of his jiggling fat. Drew looked on at the giant obese man that his friend had grown into. Thealler man walked up closer to Tony, breathing in the stench of musk th smat was coming off him.

“You cleaned the place out, big guy.” Drew said, walking towards the room filling giant, placing a hand against the wall of fat that was a tire thick fat roll that jiggled above Drew’s head. The smaller man felt his hand sink into Tony’s blubbery body.

“Well yeah, but it’s not my fault this place doesn’t have enough food for this big belly I got.” Tony chuckled deeply, rubbing his belly and causing his body to jiggle as he caressed the huge hair covered mass. Watching on, Drew could see Tony’s body was still growing, though it seemed to have slowed down now that the behemoth had stopped gorging himself. “Think we could try another place before we head home?”

Drew blinked at the question, stepping back as he looked up at Tony’s bearded face, seeing his head and broad shoulders pressed closer to the ceiling. Drew could make out how Tony was leaning forward slightly to keep from breaking through, his chin pressing into his neck fat and swollen chest. The forest of chest hair mixing together with the giant’s dense beard.

“I… you sure Tony? Might have an issue getting you outside.”

“We got me in, so it shouldn't be too hard getting out again.” The enormous giant chuckled before moving forward, grunting slightly as he began to shift his mass to get out. Drew stepped back as far as he could, pressing against the far wall, watching the giant Tony get on his hands and knees. His swollen belly dragging on the ground and crushing the remains of the furniture beneath him. Getting to the double doors, Drew took in the sight of Tony forcing his gargantuan, hairy body out of the wrecked buffet. The sound of the cracking brick and creaking metal filled the area as Tony forced his way through, giving Drew a good view of the deep hair filled charm between the wobbling and bulbous ass cheeks. Hearing the big man grunt with using more force, it wasn’t long before a harsh sound erupted as the wall holding back Tony broke apart with his huge body finally outside, though Drew could see that the now warped door frame was stuck to Tony’s body.

“Oof. They don’t make doors as strong as they used to.” Tony laughed nervously before standing up now that he had room in the street. The tarmac under his feet cracking as he shifted his weight, his impressive body rising with Drew having to step out of the ruined buffet to take in the entire body of his best friend. The smaller man couldn’t help but gasp as he took in the colossus before him. Going up Tony’s thick hairy legs, Drew finally saw the impressively sized cock that had been covered by his belly, now visible as it pressed down towards the halfway point of his thighs. The dick was easily bigger than Drew’s entire body, large heavy drops of pre leaking onto the ground, the immense body part framed by the thick forest of pubic hair and the yoga ball sized testicles that churned with the giant’s growth. Looking further up over the swollen gut, following the trail of belly hair up to the immense moobs that Drew was sure he could hide under. The metal door was straining against Tony’s broad shoulders, the metal dented from a square into a tight oval around the huge giant, before the growth spurts saw it getting tighter and tighter. The giant frowned uncomfortably struggling with the tightening metal, before with a sigh of relief announced the deformed door frame snapping off and landing a distance away, hidden by Tony’s shadow.

“Oh, that feels so good.” Tony said, his huge hands rubbing the markings the door left on him as he started moving down the street. His thick legs forced him to waddle with each step shaking the ground and causing the cars to bounce. Drew struggled to keep up as the earth shook on with his friend’s heavy foot falls. Watching on, Drew took in the sight of Tony’s broad back and wobbling ass, seeing the huge cheeks swaying getting closer to the surrounding buildings. Taking in Tony’s steadily broadening shoulders getting progressively higher and higher, Drew thought back to the spell he had cast.

‘Make the man as big as he desires.’

“Wonder just how big he’ll get.” Drew thought aloud before rushing to Tony’s growing mass, following the increasing craters his feet left before another deep belch erupted out of the giant. (Link to Deviantart :https://www.deviantart.com/fattyfatman/art/Mountain-Book-COM-842170545 )

[popculturebuffet]

Excalibur #1: “The Accolade of Betsy Braddock”

As the magic of Krakoa seeps into Otherworld and puts Morgan Le Fay in a genocidal mood, Betsy Braddock tries to find her place in the new world while also dealing with her idiot brother.. but you know instead of Paul Rudd she has a reality warping man child with mental instablity. Meanwhile Apocalypse adopts an unprouncable name and a new misson statment as a wizard man, Gambit suppresses the urge to kill him and Goldballs tries a new somehow even worse name out.

Welcome back. Due to yesterday being kinda nuts, and the last review being more taxing than planned, this one is kinda late. But better late than never as dawn of X continues it’s win streak with Excalibur, back and better than ever. And thankfully this time, the exposition is all really easy to bake in as we go compared to my last few reviews, so without any delay, it’s time to forge the sword once again. This is Tini Howard and Marcus To’s Excalibur.

We open on a long info page revealing that when Xavier gave his big “While you Slept the world changed” or, to put it more acuratley “All I wanted was to love you , to help you to save your asses and all you did was either try to kill us, look away while others did, or make a token effort at best to help. Fuck you, we’re taking what’s ours bitches. “ speech, Apocalypse gave his own, in a sense telling Humankind “Magic is ours to take back now.... “

We cut to the present where Morgan Le Fay is in Otherworld, basically the court of king arthur, the source of Captain Britan’s power, and a realm created by the british public’s collective subconscious. I don’t get it either. But Morgan Le Fay, Arthur’s evil sister and long time pain in the ass of the Avengers in the 616, has taken over in his absence and nearly drowns one of her minons upon finding something in her well.. a weed affecting it.. and since the x-men have a plant motif and apocalypse made a big MINE NOW speech to the rest of the world.. it’s easy to see Krakoa’s involved. Nice work Apocalypse, your on Krakoa one week and you’ve already pissed off the neighbors.

After the opening titles, we cut to Braddock Academy, basically the british version of Xavier’s and Avengers Academy and unsurprisingly a pet project of Brian’s. Since the school is also the Braddock ancestral home, Betsy’s been crashing here while sorting things out after getting her original body back. Yeah for those of you not that familiar with Psylocke, which I am not but know at least this much, was body swapped with the Assian Kwannon. That was reversed shortly before Dawn of X, which in order to help smooth the transition has given each their own starring roll. And really it is an intresting thing to explore: Betsy spent 5 or 6 years in a body that was not her own, living her life, loving, and doing bloody awful things in the name of the greater good. So it’s no suprise being put back in her old body after all this time and the implications of having basically lived her life in someoen elses skin with the other person now having it back and being understandably pissed about it, having only not gotten it back sooner due to dying of the Legacy Virus. Thankfully this issue dives deep into it and we’ll explore it more as we go.

The child loudly complaning is Margaret, Brian and Meggan’s daughter. Margret is one of the few things Mark Guggenheim’s run on X-Men did that was all that intresting as, probably thanks to a combination of her dad’s magical man juice and her mom’s already shifting genetics, can already talk in full sentences and comprehend stuff at the tender age of 1. Betsy is of course heading to Krakoa but much like Kitty last week, she’s unsure. But it still works: Kitty was unsure because Krakoa, for whatever reason, basically rejected her and staying would just make her a ghost again. For Betsy, she’s gone from living in a stranger’s body and back again and is understandably frazzled and unsure of tommorow.

But as Brian escorts her to the portal on his property, a touch I like as Meggan is a mutant herself and Brian is a longtime ally so it makes perfect sense to put a portal down there both for his mutant students to depart and for Meggan to visit without having to leave her husband behind, he encourages her. This is something I love about the issue: most x-runs I see betsy in kinda forget she has a brother and Uncanny X-Force turned him into an asshole. Here, their close bond and past, she was a supporting character in his book first after all, is shown beautifully as Brian , while happy to have her back, wants her to move on with her life and knows she’ll do great. 

