#just a quick sketch before I explode

[vern-circuits]

He says this and then hangs out with both Henry and Edwin later

[sysig]

Say it ain’t so (Patreon)

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

Lena smiles to herself as she watches Kara zip through National City’s most exclusive luxury mall. She’s like a honey-drunk bumblebee, bouncing from aisle to aisle, descending on some random item every five seconds just to mutter hmm and dart off again.

Lena is moving at a more civilized pace. She has long since stopped trying to keep up, both with her best friend’s not-quite-incriminating measure of super speed and her unfathomable decision-making process.

“Lena help,” Kara pouts, suddenly back, familiar and warm at Lena’s side. “Do fifteen-year-olds like anything?”

Lena doesn’t take her eyes off the art books she’s been perusing, but she also doesn’t stop herself from leaning in, her shoulder resting briefly against Kara’s, their hips grazing. A friendly gesture. A welcome back. “You remember Ruby, right?” she teases. “Cute? Bright? Probably six feet tall by next Wednesday?”

Kara huffs. “Yes, but she's—you know. Cool now.” She makes a gesture that’s somewhere between jazz hands and a bomb exploding. “What do cool teenagers like?”

Lena sends her a self-deprecating smile. “Do consider who it is you’re asking.”

Kara’s gaze tumbles from Lena’s face to her chest to her hands, and then she nods. Lena feels like she should be insulted by Kara’s quick acquiescence, but all thought leaves her mind when Kara steps closer, reaching across Lena’s body to play with the head of a fat round brush. Lena watches the fine bristles spread wide around the pads of Kara’s ring and middle finger, and tells herself that she isn’t affected by the situation at all.

“You know,” she breezes, veering away from the wisp of Kara’s breath against her temple, “Ruby’s been sketching a lot more, lately.”

Kara, immediately revived, follows Lena over to a glass case marked with Holbein’s logo. But when she glances up at the price tags, she goes pale. “Seven hundred dollars?” she yelps. “For colored pencils?”

Lena hums. “They’re pastels,” she explains, flipping the case open with a pleasing wood-on-metal snick. “High-grade pigments, no fillers.” She runs her fingers down a length of cobalt blue, watching Kara’s throat bob when she reaches the gold lettering along its side. “I hear they lay down incredibly soft,” Lena hears herself say, her voice low in the narrow space left between them. “Rich and easy. Just a hint of pressure is enough to achieve whatever effect you desire.”

Kara looks up, her glossy pink lips now inches away from Lena’s own. “Since when do you know about art materials?” she rasps.

Lena breaks into a light sweat at the question. “Well, you know,” she stammers, straightening. “It’s. No secret that I’m a patron—” She gestures helplessly, trying to step away again but finding herself trapped between the display case and Kara’s body. “That I—I’ve always had a thing—”

Kara’s eyebrows twitch as she waits for Lena to finally finish a sentence, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth when Lena fails to do so. Her amusement at Lena’s floundering should embarrass her, but combined with the close heat of Kara’s body and her cocky smirk, Lena finds it alarmingly arousing.

“I have literally never heard you talk about art before,” Kara smarms. “Oh wait! Actually I specifically remember you canceling on Bruce Wayne’s charity gala when you realized he was having it at the Museum of Modern Arts, two years ago.”

“Kara—” She’s still so close. Lena is beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“You were already in Gotham,” Kara points out.

“Listen,” Lena flusters. “I am a well-rounded—”

Kara’s eyes are dark and sparkling. “You were his date.”

“...I was his friend,” Lena corrects. “Bruce and I were never—not like—” She gestures between Kara’s body and her own, the movement greatly inhibited by their closeness, and ceasing entirely when she realizes where her argument is headed.

Kara bites down on what Lena is sure would otherwise be a maddeningly self-satisfied grin. “My birthday’s coming up, too,” Kara says. And then, her voice gentle, “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Lena huffs out a breath. Of course she knows that. Kara is her best friend. It’s completely natural that Lena would spend night after sleepless night poring over catalogues and browsing the dark web, trying to find her the perfect gift.

“You got me these?” Kara grins, picking up a viridian green pencil and twirling it between two of her fingers. She looks so pretty and pleased that Lena nods, instantly resolved to trash the one-of-a-kind mini-anti-life-equation she’d managed to place the winning bid on, and gift Kara Holbein’s entire collection, as originally intended.

Kara still hasn’t moved. “Lena,” she says. “You know you didn’t need to spend all that money on me.”

Lena huffs out a humorless laugh. If Kara thinks the pencils are pricey, ditching the anti-life-equation is definitely the right call. It’s a shame—apparently it’s super effective against fruit flies and fungus gnats, both of which Kara has been unsuccessfully battling in her kitchen for the past couple of months. “You know me,” Lena says, something bitter twisting at the corners of her mouth. “Always going overboard.”

“No,” Kara tells her. The surety of her tone draws Lena’s gaze back up to those ludicrously blue eyes. “I do know you,” Kara says. “And you always get it exactly right.”

The silence that ensues stretches taut between them, stretches thin, fraying Lena’s nerves along with it. She should get Kara some canvases too, Lena decides. In fact, why not make it a set? Add some new brushes, and oil paints, maybe a new easel—oh!

“Mechanical erasers,” she blurts, and darts away.

Kara isn’t quite as quick on the uptake this time, taking long seconds to rejoin her on the other side of the aisle.

“Not like what?” Kara asks.

Lena blinks at her, puzzled by the non-sequitur. Kara’s eyebrows twitch together again, but this time they stay there, a tiny divot in the skin between them. Lena doesn’t know what to do with—well, any of it, quite frankly. “Since the secret’s out,” she says, pointedly looking away from the curious expression on her best friend’s face and gesturing at the collection of erasers, “do you prefer the—”

The feeling of Kara’s hand at her waist is highly unlikely and profoundly baffling. But when Lena looks down, trailing off, there it is; Kara’s thumb, settling against Lena's hip bone, her fingers sliding—sure and steady—into the gap of Lena’s open coat.

“You said you and Bruce were not like you and me,” Kara says. “What are we like?”

Lena’s heart is slamming in her chest like Kara is playing tennis with it. She’s so frustrated that Kara won’t just let it slide and allow Lena to escape with her pride intact; she’s so enamored with the way Kara looks at her, open and curious, as if she honestly doesn’t know what Lena is trying her best not to say for fear it will ruin their friendship.

The situation is so impossible that Lena doesn’t register the movement of Kara’s other hand until she’s slipped it around the back of her neck. It rests there—joining the other in its exploration of formerly firmly out-of-the-way places—with just the barest hint of pressure, her fingertips settling warm against the vulnerable skin of Lena’s nape.

Lena flusters, suddenly forced to address Kara’s question in a far more certain shade than she’s allowed them both to get away with over the years. If Lena opts for “the kind of friends I thought I’d never have”—a bitter, but familiar favorite—will Kara still help her blend the outline between the soft tones of their friendship and the vivid hues of what Lena is pretty certain is their mutual desire?

She swallows, watching the quick flash of Kara’s tongue as she wets her lip, reveling in the sight of it up close, struggling to maintain her solid form beneath the feeling of Kara’s hands on her body.

“There’s…” Kara whispers, swaying closer, “...probably a couple of things we really should talk about.” Her nose brushes Lena’s cheek before resting there, her eyes falling closed, their foreheads just barely touching. “But do you think it would be okay if—just for now—” She’s muttering the words almost directly into Lena’s mouth. “If I kissed you, first? Before, I mean, the rest of—”

Lena tugs herself up by the lapels of Kara’s jacket before Kara even finishes her question, the darkness behind her closed eyelids sparking into bright technicolor at the soft press of Kara’s lips against her own. They’re warm, and yielding, and slightly sticky—probably from the fresh-baked cinnamon roll she’d scarfed down before entering the store. Just before they pull apart, Lena catches the slightest hint of sweetness with the tip of her tongue.

Lena hums.

Kara is right. They really should be talking about this, and not necking in the middle of Eulalia Literature & Arts like a couple of boarding school kids on a school trip. But Kara is looking at her as if Lena is a wonderful secret freshly revealed, so Lena really can’t be expected to keep herself from being pulled back into Kara’s orbit. Can’t be blamed, even, for doing it lips-parted, so eager for another taste of what feels like the one bright spark of undiluted joy she’s ever felt she actually deserved that she shamelessly licks into Kara’s mouth, her entire body lighting up in oversaturated iridescence when Kara meets her with similarly unselfconscious sincerity.

Kara doesn’t let her go, even when they pause for air, both of her hands twitching against Lena’s body, as if keeping herself from pulling Lena back in is a tremendous effort. “Can we just stay here for a minute?” she hushes, her breath mingling with Lena’s own.

Lena smiles. “I think the security guard may have a couple of things to say about that,” she tells Kara, flashing an embarrassed glance over her shoulder at the woman in question.

“Oh, shoot.” Kara flinches, flushing an irresistible shade of pink Lena doubts even Holbein’s pigments could emulate. She rarely wears her glasses anymore, but Lena watches her reach for them out of habit, her movements jittery and raw.

“It’s alright, darling,” Lena soothes her, thrilling privately at the endearment as it falls off her lips. “I’m sure all will be forgiven when the cashier runs my credit card.”

And she’s right; when they exit, the guard gives them a nod that may even signal some mild approval. Whether that’s about the fortune Lena just spent on art supplies or their impromptu public exhibit, Lena isn’t sure.

Later, after weeks of conversations, after numerous tiny discoveries and world-shattering revelations—one of which has Kara confessing to once helping a fifth-dimensional imp create a half-dozen miserable alternate realities in which the full, vibrant spectrum of their love for each other went unacknowledged, and never led to a kiss—Kara blows out thirty-one colorful candles, and unwraps first (in the company of all of their friends) her gifts; and then (in the company of only her lover) Lena’s wrap-around A-line dress.

Lena’s legs are already trembling when Kara finally glides her fingers to the seam of her thigh, the pad of her thumb nudging gently at the patch of darkening cotton between Lena’s legs. “Could I try something new?” she asks, and Lena, who has discovered that Kara’s ideas only ever fall into one of two categories, one being complete absurdity and the other unmitigated brilliance, sighs.

“I want to paint you,” Kara says.

It so figures, Lena thinks. All of these new toys, and Kara can't decide which one she wants to play with first.

“Okay,” Lena says, driven to impatient acquiescence by Kara’s thumb, now moving in gentle, tiny circles against her.

“Okay?” Kara confirms, hand stilling, sitting up.

Lena clasps Kara’s teasing fingers and presses them down hard where she needs them, her back arching into the touch of their joined hands. “After,” she demands.

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘vignette/slice of life’, ‘shopping for a gift’, ‘friends to lovers’ and ‘colored pencils’. You should give it a whirl!

[dulmetra]

Your own AU? Do tell some more about it. Also we're all pretty happy to wait for your art, no worries about it at all, great art takes time U_U Thank you for the great food you always provide for us mortals, your Tom is extremely inspiring! Also I love your art process, wonderful to see a pretty sketch turn into a finished masterpiece (seriously, the way you render clothes and hair is so delicious, I could stare for hours). I KNEEL

Yes! My own AU.

