So I completely redid that concept art I did yesterday of Sakura if genma was her genin sensei, same kinda design just made it much less messy and stiff. Hope y’all like it 💙
OH and thank you everyone who reblogged/liked the last one and said nice things, it means a lot 🥹
PLEASE DONT REPOST MY ART WITHOUT PERMISSION, thank you :)
no because i was originally introduced to naruto through fanfiction not the source material so imagine the depths of my dismay when i finally got around to it only to see how underdeveloped and underutilized sakura was compared to the fics I'd been so eagerly gobbling up. look how they massacred my boy. had me sitting there on the edge of my seat each of her fights like you can do better than this! you have the potential to do better than this! clutching my head in abject sorrow when she actually got together with sasuke. like girl get up off the FLOOR I'm going to cry. you will always be real to me fanon sakura
from the center of the earth (i have loved none but you) ⋆ ch 6: put your head on my shoulder
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ao3
Jasonette July Day Six Substitute Prompt: Put Your Head On My Shoulder
@maribat-calendar-events
After texting to see which day suits both of their busy schedules, Jason takes Marinette out the following Friday.
She has what feels like the entire cavalry helping her get ready; while she rummages through her closet, Alya and Chloé are busy roleplaying and making up ridiculous scenarios over the phone, while Luka lounges on the chaise and pets Fang’s snout. She hadn’t intended on telling him about her date, but Jagged had spilled the beans for her.
“I’m just telling you to expand your options, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé scoffs, pointing a freshly-manicured nail at the screen. “I thought you designers were supposed to have an open mind.”
“Okay, one: I’m not going to Bali with a man I just met. And two: in no universe is a man I just met going to ask me to go to Bali with him!”
“C’mon, Nette, where’s the imagination?” Alya teases.
“If he’s not willing to do something as simple as that,” Chloé sniffs disdainfully, “maybe he’s not the one for you, Dupain-Cheng.”
“As if going to Bali is simple,” Marinette replies loudly, knee-deep in her closet as she looks for that one skirt she swears she’d tossed somewhere upon moving in.
“Puh-lease. It is when his last name is Wayne.”
Jackpot! The designer turns on her heel, facing her phone with the skirt in hand. “That’s—wait,” she frowns when she realizes they’re just trying to rile her up. They often do so for the main purpose of fun and the occasional secondary purpose of de-stressing. “You are too good at this, you know?”
Chloé flips her hair over her shoulder. “I’m good at everything, darling.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Marinette huffs fondly, holding up the skirt. “What do you think?” She presents it alongside a cute top she’s been wanting to wear for a while but had never found the right occasion for.
“Fashionable as always, Dupain-Cheng. Honestly, I thought fishing for compliments was supposed to be my job,” the blonde harrumphs. Marinette suppresses a smile. Chloé has a special talent for disguising compliments as insults.
“And Adrien’s,” Alya pipes up. “But Chloé’s right, you look great, girl! You’ll totally knock him out.”
“Hopefully not because of how disastrous I am,” Marinette groans, but it’s more out of habit than anything. Even if she’s a little nervous, she has a good feeling about this.
Luka gives Marinette a slight smile when she walks by the couch, tugging on one of the ribbons dangling from her top. “It makes you charming, Ma-Ma-Marinette.”
“Thanks for that reminder, Luka,” she grouses. The guitarist manages to trick everyone into thinking he’s nothing more than a relaxed, perceptive individual, but Marinette knows the truth: he’s a menace just like the rest of them.
“Anything for you, Melody.”
Truly—a menace.
ཐིཋྀ
Marinette has heard more than enough stories about Gotham’s doom and gloom, and she’s had about a week of firsthand experience with the city’s… unique appeal. Quite frankly, she started to buy into the common notion that it lacked any sights to offer other than smog (which hinders one’s sight, really) and its assortment of murky, polluted rivers.
She should have expected Jason to be the type of person to prove her expectations wrong.
The courtyard in front of her is absolutely gorgeous, with grass greener the kind in Paris and delicate flowers scattered across the ground. “What? This is so pretty,” Marinette says, looking at Jason. She’s a little awestruck, both because of the knowledge that someplace like this exists in Gotham, and because he had taken her there.
“I thought you might like it,” he replies, rubbing his neck as his eyes dart away. If she’s not mistaken, she’d say he looks nervous, which is almost a laughable thought. Marinette is supposed to be the overthinker within all her interpersonal relationships, and someone like Jason isn’t supposed to be fazed by a girl who barely breaches the 160-centimeter mark.
“I do,” she gushes, trying to make her gratitude clear as she watches Jason lay out the picnic blanket he’d brought. It’s aptly placed in a shady patch beneath a tree, which makes her feel another rush of appreciation. “I didn’t even know places like this existed in Gotham.”
Jason barks out a laugh. “Yeah, this city is a shithole unless you know where to go,” he says. “You’re not gonna find a lot of nice gardens in these parts, though. Hole-in-the-wall diners? Sure. But the pollution in this place has pretty much killed all life.”
“This place is so… nice, though,” Marinette says, looking at him questioningly. It feels oddly rejuvenating, like the flowers are breathing life into the very air.
“Yeah, that’d be Poison Ivy for you. This place is pretty much her territory.”