As also seen above Betsy wishes their brother could join them though Brian isn’t so sure. I didn’t really get into Jamie in the other review, and i’m pleased as punch to get here there. Jamie is their older brother.. and also has schizophrenia and the power of god, two tastes that instead create a rancid punch that threatns all life as Jamie dosen’t think anything else is real. Despite this, Betsy wishes he’d be there to see it and hopes it’d make him better. After all if Apocalypse can find a new start here why not him? They literally have worse people on the island.

Speaking of the devil, after Betsy makes her awkward entrance, we cut to Apocalypse who’s of course standing out a window watching everything meancingly, because even when he’s on the good guy side and no longer plotting horribly Darwinian crimes.. he’s still a super villian deep down and old habits die hard. He’s visited by Trinary, a fairly new x-character introduced in X-Men Red, she’s a technopath, as well as one of the brain trust running Krakoa’s computer network. Also as you can see apocapse want’s to be called by his weird Krakoan name.. i’m just going to stick with Apocalypse as I assume it’s the same thing and even Tini Howard herself has flat out admitted she dosen’t have a translation for it and just scripts him as Apocalypse still. He also gets dagger eyes from everyone’s faviorite Cajun as he makes his villianous rant.

Remy does however have more reason than most to hate the man: He was one of Apocalypse’s horseman once: he attempted to go under cover, but underestimated how good the horseman process was and would up having to go to Mr.Sinister of all people to get himself back to normal. So yeah, having the guy who turned you into a monster that tried to kill your future wife, KINDA makes you not willing to have a ham sammich with the guy.  Trinary came to fetch Apocalypse to check out a new gate that opened.. to otherworld.. the problem is Morgan sealed it, and thus Apocalypse , not being a moron, decides they need “a champion” to break it. And since Hercules is on a three month no pants cruise of the bahamas right now, he’s going to have to be less literal about it.  Meanwhile MOrrigan is an asshole to a coven of sorcerers decreeing that they failed her by.. letting mutants exist. Yeah the one weakspot I have with the book thus far is the opening villianess: Morgan Le Fay simply isn’t that intresting and while she’s had a good storyline or too here she’s pissy because.. mutants found magic again. It isn’ t a terrible motive but her steroptical villaness “take my anger out out my minons” stuff is just tiresome and not at all entertaining. She’s the right level of threat for this book, just not fleshed out about enough and is the one real dry spot in this issue. 

Back on Krakoa, Betsy runs into Kwannon and it’s.. about as awkard as you’d expect as you can see.. and really isn’t helping Betsy’s unease. And I actually, despite not having read a ton of comics with Betsy in them get why she’s so uneasy besides the obvious problems of having the woman whose face you stole around all the time: she has no idea what to do. Everyone else on Krakoa, for the most part at least, is fully on board with the new plan, rairing to go. Sure some understandably object to their old foes being there… but theirs a sense of optimism and wonder and happy.. that just dosen’t go with someone who has so much blood on her hands she looks like she took a guys heart out with her bear hands, is in a body that hasn’t been home in years, and has to look the person who’s body she stole, intentional or not, and didn’t put any effort into bringing back from the dead or once she was back giving her her body back in the face. She’s just not in a great place. Thankfully even if her old pal Jubilee dosen’t pick up on this she does get Betsy could probably use some booze. Unfortunatley pressing matters keep her from finding out if krakoa can pour mimosa’s directily into her mouth via some kind of hose bush:

It’s your pal and mine goldballs, one of the five mutants able to raise the dead (but the car is fine). Or Egg I guess but I’m not calling him that. For one goldballs is a far better name just for the ridiculous factor. For another, just call yourself goldeggs. It’s still dumb but egg is somehow dumber. Even add a Z if you want no one cares. Your one of Krakoa’s own personal jesus’. You could rip a person’s throat out and no one would care… though granted that’s also because death is now meaningless for mutants. But yeah as you can see he has a problem and it’s Jamie.

And yup Jamie is back, alive and while not trying to kill everyone, is still kind of a weird asshole. Also I do not want to know what he did in there but I presume he fucked at least one person. Maybe he made them out of thin air, maybe they just came in. Maybe Sinister decided why not. Either way he’s fouling up the pods, and soon puts his foot in his mouth by saying Betsy’s classic look reminds him of better times right after their parents died. However in a nice little character bit he quickly apologizes, showing he has genuinely changed thanks to his resurrection on some level, and admits that the real reason is because they were all together then and all happy. As for why he’s a nusiance, it’s simple: while ressurectees DO need time to recover from you know, the whole being dead thing, it usually takes about ten minutes for the shock to wear off. And while there’s clearly no shock left Jamie is just farting around. Betsy’s response is to treat him like a ten year old. 

It..actually works.. but unfortunately Jamie has about as much intrest in seeing Brian as Brian does in seeing him. And I see why: before he went insane, Jamie was still a supervillian and still hunted brian out of jealousy, while Jamie.. is just kind of a dick. He’s like Krakoa’s own discord: he’s not an apocalyptic godlike threat to the world any more but he will fuck with you just for cheap laughs. Betsy tries using her telepathy to force him to go but Fabio stops her, as it upsets the eggs apparently and decides to drag Brian here, something even Jamie can see as a bad idea. And when the naked man whose been back for all of 5 minutes can see the holes in your plan, maybe you rethink things. But I also get why Betsy is trying so hard at this: She has almost no stablity left and Brian has been her rock, past and present. But Jamie is still her brother and now has the potetinal to do good and while still a loon, is no longer a genocidal madman and is stubbornly refusing to reconcile because he’s decided to swear off humanity. She just wants her family whole and her brothers not trying to kill each other, but is in too bad a state to recognize they need time and may NEVER get along. it’s how it is with family. Dosen’t mean she has to choose one or the other. Brian wouldn’t make her and frankly Jamie isn’t dumb enough to try that.  Thankfully apocalypse interupts Betsy’s extrodinarly bad plan to ask her about the gate.. and point out that Brian himself would be the best way and that, even as a half human, he’d be welcome here in this crisis. He probably get some leeway since apparently the captain britan thing makes him half otherworlder and he is a cosmic champion versus just some joe who wants to enjoy a paradise he hasn’t earned thorugh hard work or nearly dying a bunch. 

Betsy heads to Braddock Manor where Brian is already planning on going to Otherworld to fix this and is naturally not all that inclined to listen to Apocalypse. So as seen above Betsy goes with plan B: She’s going with him even if it’s a trap because fighting alongside her brother doing the right thing is better than moping around an island trying to dodge Kwannon. This also gives me a nice opprotunity to bring up Betsy’s approach to their former enemies. She’s far more accepting than the rest, even Logan outright objected, but I also easily get why: She’s former black ops, having served on one version of X-Force and lead the one right after it. She understands the need for pragmatism and is a pragmatic person. It’s probably why she’s so willing to forgive Jamie: yeah he did terrible things, but at his worst he was mentally ill, and as established by X-Men #1, Krakoa has terrific healthcare and telepaths and empaths to help him work through his issues. He may not WANT to of course, but he’s more likely to and him slowly improving in paradise is better than her brother just being dead to her as a genocidal mad man.  They encounter Morgan who, being basically a 50′s disney villian, expects Brian as otherworld’s champion to start drowning his own sister.. because fuck subtley. 