It’s been four months, but I had to do some illustrations! I’m so sorry, really. I hate being this slow.

All of them are silly and cartoony, because let’s be real — if I tried to fully color them, I’d die of old age before finishing even one 😩

Besides, cartoons are way better for expressions, and I want my AU to lean heavily into humor. Ideally, I’m aiming for a dramedy with a generous helping of dark humor. Definitely not PG. The rating was inevitable — the main character is YoU kNoW wHo, after all! Honestly, this story will probably collect most of the AO3 warnings like Infinity Stones… and yet yes — it’s still a comedy. Somehow.

Now to the premise!

I won’t pretend it’s original. Probably you've read parts of the same idea in one fanfic or another. But I want to resurrect diary Riddle right after Chamber of Secrets and drop his self-absorbed ass smack into the Golden Trio’s orbit.

How did this even happen?

Well… thanks to Professor Dumbledore’s "brilliant" idea — which, mind you, was meant to go in a completely different direction — we now have… Thomas 😅

And just like that, Tom found himself in 1993, babysitting the most chaotic three little gremlins Hogwarts has to offer.

I drew a few of their interactions:

Truth be told, there's so much potential here my head is about to explode. And it’s not just the Trio. There’s a whole bunch of other characters to throw into the chaos — Ginny, Malfoy, Slytherins, the professors, Snape, McGonagall… and Albus, obviously.

A few spicy facts to consider:

1. The original Voldemort is still alive.

Yep. In my AU, there are two of them. Imagine Voldemort’s face when he finds out one of his Horcruxes has gone rogue lol

2. I’m convinced Dumbledore would’ve dragged Slughorn back to Hogwarts early

— purely so Tom would have at least one familiar face from the old days.

3. Nagini.

She’s an entire storyline by herself. My plans for her are so big, her ridiculous face has been my profile pic this entire time. And yes, she will be smuggled into Hogwarts. Anything to keep our boy from going full psycho.

4. Time period clash.

Thomas was born in 1926 — and now he’s in the 90s. Sure, the wizarding world isn’t known for being modern, but wait until one of the Trio drags him to actual Muggle London.

5. Yes, he’s overpowered.

Because I’m a weak, shameless simp 😭 BUT! Don’t worry — his powers are severely nerfed by an extensive collection of blood oaths, binding enchantments, curses, and the combined paranoia of Albus, Minerva, and Snape. No one’s letting a murder-happy dark lord just casually stroll around Hogwarts unsupervised!

6. Let’s talk mental stability. Or lack thereof.

Any good Tom-centric fic must address the question: how unhinged is he? And the answer is: completely feral. But that’s the fun part! His redemption arc will be sweet, charming, maybe even heartwarming… until just when you think he’s reformed, he turns around and unleashes a good ol’ blood massacre right before your eyes. Because of course he does. 😒

And that’s basically it!

Thought it will be shorter, but oh well — it is what it is. To be honest, I really want to do something with this idea, but with my current drawing speed, it’s basically a Herculean task. Maybe I’ll alternate between quick, simplified arts from this AU and full-blown illustrations. We’ll have fun with it together 😌🎨

P.S. Dear ariddle-diddle, Thank you so much for all the kind words, the compliments — and for your patience! 🥺 I’m so, so sorry for being slow! And of course, thank you for your question, too!

[mktskii]

—Explosive Fixation

part two.

—Synopsis: Bakugou's pride takes a massive hit when he finds himself drawn to someone outside the hero course—the best support course student he’s ever met, and the person who couldn’t care less about him. What starts as begrudging respect (and annoyance) slowly turns into something he can’t ignore. Now, if only his stupid gauntlets would stop breaking long enough for him to figure out how to deal with these frustrating, unfamiliar feelings.

—Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x AFAB + Support Course!Reader.

—Genre: Slow-burn romance, slice-of-life.

—Tags: Enemies-to-lovers, banter, RBF reader, grumpy x grumpier, miscommunication, one-sided crush, support course expertise, Bakugou struggling with feelings, Bakugou crushing on reader so hard, reader is tired of everyone's shit, reader does not take Bakugou serious AT all.

Bakugou finding himself crushing on someone from the support course? The very idea would have Bakugou ready to throw himself into an explosion, especially since you're not even in the hero course. How did this happen? You're just a regular student from the support department, not some flashy hero-in-training. Hell, you don’t even try to impress people! Bakugou's Bakugou—so why, out of all the people, is he suddenly caught up in the fact that he likes you like that?

It all started with his gauntlets, which were, as always, broken after another insane training session. This time, however, Hatsume Mei was busy with a massive backlog of orders. So, when he stormed into the support lab to demand a quick fix, Hatsume just waved him off with a nonchalant “go ask them” and pointed to you, buried under a mountain of tools and gear. You were known in the department, even beyond that. People whispered that you were better than Hatsume herself when it came to making support items, which was already wild because Hatsume was a freakin' genius. But here’s the kicker—you didn’t want the attention. You didn’t care for the praise or even the stress of constant requests for new gear. Okay, fine. Maybe you do a little. And when Bakugou, the most demanding, arrogant student in the entire school, barged into your workspace, his booming voice interrupting your flow, you quite literally did not want to put up with his shit. “Get out.” Your voice was cold, indifferent, and to the point. Bakugou had expected, well, anything else—maybe some stammering or apologies and you dropping everything and fixing his gauntlets like he demanded. But this? Definitely not this complete lack of interest. He was fuming. “Do you know who the hell I am?” he growled.

Your eyes barely flicked up from the blueprint you were studying, annoyance clear in your expression. “Yeah. And I don’t care. Get out of my workspace.”

Needless to say, Bakugou had never been kicked out of anywhere before, and the fact that you banned him from ever asking for your help? Or, more correctly, fixing his stuff? That hit harder than any villain could. When he ranted to Kirishima, expecting him to agree with how crazy you were for doing all that, Kirishima was disappointed in him—actually disappointed for screwing up such a basic request. You? You were the best at what you do, and somehow, Bakugou had managed to ruin his only chance at getting you to fix his gauntlets.

Bakugou, in classic Bakugou fashion, decides to fix his gauntlets himself. He sketched up the mechanics of his gauntlets, so how hard could it be? Turns out, really freaking hard. Not only does he botch the repair, but his malfunctioning gauntlets accidentally explode during class, damaging some of his classmates and earning him the wrath of Aizawa and everyone else. He’s pissed—at himself, at his classmates, and mostly at the fact that he can’t get those damn gauntlets fixed without swallowing his pride and asking you.

The next time he sees you, it’s different. He doesn’t storm into your workspace like last time. He’s gritting his teeth, practically seething, but he still manages to blurt out, “Sorry for bein' an asshole. Fix this… please.” It sounds like the word “please” burns his tongue, but he says it.

You stare at him for a moment, and give him a sharp scoff but take his gauntlets. As you examined them, you muttered curses under your breath about “egotistical hero course jerks” and “time-wasting nonsense.” But, despite your annoyance, you went above and beyond. You reinforced his original design, making it stronger, lighter, and more streamlined for better control. When you handed them back, they didn’t look any different on the outside, but Bakugou could feel the difference the moment he tried them on. They were perfect.

For once, he didn’t have anything to complain about.

That’s when the “crush” began creeping in—though he’d rather die than admit it. Suddenly, he found himself making excuses to come back. His gauntlets were “damaged” again because he never knew just when to stop training. His headphones were “broken” (even though they weren’t). His phone “shattered” for no reason. Every stupid thing he could think of, he brought to you, just to have another interaction.

But the funniest part? You never gave him the satisfaction of a reaction. Your resting bitch face (legendary, by the way) stayed neutral, and your voice remained flat, devoid of excitement. You rolled your eyes, cursed under your breath, and muttered sarcastic comments as you fixed whatever Bakugou brought you. If anyone pissed you off, especially Bakugou, you'd mutter high-pitched imitations of their voice while glaring out of the corner of your eye, making him feel oddly uncertain—like he was the one out of place for once.

He hated it. You were smart. You matched his freakish drive to perfect your craft. And worst of all—you looked too good. Even after explosions from Hatsume’s latest disaster left you covered in soot, your tired, messy look didn’t detract from how attractive you were. It pissed him off.

But here’s the thing—he was still a dick. Despite the fact that he’d come back over and over, pretending his gauntlets needed another fix or inventing some nonsense reason to see you, he would never admit to liking you and, so, he’d go out of his way to piss you off just because, well, he can. So, hell no. He was not falling for some support course student who barely gave him the time of day.

...Right?

That’s what Bakugou kept telling himself, anyway, even as he found himself lingering a bit too long in the lab, watching you work with laser focus, unaware of the chaos happening in his head.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

[feelfreetopleasemexo]

I may or may not have added another fanfic carrying on the book of love request I got.....

The book of love, part two

That was the start of something....strange? Hilarious? Beautiful.

As the days passed, he continued to come to your desk and ask more outrageous requests.

"Fighting a dinosaur. Fighting Godzilla. Fighting with all might." As he studied your quick drawings he began to ask quiet questions.

"Why did you use that pen this time for the dinosaur? How did you make the smoke look so realistic? How would you make the eyes look angrier..." He was desperately trying to figure out how you managed to create such realistic drawings in a few seconds. The smile crept on your lips as you explained your techniques, you didn't dare take your eyes off the page as you felt the warmth of his questions deepen.

The next day, you noticed that he pulled out his own little notepad. It was small, one he'd probably stolen off midoriya after pummeling him for asking why he needed a note book. He didn't come to your desk all day, instead you noticed he was scribbling things down, furiously screwing it up and exploding it in his hands before scribbling again. Eventually after your last class ended, he walked past your desk as you were packing your books away and dropped a tiny piece of paper at your hands and stormed off. It was a tiny picture of two stick figures crudely drawn fighting each other, you assumed it was him and midoriya as one had big red eyes and the other was crying blue specks all over the place. Your heart swelled at his drawing, he had clearly tried to copy your methods as the sky was lightly shaded grey with the side of a pencil, the building surrounding the figures was lightly sketched, and the stick figures had a darker outline with flicks of lines to imitate movements around them. He had really tried with this picture, you could see how the page was crumpled slightly,  how he'd tried his best to be soft with the pencil, tried to use different line weights and tried to make the stick figures less....stick like. You carefully folded it and put it in the back of your book, a tiny envelope style pocket lay at the back of it for notes.

The next day? He scribbled again. This time, he dropped it off before lunch, another drawing of a stick figure getting a medal that said 'best hero ever' it's hair sharp and yellow, it's eyes dark and red, the medal slightly gold as he tried his best to colour in the lines, you knew he found slowing down and concentrating difficult so to see how he'd taken his time was impressive. After lunch he slumped at your desk again, pulling out his book in front of you, tapping yours to open it as well.

"Show me how the fuck you do faces, I can't ever get it right. They always end up looking like shit." His voice demanding, but something sweet laced underneath it. You smiled as you opened your book, the opposite page had drawings of birds laced all over it, his eyes glanced at it then to the window next to your seat.

