#2018 art summary
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xfreischutz · 1 year ago
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i'm kind of burnt out so......nothing much this year aside from rp comm stuff (and the one gort i drew for chase's bday)
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empty-dream · 6 months ago
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joining the trend (Kagepro will never end, indeed)
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moddieeee · 1 year ago
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Forget yearly art summaries, I want decade and half long improvement memes of one very specific decade and a halves old interest
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tianhai03 · 2 years ago
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since the last couple of days of 2022 are passing by way quicker than i expected here's my art summary of the year before i miss my chance to do it <3
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mikomiio · 1 year ago
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Just a quick look back at 2023
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splendidcyan · 2 years ago
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A decade of art (and also the entirety of my teen years)!
I was only intending to put together my 2022 summary of art, seeing as I hadn’t made that yet-- and then found I also hadn’t made my 2021 summary, and fell down a rabbit hole of nostalgia from there :)
It’s interesting how as I progress as an artist, I’m less and less repulsed by my “old“ work-- like my December 2021 piece is STILL one of my favorites, and one I try to keep up with sorta. And yet, on the flipside, things I know I was proud of last year, two years ago, I’d do so much differently now. My idea of “good” art is different every year-- for a lot of the late teens I REALLY wanted to be an MCU concept artist so realism was what I strove for. But nowadays I’m really embracing simplification in ways I know I never could have before. I talked to my illustration professor about this, and he said something along the lines of, “It’s okay that it took you this long for it to click-- that’s why there’s four years of schooling.” I’m graduating in a few months and there’s still so much I don’t understand and I still feel a lot like the 12 year old using a mouse and GIMP/Paint.NET vector paths to draw. The nice part about still feeling like a kid, though, is that it’s still so much fun to do :)
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mg549 · 2 years ago
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5 years in review (2018-2022)
#art review#year in review#art summary#art meme#my art#i wanted to look at them together :)))#i feel like 2018 is a solid start#2019 was a little rough as i learn a new medium [digital art]#2020 was mw sort of finding brand stability in the types of pieces i did#2021 was pushing myself to really improve with focus on texture and unintentional focus on lighting#and 2022 was a fucking STRUGGLE trying to learn how to put art out consistently while working full time#like for example. jan feb march of this year. i only put out one piece each month#bc i rly dont like my job lmao and it took so much out of me >moving cross country >starting first full time job >moving AGAIN across town#also the piece from july looks wonky to me now but it still is the most polished thing from that month bc i did a bunch of quick art fight p#ieces#unintentional themes for this year: realism. red/teal palettes [or more generally warm/cool contrast].#almost exclusively music fanart or mh/sta stuff#idk im always over critical of my year in review stuff when i first make them then warm up as i become nostalgic#you can also notice a trend of yellow slowly becoming completely absent from my works. this is bc my old laptop had issues with displaying#color and washed yellow out so i never saw it. hence why old drawings of ppl look RLY JAUNDICED. i couldnt goddamn see it#and i dont rly gravitate towards yellow too often#aqua is my fave color in general but also to work with#i didnt do 0 traditional art this year but i felt like i did less that usual probably bc i used to work on my bed but now i work at my desk#which is Very Small and doesnt have a lot of space for me to get out pens or paints or whatever#that and also. less time and energy than in previous years :(#my faves for each year by month: jan-21 feb-19 mar-21 apr-22 may-22 jun-22 jul-18 aug-22 sep-21 oct-#18/21 [tie] nov-21 dec-22 [altho i def seem to always push myself to make sth rly good in the last month of the year tbh]
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everyothermouse · 2 years ago
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Happy new year :D
[2021] [2020] [2019] [2018]
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goldiipond · 2 years ago
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ohhhh i love ray so much *draws him having the worst time of his life*
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rhaenyratargcryen · 5 months ago
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you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)
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masterlist ❈
summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now
pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits
also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3
all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this 
It has been one hell of a week.
The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.
You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.
“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”
“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”
You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian. 
One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch. 
Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.
The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.
“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”
Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.
“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”
You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”
“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”
Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.
“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”
Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump. 
“You need any help over here?”
You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him. 
“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”
No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.
“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”
You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him. 
“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”
Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government. 
This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:
Please let it be the only time.
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After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.
“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”
It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.
“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.
“Where we headin’?”
“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”
“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”
“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”
Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”
Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.
“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”
“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.