Back on Krakoa we meet up with Rouge and Gambit. As a tiny bit of exposition for you lapsed ex fans the two are now married. The two reconciled in the excellent Rouge and Gambit mini series, hashing out their long and messy history. Then X-Men gold happened.. see there was SUPPOSED to be a wedding of Colosus and Kitty.. but their reconcilation was so terribly forced no one wanted the wedding and editoral had gambit, of course, steal The Wedding. So the two are in a happy place, though Rouge dosen’t want to use her power dampener on paradise, understandable as said dampener is a repurposed anti-mutant thing and it’d be like brining a pile of nazi gold as your present to a jewish wedding. Rouge then decides , as shown above ot bring up the idea of having kids but before Gambit can say “of course”, Trinary summons them for apocalypse. Apocalypse needs Rouge as he figures her absoprtion power might allow her to serve as a gateway, and a way to retrieve Betsy. Remy, Understandably, dosen’t want her to do this But Rogue is willing to take the risk to save her friend. Remy , now tenativley on board, suggestings bringing in Jubes since she was the last one to talk to Betsy, but A-Train is way ahead of them. 

Naturally, having talked to her all of one sentence, she has nothing. Also curiously apparently Apocalypse wanted Jubes to bring her son, adopted if you didn’t knokw about him, Shogo with her but shockingly she didn’t want to bring her son to see the scary blue man who had no trouble trying to do a murder on a child when she was younger. However Apocalypse really needs her as a bridge between minds: Rouge will touch the portal to break through it and Gambit will keep watch and is all too happy to. As a side note i’d lvoe to see apocalypse babysit “So you see small infant, after that I cleaved the flesh off his skull and put said skull on a pile as a warning to my enimies. You always want to get the flesh nice and clean off.. .the bits create more of a smell and you need to think of the smell. Speaking of the smell I think someone needs a changie!” 

I would too, but i’m pretty sure Remy would be a ground smear, but I think Apocaypse does respect his willingess to try anyway even if he dosen’t take gambit serious as a threat. 

Back in crazy magic lady town Morgan is slowly corrupting Brian, and despite Betsy’s best attempts to stop it, is quickly turned into a warped dark knight who’s trying to shove the amulet of right in her face for some reason.

But with Apocalypse plan in motion, she figures out what’s going on and destroys the portal.. unfortuantley for Rogue this causes to feel weird and then well.. this is the end result.

What exactly the fuck dosen’t even begin to describe this.

Back in King Arthur’s House, Trinary’s words not mine, Betsy tries to kick Morgan’s ass but Dark Brian blocks her… before the above happens.. and it’s clear WHY he was cramming the amulet down her throat... Morrigan has full control of him, he can’t do anything to stop her.. but he can pass it on so she can hopefully stop her or , if he can’t be freed, destroy him before he harms anyone else. He sends her back to the real world as Betsy wails> This scene is damn powerful, as we’ve seen before Brian was one of the few people who understood she was going through some shit and offered her his full support... and now he’s gone, no idea how to rescue him, leaving a wife and daughter behind. 

Back on Krakoa things arne’t much better wirth Rouge int he flower cocoon I showed earlier and Gambit ready to blow Apocalypse’s head off.. and as you can see Apocalypse is like “Fine i’ll come  back from it stronger, but can you please wait? We’ve got a lot of shit going down. But before Apocalypse can pound Remy into a Cajun Corpse, the assembled group is distracted by a returning Betsy. 

And so we end on Betsy, now fully crowned once again as Captain Britain, wondering what the fuck is up with Rogue. We get a quick Epilogue where one of the covern from earlier joins a cult based on the same one related to apocayplypse and we’re out. ‘Final Thoughts: Excalibur #1 is a good start. While some things don’t quite gel, Otherworld isn’t explained at all for those who have never heard of it (raises hand), it feels fresh and makes me invested in Betsy’s struggle, the tragedy Brian goes through, Remy’s fury and Apocalypse, who for once gets to serve as a wise sage instead of a warrior and it’s an intresting role for him, as well as him clearly being set up to mentor Betsy as she rises higher than ever before with her new role. It makes you want to see what comes next and the only real drawback is that Jubilee is basically a tagalong while Rictor is entirely absent, but both I suspect will be fixed with time. As fhte first part of a story, and the first Dawn of X Comic to be part of an arc since the two mini series that launched it, it works well setting things up. As I said the comic suffers from a lack of exposition on Otherworld and from a weak villain, but it’s not enough to distract from this fun, well crafted fantasy and I can’t wait to see what comes next. Until next time, hail to the queen baby.  

[imatrisarahtops]

5, MarcNath

Hi my name is Sarah and I love two very soft boys in Miraculous, and have made @max-thealien also fall in love with two very soft boys in Miraculous.  This ended up being twice as long as I planned.  And I have no shame in admitting it.

5. “I just wanted someone to notice me.”

There were times that Marc joked about being invisible—how despite being someone who stands out so much, his anxiety and introverted nature meant that he was often overlooked, that people simply didn’t notice him.

However, the thing that Nathanael quickly realized about the writer was that while most others were likely to complain about such a thing, Marc never saw this as a problem.  Sure, he liked being recognized for his talents as a writer—something that Nathanael was always sure to do, complimenting him and his skills, making sure that he knew his writing was definitely worth paying attention to, worth reading.

In other situations, though, Marc wasn’t only not bothered by others not seeing him, he was perfectly content with it.  When their friends gathered, while everyone joked and laughed, Marc participated, but he never much enjoyed being the center of attention.  Nathanael remembered asking him about it once as he walked him home after one such get-together.  He was a little concerned for his quiet friend and the thought that maybe he didn’t actually want to be hanging out with everyone in the art club, or with his friends, or with their classes.  His chest ached a little with some sort of feeling he couldn’t place when the idea had first occurred to him.

To his immense relief, Marc had just smiled, chuckling softly and waving his hand dismissively.  “I’m fine!” he assured him.  “Sometimes I just like watching.”

And Nathanael could understood that.  Especially as an artist, he could appreciate the appeal of just sitting back and observing, taking in everything in front of him.  On the rare occasion he didn’t have his sketchbook, he sometimes found himself thinking that the scene—just his friends talking together, laughing, playing around—would make a fantastic picture.  He wondered if Marc ever did the same thing, imagining the story he could create inspired by his friends, if he ever wrote the words in his mind when he didn’t have paper and pen.

“If that’s ever not the case,” Nathanael had said, “you’d tell me, right?”

Marc had blinked owlishly at him, chinks pinkening as they so often did.  “O-of course!”

“Really,” Nathaniel urged him, and he stopped walking to properly look at the other boy, to make sure he could see just how sincere he was being.  “You know you wouldn’t be a bother.  I’d want to know.”

Marc’s expression softened a little, the surprise melting away into something else.  “I know,” he said and he nodded. “Thank you.”  He offered a small smile.

Nathanael smiled back in an effort to calm the butterflies that took flight in his stomach; it was a recent development in their friendship that Nathanael had taken note of—sometimes, Marc would do these things that Nathanael found so completely endearing, so positively charming.  Whenever he’d do such things, Nathanael found himself fighting with a fluttering in his chest as he wondered if Marc had any idea about this internal struggle.

The more time that he spent with Marc, the more Nathanael noted these small changes, almost imperceptible instances where there was something different between them.

He wondered if Marc noticed them, too.  Surely he couldn’t be the only one.

Nathanael wondered, later, if it could be considered irony that Ladybug was the one to shed some light on the whole situation.

It had been after an akuma attack.  It certainly hadn’t been too terrible, not compared to some of the attacks they’d seen, but the moment that Nathanael noticed that Marc was in danger, the fear that had flooded his veins hadn’t immobilized him like usual but instead spurred him into action.  It was something so small, so insignificant he was fairly certain that Marc himself hadn’t noticed—but Ladybug had.  Afterward, once the akuma had been purified and the magic of the Miraculous Cure had put everything back to normal, the superheroine had lightly scolded him.