"You can draw birds TOO?!" His voice louder, more impressed at your artistic skills.

"Yes, I don't just do cartoons yano..." Your cheeks suddenly flushed as the memory of him seeing your detailed profiles of him flooded your brain. You tried to shake it off as you flipped to another open page, but he stopped you, putting his hand on the page with the birds on.

"You're really fucking good..." He whispered, staring down at the detail on the wings, the close up of the eyes as they seemed to twinkle in the sun. He shook his head slightly, remembering that he had his own book under his other hand. "Anyway.... Teach me how to do faces." It almost felt like a 'please' lingered on his tongue, seconds away from slipping out. You playfully rolled your eyes and smiled at him, pulling a fresh set of pencils out from your bag. You handed him one and started to sketch an oval shape slowly, looking over at him to copy you. He pushed the pencil hard into the paper and drew a wobbly circle, huffed angrily at himself and ripped it out, burning it up instantly in his hands. He pressed the pencil to the paper again, slightly softer this time and tried to sketch an oval, eventually he decided it was good enough and stared back at your page, waiting for you to continue. Your smile pulled tighter at the corners of your lips as you sketched out the intersecting lines, his face visibly confused as to why you just drew a line down the middle and a few across the oval.

"What the fucks that for? You just ruined the circle...." His voice low, confused, like a child studying how you'd pronounce words if you didn't say the first letter.

"It's to plot the face, yano, where the eyes go, the nose, the mouth etc." You tried to calmly explain, putting your hand on his pencil to help him draw the lines on his paper. He looked down at your hand on his, the tops of his ears slightly flushed, as he shook his hand and stared deeply at how his pencil moved. You helped him lightly trace the lines, pulling his hand back a bit so the lines were faint, explaining to him how you'd rub these out later, that these were just a rough guide to help you. Eventually you helped him draw a basic face, nothing particularly hard, but just to help him with how big the features should be, how over exaggerated they could be if you were doing a cartoon. Eventually he got the idea, turned a page and tried his best to follow the instructions you'd just show him. He proudly puffed his chest out as he finished his wobbly drawing of All Might.

"Yeah that's right. I fucking smashed it. Im gonna give it to him. He'll fucking love it, probably cry." The smug look on his face was incredibly sweet, seeing how proud he was of his drawing made a knot in your stomach grow, it tightened with every raised eyebrow, every proud exclamation. He lowered the page from his face and flashed you a sweet smile, before pushing himself away from his chair and stomping towards the door, "Thanks nerd!" He explained, kicking the door open and wandering off to show All Might his new picture. You giggled to yourself, turning a new page and sketching a photo of him proudly smiling, holding out the photo in one hand towards the page as if he'd just found out he was actually Van gogh.

After a few more sessions together of you teaching him how to draw different profiles, how eyes looked different when the face was sideways, how to draw a face looking up, down, confused, angry, kaminari waltzed over and put his hand on katsukis shoulder.

"Whatcha love birds drawing n....BAKUGO! That's actually really good!" Smugness took over katsukis face as he pushed kaminaris hand off him,

"No shit. I'm good at everything I do, extra." You smiled tightly, trying to stifle your laughter as he shot you a dark look. "Look, I'll even draw you." He started to scribble a face with a stupid expression on it, spikey blonde hair and tiny eyes, a massive dumb grin and electric zaps dancing around it. He quickly shoved it in your direction, looking for praise as if he needed your approval before declaring it was finished, you nodded over exaggeratedly, your eyes closed and your smile wide. He let out a tiny sigh of relief and shoved it into kaminaris face,

"See. Even made you look like a fucking idiot too." His smile wide, his eye crinkled slightly at his proudness beaming across his face. Kaminari took it, laughed loudly at it and ran to show the other bakusquad, as bakugo looked back down to his paper and continued to draw kirishima as a shark. You looked over at him and smiled, your eyes softening at his excitement. He didn't even have to look up at you as he spoke,

"Stop staring idiot. Whatcha gonna do, draw me looking down now or...?" The laughter from his voice was soft, low, he wasn't trying to openly mock you, instead he kept it as a little personal joke saved for the both of you. You rolled your eyes and tried to hide your growing smirk, taking your pencil to the paper and indeed, drawing him looking down. His eyes darted slightly to your paper as he noticed you drawing the spikes, his own smirk growing more too.

Suddenly mino jumped up from her seat and exclaimed a proposition.

"YOU TWO SHOULD DO A COMPETITION! WHO CAN DO THE FUNNIEST PICTURE OF PRESENT MIC!" The class suddenly erupted in a sudden roar of laughter and agreement. He looked up at you and flashed a devilish grin, he really never could step away from a competition. You narrowed your eyes and let your own devilish smirk cross your face, as determination to crush him enveloped you.

"She has to use her left hand though!" He shouted, clearly a bit intimidated by your skill and lack of his own. You agreed and both flicked to a fresh page, as mino started a count down.

"THREE...."

"I'm betting on y/n." Kaminari whispered to Kirishima.

"TWO...."

"Bakubros gonna crush it!" He whispered back.

"ONE....GO!"

And with that, you both started scribbling. After 30 seconds of katsuki ruffing and puffing, scribbling profusely, sweat almost dripping from his brow, Mina suddenly exclaimed that time was up. You both handed your pictures to her as she waltzed to the front of the class, holding them behind her back.

"FIRST we have this one." She held out the first picture, it was present pic at a desk with headphones on, looking like he was doing a podcast with all might crying with laughter opposite him, as mic was screaming at him, a little voice bubble next to him read

'so you're telling me you HAVENT thought about what it would be like to be a woman?"

The class's laughter roared as katsuki smirked proudly, clearly thinking his was going to win.

"Look at his mouth oh my fucking God! That's brilliant!" Her laughter eventually stopped as she pulled out the other photo, "NEXT we have this one!" Again, holding out the paper in front of her, the picture was of mic up a tree, screaming with big bundles of tears rolling down his face and splitting everywhere, as bugs started to crawl up the tree towards him. A voice bubble reading,

'Aizawa! Please save me my strong, handsome husband!'

Again, the class's laughter erupted, classmates almost falling off their chairs at the expression on mics face, and the fact he and aizawa were apparently husbands. Your smile making your cheeks hurt as you looked over to katsuki, who tried so hard to hide his laughter behind the hand on his mouth. Eventually the class quietened down, and began their discussion on which photo was better. Midoriya started mumbled about how the artist skills of the tree mic was far better, but the podcast mic's quote was funnier, everyone crowded around each other as they tried to decide which was best. You leant back on your chair, holding your hand out to katsuki, offering a handshake,

"May the best artist win." You giggled, he pushed your hand away as he smirked,

"I'm totally gonna win." He crossed his arms as he sat back on his chair, kicking his legs up so they crossed over the top of his desk. Suddenly it was time.

Mina walked up to the front of the classroom, holding both pieces of paper out front of her again, her eyes gleaming as she slightly started to raise your photo up and lower katsukis. You very slightly shook your head that she should pick the other one, the movements of your head so subtly but luckily she noticed, and then flung katsukis up in victory. He jumped from his chair and cheered, overly excited that he had won and bestest you, won another competition like he always did. The class roared in congratulations at him, kirishima patting his back with a strong swift smack, and Ochaco flinging her arms around his shoulders, proud that he had won. You sat there smirking, nodded slightly to Mina for listening to you, as she then ran to katsuki and congratulated him.

After the class has settled down slightly, all staring at both pictures again and laughing, you started to pack your bag up and put your book away. He placed his hand on the table and as you looked up, you saw his smug face looking down at you.

"Congrats on your win, I guess I AM a pretty good teacher after all..." You laughed, pushing his hand off the paper underneath him and putting it into your bag.

"Thank you." He whispered, leaning down slightly, making sure that only you and him heard his appreciation. He wasnt stupid, he saw the back of your head move slightly as Mina held the pictures up. You shook your head, pretending not to know what he was on about.

"No idea what you mean, you won fair and square katsuki. Now, tomorrow I'm gonna get you to draw anatomy..." Your voice trailed off as you looked down at your desk, he twitched his hand slightly so you'd look back up at him.

"Fuck off idiot." His smile beamed down at you as he then nodded his head slightly and turned back around, indulging in the shower of appreciation that still flooded towards him.

[bomber-grl]

Shun Kaidou x Famous Artist!reader

Pairing(s):Shun Kaidou x Gn!reader

He probably found u on tumblr or deviant art-

You probably drew fanart of his fav show/anime or drew ocs that suit his dark reunion persona

So ofc he’d draw inspiration from your drawings

It was only a coincidence that you two got closer in real life and began talking about art

When u showed him some drawings of yours at first he thinks your pretending to own your own drawings 💀

But then you show him your account and then he gets excited

I mean he already felt like he’d seen some sketches of yours before but now he knows why they seemed so familiar

Then he shows you his account and you both become mutuals on tumblr

More like he finds out you’re mutuals

Then he gets embarrassed

Real quick 💀

I mean publicly he’d usually send asks as an anon

Specifically

“🛩️🖤🪽anon” 💀

Even then this person who was this anon still talked to you on their account

Since it was personal text he didn’t feel the need to be anonymous

And admittedly, he commissioned a few (or a hundred) of drawings from you

Plus he’d constantly compliment you

And always loved you art and would be the first to any post of yours

So he’s so embarrassed

But when you start collating with him that all disappears

When you’re together in person he even drew you as a persona in his story

Plus if (when) he draws the two of you together he always makes himself the stereotypical submissive anime person while you’re buff and carrying him

He probs likes it unironically too

Oh and when you draw him? He absolutely explodes

He loves your drawings of him

Like literally adores them and asks to keep every single one

(Since I hc him to have his own art acc with that one anime artstyle we all have in the beginning of our journey)

Then he’s rlly surprised and happy to see you always mention his account

He even gains followers

Most times you end up drawing the most cursed things of eachother

He loves them tho 😭

Like he’s full on blushing

I do seem him being sorta jealous of your art too

Like he can’t help but feel that way but eventually his admiration just overdrives that

If you’re like out there out there

Like on tv and everything

Then he’s shocked you’d even be friends

Much less dating

So it takes awhile for him to accustom himself to it 😭

[espinosaurusrexex]

Happy Little Accidents

Veteran!BuckyBarnes x Female!ArtTeacher!Reader

summary: In a world after the war, Bucky tries to get pieces of his old self back by joining an art class. He meets you and instantly falls head over heels. Now he just has to work up the courage to ask you out.

a/n: wrote most of this on my lunch break after finally feeling the creativity spark again. I hope you all get a cozy fall feeling.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: adapting to life after war, frustration, a little angst, love-dazed Bucky, just so much fluff and wholesomeness 💕

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

↑ the face of a man too whipped to listen - this is the Bucky vibe today

Steve Rogers was an artist. A lot of people knew about it. Hell, the Smithsonian even had a gallery full of sketches from a notebook of Steve’s he had lost back in ‘45. But Steve never needed people to recognize his work. Just like he never needed all the fame that came with his shield or all the honors he got for doing what he thought normal human decency implied - stopping bullies.