“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”
He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.
“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris. 
“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”
Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head. 
“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”
You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.
“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”
“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”
The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.
“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”
You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”
“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.
“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”
You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.
“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours. 
You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze. 
Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.
“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”
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The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.
The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.
“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.
“So what was that all about?”
“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.
“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”
You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”
You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”
Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.
There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.
“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.
What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?
As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.
You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.
Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.
Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.
“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”
Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.
“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.
“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”
“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”
“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”
Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.
He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.
“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”
You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”
“God, but I do love making you laugh.”
You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.
“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”
“Do what?”
“Laugh.”
You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”
“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”
“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”
“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”
You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”
“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head. 
“Seriously. You always know what to say.”
A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.
“What’s up?”
Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”
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The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.
You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.
“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”
“Tyler?”
His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.
You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.
“Stay?”
You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”
With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.
“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”
“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”
You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.
“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.
“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.
“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.
“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.
“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”
You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more. 
“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”
“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.
Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.
“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”
“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.
“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”
You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.
“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.
“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.
Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.
“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”
Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”
He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.
He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”
“What?”
“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”
You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.
“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head. 
“Shampoo?”
You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.
“Turn around.”
You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.
You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head. 
“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”
“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”
So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.
“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”
You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”
Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”
You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”
“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.
“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.
“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”
You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.
“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.
“What are you –”
Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.
One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.
“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.
“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.
“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.
“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.
Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.
“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”
“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.
You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you. 
“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”
His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.
“Was that good?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”
Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.
“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”
Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”
“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”
He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once. 
You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans. 
With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”
You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.
His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.
“What?”
“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.
“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”
Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”
You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”
A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.
“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.
Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated. 
A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.
“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”
You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.
His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.
“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”
You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.
“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.
Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”
You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.
You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.
His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”
He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.
“Do you want me to stay?”
You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”
“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”
If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.
“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”
Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.
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A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here. 
Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.
“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”
Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.
“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”
“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”
You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”
He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”
Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.
“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”
Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”
He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.
“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”
You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes. 
Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.
“Damn, Owens!”
The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.
Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.
“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.
“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”
“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”
The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.
“Did you know about this?”
“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”
You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.
“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”
He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”
Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”
You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.
“Or something.”
2K notes · View notes
no-144444 · 2 months ago
Note
hi! i love your blog and i know this is kind of weird but just hear me out. do you remmeber the 'anything but f1' thing they did this year? what if oscar's topic was his girlfriends career and she was like a huge superstar on broadway and on the screen? and he like knew EVERYTHING and answered every question perfectly?
i hope you like this idea, if not, that's totally fine.
thank you ml xxx
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knowing me, knowing you- o.piastri
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a/n: thank you for requesting! sorry it took so long :)
summary: i suggest you look at the ask...
pairing: oscar piastri x reader
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Oscar was too warm and tired for this. He stood in front of a camera, smelling like hairspray and some sort of spray the makeup artist had put on his face, while he was asked all of the ���Grill the Grid’ questions. 
“That’s it for ‘Grill the Grid’,” she explained. “But this year we have a new segment.”
“Oh yeah?” he questioned, his interest piqued. 
“Yeah, it’s called ‘Anything but F1’,” she smiled. “Your topic is Y/n Y/l/n’s career,” she chuckled. 
Oscar smiled. “This is going to be easy.”
“Will she kill you if you don’t get full marks?” she laughed. 
Oscar pondered. “Probably not?” 
“Alright then. Ready? Pressure is on.”
He nodded. 
“What was Y/l/n’s first role on Broadway?” 
“Matilda,” he nodded. Y/n Y/l/n, his girlfriend, you, also an EGOT winning actor, the youngest there’s ever been. 
“Correct! How old was Y/l/n when she made her Broadway debut?”
“Well, she was 8 in Matilda on the West End and did 2 years of that, so 10?” he answered. 
“Correct! How old was she when she played Sally Bowles, making her the youngest to have ever played her on a Broadway stage?” 
“She was 17.”
“Correct! How old was she when she got her first Tony?” 
“11 years old.”
“Correct!” she smiled. “What Disney princess did she play?” 
“Huh?” he questioned, not knowing that you’d voiced a disney princess. “She’s voiced a Disney princess?” 
She nodded. 
“In a Disney film?”
She nodded again. “Think about it.”
“Does she sing in it?”