“I know you dream of being a superhero sometimes, Nathanael—of being Mightillustrator—but please remember that you aren’t,” she told him, tone firm but also exceedingly kind and gentle—a true plea for him to be careful.  “Our Miraculouses keep Chat Noir and me safe.  You can’t do that, or you could get really hurt.”

Nathanael found himself blinking at her for a moment.  His brain instantly took note of the fact that Ladybug had read the comic, and he immediately had so much that he wanted to say to her, to ask her—but something else was bothering him about what Ladybug had just said.

“I don’t want to be a hero,” he told her instead.  “Not really.  I just… I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

It was Ladybug’s turn to be taken aback.  But after a second, she just smiled at him—something soft and kind, and maybe a little too knowing for Nathanael’s liking.  “You care about him a lot, huh?” she asked.

“Of course,” he told her, as though it was obvious.  “More than anyone.”  Just like that, understanding struck Nathanael, as crisp and clear as black ink on a blank white page.  Maybe it was even more obvious than he’d initially thought.  “Oh.”

Ladybug smiled gently, dropping her hand onto his shoulder.  “It’s okay,” she said.  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thank you,” he said with a sigh.

She nodded, and there was a beep trilling from her earring.  She put a hand up to it, smiling apologetically, and then lifted her yo-yo.  Before she swung off, she glanced back to Nathanael over her shoulder.  “Though, you know, you could say something to him.”

The problem was that Nathanael was no good with words.  That was the whole reason their partnership had begun, after all—Nathanael couldn’t come up with the words to accompany his pictures; there was no way he would fare better in a situation like this.

His mind was buzzing with the aftermath of Ladybug’s words. He’d never considered this—that maybe his feelings for Marc would develop into something else. His crush on Marinette dissolving into his love for Ladybug—that was one thing. After he had been deakumatized, developing feelings for the hero had almost seemed inevitable.

But this, on the other hand, had happened so slowly, so gradually, so naturally that Nathanael himself hadn’t even noticed at first.  But it seemed that now he knew, it just made sense.

It was so obvious, and yet he’d never noticed.

“Nath?  Are you okay?”

Nathanael startled slightly, turning to see Marinette tentatively entering the otherwise empty art room.

“Hey Marinette,” he said, still a little distracted.  He turned back to the book in front of him, the rough sketches and smudges of graphite spread over the page.  “I’m all right.”

“Uhm…”  Nathanael turned back to glance at her as she fiddled with her bag.  “I… heard… about what happened earlier,” she said slowly, carefully picking each word.  “With Marc.”

“Oh.”  He looked back to his sketchbook, twirling his pencil between his fingertips, tapping the eraser against the page.  He wasn’t sure how Marinette had heard—but at the same time, he didn’t feel surprised that she had.  Marinette often seemed to hear and see things, to notice what others didn’t.

Not always—she still had her own fair share of oblivious moments—but definitely more than many of their other classmates.

He could practically feel as Marinette approached, then, and he couldn’t keep his shoulders from tensing, his cheeks reddening a little as he looked down at the paper.

Without moving his head, he shifted his gaze, raising his eyes to glance at Marinette from beneath his bangs.  But Marinette wasn’t looking at him strangely, had no pity or disgust on her face, didn’t seem poised to tease.  Instead, she was smiling so gently, so kindly, that Nathanael let himself turn to her fully.

“Does Marc know you draw him like that?” she asked him softly.

“No,” Nathanael murmured, glancing back at the page which was indeed filled with half-finished doodles of the boy.  “He’s never noticed.”

Marinette hummed thoughtfully.  “Well, you draw him beautifully.”

“I just draw him how I see him,” Nathanael told her simply.

Marinette was practically beaming at him, all bright smile and shining eyes.  “If you don’t feel like you can say something to him,” she said, “you could just show him this.  I think he’d really like it.”

Nathanael considered the suggestion, glancing back down at the notebook on the table.  But with a sigh, he slid his hand under the cover, folding the sketchbook closed.  “I don’t think I can.”

“He’d love to see them,” she urged him.

“Marinette…”

“Hey Marinette.  Hey Nathanael.”  They both turned to see Marc as he entered the room.  “Everything okay?”

“Of course!” Marinette said brightly, before Nathanael could even respond.  “I was just looking at some of Nath’s sketches.”  She pushed herself off of the desk.  “I’ll catch you two later, okay?”

And with that, the two boys were left alone.  Immediately, Marc was pulling out the chair next to Nathanael, settling beside him.

“You were showing Marinette some sketches?” he asked a little excitedly.  “Something new for our comic?”

“No!” Nathanael said quickly, placing his arm over the sketchbook.  “I mean… No, it was just… just some doodles.  Nothing good.”

Marc blinked at him, but the smile quickly returned to his face.  “I’m sure they’re great,” he assured him.  “Everything you draw it fantastic, Nath!”

The way he said it so honestly, so earnestly, Nathanael couldn’t help but smile.  He sighed.  “Thanks,” he said.

“But it’s true,” Marc said.  “The lines, the movement… It’s all so inspiring, and so amazing.  I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at your drawings.”

“You said something like that the first time you saw them in here, too,” Nathanael pointed out.

Marc blushed slightly, hand jumping up to scratch the back of his head.  “Oh, did… did I?” he asked.  “Well… it’s true.”

Nathanael gazed at him for a moment, considering him carefully, thoughtfully.  He took a deep breath, glancing back down at the desk.  “When I started these drawings and sharing them… I just wanted someone to notice me,” he said quietly.

“You wanted Ladybug to notice you,” Marc said.

“I—maybe?” Nathanael admitted.  “Probably.”  He looked back to Marc.  “She did.  After the akuma attack, she… she mentioned them.  She’s seen them.“

Marc’s eyes lit up.  “So that’s what you wanted!” he said.  "That’s great!”

But Nathanael frowned.  “But that’s not what I want, anymore,” he said.  “When she brought up the comics, brought up Mightillustrator, sure, I was excited but…  I just felt proud.  Not because she’d seen my drawings, but because she’d seen what you and I made together.”

“You’ve put a lot of work into it!” Marc insisted.

“We both have,” Nathanael said instead.  He paused, looking down at his sketchbook.  He rested his hand on top, fingers splayed across the cover.  “I think I was waiting for the wrong person to notice me,” he told Marc softly.  “Or… maybe there was someone who noticed me from the start, but I didn’t realize it.”

Marc tilted his head, looking at him curiously.  Before he could ask, though, Nathanael was opening his sketchbook, laying out the same pages that he had before.  Marc glanced down at the paper, eyes widening as he did.  He looked back up at Nathanael in silent question and the redhead nodded.  Carefully, Marc reached out and slid the book closer to him so he could properly see the drawings.

“But these are… they’re just me,” Marc said, disbelieving.  “Not—not Reverser, just… me.”

“They’re not ‘just you’,” Nathanael said.

“No, but I-I…”  He shook his head, looking back to Nathanael.  “These are much too beautiful for just pictures of me!”

“Do you like them?” he asked cautiously.

“They’re amazing,” Marc repeated.  “But… why would you draw me?”  He met Nathanael’s eyes, frowning a little as he looked at him with uncertainty.  But Nathanael was quiet, and suddenly Marc’s eyes were widening, eyes darting between the redhead and the sketches.  “Me,” he said, then.  “I’m the one… you…?”

Nathanael could only nod.

Before he could say anything else, there were two gloved hands on his cheeks and soft lips were crashing into his.  It was brief and chaste and sweet, a little awkward and clumsy—but it was so, so perfect—it was art.