But what not many people knew was that Steve loved his art so much, he even held little sketch workshops in the camps on the western front. He drew each member of the howling commandos with impeccable accuracy. He loved drawing portraits and he loved to help.

Which was why, sooner or later, Bucky had been talked into trying his first sketches back in the day as well. Back when he was still left-handed, back when he found joy in little things such as drawing with his best friend. Back when he was not who he was now.

Yeah, he was bitter about it...

Bucky wasn’t too shabby of an artist per se. He was rather quick with his sketches always able to find the right spot for his next line and even though they weren’t perfect, one could always see what his pictures were meant to present.

Yes, they were crooked and not nearly as good as Steve’s but he had fun with it. Sketching had been an escape for his soul while bombs were exploding only miles away from his camp. It had reminded him of his best friend when they were apart, and most importantly, it taught him patience.

God, so much patience. 

Bucky had never been good with it. Always fast, always right away. But the amount of times Steve made him erase carefully constructed lines and shapes had him feel scolded like a kid.

Later, he was grateful for it.

Now? He hated just touching a pencil. Every time he was reminded of his recovery, of months of frustration and anger, of grief and sadness. All because he’d lost his arm, and with it, all that had brought him joy in life.

When he had to learn to write with his right hand, he screamed at the papers before him, the crooked and shaky lines mocking him with vigor.

You’ll never be the same, they said, You’ll never have true joy back.

He felt like a child. Unable to do the most mundane of tasks, whilst fully aware of what had to be done to get it right.

But he missed it. The way drawing would clear his mind and the ease he felt when thinking of nothing but the next step in the process.

So after a particularly frustrating session with his therapist, Bucky had walked through a gallery on his way home. Beautiful pieces, each more impressive than the next hung on bright white walls until he reached a small corner with sketches and photographs. They weren’t less good than the rest, but other than the huge paintings, they seemed approachable - and they reminded him of times far gone.

“Hello, would you be interested in signing up for a sketching class?” An angelic voice had asked after holding a leaflet into his line of sight. And when he followed the hand up to your face, his breath hitched in his throat.

“I- I don’t think I’d be any good…” he had said with a pitiful smile as his left arm raised next to his head, the sleek silver of his hand shining in the showroom light.

“Oh don’t be silly. Everyone can be an artist.”

And that was all it took.

Now he was here. Sitting in a room with about eight other people, listening to you talk. Though Bucky didn’t pay much attention to your words. He was distracted by the way your lips curved when you spoke, and how your hands looked in the light when you flailed them in the air. He wanted to draw you, only you. But he knew he could never do you justice. And that frustrated him a little.

His first task was easy. A series of connected squiggles and shapes. The second was harder - finding and highlighting familiar motives in his work. But when he tried to connect his shapes, his hand began to tremble and the line on his paper got dented, he huffed in surrender.

A look to the front to you talking with another woman and he was getting off his chair.

This was useless. He should have never come here. 

But when he moved to gather his things, your voice stopped him once again. 

“Oh that’s interesting,” you said with a tilted head, your eyes following the little dent in his drawing. 

“Yeah, I messed it up.” He shook his head and added a careful, much more quiet ‘I always do”.

“You see, it’s only a mistake if you make it one.” You turned to him and smiled and his heart began racing now that all your attention was on him. Bucky looked around to see if anyone noticed, but the other participants were all focused on their work. “I’m not going to tell you that this line isn’t supposed to be the way it is. You alone can decide that.”

You stepped closer as he eyed his paper again. “So, Bucky,” holy crap you remembered his name. And it sounded so good coming from your lips. “Are you gonna make it a mistake or not?”

❁ ❁ ❁

That was a month ago. And Bucky had come to your class every Sunday night since then. But now his crush had only intensified. 

Every time you stepped behind him to watch him work, his hand began to sweat. Every time you gave him a suggestion, his eyes were so drawn to your lips, he barely heard what you were saying. Just yesterday this had caused him to get into a particularly awkward situation. He hadn’t listened, of course - those stupid mesmerizing lips of yours were at fault for it. And when Bucky finally came back from his daydream of imagining what they would feel like on his lips, he knocked over a jar of water as he noticed you had moved next to him. And to make matters even worse, you had caught him talking to himself as he cleaned up the mess. 

Bucky was beyond embarrassed. He wasn’t normally that clumsy, all his moves were calculated. No limb out of control, but when you were around, he seemed to have lost that trait of his - which was actually kind of nice... 

He was in deep. And he didn’t know how to handle it. 

He was contemplating never going back to your class. He would probably end up ruining somebody’s work and - besides - it wasn’t like he could ever work up the courage to ask you out. It was just all too scary. 

“Bucky, is that you?” Bucky froze as he studied the coffee menu above the barista. He was going to order black anyway. But the voice that called out his name almost made him want to pretend he was still studying the sign.

“Bucky.” Your voice came closer and when you were standing next to him, he finally looked at you. And there you were, with a bright smile and a scarf shielding you from the cool fall breeze outside. 

“Oh, hey.” He paused, treading, not knowing what to do with his hands or pretty much any part of his body. At least, in your workshop, he had something to do. “...hey.”

“It’s nice to see you, how’s your homework going?” You rubbed your hands together to warm them and at the sight of your delicate fingers, he felt his cheeks heating up when he imagined holding them. 

“It’s... well, it’s going...” He sighed and watched his feet as they shuffled on the tiled floor. “It’s not going well if I’m being honest.” And with a shy smile, he rubbed the back of his neck, watching as you nodded in understanding. 

“I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes it really helps to just get started without thinking about it too much.”

He chuckled. That was exactly his problem. Because every time he wanted to start, he wondered what you would think about it. And then his thoughts drifted to you entirely and how your neck would bend when you watched him draw over his shoulder, or how your fingers swayed over his artwork to point out the parts you were talking about. God, he loved when you did that. 

“-only if you want, of course.” Your nose crinkled when Bucky’s mind brought him back to the coffee shop again. You were staring at him expectantly, your smile growing nervous with every second he took to register that you had just asked him a question.

Bucky had no idea what you had just said. He had been too lost in his daydream yet again and now he made you look stupid in the middle of this coffee shop. There wasn’t much time to decide what his response would be, but under no circumstance did he want to admit just how scattered he was around you. So without thinking, he just nodded with a tight-lipped smile and willed his knees to stay strong when your eyes brightened.

“Awesome! When are you free?” Free? Did you just ask him out and he hadn’t even paid attention?

“Uh, Sunday?” Bucky stammered as his heart began to pound in his chest. This has got to be a prank. 

You laughed, and Bucky got weak in the knees. “Sunday is workshop, silly.”

Stupid, stupid, Bucky. “Right, uh... Friday then.” The rapid beat in his chest took his breath away.

“Okay, great. Here give me your phone so I can give you my number.”

“You’re–“ Bucky choked as his hands scrambled to fish his phone out of his pocket. “Yes, yeah sure, cool.” Cool? Oh god. 

You took it from him, entered your contact with a little paintbrush emoji, called yourself, and handed it back to his sweaty hand. 

“I’ll text you my address.” You stepped forward to pay and retrieve your coffee, gifting the barista a smile that made him blush - apparently, you were a regular because Bucky did not remember you ordering - but then again - he didn’t really pay attention apparently. “Oh, and bring your art supplies!” 

And then you were out the door, letting crisp air into the cozy coffee shop, and Bucky standing dazed and confused as to what had just happened. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky stared at his phone for the fifth time now, making sure he was in front of the right door before ringing the bell. He was nervous, to say the least. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was on a date, not to mention the last time he felt this nervous about being on one. He was a strong believer in facts but you asking him out had to be a sign from the universe. One he would only get once and he could not screw it up. 

His hands smoothed over his black button-up one last time before adjusting his leather jacket again. Then he rang the bell and not even a minute later, you greeted him with a warm smile and urged him to give you his jacket to hang up. 

“I just made tea, do you want some?” Bucky followed you to the kitchen where the faint but homey scent of pumpkin spice filled the air. He watches as you scrambled to find your oven its and then retrieve something delicious smelling from the oven. “Cookies?” 

“I’m good with tea for now.” He chuckled in awe at how nice your home felt. Once he could tear his eyes away from you, he peered over the kitchen island into your living room, where many different artworks and photographs were displayed on the walls. Every pillow on your sofa had a different color and the blankets sprawled on it and the chair were too inviting for him not to picture the both of you cuddled up beneath them. 

“Alright then, suit yourself. But just know these are my specialty.” You snatched one from the tray before almost dropping it again. “Ouch, hot.”

Bucky felt drawn to the room. With all its warm light and fall-scented candles, hints of read books and discarded crocheting, with a crackling fireplace and soft carpeting. He also felt awfully intimate at the glimpse he got into your life by being here, but he had already declared this place his favorite in his mind. 

“Are you ready?” Bucky turned to you and watched as you padded your hands on your jeans, leaving faint flour prints on the dark denim.

“Ready for what?” He smiled again, he seemed to be unable to stop around you. But he was just so happy to be here, to be close to you, and to finally spend more time with you.

You chuckled and set two cups of tea on the table. “For your sketches. That’s the whole reason you came here for, remember?”

You settled on the ground and padded the sofa for Bucky. But he could just stand there and stare at you while trying to ignore the lump that began to build in his throat. He clenched the bag with his art supplies in his hand and watched as the soft material wrinkled in his grasp.

Of, course. He took a breath. How could he have been so naive? Then stepped towards the sofa. The whole thing had been a mistake. And finally sat down with a heavy smile. 

The sadness was filling him so fast, it threatened to spill right out of him, but Bucky wouldn’t let this little  big  dent in the road be shown in front of you. Instead, he focused on your hands when they pulled his sketch pad from his bag. And your eager smile when you flipped through his failed attempts on the paper. 

The whole atmosphere was wearing a thin layer of sorrow all of a sudden, and Bucky felt his heartache when you leaned over to him to point out the parts you liked the most. Your perfume seemed just that much sweeter as if it were mocking him all of a sudden. 

He didn’t listen. He just watched you with the same longing he’s had ever since he met you. Back to square one. Back to the distance he had with you before he foolishly thought you had asked him out. Except now he’d lost all the confidence left in him to take the next step. 

Bucky let the evening wash over him. Trying to concentrate on your tips and examples, tasting the tea you had offered to him with the sweetest smile. And before he knew it, he was standing in front of your apartment building again - with a box of those pumpkin cookies in hand and a heart that felt heavier than the bricks he was staring at. 

He sighed and began his walk back home.

❁ ❁ ❁

On Sunday he decided that he wouldn’t give up. Bucky didn't know what changed his mind. He just knew that he couldn’t stop thinking about you and him on that incredibly comfortable sofa of yours and the scent of your cedar and cinnamon candle which seemed to linger on his skin for days after his visit. He wanted to play the sketching games he had half-heartedly endured last time and he wanted to become a better artist. 