“The princess does sing,” she explained. “But Y/l/n did also write a song for it.”
Oscar was stumped. “Can I come back to it?” 
“Sure,” she shrugged, moving on to the next one. “What was her first feature film?”
“Lés Mis,” he answered. “She played Cosette.”
“Correct! What happened at the 2013 oscars?”
Oscar chuckled. “I think Jennifer Lawrence fell over and took Y/n with her?”
“Correct! What is her most streamed song?”
“Does this include recordings she was a part of or just her solo career or the band too?”
“One of those is fine, but if you can give me an answer for all though, we’ll give you an extra point.”
“So,” he started explaining. “Y/n’s most streamed solo single is probably American Teenager, her most streamed band single is probably BABY SAID, and her most streamed cast recording was probably Wicked, or Hadestown.”
“Correct, and it is Wicked.”
As he explained his answers, his trainer and others in the room started to laugh. He knew everything about you. He was so down-bad it was almost embarrassing, but they understood it anyway. You’d been together since you were 14, you were 23 now. You get to know a lot about a person in 9 years, especially from teenage years to being a young adult. 
“What record did she break by winning an Oscar in 2018?” 
Oscar smirked and winked at the camera. “She’s the youngest person ever to gain an EGOT.”
“What school did she teach at in her early years?”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “How old was she?”
“Ages 8-12, she taught here on and off, and not many people know about it since she didn’t go into that field of the arts.”
He groaned, trying desperately to think. “The Royal Ballet in London!” He exclaimed, finally remembering. 
“Correct! Next question, how many Tony awards does she have?”
“Oh shit they’re on the mantel at home…” he muttered to himself, trying to count them in his head. “5?”
“Correct. Who has more trophies?”
Oscar chuckled. “I have more trophies, but she has more awards.”
“Alright, how many Emmys does she have?”
“1, which she won this year for her role in the Bear.” 
“Correct, how many Broadway or West End shows has she been a part of? You get a bonus point for naming them all.”
“Oh alright, so Matilda, Annie, Into the Woods, Hamilton, Heathers, Spring Awakening, Mamma Mia!, Moulin Rouge!, Cabaret, Six, Parade, Hadestown, Chicago, Wicked, and right now she’s doing Lés Miserables for the first time on a stage,” he explained. “So that was… 15?”
“Just one more?” she hinted. 
Oscar’s face fell. “What? What else has she done?” he asked out loud. “I said Wicked?”
She nodded. 
“Did I say Mamma Mia!?” 
She nodded. 
“Did I say Phantom of the Opera?”
“No, you didn't! Congratulations, bonus point awarded. What has she said is her dream role?”
He took a deep breath. “It’s going to be really bad if I get this wrong, isn’t it? Alright, so, she has always wanted to play Ms. Honey in Matilda,” he watched as the interviewer shook her head. “Shit, alright. Any hints?”
“She said it would be the only way to get her back into a specific show,” she hinted. 
“Oh! Emcee!” he cheered. “God, how could I forget that?”
“Well done! Alright, one final question, what song did she sing at the 2023 grammy awards, where she debuted her first single after ‘LISTEN’, her band, went on hiatus?”
He smirked. He was there for that performance. He was sitting in the crowd as you sang. He got to take you home and congratulate you. He got to be the proud boyfriend all night. He loved it. It was one of his most fond memories. “She sang ‘That’s So True’. I was there.”
“The infamous kiss picture,” she winked at him. He nodded, a smug smile on his face. “So, going back to the other question, what Disney princess did Y/l/n play?” 
“Oh shit yeah, it was animated, yeah?”  
“Not necessarily,” she hinted. 
“Ariel!” he exclaimed. “Ariel, of course!”
She chuckled. “Congratulations, you know the most about Y/n Y/l/n’s career out of anyone I’ve ever met.”
“One would hope,” he chuckled.
୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅
navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
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mysticdragon3art · 2 years ago
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Re-doing my older Art Summaries so each grid is only one medium: illustration.
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tang0w0tek · 2 years ago
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“I just realised I have one of these for 2017, 2019, 2020, and now 2021... what the f*ck did I do in 2018 that caused me to not make one? /gen Smh past me /lh” -me, on my 2021 art summary
The question apparently is yearly.