“Uh… are we allowed to be here, then?” The question is more perplexed than accusatory. Jason doesn’t seem like the type to trespass with her in his company.
“Yeah, I cleared it with her. Nowadays she’s pretty neutral unless someone disrespects the space, so we’ll be good.”
“Oh, okay.” Marinette relaxes, watching as Jason begins to lay out the food he’d brought. “Friends in high places much?” she teases.
“Says you,” Jason snorts. “I’m pretty sure you’re the youngest person I’ve seen at the gala who isn’t related to one of the people there. And you’re not even from Gotham, which is pretty fucking cool.”
Marinette flushes, shifting a little. “It’s all thanks to Jagged, really! I wouldn’t be here without him.”
Jason raises an eyebrow, taking a seat on the picnic blanket and patting the spot next to him. “You wouldn’t be here without your own work, either.”
Marinette settles down onto the blanket, smoothing her skirt over her legs. She supposes she can’t argue with that.
ཐིཋྀ
Despite looking like what most Parisians would call a delinquent, Jason is a perfect gentleman during their date.
Sure, he drives a motorcycle, swears more than anyone Marinette is acquainted with, and is as big as her Papa (albeit much more built)—but she likes motorcycles, she likes how blunt he is, and she finds his presence to feel less like a threat and more like an assurance of safety.
Marinette would have been happy talking to Jason over a simple dinner, but the picnic setup had blown her expectations out of the water. It’s more thoughtful than she’d ever expected, especially for a first date. The choice of location is not only gorgeous, but shows that he can most likely be trusted to keep his word; the selection of food he’d chosen includes things she’d mentioned liking when she told him about rating the gala’s finger food with Selina; and the way he interacts with her is genuine and easy. It makes her feel heard.
Time passes by quickly enough that Marinette could almost be convinced that Jason is in possession of a time-traveling Miraculous. She doesn’t think to check how long it’s been until she notices that the sky has gotten darker.
“Do you need to head back soon?” Jason asks, leaning back on an arm.
Marinette bites her lip. She doesn’t want their date to end, but she also has to wake up early the next morning to say goodbye to Jagged and Luka before their flight back to Paris. “Yeah, probably in a bit,” she sighs. “I have to get up early tomorrow. But maybe we can stay until the sun sets?”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll take you back whenever you want.”
The two sit in silence for a few moments as the speaker Jason had brought hums merrily in the background. It had been a pleasant surprise to find out that his taste is much more varied than Marinette initially expected.
Jason takes the opportunity to pick up his phone, and as he scrolls through it, Marinette wonders with slight disappointment if he’s finally checked out of their conversation. But then the music changes to something soft, and he sets his phone aside before turning to her.
“This might be a stupid idea,” Jason starts, getting onto his feet, “but, uh, d’ya wanna dance?”
He holds out a callous-covered hand, which Marinette blinks at with wide eyes.
“I was g’na ask you before Scarecrow interrupted,” he says, glancing away, “but if you don’t want to, that’s—”
“No!” Marinette interrupts, standing so abruptly that she nearly causes a collision. Jason’s expression shifts imperceptibly in what looks like surprise, but his gaze remains firmly fixed on her.
Marinette takes a deep breath, trying not to feel nervous under the intensity of his stare. His eyes are so green—verdant as creation, sizzling like acid destruction. “Um, I mean. I’d love to! Really.”
She takes his hand, noting the contrast between the two of them as she slides her palm across his. Where Marinette’s fingers are delicate and slender thanks to the healing powers she’s slowly gained from the Miraculous after years of use, Jason’s are rough and calloused. But they feel soft to Marinette—both the warmth and the way he holds her so gently.
“Okay,” Jason rasps.
A slight smile spreads across his lips, and they begin to move.
The two dance around the gardens in their socks, their shoes having long been abandoned in the grass. The blades tickling at Marinette’s feet feel funny, but good. Like she’s being grounded by the soil beneath her feet and living in a dream all at once.
Although it takes a bit to settle into a comfortable rhythm, Marinette has grown much more familiar with dancing over the years, and Jason is a good lead. By the end of the first piece, their movements are gracefully in sync.
One song passes, then another, and before they know it they’re goofing around, trying to do complicated footwork and spins without following the beat of the music.
“I don’t think that was the one,” Marinette giggles when she nearly trips over her feet at a particular maneuver they’d tried to pull off.
“Nah. We just have to try again. One more time?”
When the sun finally begins to descend, painting the sky in delicate strokes of pink and orange, the pair switches to slowly swaying back and forth to the music. Jason’s hands are steady and warm, a pleasant weight on her waist. It feels like they’re being pulled into each other in a way Marinette can only compare to the depth in his green eyes.
(Crackling like a summer storm. A fire, warm and alive.)
When she wraps her arms around Jason’s neck, he cranes his head down slightly to meet her, shifting to accommodate their rather significant height gap. She’s still too short to rest her head against his shoulder, so it falls against his chest instead.
Marinette keeps one ear on the music and one pressed against Jason’s beating heart. It’s steady, maybe a little rapid, and hears him take a deep breath before his arms wrap around her. At the same time, she feels the weight of his chin landing atop her head as he tucks her further into his chest.
The warmth of the setting sun drapes around them like a soft blanket as they glide across the grass. Marinette closes her eyes.