Bucky had left your cookie box at home as an excuse to meet up with you again. And even though he was sweating ferociously when he approached you after class, you had agreed to meet with him again. 

He’d left the gallery with a bright smile that evening. Excited for the next time he’d see you again and eager with daydreams on the subway home.

You and Bucky met up every week. Every time, spending a little longer not just drawing and it filled his heart with warmth and happiness. You shared laughter, and, in Bucky’s eyes, a growing connection with every passing meeting. 

He learned about your dreams and aspirations and told you about his past, his interests, and his most treasured fantasies.

As weeks turned into months, Bucky found himself drawn to you in more ways than the warmth radiating from your smile he’d noticed the first day he met you, or your talent of calmly helping him in every way possible. He admired your passion for art, your kindness, and your enchanting presence. The fear and the shyness that had gripped him at first, slowly faded away - replaced by a sense of comfort when he was with you. 

And soon he realized that there was nothing he didn’t love about you. This was how he got the courage to, on one calm evening spent on your sofa, between the colorful pillows he had been thinking about falling asleep on for weeks, place his hand in yours and intertwine your fingers with his. 

“I got something for you,” he whispered between dialogues of the Halloween movie playing on TV, watching as your eyes aimed up at him with curiosity. 

With reluctance, he peeled himself out of the warm blanket you shared and trudged to the sketchbook hidden in his bag. The initial idea had been dipped in silly confidence. But it was too late to back out now. He’d already told you about it. 

So despite his nervous heartbeat, Bucky came back to the sofa and handed you the book. 

“Open it,” he nudged when you carefully inspected the black leather binding, unaware of the confession hidden beneath. 

And when you did, he felt he could read every expression on your face like a poem. 

The book was filled with sketches of you. The first pages were scattered in hasty pencil drawings, misplaced lines, and unintentional dents. Then followed the section in which he had tried to pay attention to detail. The curve of your nose or the arch of your fingers when they pointed at his artwork. He could see them now, hovering over the sketches himself, and when you turned to the last page of the section, he could see the striking resemblance between them. And so did you. On the next turn, you revealed the latest portraits he’d added to the book - finally confident enough to attempt doing what he saw you as justice, to finally look past his mistakes - or happy little accidents as you called them - and just try it. 

Bucky had discovered that your weekly sketch sessions had done him good. And that you had secretly given him back what he had mourned after for so long.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you from the moment we met.” He whispered still, too afraid to break the moment you’d just created. “Thought it was time for me to tell you.”

Your eyes were glassy when you tore them from the pages in your hand, a shaky laugh escaping your lips when Bucky beamed down at you. “You did all of this for me-”

“Because of you,” he corrected and wiped a lonely tear from your cheek. “I never thought I could get the joy of drawing back until you showed me how.”

Bucky leaned in closer until your noses touched. “How to be less critical of myself.” He closed his eyes and let his hand linger on your skin. “And how to welcome a mistake by making it an accident-” 

And before he could finish that sentence, he felt your lips press to his and your warm hands wrap around his neck to pull him into your body. Bucky shivered in excitement, letting his hands trail down your back and falling into the soft cushions of your sofa while he pressed you to his chest protectively.

He sighed into the kiss, feeling his heart burn with excitement. 

Fascinating, how fast a mistake can turn into a happy little accident. 

I love you Bob Ross <3

Wanna be added to the taglist?

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[miitokii]

ok so imagine if joker killed someone and the guilt stained his hands with blood forever

so he understands why akechi wears gloves all the time lol

btw i traced the hands from an anime called Beyond the Boundary (just search anime bloody hands and it’s like the first result), i wanted to focus more on the effect and the expression

also have some drawings of akechi i did with a different fit. imagine if joker had a dream with akechi in it with phantom thief outfit before akechi revealed his persona to the thieves lol

ALSO if you want more context for the joker killing someone idea, and an edit i did with these drawings to please the instagram algorithm, please see under the cut

ok so i was thinking about the PT’s plan against Akechi, and a common gripe i see is how the cognitions don’t die like that in other palaces, they just dissipate into black smoke. BUT ALSO other palace rulers don’t really see people as actual people unlike Sae.

so Kamoshida sees people as nothing more than dolls/slaves he can use how he wants, hence cognitive Ann just dissipates when sliced (a puppet with cut strings is useless). Okumura sees people as robots so cognitive Haru explodes because she’s a robot. Kaneshiro sees people as ATMs so they just malfunction and break down.

i imagine the cognitions in Madarame’s palace are kinda just like… 3D living statues, just there to admire Madarame’s work, so if they were killed they’d probably dissipate or crumble like Kamoshida’s. and obviously there are no cognitions in Futaba’s palace (apart from Wakaba, who has a whole boss) because she’s a shut in.

anyway, the PT would notice that cognitions have different behaviour even in death depending on the palace ruler, so to confirm the plan would work, they would have to kill a cognition to see what happens in Sae’s palace. Makoto is probably sure her sister still sees people as people so it would work, but she also knows it’s vital they check this. in a way it would ease her too, since it would be confirmation.

and of course Joker being the leader he is would volunteer to do the ‘deed’. so he kills an innocent, harmless, cognitive person, watches them beg for their life as he holds a gun to their head and fires. he knows it’s just a cognition so it’s irrational, but the guilt he feels is all the same, especially as he watches the cognition slump to the floor just like a real corpse and bleed out onto the floor. Unlike other cognitions in other palaces it doesn’t dissipate after a while, it stays there, because Sae, how distorted she may be, still sees people as people, in life or death.

ALSO even when cognitive Ren and the guard dissipate after a while, it’s not because they’re cognitions, it’s because Sae has by then found out the whole thing was a ploy. she now knows both Ren and the guard are very much alive - so then of course the corpses would disappear

leave out the Joker kills a cognition bit (let’s say they were confident enough in their reasoning) and it could basically be canon

lol anyway yeah i wrote that in a fic and wanted to draw it in a sort of quick sketch lol

anyway here’s the edit lol

[gavitaffy]

Goals of the Heart, part 2

GIF by gavisfanta

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

A/N: Aye, Aye, Ayeee! Series number 2!!

Paring: Pablo Gavi & f!reader

Summary: Y/N, an artist sketching in Barcelona, has her painting ruined when a stray football crashes into her easel. The culprit, a young man named Pablo Gavi, apologizes profusely and buys her new art supplies to make up for it. She later learns he's a famous footballer for Barcelona but brushes it off, treating him as just "the guy who ruined her painting." Gavi, intrigued by her indifference, offers to take her for coffee, hinting at the start of a surprising connection between them.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,1k

Chapter 2: Sparks Fly

It had been two weeks since Y/N’s unexpected encounter with Pablo Gavi in the Gothic Quarter. She had all but forgotten about it, busying herself with her university classes and her art projects. The new canvas he had bought her sat propped up in her tiny apartment, untouched. For some reason, she felt hesitant to use it, as though it held more significance than just a simple replacement.

One crisp Friday evening, as Y/N packed up her sketchpad from a study session at her favorite café, her phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. She frowned but decided to check the message.

Pablo: Hey, Y/N. Hope I’m not bothering you. It’s Gavi—well, Pablo. I got your number from the shopkeeper. Just wanted to ask if you’d like to come to a game tomorrow? No pressure! But it’d be cool to show you what I do when I’m not ruining paintings.

Y/N stared at the message for a moment, her lips twitching into an involuntary smile. She hesitated—football wasn’t exactly her thing. But she remembered the boyish enthusiasm in his eyes when they’d talked, the way he’d treated her like a person instead of another fan. Finally, she replied.

Y/N: Sure, why not? Just don’t expect me to know what’s going on.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed again.

Pablo: Perfect! I’ll leave you a ticket at the gate. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you understand the best part: when we score.

The next day, Y/N stood outside Camp Nou, her heart pounding as she took in the sheer size of the stadium. Thousands of fans in Barça jerseys filled the streets, their energy infectious. She felt out of place in her simple jeans and sweater but pushed the thought aside as she collected her ticket and found her way to her seat.

The roar of the crowd hit her like a wave as she entered the stands. The field stretched out before her, a sea of green surrounded by a kaleidoscope of red and blue. Y/N sat down, feeling both awed and overwhelmed.

As the players warmed up, her eyes scanned the field until they landed on a familiar figure. Pablo was stretching with his teammates, his focus intense but his movements relaxed. It was strange seeing him like this—completely in his element.

The game began with a whistle, and Y/N quickly realized how little she understood. The players moved like a well-rehearsed dance, passing the ball with precision and skill. Around her, fans cheered, groaned, and shouted in Spanish, their passion filling the air.

Then, in the 30th minute, the crowd erupted. Y/N looked up just in time to see Pablo break away from his defender, darting toward the goal. With a quick flick of his foot, he sent the ball soaring past the goalkeeper and into the net.

The stadium exploded with noise, and Y/N found herself standing along with everyone else, caught up in the excitement. Pablo ran toward the stands, his arms outstretched in celebration. For a moment, their eyes met, and he pointed directly at her with a grin.

Her cheeks flushed as the people around her cheered even louder, oblivious to the gesture’s significance. She sat down quickly, her heart racing.

Once the final whistle blew and Barcelona secured a win, Y/N waited near the gate where Pablo had told her to meet him. It took a while, but eventually, he appeared, showered and dressed in casual clothes. A backpack slung over his shoulder, he smiled when he spotted her.

“You came!” he said, walking up to her, his expression lit with genuine excitement.

“You make it sound like I was going to bail,” Y/N teased.

“Honestly? I wasn’t sure. But I’m glad you didn’t,” he admitted, his eyes glinting. “What did you think?”

“It was...intense,” she said, searching for the right words. “I didn’t understand half of what was happening, but when you scored? That was amazing.”

Pablo laughed. “See? I told you that’s the best part.”

He glanced around, then gestured toward the parking lot. “Are you hungry? There’s this little place nearby I like. No crowds, just good food.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment but nodded. “Okay. As long as you don’t expect me to talk about football the whole time.”

“Deal,” he said with a grin.

The restaurant turned out to be a cozy family-run tapas bar tucked away on a quiet street. The owner greeted Pablo like an old friend, seating them in a corner booth and bringing out a spread of dishes without even taking an order.

As they ate, Y/N found herself relaxing. Pablo was easy to talk to, his energy contagious. He asked about her art, genuinely interested in her sketches and her studies. In return, she asked him about football—not the technical stuff, but what it felt like to play in front of thousands of fans.

“It’s a rush,” he admitted, pausing to sip his drink. “But sometimes, it’s overwhelming. That’s why I liked meeting you. You didn’t treat me like a celebrity or an athlete. You just saw me as...me.”

Y/N smiled. “To be fair, I didn’t know who you were at first.”

“Exactly,” he said, his grin widening. “It was refreshing.”

As the evening wore on, they talked about everything from their favorite movies to their childhoods. Y/N learned that Pablo had grown up in a small town, playing football in the streets with his friends. He learned that Y/N had fallen in love with art because of her mother, who used to paint with her on rainy afternoons.