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pianta · 1 year ago
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my 2023 art summary! ✦ after struggling immensely last year (getting covid, becoming houseless), i finally feel like i'm landing back on my feet. this year i focused on healing, prioritizing my own health and saying fuck it, imma do what brings me joy. not constantly being in survival mode anymore has helped me become happier in the process and hopefully it reflects in my art. also, i got an agent now! next year is gonna be pretty good i think 😁🤞🏽 thanks to everyone who stuck around and supported, commissioned or donated to me, or even just left nice comments - you are the reason i’m still here and it's helped me more than you know! 💕 let's continue to inspire each other next year!!! 💖
2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021 | 2022
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tunal0verr · 6 months ago
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Recorded memories
Toge Inumaki x reader
Content: Wee bit of angst(mb chat) takes place after the shibuya incident so spoilers!! does use she/her pronouns mb chat人(_ _*) use of y/n
Summary: A glimpse into a few memory's with a certain curse speech caught on a gifted camera
A/N:not checked and i didnt clam to be a author team but inumaki nation was lowkey dry recently and if u cant find the art U GOTTAAA MAKE IT YOURSELF \(゜э゜)/
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December 25th, 2017
“How do I know if it's on?” the voice was quiet as the focus of the video pointed down revealing shredded wrapping paper and an open box.
“Salmon” The camera shook before it pointed up at Y/N
“OH! It's on” She smiled at the boy behind the camera
 “Heyyy vlog it's your favorite y/nn” She took the camera from his hands and lifted it showing the mess of Christmas wrapping
“My super BFF Toge Inumaki got me this camera everybody say thank you Toge” She wiggled the camera up close to his face as he scrunched his nose.
March 13th, 2018
“Welcome back vlog” she whispered to the camera lens before moving the camera back swiftly 
“I am here with my co-host Inumaki and we are on the train going on a mission,” she said moving around in her seat to lay over into his lap blocking whatever game he was playing pointing the camera up at him at a very unflattering angle as he looked down
“Bonito flakes” he sighed as he looked down at her
“That's what I'm saying” she agreed laughing turning the camera to face herself before it fell cutting the recording short
October 31st, 2018
The camera was getting rustled around before it settled on her desk
“Um… do my makeup with me as my best friend is on a life-threatening mission while I have to stay back at the school” She gave the camera a small weak smile
“It's not like he's alone like our other friends are there but” she paused as she sighed
“He isn't  answering his text and I'm worried more because it's just different cause it Inumaki-not saying I don't care about our friends I love them to bits just” Her brows knotted as she looked down through the bag on her lap rambling 
“It's just different between me and Toge it's more comfortable- whatever this is stupid” She snatched the camera rolling her eyes before it turned off
December 31st, 2017
“It's almost midnight vlog” she giggled on the bed moving the camera to sit on pillows
“Are we gonna kiss tonight?” she joked nudging Toge with a smile as a blush crept up to decorate the tips of his ears
“Salmon roe” Toge shoved her back rolling his eyes before typing on his phone to show her
“Why would I kiss you you smell horrible” she fakes reading out with a gasp from his phone as he sat up shaking his head making an X with his arms
She looked up at the camera “he hates me guys my own best friend” she sighed looking down dramatically 
“Tuna mayo!” he groaned pouting at her pushing her shoulder again causing her to laugh and grab the camera 
 “stay tuned to find out if we actually kiss” she stuck her tounge out as she started to move the camera closer to Toge’s fake before he opened his mouth the camera cut 
April 10th, 2018
“And here we have a wild Toge Inumaki resting in the wild” The camera zoomed in on his sleeping face
 “Magnificent creature one of a kind,” she said mocking a fake Australian accent
 “Now we must be careful not to disturb the beast” She leaned the camera closer to his face before his eye peeked open and she gasped
“You're not even sleeping you're a faker!” she laughed as he smiled as it look like he charged at the camera before the recording abruptly ended
August 21st, 2018
The screen is covered with a sliver of the room being shown as a frustrated groan is heard at a distance 
“Like did you ever consider how I would feel? I get you and Yuuta are close and stuff but it doesn't mean ditch me to go and make the same plans with Yuuta” Y/n voice strained as she reprimanded him
“Fish flakes!” Toge’s voice sounded desperate 
“Put the phone down can you do that for once? Just listen to me! For someone who can't speak right you sure are a bad listener,” y/n yelled harshly “Wait no comeback” 
Toge pauses for a second before even considering what y/n just said to him her. Once he does he just stares at her with only a look that can be described as heartbreak before turning and walking out with a harsh slam of the door followed by y/n groans before everything where the camera sat was pushed causing the recording to stop.
