stack co

5

Going through my files and found all the art I posted on my Matsuyo ask blog I ran a few months ago (It’s still on hiatus btw) and just wanted to post some of the nicer pieces here.

There were some days all I would draw would be Matsuyo, so I felt kind of guilty focusing all my attention away from other projects on that. But it ended up being really good practice for comic arrangement & improvising comedic answers for a lot of questions I never even thought about and a whole lot of other stuff, so I don’t really regret using my spare time in those months at all. (I do wish I was better at drawing digitally. I went through like 3-4 sketchbooks so I have a big stack of Matsuyo & co. pen drawings I have no idea how to archive.)

In any case, Matsuyo is a good character & at the very least I hope my askblog did a good job showcasing that.

2

Wszystkiego najlepszego Frédéric François Chopin! (born Fryderyk Franciszek Chopin; 22 February or 1 March 1810 – 17 October 1849)

From our stacks:

1.Frontispiece ‘Schuberth & Co, New York.’ from Chopin: The Man and His Music By James Huneker. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1909.

2. Cover detail from Life of Chopin by F. Liszt. Translated from the French by Martha Walker Cook. Fourth Edition Revised. Boston: Oliver Ditson Company, n.d.

Adjustment...Part 2

(Part 1)


The return to work was less than climactic.  The team was on a case, so you and Rossi helped as you could from Garcia’s end as the team started to wrap it up.  Rossi was booked for a last-minute lecture that he started out for before the day was over, and you found yourself digging through your co-worker’s stacks of paperwork in order to lessen the load they had to come back to.

But Garcia was hot on your tail as you planted your backside into a seat.

“How are you feeling?” she asks as she sets a lukewarm coffee on the corner of your desk.

“I’m uh…I’m getting there,” you sigh.

It was the truth.  David had helped you try to cope with a few of the things you had been put through.  He had talked with you about his marriage, and in return you had opened up…little by little…on what had truly taken place while you were held hostage.

There were more than a few wine bottles in the recycling on the nights you decided to talk.

He had laid with you, all of the lights blaring in the room, until you would fall asleep.  He had bought a sleep mask so that your new routine wouldn’t bother his rest, and he would hold you close as you thrashed through your nightmares.

It wasn’t an easy journey, but you were thankful to not do it alone.

Telling Garcia was a lot easier than you had expected.  The tears that sprang to her eyes did nothing to quell the raging of your lips as you lost yourself in paperwork while recounting the past few weeks.

She was so intent on listening to your story that she had missed the ringing of a video conference on her cell phone.

The team was quick to send you home once they all came trudging off of the elevator at 10 that evening.  They thanked you profusely, telling you that you didn’t need to do their paperwork, and you had told them that it was good to be back and be productive with your life.

But the truth of the matter was that you knew you would be falling asleep alone tonight.

And you were trying to put it off.

“You know if you need more time…” Hotch trailed off.

But you shook your head and smiled, thanking him for the time he had already given you as you sat down in your chair.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna…” J.J. offered, thumbing behind her as you raise your head and give her a light smile.

“I’m sure.  I wanna finish what I’m doing, and then I’ll head on home,” you smiled.

So, as the team hugged you close and kissed your head and cheeks, you sat heavily back down into your chair as you flipped the file folder from J.J.’s desk back open.

You had absolutely no plans on going home tonight.

Setting the finished paperwork back on her desk, you stride over to Spencer’s to pick up another one when a familiar voice comes fluttering from the BAU glass doors.

“I’ve got ice cream,” Garcia says.

“Hm?” you hum as your fingers dance along the edge of yet another file full of paperwork.

“Ice cream.  I’ve got that, and some cookies.  I could also make us some spaghetti, or order us some Chinese from that place that stays open late.”

“Garcia, I’m just gonna do one more a-”

“I know you don’t want to go home,” she blurts out.

Your hand falls away from the files as you sigh and close your eyes.

“I know that you’ve probably been having nightmares, and that Rossi’s been helping you in some way.  With the time he took off of work and everything.  And if you don’t want to go home, you don’t have to stay here.  You can come stay with me.  A-and…if you don’t wanna sleep?  I’ve got so many movies and we can hunker down on the couch.”

“Garcia, I-”

“Please,” she begs as she takes a step towards you.  “You look exhausted, and Rossi would kill us if you stayed here.”

You were feeling incredibly tired, and the thought of laying your head on a desk and sleeping wasn’t the most comforting thought.

“Does that greasy pizza place with the square slices deliver this late?” you ask as you look up at her.

“Oh yes, they do,” Garcia smiles as she rips her phone from the dress in her pocket, “In fact, if I order right now, we have enough time to get to my apartment and take showers.”

“I usually eat pineapple and mushroom on my pizza,” you muse as you walk over to your desk and grab your stuff.

“Oooooo, that sounds delicious,” she hums as she enters in a number and holds the phone up to her ear.

“Ah, yes.  I would like to place an order for two large pizzas,” Garcia begins.

And as you walk behind her and hit the button for the elevator, you dig your phone out of your purse as you flip it open, revealing a number of missed text messages and calls.

All from David.

And as you began to reply to all of them, calming him down and quelling his fears, you look up as you see Penelope smiling broadly at you as the elevator doors open.

“He’ll be back soon,” she reassures you as you both step into the elevator.

“Thank you, Garcia,” you muse as you click your phone off.

“For what?” she asks as she leans over and presses the button for the car garage.

“For everything,” you muse as you look up at her.

“Not a problem, honeybee,” she smiles, “Not a problem at all.”