By the time they left the restaurant, the city was quiet, the streets lit by soft yellow streetlights.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Pablo said as they walked back toward her apartment. “I know this isn’t your world, but it means a lot to me.”

Y/N glanced at him, her heart fluttering. “It’s not so bad. I might even come to another game—if you promise to explain what’s going on.”

“Deal,” he said, his smile warm and sincere.

When they reached her building, he hesitated, his hands in his pockets. “I’ll text you?”

Y/N nodded, feeling a little breathless. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

As she climbed the stairs to her apartment, she couldn’t stop smiling. For the first time in a long while, she felt like something unexpected and wonderful was beginning.

[its-been-rose]

I watched ice age 2 recently and this dialogue just made me think of them so I had to whip out a quick sketch before I exploded

I’m sorry I just absolutely love this ship I think it’s great and silly

I also googled how to properly hold a vinyl just for this shitpost

[fernsnailz]

January 2024 Review Roundup

hello everypony‼️ something i want to do through 2024 is a mini review series where i recap some of the media i watched/played/read at the end of every month. this was inspired by tumblr user ponett’s 2023 media wrap-up, it's a great collection of quick reviews so go check it out!

i’m doing this partially as writing/analysis practice, but mostly because my memory is really bad and i want to keep track of what i've seen this year. with that said, my thoughts on everything i finished in january 2024 is under the cut :]

Portal 1 + 2

yyyup i beat Portal and it only took me (checks watch) 13 years

the first time i played Portal 2 was at a friend’s house when i was in middle school, and i had a fuckin blast. but after all that time... it still holds up! i don’t think anything i have to say about Portal will be particularly new since people have been praising this series since it came out. the writing, the level design, even the controls feel tight and engaging the whole way through. i played on switch and expected a bit of jank, but i was pleasantly surprised at how smooth it felt to play. the only part that dragged for me were the levels through the old aperture labs, but i think i would like them a lot more on a second replay. Portal 2 is fantastic and one of my new favorite games, the artistry behind it is truly incredible and i’m really glad i finally finished it. while i was playing Portal 2, i described Glados and Wheatly to a friend and said “they’re like if a ceiling fan could be passive aggressive and if Fozzie Bear was an evil golf ball”

I Think You Should Leave

finally. i can truly understand and appreciate Subspace Dubbed Over

i think one of my favorite things about I Think You Should Leave is how it utilizes horror. beyond sitting slack-jawed in disbelief at the crazy events unfolding before my eyes, a number of the sketches dipped into bits that genuinely kinda scared me. like the one sketch that circulates on here where the guy (pig?) in a mask crawls through a dog door, which is. genuinely terrifying. but so many of the other sketches have slow, nerve-racking pacing leading to crazy shit that would be perfect in a horror film were the context different. idk i like dissecting how horror and comedy are essentially the same thing and I Think You Should Leave was very good at enabling that <3 favorite sketches are probably “then let my wife eat the damn receipt” and “55 BURGERS 55 HOTDOGS 100 FRIES 100 TATER TOTS”

Sonic Prime Season 3

man. ohhhh man. i didn’t go into this with high expectations and i still feel let down. Sonic Prime Season 3 was definitely my least favorite “season” of the batch - abysmal pacing, very few character moments i actually enjoyed, and the things i praised about the show felt very underutilized through these episodes. Nine is the shining star of Sonic Prime and i was looking forward to seeing his more villainous side, but his character took such a sharp turn into pure evil and it felt like he spent the entire season repeating the same three lines. and as much as i praise Shadow’s writing in Prime, it doesn’t really matter when he spends half of the season trapped in a hole that he just… runs out of later.

lastly, i cannot stop thinking about how bad the pacing of this season is. three episodes for a repetitive final battle feels like such a waste of time when you see just how much they rush the emotional resolutions in the last episode. however, there is one thing i truly love about Sonic Prime Season 3 - i love the Sails and Mangey fakeout death. it's so fucking funny. like you really expect me to believe that two cartoon animals in this Y-7 rated show EXPLODED?????? absolute comedy gold.

overall, i just… don’t really know what to think of Sonic Prime. anything i enjoyed in the show was often fleeting, and much of it felt like its only purpose was to waste my time. also Rouge i can’t believe they did you so dirty oh my god

Ghost Trick

i was so proud that i figured out the secret behind Sissel’s memory loss like halfway through the game. however i also kept getting caught during the prison escape sequence like an idiot

Ghost Trick is in a similar situation as Portal where 1. it’s incredible and one of my new favorite games, and 2. there’s nothing i can really say about it that hasn’t already been said or just. shouldn’t be said. Ghost Trick is a fantastic mystery game, and because of that i think it’s best to go into its story as blind as possible. the narrative unfolds in such fascinating ways - even though the actual object manipulation gameplay isn’t directly about solving the mystery (like in Ace Attorney or other mystery games), it still ties wonderfully into the story in some incredibly unique ways.

i also really love the artstyle of Ghost Trick - i love 2D character artwork with that sharp lineweight, it reminded me a lot of Sonic Battle (another game with an artstyle i love). i was also really impressed by the 3D character models and animation - despite the limitations of the camera, you get a wonderful sense of everyone’s personality from the limited body language expressed in the overworld (even though the models lack much facial expression which. i guess they don’t really need? idk that was the only thing that threw me off). anyways yeah everyone should play Ghost Trick so Ghost Trick fans can be freed from their curse and talk about it without having to tag like 10 different spoiler tags. and for Missile

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

ok bear with me. i went into Scott Pilgrim Takes Off without reading the comics first. and i fuckin loved it

my understanding of Scott Pilgrim before SPTO was mostly from the movie (I KNOW I’M SORRY), but even with my base understanding of the series i really enjoyed this show for what it was. i found myself appreciating the time they dedicated to further develop every single character in the show - especially Ramona. she’s fantastic as the lead, i really loved watching her reconcile with her exes and seeing all of them grow instead of exploding into coins. my favorite episode was probably the one with her and Roxie - not only did i adore the movie-jumping set pieces, but you really understand the weight of Ramona’s mistakes in their past relationship and how much it hurt Roxie. despite the big climactic fight, the flashbacks are quiet, subtle, heartbreaking. Ramona’s apology is genuine, and it feels so wonderful to watch her confront her past throughout the show. also i think it’s really funny that for all these characters to become the best versions of themselves, they had to kill off Scott for most of the story

and holy shit the artstyle and animation. oh my god. i love watching something that makes me immediately go “i need to see the storyboards for this RIGHT NOW.” SPTO is such a visual delight to watch, it elevates the artstyle of the comics while also keeping what makes that style so appealing - i love the line weight on the characters, i love how much forward energy the animation has, i love the fucking. virtual boy section. as soon as i found out Science Saru was also behind Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken, everything made immediate sense. i was destined to love this show.

another worry i had going into SPTO (besides the fact that i hadn’t read the comics lol) is that the original cast from the movie was returning. i think the movie cast is fine, but i wasn’t sure how some of them would fare with voice acting for animation. however, i thought they all did a good job - i think the whole cast loves these characters and would be able to fit into them fairly easily no matter what form their performance takes, and they definitely had a good voice director in the studio with them. the only thing that felt off about the voice performances to me was that sometimes it sounded like some of their mics kept peaking?? idk some of these episodes i watched high as balls and i felt like i could hear and see every single sound and frame of the show. so that might have just been me.

god i did not. expect to have this much to say about Scott Pilgrim. i really loved this show and i’m currently reading the comics to fully catch up on the general Scott Pilgrim experience - i think reading the comics AFTER Takes Off is making me appreciate even more of the character work that went into the show. like they do so much with Mathew Patel in SPTO, a character that was. not originally around for a long time from what i’ve gathered? also i like the funny little robot. oh my GOD i cannot talk about this show anymore whatever it’s good get me out of here

Sword AF Season 1

i put on the Smosh cast’s D&D series to play in the background while i was drawing. i did not expect to think much of it. instead, i had one of the most enjoyable D&D podcast experiences since i listened to The Adventure Zone Balance???

i haven’t really enjoyed other D&D podcasts since i dropped off of The Adventure Zone, and i wasn’t expecting much from Sword AF of all things. then i saw that Shayne was playing as a druid warforged made of plants and his name was fucking Fernie and i sat my ass down and LISTENED. while i think Sword AF is currently lacking in its world and larger story, those things just. aren’t really what Sword AF is really trying to provide at the moment. it’s main focus is comedy, and the players are genuinely such a delight to watch play together and build off of each other. they mostly focus on bits and goofs for the sake of she show's comedic tone, but i still found it thoroughly enjoyable because every player embodies and performs their characters really well. idk Sword AF was an unexpected hit for me this month, i thought it was fun. and i love Fernie so much

Plastic Death - Glass Beach

so originally i wasn’t going to include music reviews in these roundups at all, but then i was entirely surprised by a new Glass Beach album and oh my god. holy shit. oh my fucking god jesus christ. holy shit. its preddy good

Plastic Death gets the low point of the album out of the way immediately. it starts with the “phone call/conversation audio” trope that i don’t particularly enjoy - HOWEVER despite me disliking this opening, 1. it sets up the overall themes of Plastic Death very quickly, and 2. the rest of the album blows this 40 second opening completely out of the water. from there, the album grows into something beautiful and uncontained, and i just. i really like it

Plastic Death captures the beauty of the temporary, asks what it means to be created for a cause you can’t fulfill, questions if you can reclaim yourself from cycles and constraints designed to destroy you. and is also about being transgender. the lyrics are abstract in a way that requires a conversation with the listener, many of the vocals obscured and smooth like waves - this album is definitely one that needs to be listened to a few times. i wasn’t sure how i felt about the vocal style at first before realizing the vocals were the main reason i was relistening to this album, allowing myself to find even more that i loved about it. the instrumentation is also incredible, i love the use of marimba in a number of songs - distant, eerie, almost skeletal. and the fucking. 8-bit section?? which kinda rules???? and that’s the only point in the album it ever shows up??????? incredible. a fleeting, somewhat silly moment that i love every time.

this album left my heart aching, in part from my connection to it and in part from the pure love and joy emanating from this music. i can feel just how much fun this music was to perform and create, a cohesion of time and sound that just clicked for me. Plastic Death made me miss playing music, which is something i haven’t felt in years. all from an album that starts with a conversation about CrankGameplay’s dead youtube channel. good lord

i like this album a normal amount. go listen to it a few times. my favorite tracks are cul-de-sac and commatose

Wish

i watched Wish with a couple of friends and knew i probably wasn't going to like it. with that in mind, i gave myself a challenge: i wanted to find one thing about this movie that i genuinely really loved. it could be anything, and loving it for ironic reasons was allowed.

here's the complete list of things i loved about Disney's Wish (2023):

i love the one shot where King Magnifico stirs an evil caldron evily. i thought it was hilarious. what was he cooking

i loved that the end credits included a reference to Dinosaur 2001 at all, and i loved that they paid homage to Big Hero 6 by showing the forgettable villain of that movie instead of their Baymax cashcow for some reason. my friends and i saw him show up in the credits and were like "who's the trenchcoat guy??"

you may notice that this list is very short and 50% of it is about the movie's credits. so yeah this movie is not very good

Wish is an empty husk of a movie. everything about it feels so, so hollow - lifeless town squares, uninspired character designs (to quote a friend: "i have all of these characters' hairstyles in The Sims"), characters whose existence is only justified to fill empty space or an overused archetype, and an "evil" villain who lacks charisma and spine in a futile effort to remind the audience of previous disney villains with actual character. even the artstyle lacks any sort of sauce, the watercolor effect they were trying to go for only makes the backgrounds and character textures run together, and the dull lighting makes things look even more faded. it's like disney was scared of making a movie that made its audience feel... anything. all to celebrate 100 years of Disney slop, baby!!!