Present
She paused and grimaced after watching the last video 
“I should probably delete that right?” she turned to him as there was still no reply from his part
“I didn't mean it you know” her words getting caught in her throat as her voice trembled “You don't have to fake no more Toge get up” She went to go grab his hand but she was only met with the empty bed space that was once occupied by his hand 
“Please wake up we can't just end as best friends I don't want to end just as best friends” She began to sob as she laid on top of his lap as his body rested in the infirmary bed her tears made the room go blurry as they clouded her vision as she poured her heart out in his lap. She moved her arms to wrap around her head blocking out the world. Blocking out the small smile that danced across Toge’s lips
He never was a good fake sleeper
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A/N: if this is ass its not fault guys its 3am and a hoe is tired fr
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r0entgen · 4 months ago
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"Why won't Venezuelans just address the blockade?"
If you're wondering why, read below.
Let me start by saying that I wrote this after I finished work, with less than three hours of sleep and a single meal in my body, so if you find any grammar mistakes, my apologies.
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This is the comment that kickstarted this post. I believe I've mentioned this before, but when you're living in a country that weaponizes propaganda and hijacks every single media outlet, you have to master the fine arts of fact checking and cross-referencing. Which is exactly what we're going to do right now, addressing the claim that 40,000 Venezuelans have been killed by the US sanctions, and why We Won't Engage with You In This Particular Argument.
*Note: click the underlined text for links and sources.
In the paper Economic Sanctions as Collective Punishment: The Case of Venezuela by Mark Weisbrot and Jeffrey Sachs (who will be referred to as WS in this post), WS mention that between the years of 2017-2019, the economic sanctions caused a 31% increase in the general mortality rate in Venezuela, a number that they calculate may be of about 40,000 deaths. While they cite ENCOVI and a UN report from 2019 as the sources of this statistic, they clarify the following in the footnotes:
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The ENCOVI 2018 survey has not been made public, the mortality statistic cited here is from the UN Report (2019).
As of this date, WS has not made public the data source for this estimate, and the UN report used as a source (Venezuela: Overview of Priority Humanitarian Needs, March 2019) is not publicly available.
So let's take a look at some sources that ARE publicly available.
The World Bank Group World Development Indicators registers at least a 30% increase in the infant mortality rate in Venezuela from the dates of 2013 to 2016. Similar numbers are reported in this paper, seeing a 40% increase in the infant mortality rate in Venezuela between the dates on 2008-2016. Here's an excerpt from the paper Impact of the 2017 Sanctions on Venezuela:
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While different than other overall mortality rates, increases in infant mortality rates are generally interpretable as a preventable consequence of inadequate pre- and post-natal care for otherwise healthy but vulnerable infants. Thus, infant mortality is often recognized as a good proxy measure of the quality on overall public health provision.
What this tells us is that THERE HAS BEEN an increase in general mortality rate - one that started long before the 2017 sanctions.
However, this doesn't mean that in the periods of 2017-2019 there wasn't a high death toll. Let's look at another publicly available source.
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The National Hospital Survey (2019) found that between November 2018 and February 2019, 1557 people died owing to the lack of supplies in hospitals [...]. 40 patients died as a result of the power outages in March 2019.
We see the first mention of a number in the 2019 Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights.
Something interesting this report mentions is that 40 deaths were caused by the blackout in March 2019. A blackout that lasted 7 days and affected our 23 states.
The energy crisis which caused this nationwide blackout started in 2010. The Wikipedia article is a good summary, if a bit simple, of the events that led to and took place during and after the energy crisis (which affects us Venezuelans living in the country to this day)
Back to the UN Report. Something else this report indicates is the following:
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In 2018, the Government registered 5,287 such killings, while the non-governmental organization Observatorio Venezolano de la Violencia reported at least 7,523 killings under this category. Between 1 January and 19 May 2019, the Government reported 1,569 killings for resistance to authority. The Observatorio Venezolano de la Violencia reported at least 2,124 such killings between January and May 2019. Information analysed by OHCHR suggests many of these killings may constitute extrajudicial executions.
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[...] Six young men executed by the Special Action Forces (SEBIN) in reprisal for their role in anti-government protests in 2019.