All too soon, Marc was pulling away, a rosy blush on his cheeks as he stared wide-eyed at the other boy.  “Sorry!” he said quickly.  “I—”

“Please,” Nathanael quickly cut across, hands immediately jumping up to cover Marc’s which were still cupping his face.  “Please don’t ever apologize for that.”

With the words, the panic was eased out of Marc’s expression, and he smiled—a smile so shy and genuine and pure that it made Nathanael’s heart stutter in his chest.

And that was everything that Nathanael could have wanted in that moment.

Dialogue Prompts

[holyhikari]

The Wayne-Todd Literary and Tea Society

In which Damian and Jason bond over books and complicated feelings.

Batman (Comics) one-shot. Characters: Damian Wayne & Jason Todd.

Word count:  2695. For General Audiences. No pairings. 

Read on Ao3:  The Wayne-Todd Literary and Tea Society by Beatriz Caelum

When Damian sees Jason Todd, he is always tempted to ask a few questions.

You see, differently from most, what he wishes to say usually isn’t about the killing that happens when Jason puts on the infamous red helmet. That he is capable of understanding. Damian didn’t use to kill for anything related to ethics  — a natural aspect of his birthright more than anything else —, as grey as morality can get in both sides of his family, but he has blood on his hands nonetheless.

There isn’t much to say about dying, either. They’ve both been there, at different times, in almost different worlds, clinging to what Bruce Wayne once meant, but Death is timeless and the same to everyone it touches. (It is life that is different. Damian woke up to love and Jason to absence.) 

Sure, there were some scattered talks about it over a rooftop or two, mostly questions, “What do you remember of it?” and  “Do you feel wrong when you breathe?”, that were met with, “I’m not sure,” and “Being alive to me has always felt somewhat unsettling,” but it wasn’t long before they realized that it was the last thing they wished to talk about, even with someone who could understand.

Good thing they can work just fine with silence.

Even though almost a full year has gone by after Damian was bought back to the unfortunate land of the living, he still catches the Red Hood looking out for him more than what is necessary whenever they happen to meet under Gotham’s night sky. It’s something he does even when they are in different sides of a fight, “not opposite sides,” Hood would say, “you know what I want for this hell of a city is the same that you want, too.”

(Damian supposes it is the same in more ways than it is not, but Father has a more abrasive opinion on the matter.)

Regardless of how many times Damian has snarled for him to stay out of his way — like a little brother would be upset rather than an acquaintance or an ally —, that he does not need the extra protection, especially not from him, the Red Hood is insistent. Merciless even about this.

Father’s face twitched when he mentioned the gesture. Drake teased, “you complain when we don’t like you, you complain when we try to help.”  Richard gave him a sad smile that Damian couldn’t shake off for days; Nightwing is also prone to reckless protection around Robin, closer to endangering himself than he would be otherwise.

It makes it harder to work. It makes it more painful to love and be loved by Richard. It makes him more sensitive to what persisted of Father’s grief. But, right now, Damian can only think of how it makes him more curious about Jason Todd  — he could write a list. How can you be so ruthless, yet so caring? How much of your idiocy is staged? How was Father before he lost you? Do you truly not realize the hole you left inside his heart?

But, most of the time, he wishes to ask him about Mother.

Damian knows they spent some time together. What of her that he knows that her own son doesn’t? He wonders, sometimes, what would have been of their weird brotherhood — if you could call it that — if Mother was to tell him about the ex-Robin’s leap into the Lazarus Pit. They could’ve met. He was very young then, but his tender age had never been an issue to the League. Perhaps, after probably trying to murder Jason for planning to hurt the Batman of all people, he would grow to admire that… unique determination.  Like he does now, although reluctantly.

However, what actually pulls the trigger and has Damian swallowing his pride has nothing to do with blood — in any sense of the word.

“What do I own the visit?”

The way Damian stiffs, full on Robin gear and with only one foot into the apartment’s window, could only be caught by someone trained under his Father. The Red Hood snorts, a sound distorted by the helmet’s voice modulator.

“I assume you let me in,” he chooses to say. “Otherwise your security methods could be compared to the skillset of a babbling infant. And that is me being polite.”

“It sure is,” Hood sits down, couch worn out and small like most of his safehouses, reaching for a mug resting on a table. The room smells like cheap coffee — the kind that offends Drake to a personal level —, but Damian suspects that this is tea. “Alfred called. Like, a few minutes ago. Said that if I let my window open I might catch a bird.”

Damian clicks his tongue, “I didn’t tell Pennyworth to inform you of my arrival.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

He presses the bag he is holding a little too forcefully to his chest. “No.”

The Red Hood hums and takes off the helmet. Then, Jason Todd blows on his drink.  “You must have noticed by now, but Alfie kinda does what he wants.”

(Damian has very much noticed.)

“Were you about to go out to do any of your nonsense?” He asks. Then, more shyly:  “I could come back another time.”

For a moment, Todd looks like he’s about to ask what Damian wants from him, but instead, he raises an eyebrow. “You don’t get to boss me. Weren’t you supposed to be getting ready to patrol now, baby bat?”

Damian frowns at the nickname. “We’re going in later tonight for a specific mission, but, for once, I am not here to discuss any crime-related activity. It is more… personal.”

“Oh, no.” He groans louder than Damian wants to hear. “Is this any kind of family meeting? I know I have been on kinda-friendly terms with most of you for a while now, but I’m not in the mood for anything personal. ”

“It is not a family meeting.”

“Whatever it is, go to Dick.”

He clears his throat. “I think it will be of your interest.”

“Surprise me, then.” Todd sighs, stretching his arms. The mug is now empty and there’s probably more where it came from, but he doesn’t offer any beverage to Damian. Rude. “Do your worst, but you know I’m badder.”

He refuses the urge to roll his eyes at the insulting use of the English language — Todd is above this! — and drops his bag’s content onto the living room table with little to no ceremony, almost pushing the mug off. Jason curses at him.

Then, nine bangs. One from each Sherlock Holmes book colliding with the wood.

Todd's expression shifts in a way that Damian knows he wishes he still had the helmet on.

“These are mine,” he draws out, slow.

“Indeed.”

“You —,” Todd narrows his eyes, the greenish blue glowing accusingly. “You stole my books?”

Damian bristles, “I am above stealing.”

“I don’t remember giving them to you,” he points out. “Or letting you borrow them.”

“They were in the Manor’s library,” he says. “With some other books that also belonged — belong to you, I believe. They had a special place just for them.”

“Wh—”

“Pennyworth.”

Todd’s shoulders are still tense, but the lines around his eyes soften at Alfred’s name. Damian can see that there’s some sort of internal struggle by the way Jason’s body carries itself in what he recognizes as the most unforgiving self-discipline; as if his fingers itch to run through the books’ covers, open them, press gently to the pages’ margins to see — to feel — if the notes he took so fervently all those years ago are still intact, but he doesn’t want to have this moment in front of Damian.

“You came here to tell me you found out Alfie is a good person,” Todd deadpans, but Damian catches the constipated emotion nonetheless. “Amazing job, Detective.”

“I came here,” he hesitates, “because I saw your notes.”

Todd wrote on all the nine volumes, a  rushed, clumsy but determined calligraphy squeezed between the edges and Arthur Conan Doyle’s words, mostly untouched with the exception of a few phrases carefully circled by Alfred where Todd had made a grammar or spelling mistake. By the end of each and every book, there’s Father’s handwriting complementing Todd’s observations and theories about the plot, the mysteries and the characters throughout the pages.

It made Damian heart’s ache when he saw it all. Younger Todd’s excited rambling about what he was reading was very, very bright. More often than not, he grasped even the more obscure clues and foreshadowings Doyle left within the narrative — a detective in making. A natural.