Some YouTube videos I liked in January: 💥 An Exhaustive Look at Pokemon Brilliant Diamond 💥 TomSka's Guide to Plagiarism 💥 Paradise Bombed (this video is a great piece of journalism and i’m definitely not doing it justice by throwing it into the youtube vid list) 💥 Surprising Our Friends with Zoo Animals 💥 Did FNAF Ever Have a Good Story?

thanks for reading! next month’s roundup will be wild because i’ll likely be reviewing House of Leaves and Hazbin Hotel. can you guess which cursed house gives me a worse headache? WHO KNOWS! (hint: it's Hazbin Hotel)

[goldeaglefire1]

so it's probably waaaaaaay too early to make a Gavv OC, however: I was thinking of what the secondary could potentially be like and this idea stuck in my head and even though I'm sure the secondary will probably be nothing like this I felt the need to sketch my idea out

anyway: Kamen Rider Juze! (more details under read more)

so this isn't going to be based on lore since we know. basically jack shit but the way I figure it whenever there's aliens there's also the government sniffing around trying to figure out what the hell is going on

after a period of monster fights going down across Japan the government decides "we're going to handle this ourselves" and manages to replicate Gavv's "belt"/organ and Gochizos artificially. the only problem is the only way for a human to use them is to effectively turn them into a cyborg which. can be something of a hard sell as you can probably imagine

the solution they come up with? get an influencer to undergo the treatment and steam their fights against the forces of evil in the hopes of getting enough people to sign up that they can handle the monster thing themselves

enter: Musha Ara, real name unknown, who the government realizes a bit too late is maybe the worst person they could have asked to go through with this. not because she's not successful or anything; she's not only incredibly popular, but picks up the Juze system incredibly well...she'd be great if not for the massive swaths of collateral damage she leaves behind

Ara's primary motivation in all this, above all else, is the thrill of a good fight. she's not necessarily opposed to saving people or anything, but she really doesn't think to prioritize people over the monster, or minimizing the danger the monster poses, or even her own safety, for that matter. and GOD help you if you try to boss her around, because she is every bit the rebellious rock star Juze is modeled after

as you can see the cybernetic additions to Ara show that, much like Shouma, her biology is far from normal...well, now, anyway. she might not have her belt literally growing out of her stomach but she DOES have a big ass electric outlet in her stomach for the belt to connect to, among other things

the Henshin Belt Juze uses artifical Gochizos, all of which are distinct from regular Gochizos in how they don't have eyes and are themed around beverages. the one Juze uses for her default transformation is Frank Energy

among Musha Ara's cybernetic modifications is a reservoir of liquid nanobots inside her body; whenever she transforms into Juze, this liquid explodes out of her, grabs all the nearby metal, and promptly shapes it into the proper Juze armor before magnetizing it to Ara. this is why it's so jagged and asymmetrical compared to the more smooth and natural-looking Gavv

these liquid nanobots are also the source of Juze's combat prowess, able to cannibalize her surroundings for quick battlefield repairs, makeshift weapons, and also just serving as a quick and easy substitute for acid. this is also the source of most of Juze's aforementioned collateral damage issues

Juze also has a guitar axe-gun weapon, but I do not have the energy to draw that right now, so

just for fun, here's what Juze's transformation sounds like: DRINK. Gokungokun! Gokungokun! Gokungokun! Gokungokun! Gokungokun! Gokungokun! Gokungokun! GoKA-BOOM! Frank Energy! BIRI!

[akiology]

THE DUBBED TEASER W GORO HES THERE!!! HE IS LOOKING FKR WHEREVER HIS Y/N IS IDK!! “you guys WENT THROUGH A PORTAL and now i don’t know where my gf IS. shut UP” (this is what would have been said if black mask crow was there).

OH OH AND YUSUKE/Y/N AND AKECHI/Y/N WOULD HAVE SHOWTIMES…BUT WHAT WOULD THEY LOOK LIKE 👀

i want to know where the akekita s/os are coming from but i'm not complaining .. . LIKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i am so happy to be talking about yusuke AND akechi its so insane. ANYWAYS as for the showtime . . . OHOHOHO

this is just pure brainstorming in my part, so feel free to share your own! i will provide two showtimes, one with melee weapons and one with guns!

also iirc the showtimes in p5r are based on movies(?) or atleast their names are. . . anyways my showtimes are based on kpop music videos </3 if you guys guess all of them correctly you will get a prize /lh

Melee showtimes

The setting for Yusuke and S/O would be in a museum. S/O will be pulling Yusuke's arm, but then suddenly the light hits you just right. Yusuke will shout "Hold that pose!", and you will look back looking like you have a halo because of the angle. As Yusuke scrambles to find something to sketch with, the museum will suddenly crumble and in comes the enemy effectively blocking the light source and making you startled. Yusuke is pissed, having lost the opportunity to have you model for him and proceeds to charge at the enemy. After a quick, smooth slash from his sword the enemy topples over and you finish it off with your weapon.

The setting for Akechi and S/O would be in a red carpet. Akechi smiles for the cameras, while you are in a news chopper. In the crowd, the enemy is slowly approaching to where Akechi is, and you ready yourself to jump. Before the enemy could grab Akechi from behind, you body slam it and hit it a few times with your weapon before jumping off. Afterwards, Akechi jumps in. To finish off, the both of you smiled and waved at the cameras.

Guns showtimes

The setting for Yusuke and S/O would be in a field of flowers. Yusuke walks around, and then a huge flower springs forth. Once it opened up, out you came holding out your hand with a flower. However, instead of giving it to Yusuke, you throw it behind him, where the enemy is and it exploded. This paralyzes the enemy for a few seconds, where you and Yusuke proceed to shoot your guns to finish it off.

The setting for Akechi and S/O would be in a ravaged ruins of a laboratory. Various elements in the environment are in 2D, making it feel like you are in a video game/comic book (For Akechi he feels like he is in an episode of Featherman). The both of you are sneaking around, until a loud explosion came and the wall that the both of you were hiding in was almost destroyed. The impact made you fall back, separating you from Akechi. When the enemy was nearing you, Akechi shoots his gun actively distracting the enemy. Once distracted, you jump off of your position and the both of you made the bullets rain down on the enemy.

[howlingday]

Can you do a sketch about super speed like what Solid jj just did please?

MEANWHILE IN THE HALL OF BEACON!

Yang: So I said, "Blake! You gotta be KITTEN me right MEOW!" (RWBY laughing) B-Because she's a cat faunus!

Yang: No, but seriously, think about it, I mean, just think about the amount of problems I could solve if I just had super-speed for one day!

Weiss: Believe me, you don't want to go down that road.

Yang: What are you talking about?

Weiss: Just believe me, Xiao Long. It's not all it's cracked up to be.

Yang: The hell are you talking about?! It's super-speed! You do shit quickly! What's the drawback?

Ruby: ...Super-speed sucks.

Weiss: Somebody finally said it! Thank you!

Yang: Explain how!

Weiss: Well, when you're using super-speed, your brain has to process things just as quickly. So while we're moving very quickly, everything else around us just seems to move in slow motion.

Yang: Yeah, sure.

Weiss: ...And you don't see a problem with that?

Yang: Not really.

Weiss: Alright, stop me if you've heard this one before.

Weiss: "Help us, Miss Schnee! This Dust Bomb is about to explode! Quick, read this 500-page manual in the tenth of a second! So you can disarm it!"

Yang: That sounds awesome!

Weiss: From your perspective, sure. It looks like I just open the book, shut it, and I know everything. Case closed. But from MY perspective, I'm moving at regular speed. So when I do that, I'm sitting down and reading a 500-page manual, page by page, word for word.

Yang: That's still incredible!

Weiss: You're not listening to me. I'm reading a book so I can defuse a bomb that could go off at ANY second, and I have to read and comprehend fucking quantum mechanics BEFORE that happens.

Yang: Alright, sure. But that's pretty situational. What about just moving around? Running from place to place?

Ruby: Yeah, I can tell you about that. So when I move, it looks like I'm going ZOOOOM all the way down the street, but from my perspective? I'm just walking. I'm just walking... at a regular pace. And, like, it's one thing when I'm just running across the city, but no, I have to fucking walk all the way to fucking Menagerie. Imagine WALKING to Menagerie.

Yang: Wait, so when you do that running around the world punch-

Ruby: I'm walking the entire way.

Yang: Oh my god.

Ruby: Yeah. Seconds become hours. Hours become days. Days becomes years. I have... I have lost my sense of self.

Yang: Wait, but I thought that when you ran super-fast, everything else would process just as fast.

Weiss: No, that's stupid. How would that even work? Like, how would you even control that? You think you can just flip something like that on and off? Like, if that were the case, then even when we're not moving super-fast, everything else would be seen as moving in slow motion, which is, uh... Which is just fucking terrifying.

Yang: I guess having powers is a real curse when you think about it. I guess I'm better off not having any powers.

Weiss: No, you still suck. Right, Ruby? RUBY?

Ruby: (Slow breathing)

WEEEISS: RUUUUUUBYYYYYYYY?

Weiss: Oh, and you also have to eat a lot because you burn so much energy.

Ruby: Oh, that's what that is? I thought I was just dying!

Weiss: What th- What the fuck do you mean you thought you were dying?

Ruby: I dunno. I just ran really fast and I just felt really weak after. I just... I just thought I was dying.

Weiss: ...What would you have done if you were dying?

Ruby: I dunno. I'd figure something out.

Weiss: ...We're falling apart, guys. This isn't sustainable.

Blake:

Yang: Blake, are you okay?

Ruby: I don't think she's breathing.

Weiss: Fuck.

[onekeii]

Beasts from the East: Chapter 9 [FINAL]

Fandom: Fantastic Beasts Pairing: Newt Scamander x OC (Rosalind Leitch) Word count: 2.3k Synopsis: Rosalind Leitch is perfectly comfortable being a muggle, hiding away in her village in Scotland and tending to her magical plants. But when Newt Scamander asks her to journey across China with him in search of the Qilin, she cannot find it in herself to say no. Warnings: none! Note: final chapter ahhhhh;; if you wanna read the angsty older sister version of this, i'm gonna be posting a shorter oc x sebastian sallow (hogwarts legacy fic) - the oc is the person who made the china map in this fic!!