This means that between the dates of 2018-2019, there have been approximately 9,647 deaths in the context of security operations - which includes Venezuelans that took part of the protests in 2019. Very similar to what we have been reporting since after the elections in July 28.
2017 to 2019 was one of the most difficult periods in Venezuelan history, marked by the sanctions imposed by Trump which affected oil export, access to diesel, and food and medicine imports. Some people argue that the economic recession in Venezuela was caused by the sanctions - failing to notice the negative trends in the years prior to these.
Bahar, Bustos, Morales and Santos (who will be referred to as BBMS in this post) conclude in their paper, Impact of the 2017 Sanctions on Venezuela, that while the sanctions had a negative effect in the oil production, "it is quite impossible to attribute the fall [...] to one single event (i.e., the sanctions), when many other confounding events were happening at the same time."
Oil production: Oil prices dropped during 2015, and oil production decreased as a result of lack of maintenance and investment.
Energy crisis: By 2009, when the energy crisis was first declared, the electrical grid had already been suffering from the lack of maintenance and investment since 1998. The Chávez administration distributed million dollar contracts [...] that enriched high officials of his government and the works were never built. [1] [2] [3]
Economic decline and hyper-inflation: Actions taken by the Chávez administration such as expropriation and price control, as well as the PDVSA purge in 2002 led the country to depend almost entirely on its already declining oil industry, causing shortages and price rises in common goods, food, medical supplies and so on. By 2015, 60% of the Venezuelan population was living in poverty. [1] [2] [3] [4]
From only these three points, we can establish a negative trend starting way before the first US Sanctions. Thus, we can conclude that by the time the devastating 2017-2019 sanctions took place, Venezuela was already deep in a state of generalized crisis.
WS conclude in their paper:
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[...] One of the most important impacts of the sanctions is to lock Venezuela into a downward economic spiral. [...] An economic recovery could have already begun in the absence of economic sanctions.
While Bahar, Bustos, Morales and Santos declare:
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[...] Our analysis finds insufficient evidence to conclude that they [sanctions] were responsible for the worsening of the socio-economic crisis. [...] The weight of evidence seems to indicate that, rather than being a result of US-imposed sanctions, much of the suffering and devastation in Venezuela has been, in line with most accounts, inflicted by those in power.
In conclusion - both papers seem to agree that the crisis in Venezuela started before 2017, but where WS claim that it worsened due to US sanctions, BBMS place a higher blame on the deterioration caused by the Venezuelan government.
Now, you may keep whichever analysis you prefer, but one thing we know for sure: the 40,000 Venezuelans that WS claimed died due to the sanctions cannot be found in any public report, while the death toll of protests and extrajudicial killings has been extensively reported.
Why is this relevant?
Contrary to what some people on this site would say, Venezuelans generally agree on the negative impacts of US-imposed sanctions (note: this poll accounts only for Venezuelans in Florida, as polls aren't often published inside Venezuela). However, the general consensus is that US-sanctions only added up to a crisis that had been building up since Chávez rose to power, and rather than the cause, it was yet another symptom.
Yes, the US is the Big Bad, but placing the blame solely on the sanctions only takes the responsibility away from the government and diverts the attention from the poor governance, rampaging corruption, violent repression and denialism that we've grown used to in the last 25 years.
So if you ask "why don't you address the blockade?", my response is: why don't you address the 9,647 extrajudicial killings, the 40 deaths caused by the energy crisis, the energy crisis itself, the economic decline, the lack of maintenance in the infrastructure, the violent repression, the forceful abductions and the censoring?
What we want you to understand is that when you center the US as the cause of the crisis, you are actively participating in our state-funded propaganda and knowingly turning a blind eye on the suffering of all Venezuelans. You are no better than imperialists - you ARE participating in imperialism.
Remember:
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Last, but not least - be careful with your sources. This Venezuelanalysis article was written by Andreína Chávez, former editor-in-chief of TeleSUR, a government-funded news channel known for spreading Maduro propaganda. One of their most recent claims: dead Venezuelans are shown as having voted in the ballots shown in resultadosconvenezuela.com. Needless to say, this is false. This news portal is what some people would call, BIASED.
For more information, please read the amazing analysis written by @systhemes HERE.
A more direct response by @achillesmonochrome HERE.
For other sources, check HERE.
*Fellow Venezuelans, feel free to include anything I might have missed.
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