Damian had imagined Jason Todd as this dense, unruly kid that would only pick up a book if someone made him. Someone who worshipped senseless violence. It’s what almost everyone says. It’s what Todd himself tells people.

I was Robin. The bad one.

“And you’re here to tell me how stupid they were? How much better you were at my age?” Todd scowls, getting up a little too fast, already walking towards him. “Because I don’t want to hear any of it. Get out.”

“Thank you,” Damian blurts out before the most Al Ghul part of him shuts his mouth and before Jason pushes him out of the window. “It was a privilege to read them.”

Surprise bursts into Todd’s face and he almost loses his balance when his steps come to an abrupt stop. “What?”

“You were — I saw your other books,” he says. “You have excellent taste in Literature and your notes were filled with very pertinent insights.”  

“You’re complimenting me.”

“Yes,” Damian rolls his eyes. “It would be foolish of me not to admit it.”

Todd opens his mouth, then closes it. He repeats the action a few more times.

“You’re welcome, I guess?” He says, exasperation coloring his tone. “I wish I had a camera.”

“Only the Sherlock Holmes collection had notes on them,” Damian decides to push his look. “I checked it twice.”

Todd’s lips twitch, forming a thin line. A sort of bitterness clings to him and Damian is suddenly too aware of the fact that the boy who wrote what he read is lost to more than time itself.

“B gave me them so the deductive skills part of training wouldn’t be so boring,” he sits down again, not looking at anything specific. “He — we decided to make it a sort of game. The notes were for him. So he could see my progress.”

“We don’t do this sort of activity,” Damian finds himself saying. He swallows, hand to his throat. The words hurt to pass through.

"I'd offer you tea, but I just ran out of it."

"Next time."

Todd’s smile is tired, “You can just ask Bruce to do stuff like this with you, gremlin.”

“I suppose I could,” he mumbles. Then, louder: “There are many clean books.”

“Don’t touch my stuff,”  he snaps, but there’s no venom to it. “You hadn’t read Sherlock Holmes before?”

Damian’s back straightens. He puffs his cheeks involuntarily, “Of course I had. I wanted to re-read it. Who do you take me for? I’ve read the most celebrated literary works to date from authors all across the world!”

“To Kill a Mockingbird?” He challenges. “One Hundred Years of Solitude? Beloved? Fahrenheit 451? The Color Purple? The Left Hand of Darkness?”

“Please,” Damian scoffs. “I could’ve written an award-winning analysis on all of these when I was four.”

“What’s the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything?”

“42.”

“Impressive.”

He shoots back at Todd a list of his own and isn’t all that surprised that Jason only stops him once, “Dom Casmurro? Never heard of it.”

“It’s from Machado de Assis,” Damian for once in his life tries not to sound arrogant when explaining something. “Brilliant writer from Brazil.”

“They’ve got Clarice Lispector too,” Todd’s eyes widen in recognition. “I’ll look it up.”

“No need,” Damian waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’ll have a copy delivered to you in no time. We can discuss it later if Capitu did or did not cheat on Bentinho and why it is unclear to this day.”

“I don’t know who these people are, but I bet she didn’t and, if she did, he deserved it.”

Damian almost smiles, “Good guess.”

“Uh,” he blinks. “Are you okay, Damian?”

“Do I not seem in a good condition to you?”

“You want to spend time with me,” Todd says, pointing to himself. “With me. ”

Damian tries to mask the disappointment that creeps up on him with his usual scowl. “If you find it unpleasant and does not wish to—”

“I’m just surprised,” he interrupts. “God. Did I wake up looking like Dick Grayson and no one told me?”

“You’re not entirely impossible to be around, I’ll give you that, but you aren’t Richard either.” He smirks wolfishly. “But you do have a chance to prove to me that you can discuss art better than anyone else in our family.”

The last two words envelop the room in a heavy sort of silence. No one dares to move for far too long, and, despite the stillness of it all, despite how little effort one has to make in order to unveil the exact pace of their heartbeats and what they hide, no noise from the outside is brave enough to interrupt whatever flows between Damian and Jason in this instant.

Damian doesn’t know if Pennyworth keeping the books made him sentimental, or if the Bat Signal is shining behind him for Father, or if the way he said our family was just like Richard says it, or if something about his careful way of approaching reminds Todd of how he and Drake started sorting out their own issues, or if the act of sharing words and finding meaning in it makes Todd’s mind wander off to Cain. Damian has no idea.

But, somehow, they’re all here. With them.

And Todd could run away. He could — and he doesn’t.

His hand finally finds its way to one of the books, with such care and devotion that, if it wasn’t for the bat plastered on Todd’s chest and the gun attached to his waist, no one would believe he’s the Red Hood.

“These stories,” Todd’s voice is not above a whisper, “made me feel like I had a home when you guys couldn’t.”

Damian’s eyes burn behind Robin’s mask. “You can have more than stories now. If you wish.”

The look in Todd’s eyes carries the kind of intensity that makes people afraid to live another day. Damian waits, without as much as breathing, for something to shatter; for having to turn his back and walk out with Todd’s rejection at his trail.

Instead, “Damian Wayne wants me to join his book club.”

Stunned, he almost falters. “If you want to put it that way.”

Todd turns away to put on his helmet before Damian can get a better look at his expression, but, if there’s anything feigned about Todd’s agreement, he isn't able to see. He seems to be getting ready for the night, back turned to Damian and a serenity to his movements that wasn’t there before.

“The things I do for art,” the voice modulator makes his dramatic sigh sound like static.

“I only expect the best,” Damian warns. “I choose the books.”

“Always?” Todd protests. “But then we’ll never know in which Hogwarts house you’re in, or who is your godly parent and if you’re in Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter, if you’re Team Edward or Team Jacob, and I won’t get to see your face when Prim goes boom, or —”

Damian is almost regretting this already.  “What even is this nonsense?”

“Oh, I’ll let you know.” Todd has one foot out of the window. “This is going to be priceless.”

“I won’t read any garba—”

“See ya in the Slytherin common room!”

“Where?”

Damian still has many questions to ask, but he is already gone, of course, and Robin is completely alone in the apartment.

But nowhere near as lonely as the other times Jason walked out on a conversation.

[evesbeve]

Comics and Sweaters - Bruiseshipping (Jay x Cole) One-Shot

Hey, @agent-pebble​, I was your secret santa!! Heard you liked bruise *wink wink*

I hope you enjoy your present, and Merry Christmas dude! (Or if you’re celebrating something else, happy holidays and happy new year!)

Thank you @coco-jaguar​ for hosting the Ninjago Secret Santa again this year! I remember checking out the Ninjago fandom on tumblr sometime around Christmas last year, and seeing the event happen. I just wanted to take part in it, and now I was finally able to! ^W^

Title: Comics and Sweaters

Franchise: Ninjago

Pairing: Bruiseshipping (Jay x Cole)

Summary: When Cole struggles with finding Christmas gifts, he gets everyone ugly Christmas sweaters. It's the fifth year in a row that Jay is wearing his, and another one that Cole has to swallow his feelings for him.

Word count: 1,187

Read this on AO3 and FFN!

Cole had to admit, he wasn't proud of the gifts he got the others on the first Christmas they spent together.

Sure, ugly Christmas sweaters were a common gift, but also nothing compared to the things Zane got everyone. It had been five years, and Cole still used the pair of headphones he had gifted him. Who on their right mind could possibly put use to a ridiculous looking sweater for that long?

Well, to be fair, Jay Walker was not on his right mind.

The ninja in blue always came up with the strangest ideas, like upgrading the coffee machine to make ice cream of all things, or run barefoot on the snow to see how long he'd last. He was always fidgeting around with something, and Cole most definitely didn't notice how Jay mumbled under his breath when he worked, or how he bounced his leg, or-

Or maybe he did notice these things about Jay.