Read on AO3 Beasts from the East Masterlist < Previous Chapter

They woke up the next day squished together, cosy under the sheets of one of the single beds in their makeshift house. Ros had already long been awake; she was propped up on one elbow watching Newt flit between sleep and wakefulness. She had thrown on Newt’s shirt, it being long enough to cover her entire body, although she’d made a lousy job of doing up the top buttons. When Newt finally came to, blinking away sleep and focusing his eyes on Ros’ exposed collar bones, he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and rolled to face the wall. It only made everything worse, for he could see everything from the night before in vivid detail behind his eyelids. 

Newt dropped his hands and turned to look at Ros reluctantly. “Good, uh…. morning?” he choked out.

“Morning!” Ros grinned. She found Newt’s actions bewildering yet endearing; she would have liked to lean down and kiss him, but she worried it would make him explode. Instead, she jumped out of bed, her feet meeting the old wooden floor with a creak, and pretended not to notice how Newt was definitely not looking at how the shirt fit around her. “I’ll take care of the Qilin this morning,” she said while lazily pulling one of her skirts on, “you can lie there and recuperate, for now.”

Ros smirked, and Newt pulled the coverlet over his face with a huff.

He was quick to recover. He dressed fast, tying his bowtie a little too tight, and came across Ros playing with the Qilin in its pen. “He loves this torn bit of cloth,” Ros mused to Newt absentmindedly. He watched with a smile as she threw the bundled up rag, with bits of shredded fabric hanging from it like a ghost, to a random corner. The Qilin pounced on it in half the length of a heartbeat; Ros frowned as she exited the pen, her eyes still drawn to the Qilin gnawing at its tatters.

“Is something wrong?” Newt reached for a lock of brown hair that shadowed her eyes, no doubt from a lively morning with the calf. He brushed his fingers against her cheek slowly, revelling in the electricity that flowed between them with every touch, before he set the strand behind her ear and reluctantly parted. 

Ros shrugged, “I liked that shirt.” The one that was torn by those poachers. She said nothing else, and the rest of the morning passed quickly with the both of them making the rounds between all the magical beasts. Finally, Newt sat down at the shoddy picnic table just outside his shack with a quill and paper, to draft an entry to his inevitable second book. He pulled some books for reference towards him: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Chinese Folk Truths, and Beasts from the East. Newt paused at the last one—he couldn’t recall that title in his collection.

But Ros did mention that her sister had given her all sorts of obscure books about magic, and it made sense to him, considering Celia’s apparent relations with the merchant in Hong Kong, that she’d have an old Asian one. The chewed-out piece of card still bookmarked the page that Ros showed him weeks ago now, with the simple, moving sketch of a Qilin. Now Newt would be able to write about the rare beast with vibrant colour, all thanks to her. Wanting to see what Shen Fu Tsong had to say two hundred years ago, he grinned to himself as he opened the book, slamming its heavy and dusty front cover on the table, to its saved page.

But the illustration of a nimble Qilin chasing a butterfly that Newt remembered was not on the page; he saw, instead, another drawing of the same style. But the Qilin was spilled onto its side with a gaping wound slashed across its torso, the quick-flow of blood crudely drawn in squiggles and scrawls. The drops slid further down the page, they filled up a vial on loop. And then a man on the next page, dressed in traditional Chinese dress with a scribbled out face, was drinking from the vial. Rubbing at his eyes, Newt traced the text with the pad of his finger, a translation spell placed upon it caused the characters to morph into English letters in front of his very eyes. 

I come from Nanjing, and so I sought out a companion during my travels throughout South China. Despite living so close to the Qilins’ birthing nests, none of the wizards wanted to join me for fear of disturbing the area. Faxian was the only one who volunteered himself: a squib who could no longer abide by their, apparently, pointless rules. However, when we successfully found the pregnant Qilin, Faxian lashed out at it with his knife. He drank its blood by the handful.

All of a sudden, he was able to do magic. He pried my wand from me and stormed back to Wuzhou. He laid it to waste. Transformed into the wizard he always wanted to be, perhaps he could have gone on forever. But guilt seemed to catch up to him too quickly—I found him at the village’s south entrance, dead by his own hand. Faxian’s story is tragic, but I believe it is not just a stroke of luck; if the conditions are right, a human may be able to turn himself into a wizard with just a vial of Qilin’s blood.

Newt slammed the book shut, unable to burn that wretched illustration into his mind any longer. Something vile burned within him, so hot that he didn’t dare question it; book in hand, he stomped over to where Ros’ plants were housed. There were four long tables in a perfect square, except for one set diagonally so as to create an entrance. That’s where Ros was, surrounded and shielded by all her plants, with her palms pressed into the table for support as she leaned into a blooming Gaseous Orchid. Then she heard Newt’s heavy footsteps and stepped out from behind the blossoms, her eyes wide and curious. And then she saw the book in his hand. Her innocent surprise crumbled and fell away.

“Did… did you see it?” her lips trembled. Newt’s face was impenetrable, but he didn’t wear a frown. He just looked at her, sadness wavered in his eyes like dying candlelight. It flickered, and blew out. He nodded.

“You—You lied,” he spat, but still there was no malice. Newt leaned against the table from the other side, shoulders slouched and defeated; he plonked the book down in front of her and averted his gaze. “I thought you were wanting to make a difference. But you just came all this way for its blood.”

“No!” Ros burst out, desperate. She breathed in deep in a futile attempt to soothe her aching, pounding heart. Newt looked up at her with his mouth parted slightly at her sudden outburst. “I didn’t lie to you,” she continued, her fingers now traced the edges of the dusty book, “Really, I wanted to make that cure and, more than anything, I wanted to get out of Oban.”

Newt sighed. He believed her; the calf and its mother’s body have been so close for the past few days, she could have taken blood at any time. And no matter how desperate she was to learn Charms and Potions in the past, Ros had long grown out of that. For her to become a witch, to join the people who looked down on the so-called trifles of muggle suffering, was unthinkable. She had lived twenty-nine years just fine without wielding magic, and all the better for it, for she actually made a difference. Magic was useless, worthless; Newt knew her feelings well, and he hated that he doubted them. But he had to make sure, “Why was that page bookmarked?”

“Clarke gave it to my sister, who gave it to me, a few months ago. It’s the last remaining copy, apparently,” she said, and slowly she made her way to Newt from the gap between the tables. She took his large hand in both of hers and turned it over, observing the pads of his fingers distractedly.

“I would be lying if I said it never piqued my interest at all, maybe that’s why I left the bookmark there,” Ros’ brows knitted together at her own words, her eyes hung low and concentrated only on Newt’s hand. Then she finally resolved to look up at him again, “but my sister, we haven’t talked since she gave me this book, because...”

Newt could see it unfold behind her eyes. She stared down at a woman, the very reflection of herself: long brown hair, unkempt and coarse like hay that cascaded around green eyes. Two lonely sisters, for years unwillingly separated, with only one difference between them. Tears pooled at the corners of Celia’s eyes. She blinked them away furiously; they spread across her eyes and gave them a new, filmy and resolved shine. 

Ros recounted how she held that dusty book, with the same bookmark, out to Celia, asking her to take it back. She refused—she would find a way for them to be reunited, fully, once more, where their separate worlds could no longer tear them apart. No matter how much Ros struggled to explain: being a muggle is just who she is, she is better used in the regular world… Celia would not listen, for she was forever eleven years old, stuck in her first week at Hogwarts.

She would write to Ros several times a week back then, the ink of her letters always blotched from tears, and her handwriting mere scrawls as she wrote secretly by dim candlelight. There was no end to the depravity of her classmates, it seemed; she was the only muggle-born Ravenclaw in her year, and the students made sure she knew it. Once upon a time, Ros was desperate to become a witch, not for power, or for fun. But because her dear sister needed her.

“I gave up on the idea of wielding magic during the war, but Celia never did,” Ros dropped Newt’s hand and stepped back—a breath of fresh air, a weight lifted from her shoulders.

Newt sighed and wrapped his arms around her, he pulled her in tight and close and rested his chin on her head, “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Thankful that her face was hidden in his embrace, Ros could feel something stinging at her eyes, threatening to spill over and stain Newt’s shirt. She buried her face in his chest and breathed in deep his smell of earth and wood; her words came out muffled, “Once we set the Qilin free, will you help me with something?”

“Anything,” he smiled into her shoulder.

“I think I’ve proven to myself that I’m capable enough—I’d like to find my sister,” she pulled away from him—only slightly, so that their lower torsos were still connected—to show him the determination steeled in her face.

He nodded and planted a kiss on the crown of her head, “Let’s do it.”

When the baby Qilin proved itself capable enough not only of walking, but pouncing (rather annoyingly) over its pen’s fence the next day, Ros and Newt took it out of Wuzhou by moonrise. At the top of one of Guilin’s smaller rocky peaks, a small and white cloud gathered out of thin air close to the ground. The cloud hovered patiently, inviting the Qilin in, and once it finally planted one nervous hoof on the solid vapour, hundreds more spilled out in front of it in staggered formation. Stairs leading to the heavens, where the Qilin belonged, Newt assumed. 

Yet the calf stepped back from its endless staircase, and it staggered painfully into Ros’ shin with a high-pitched squeal. It did not want to go. Ros crouched down with a sigh and scooped it up in her arms; she placed a kiss delicately on the quivering scales atop its head, and then she set it down carefully on the first step again. “You have to go, little one,” she said, softly, “you belong up there.”

With its head hung low, the Qilin snorted sadly to itself before turning its gaze up to where the steps disappeared into the cloudy sky. It began its ascent, slowly, planting two hooves on each stair gingerly yet firmly before daring to go further. Before it was even any higher up than Newt, it turned back and chirped sadly. A smile of amusement grew on Newt’s face as he waved. Ros stepped back to join him, slotting her hand in his, and waved at the Qilin too. Satisfied, it looked away for the last time and bounded quickly the rest of the way, leaping over several steps at a time, before it finally disappeared into the midnight sky, no more than a shining star.

With Newt by her side, Ros tore the two pages about Faxian out of Beasts from the East and threw them onto the hungry flames of a Firebush; they watched in silence until the fire devoured and licked up every last scrap of paper, until only fine black dust remained. 

They were back in the bustling streets of Hong Kong just two days later, thanks to Newt’s carefully spaced apparition. It had only been just under a month since they were here last, but Clarke’s disastrous evening ball felt like an entire lifetime ago. Still, the gleaming polish of his emerald green door, and the daunting face of the golden dragon knocker with its nostrils blown wide, was enough to put Ros right back in that room—the mirror, the dusty pink couch—

“Are you sure about this?” Newt piped up.

“Yes,” Ros responded, without even a moment of hesitation. Before she could question herself anymore, she reached for the knocker and slammed it against the door, two and two, like a heartbeat. She turned back to Newt with her eyebrows creased in concentration and said, “We’ll find her.”

Please reblog and follow if you enjoy my work! It's greatly appreciated ✩

Another Note: if anyone is interested (? lol) i might post the list i made of all the plants mentioned in the fic, where they're from, and what they do (as well as which ones are the ones i made up, and which already exist in HP)