Cole shook his head and snapped back into reality, preventing his mind to wander to places it shouldn't.

It was too bad reality wasn't much different than his fantasies.

Jay was curled up on the living room's couch, a blanket thrown over his shoulders, and a comic book - that he was absorbed by - in hand.

And he was wearing the sweater.

Of course he was wearing the sweater.

The sleeves of the yucky blue color were obviously too long for him. The phrase "Happy Holidays" was badly sewn in the middle of the shirt, accompanied by an equally ugly pink Christmas tree.

It looked absolutely horrible, and Cole couldn't get his head around what his younger self was thinking when he purchased it.

Yet, despite the monstrosity Jay was wearing, he managed to look adorable. His eyes were glimmering in joy, and although he had already read that issue of Fritz Donnegan's adventures a dozen of times, he still gasped in surprise at some of the pages.

Cole cursed himself for staring.

How couldn't he though? It was rare to see Jay actually still - not to mention quiet - and the sight only made Cole wish there were more moments like it.

When Jay giggled out loud at one of the pages, that was it for Cole.

He could have sworn his heart skipped at least seven beats, but for the sake of starting a conversation, he yelled at his heart to go back to normal.

"Watcha laughing about?"

Jay looked out from his comic book, grinning from one ear to another. "You wouldn't get it, it's a Fritz Donnegan thing."

"Explain it to me then?" Cole couldn't help but chuckle. "It's not like you don't talk about the comics all day long, I'm sure I know enough to get it."

Jay rolled his eyes at him, but there was no hiding the urge to ramble about his favourite character. Cole made himself comfortable on the couch next to Jay, and motioned him to continue.

"Okay so," Jay started, not a second later, as if he had prepared his answer before he was even asked to explain, "in the tenth issue, Fritz goes to this ice planet where he meets…"

But Cole wasn't listening.

It wasn't like he wasn't paying attention to Jay - quite the opposite, actually. Jay's excitement as he spoke was undeniable, Cole could tell by the way he moved his hands to illustrate explosions, and the shimmer in his bright blue eyes.

Cole was simply choosing to pay attention to other aspects of his friend.

"And that's why-" Jay cut himself off. "Are you listening?"

"Of course!"

He wasn't.

"Oh really?" Jay smirked, and Cole tried not to make it obvious that he gulped. "Then tell me, Mr. Earth, what did Fritz do when he came face to face with the ice monsters?"

If only Cole had listened to a word of Jay's rambling, things would be less awkward now. Surely there was nothing Cole could actually say - because there was no way he'd tell Jay he had ignored him - so he did what he could do better; He stared.

The slightly mischievous look on Jay's face had his eyebrows upturned. The tiny notch on his right one seemed like it was smiling at Cole, which made him question his sanity, because how could an eyebrow notch possibly be smiling at someone-

The blue in Jay's eyes striked Cole's with lightning, paralyzing him. They were a storm, and Cole was falling a victim to it.

His freckles looked as if they were guiding Jay's grin, adding to the slightly rosy color his cheeks had picked from the cold. Cole noticed even the tiniest of freckles, since they were all equally beautiful, the same way that Jay was.

And his lips, and how Jay was biting the bottom one, as if he was waiting for something-

It was then that Cole realised that his eyebrows had softened, the storm in his eyes had calmed, and his freckles stood out to bright red cheeks. It was as if he was trapped in a scenery he couldn't escape from, one that was getting closer and closer, until-

Until he was kissing him.

Cole couldn't tell at what point specifically it had happened, but he wasn't planning on missing out on it searching.

The warmth of their kiss was slowly taking over his entire body, despite the temperature being below zero. Jay's lips felt so soft against his, and the way they locked felt almost natural.

Cole wished this moment could last forever, but it only lasted a few seconds.

Soon their eyes locked again, and Cole noticed how there was a new spark in Jay's, that he couldn't quite define. Regardless, it was beautiful, and Jay was beautiful, and Cole couldn't believe how amazing that had felt.

Jay chuckled under his breath, leaving Cole stunned once more.

"That's not exactly what Fritz Donnegan did to the monsters in my comic book…" he said quietly, almost like a mumble.

"I must have misheard," Cole managed to speak up, his tone equally quiet.

"I have to admit though," Jay continued, "this has to be the second best gift you have ever given me."

"It was pretty ama- Wait, second?" Cole tilted his head in pure confusion. "What's the first?"

Relief washed Cole over as Jay's smirk returned on his face.

"The sweater."

Cole groaned, while Jay broke into giggles again. "Oh come on, it's hideous! How can you even like this thing, it has a pink Christmas tree on it, Jay!"

"It's because it gets a reaction out of you," Jay admitted with a joking manner. "Seriously, I've never seen you so disappointed."

"This is why you wear it all the time?!"

"Yep," Jay said, popping the P.

"You little shit."

Jay had now broken into full-on laughter, and even though the dark secret behind wearing something so horrible had been revealed, Cole couldn't help but let the butterflies in his stomach tickle him and get him to laugh too.

Jay scooted closer to him, and their lips met again, continuing their dance. This time, however, they were both smiling throughout it.

[petroglifs]

Grayshaw

*Enjoy!

Science Fiction Book Club

Interview with Bruce Sterling October 2018

Bruce Sterling is a prominent science fiction writer and a pioneer of the cyberpunk genre. Novels like Heavy Weather (1994), Islands in the Net (1988), Schismatrix (1985), The Artificial Kid (1980) earned him the nickname “Chairman Bruce”. Apart from his writings, Bruce Sterling is also a professor of internet studies and science fiction at the European Graduate School. He has contributed to several projects within the scheme of futurist theory, founded an environmental aesthetic movement, edited anthologies and he still continues to write for several magazines including Wired, Discover, Architectural Record and The Atlantic.

David Stuckey: Have you considered a return to the world of "The Difference Engine" for stories or another novel?

*That won’t happen.

David Stuckey: If you were going to write "Involution Ocean" today, what would you change or do differently?

*Well, alien planet adventures are a really dated form of space opera.  On the other hand, they’re great when you’re 20 years old.  If I were doing a project like that today I might make it a comic book.  Or a webcomic.  It might make a nice anime cartoon.

Richard Whyte: In the 2018 'State of the World' conversation on the Well, you said you were in Ibiza working on a novel. Are you able to tell us anything about it yet?

*I dunno if I’m ever gonna finish this epic novel about the history of the city of Turin, but I seem to get a lot of work done on it when I’m in Ibiza.  It’s about Turin, but when I’m actually in Turin I tend to work on weird technology art projects and goofy design schemes.

*Also, look at this palace.  I’m supposed to work on my novel in the attic of this villa.  That’s pretty weird, isn’t it?  This villa was built in the same era as the book I’m working on, which has the working title “The Starry Messengers.”  Like this villa, it’s big and baroque and complicated.

https://fenicerinnovata.tumblr.com

Andrzej Wieckowski: We read 'Sacred Cow' for one of our short story reads a few months' ago. Were themes such as Bolton's historic connection to the Indian cotton industry and immigration to this country deliberate or unconscious? And as it's my home town - did you visit? :)

*There aren’t any towns in Britain without some historic connection to India.  As it happens I’m flying to India day after tomorrow to meet with some Indian science fiction writers.

*I used to hang out in Great Britain rather a lot.  Brexitania I don’t much care for.  It’s a hostile, troubled place.

Gary Denton: You were active in the Viridian sustainable design movement that many readers may not know about. Do you think that major corporations have taken that over and it is less fringe now?

*I tend to do activist stuff.  Also, you get more done if you don’t ask for any credit.  I’ve come to understand that a lot of my most influential writing was stuff that I never got paid for.  Some of it never got published.

*I was just at the Whole Earth 50th reunion about a week ago.  They’re a good example of a “movement” that was super-influential and somehow a dreadful failure at the same time.

*As far as major corporations, meaning large public enterprises with a lot of shareholders, I don’t worry about them any more.  It’s actually moguls and oligarchs who are the big problem nowadays.

Gary Denton: Do you also see a change in the major polluters now compared to 25 years ago?

*They’re a lot more violent.  Blood for oil, killing off opponents in sinister ways, not a problem for them any more.  They’re quite grim and red-handed.  They used to be engineers, but now they know that they are culprits.

Gary Denton: You once said that the cyberpunks were the most realistic science fiction writers in the 80's. Who do you think are the most realistic science fiction writers now?

*Could be the Chinese.

Richard Whyte: Whenever someone here asks about the angriest SF work ever, I always seem to end up recommending your fine short story 'Spook'. Do you think of it as an angry story?

*Well, not really.  It’s a rather severely disaffected story from the point of view of a person who’s not human and knows it.  “We See Things Differently” is rather an angry story; it’s about a terrorist assassin with a righteous grudge.

Eva Sable: What is the experience of collaborating with another author like for you? Especially when working with someone who, like yourself, is rather an individual. (Never met William Gibson, but he strikes me as someone who would be more comfortable working on his own)

*I tend to collaborate rather a lot.  It helps if the two of you are combining forces in order to learn something together.  Gibson and I agreed that we couldn’t possibly write a work like DIFFERENCE ENGINE alone.  We used to urge each other to do it, but eventually we just had to have a lot of long, abstruse discussions of what a book like that ought to do.

*If you read the stories I wrote with Rudy Rucker you can see that a lot of those texts are basically him and me discussing weird ideas.  We’ve got a reason to write those stories – a high-concept, and then there are pages of bizarre hugger-mugger where we push the concept as hard as we can.  Then we give up.

*Nowadays I spend a lot of time negotiating or collaborating with artists, designers, architects.  I don’t get jealous about the origins of good ideas.

Richard Whyte: Your 1980s SF criticism seemed very much in favour of 'Radical Hard SF'. To what extent do you think your own fiction 'takes its inspiration from science, and uses the language of science in a creative way'?

*I wrote a lot of that in the 1980s.  Nowadays I tend to write speculative work that’s more influenced by industrial design rather than by science.

Richard Whyte: In the early 1980s I believe you were associated with a group of like-minded SF writers known as 'The Movement', who were subsequently renamed as 'cyberpunks'. Overall, do you think this name change was a good or a bad thing?

*If people notice you, you’re gonna get a public slang name anyway, so it’s good if you can cheerfully put up with it.  As for forming like-minded groups, that’s a valuable life-skill.

John Grayshaw: Who are your favorite science fiction writers? And how have they influenced your work?

*Well, those favorites change with time.  In different decades of my own life I’ve had different ambitions for my own science fiction.  I tend to write pastiches.  Lately I’ve been writing a lot of “science fiction” that’s heavily influenced by Italian fantascienza, or, really, Italian fantasy generally.  

*I’m a long-time Juies Verne fan.  I wouldn’t describe Jules as a personal “favorite,” but I recognize him as a titan of my genre.  Knowing the personal details of the guy’s career as a working creative has been of a lot of help to me.

*I had a couple of professional SF writers who I regarded as my literary mentors.  They’re both dead now: Harlan Ellison and Brian Aldiss.

John Grayshaw: I heard that you are currently dividing your time between Belgrade and Turin, do you miss living in Texas? Or America in general?

*I’m back often enough that I don’t really “miss it.”  I find that if I stay in one place too long, I tend to miss travelling.  I  roam a lot.  If I get too old and tired to lift a suitcase and I settle somewhere, it probably won’t be Austin, Belgrade or Turin.

John Grayshaw: I recommend everyone read your essay "Cyberpunk in the Nineties" (http://lib.ru/STERLINGB/interzone.txt) to understand that Cyberpunk was a movement and can't be removed from its time and place...But a Cyberpunk aesthetic has emerged over the years and that is what writers like Neal Stephenson or Richard K. Morgan are emulating. Was this aesthetic conscious at the time?

*Well, we spent plenty of time fussing about it. A lot of that conceptual work doesn’t really show on the surface.  Aesthetics interest me a lot.  For instance, I’m the Art Director of the Share Festival in Turin, which is an Italian technology-art fair.  Italians are good at fussing about how stuff looks.

John Grayshaw: Did "Mirrorshades" have a theme? What directions or guidance did you give the writers?

*It didn’t have a set theme.  Mostly I was trying to pick work from colleagues I respected, that I thought put them in a good light.

John Grayshaw: Other than writing what are your interests/hobbies?

*I like design and technology art. Also I travel a lot.  I spend a lot of time in arcane online research.

John Grayshaw: Why do you think Steampunk has become a popular subgenre/aesthetic in the last 30 years?

*I think it’s about the craft aspects of steampunk.  Hobbyist people like the costumes and the gadgets.  It’s like traditional historical recreation groups, but with an alluring fantasy aspect.

John Grayshaw: Can you explain why you have said that Artificial Intelligence is a bad metaphor?

*I think the AI metaphor gets in the way of actual progress in the field, with actual hardware and software.  Rodney Brooks explains the problem a lot better than I can, and nobody can understand his explanations either.  That’s not exactly fair – actually I get what Rodney’s saying enough to more or less agree with him.  He’s an expert, so I’d refer you to him.

*”Deep Learner” and “neural net” are kinda better metaphors than “Artificial Intelligence,” but they’re still metaphors.  We haven’t created sharp, focused words for what these odd devices really do. “Intelligence” is not what they’re doing.

John Grayshaw: Cyberpunk was a dark look at the future. Do you feel optimistic or pessimistic about the future?

*People always ask that.  People in Russia never thought that cyberpunk was “dark.”  Also, whenever you get to “the future,” no matter how scared or happy you are about some particular historical episode, there’s always more future on the way.  Eventually people are dead, so if you ask  if I’m optimistic or pessimistic about the 20th century,  the whole idea sounds silly.  The future is a kind of history that hasn’t happened yet.

John Grayshaw: In cyberpunk technology often contributes to society’s ills. What lesson do we take from this? That we must learn how to live with tech or that we should reject it and live like the Amish?

*Kevin Kelly kinda likes the idea of living like the Amish.  Kevin’s an interesting guy.  If I myself wanted to “live like the Amish” I’d probably move to Christiania in Denmark, where at least they have reggae music.

John Grayshaw: Do you keep up with the latest technologies? Or do you stay "off the grid?"

*I do both, actually.  I’m generally so “off the grid” that I’m not even in its time-zone.  I don’t have a business card, there’s no  settled mailing address, I’m never on Facebook, and no one knows my phone number.  Like they say in the world of electronic privacy, “I have nothing to hide, but I have nothing I want to show you, either.”

John Grayshaw: Do you think people will have "immersive" VR type experiences on the internet in the next 20 years?

*They have it already.

John Grayshaw: What do you feel is your legacy?

*Hard to say.  It’s like asking a Beatnik writer what “his legacy” is.  The Beats wrote a lot of more-or-less memorable stuff, but there’s also the existence proof that somebody was able to live like that, and that is their legacy.  I lived in a different historical period than the Beat writiers, but a lot of the stuff that entertained and engaged me is also quite archaic nowadays.  I don’t thing people aspire to emulate Bruce Sterling, but they  do like the idea of operating in the same cultural spaces that I do.  That something lively can exist between “science” and “fiction,” or between “cyber” and “punk,” that’s a valuable thing to know.